Page 30 of Heart, Haunt, Havoc
“Ah, lovely.”
“She told me I’d owe her if she had to save our asses.”
“Of course.”
“Better safe than sorry,” they said, shrugging.
“I don’t think she’s exactlysafe, but…” He shrugged, too. “It’s not a bad idea to have reinforcements on stand-by.”
The house trembled. Baseboards flexed and the ceiling creaked, rippling beneath brutal footsteps. Walls bowed inward, doors rattled in their frames, the staircase wheezed, windowsills squeezed glass, and Marchosias sent a fearsome snarl reverberating through the air. Colin tipped his head, tracking the heavy movement on the ground floor. The Esszettel protected the basement, yes, but the wards had been inevitably noticed. Lincoln and Marchosias had become aware that a portion of the house was shut off from their eyes, and Bishop and Colin were out of time.
Colin said, “Light the candles.”
Bishop knuckled their glasses into place, dug a lighter out of their pocket, and snatched the spark from where it jumped on the flint. The fire swayed in their palm, suspended above their heartline, and flickered as they lowered the flame toward each naked wick. The pillar candles cast white circles on the floor, stretched the shadows, deepened the hollow underground. Another growl shook the house. Colin looped rope around Lincoln’s wrists and ankles. Muttered a prayer under his breath—give me strength, Lord. Work through me—then crossed the room where he plucked the coin-sized paper from inside the linen shelf. He studied the rendition of Michael and let his tainted blood call for the angel, sing praises of the High Court, reach and reach andreach. He closed his eyes, placed the paper on his tongue, and felt new energy needle his veins as he swallowed.
He glanced at Bishop as he made his way to the washer, chewed the image of Saint Christopher, and lifted a brow. “What?” he asked.
“You’re eating paper, Colin. Don’twhatme.”
“I assumed a witch, above anyone else, would understand the components of a spell.”
“Is that what you’re doing, casting a spell?”
“Asking for assistance,” he said, biting out each word. “Don’t look at me like I’m speaking in tongues.”
Bishop rolled their eyes. “Can you explain, then?”
“I blessed these specific warding tools with holy iconography. They’re used for protection, right?” He lifted his gaze and met Bishop’s eyes. When they nodded, he continued. “So, once they’re removed from the space they’ve been tasked to protect, they’ll shift their power somewhere else.” He lifted the last Esszettel, Saint Benedict of Nursia, protector of exorcists, miracle-worker blessed by God, and brought it to his mouth.
“Into you,” Bishop said under their breath.
The house rocked through another shudder.
Colin sighed through his nose. “Brace yourself,” he said, and sucked the paper between his molars. “He’ll return as the man you remember and like nothing you’ve ever encountered before. Once we transfer his incorporeal form into the vessel, Marchosias and Lincoln will try their best, separately and together, to break you down, to get inside your head—inside your heart—and rip you apart. Do you understand?”
Bishop searched his face. Their jaw flexed, shoulders pulled taut, fingers curling and uncurling at their sides. “I get it, yeah.”
“Good,” Colin said. He thought about kissing them, but he stared instead. Remembered their smile pressed against his cheek, their body curled against his chest by the fireplace, and hehoped.
The last Esszettel made its way down his throat, and pure, ethereal light leaked like oil into every limb, coated every bone, hummed in every tooth. He sucked in a sudden, fearful breath and watched Bishop take a step backward. His eyes reflected like quartz in the lenses on their glasses, glowing ghostly white, and his name coasted from them on an uncertain breath. They bumped the staircase, catching themself on the banister.
Be with me,he thought. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows. Black ink raised like fresh scars on his skin.Stay with me.
There wasn’t much time between the angelic power taking root inside Colin and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Shoes, first. Then too many paws. Rushing wind inside a closed-up house.
Lincoln arrived in starts and stops. He was on the stairs, straight-spined and regal, and then he shifted to all fours, snarling with his ears pinned. His image jolted backward, forward, backward again, until he managed to step into the basement and right himself against the animal, demon,beasttethered to his soul. Colin had no time to adjust. One moment, he was struggling to breathe through the influx ofholyandyesandancientpulsing inside him, and the next, Lincoln had whipped toward his stationary corpse, eyes wide, muzzle curled into a wet snarl.
“What is this, priest?” Lincoln spat. He turned and snapped his teeth at Bishop. His eyes cracked, softening in the flickering candlelight. “What’ve you let him do to me?”
Bishop parted their lips and clutched the banister, flattened with their back against the wall attached to the staircase. They shook their head. “Don’t act like this is betrayal, Lincoln. This is… This isreaction. These are consequences.”
“Bishop,” Colin warned. He inched forward, ready to snatch Lincoln by the collar.
They continued. “You groomed me, you tricked me, and you stole from me. My blood, my essence, my… my fuckingpowerwasn’t yours to take.Iwasn’t yours to use.”
“We took vows,” Lincoln said. The timbre in his voice vibrated the basement, human and not, heartbroken and not. “You swore to love me, to stand beside me—”
“Until you died,” Bishop hollered. Lincoln flinched as if he’d been struck. They set their jaw, expression hard despite the tremor in their chin. When they spoke, each word gusted from them, painfully, slowly. “And now here we are.”
