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  The possessed man reeled. His eyes rolled back into his head until only the whites showed, and he fell on the bed in convulsions.

  “Poujean! Now!” barked Paul.

  Poujean hurriedly tied the possessed’s wrists to the metal headboard, then stepped back to the other side of the room.

  Another moment and the convulsions subsided. The possessed took stock of the rosaries that secured him to the bed, and a strange bleating sound, like a goat’s cry, escaped his lips.

  Then he turned his eyes to Paul.

  “I’ve heard of you,” he said. “Astarte’s pet exorcist. Very cute. But I think you’ll find that I—”

  “In the name of Yahweh, El, and Brahman!” roared Paul, throwing more holy water. “Be gone!”

  The possessed howled in pain. “When I break free from here, I will dine upon your entrails, you mortal incubus!”

  “Are we going to go on like this for a while?” asked Paul in a milder tone. “Or are you going to save us all the trouble and get out now. I don’t have all day.”

  “You will find me much more difficult to dislodge than the lesser imps you are accustomed to, mortal,” he hissed.

  “Sure, sure,” said Paul, sounding bored. “Nice bluff, but I can smell you from here, Bifrane.”

  The possessed’s eyes widened in outrage. “Bifrane?! You think I am some decrepit peddler of corpses?! You will pay for that insult, you gobbet of flesh! Tremble in fear, mortal, for I am Asmodeus, master of gamblers and whores, corrupter and despoiler of life!”

  Paul sighed and shook his head. “It’s almost disappointing how often that trick works.”

  “What?”

  Paul walked over and placed his hand on top the thrashing head of the possessed. “With thy name, Asmodeus, I bind thee to this mortal shell.”

  “No!” screamed the possessed, “You filth, you whoreson, you—”

  “And be quiet,” said Paul.

  The possessed’s mouth moved, but no sound escaped.

  Paul walked over to the corner of the room where Poujean stood awestruck. He sat down heavily in a small, wooden chair and said, “That’s a lot more tiring than it looks.”

  “I . . . I don’t understand,” said Poujean. You just trapped him inside Emile’s body?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now?”

  “We wait for the other two to come running.”

  Poujean rubbed his temples and leaned against the door frame. “I think I’m a bit out of my league.”

  “The fact that this doesn’t happen to you on a regular basis is a good thing,” said Paul. Then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

  There were a few moments of quiet, during which the possessed gave up thrashing and simply glared at Paul and Poujean with a sulky expression. Then the front door of the apartment blew inward with such force that splinters skittered all the way down the hallway to the bedroom. Paul launched himself out of his chair and stepped into the hallway.

  “Hellspawn!” he yelled, brandishing his vial of holy water.

  Two figures—the tall, gaunt Amon and the short, fat Philotanus—stepped over the wreckage of the door and into the apartment. Philotanus hung back a bit while Amon strode down the hallway toward Paul and Poujean, smiling wolfishly.

  “Where is she, mortal? Where is that traitorous bitch?”

  As he walked past the kitchen, a thick jet of flame blasted from the doorway and slammed him into the far wall.

  “Right here, Amon,” said Astarte from the doorway.

  Smoke trailed from Amon’s clothes, hair, and skin. He snarled, showing long canines. Then he leaped at her, his fanged mouth stretching wide into a wolf’s muzzle. She stood perfectly still until he was only inches from her, then she thrust her fist down his throat. His jaws clamped down on her shoulder, fangs sinking through her shirt and into her flesh. Bright red bloomed on her white blouse. But then she shifted her weight slightly, her shoulder tensed, and Amon’s eyes went wide.

  “Ah,” she said cheerfully. “Do you know what I have a hold of in there?”

  He whimpered but continued to bite down on her shoulder.

  “Neither do I,” she said. “But let’s see what happens when I twist.”

  He barked in pain, his jaw opening with a jerk.

  “This isn’t Hell,” she said quietly, “and your master isn’t here to protect you.”

  Then Paul felt a hard grip around his neck. A thick, oily voice behind him said, “And you have gotten soft here on Gaia.”

  Paul couldn’t turn his head, but he didn’t need to. The other end of the hallway was empty now, and the rancid stench told him that Philotanus had just appeared directly behind him, and probably held Poujean as well.

  “Release the mortals, Philotanus,” said Astarte, “or be destroyed.”

  “Your weakness for these cattle sickens me,” said Philotanus.

  “When Belial hears of it, he will punish you severely.”

  “Belial and the other Grand Dukes are nothing but usurpers. They have no right to claim mastery over me or any other demon.”

  “The Grand Dukes were invested with their power by the authority of Lucifer Himself!” said Philotanus.

  Astarte gazed at him for a moment. “You really do believe Belial’s lies, then, don’t you Philotanus? You have forgotten that we weren’t always like this. Once we were glorious.”

  “We were fools,” said Philotanus, and spat.

  “The Grand Dukes have you, then,” she said, her eyes sorrowful. “Completely.”

  “They have us all,” he said. “Even if you are too stubborn to accept it yet.”

  She sighed, her eyes trailing off to stare at nothing for a moment. Then she flexed her shoulder. Amon began to howl, but it was cut short into a gurgle as she hauled a yard of intestines out. He shuddered convulsively and fell to the floor.

  “That was foolish,” said Philotanus. “Now these mortals will die.”

  “No,” said Astarte quietly, “you will.”

  Her eyes met Paul’s and she nodded.

  That was the signal he had been waiting for. He pulled a long silver-bladed crucifix from a sheath strapped to his thigh and plunged it into the round belly behind him. He heard a retching sound, and putrid black bile splashed his back. He ignored that and sawed slowly upward while whispering, “Memento, homo, quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris!” Remember, man, you are dust and to dust you shall return.

  Philotanus released his grip, trying to escape, but Paul spun around, the prayer growing to a roar on his lips as he struck the demon with all his might. Paul could smell the corruption on this one. He was a schemer, a torturer, and a molester of children. Paul worked without pause, hacking away with his bladed crucifix, letting his loathing and hatred fuel each blow until finally there was nothing left but quivering chunks of demon flesh.

  “Paul.” Astarte’s voice penetrated through his rage.

  “Enough. He won’t be coming back.”

  Paul stopped, his breath whistling harshly though clenched teeth. As his peripheral vision returned, he could see Poujean looking at him in horror. He ignored it and instead looked to Astarte. “Amon escaped,” he said in a flat voice, and pointed with his dripping, bladed crucifix at the spot where only a small pile of intestines remained.

  “It will take him a long time to heal from that,” said Astarte in a soothing voice. “And in the meantime, he will suffer quite a lot.”

  Paul grunted. Then he pointed his crucifix at the possessed, who was still chained to the bed, eyes wide. “What about him?”

  Astarte looked over at the possessed, her face neutral. “What about him?” she asked.

  “The penalty for forcibly possessing a mortal,” he said, “is destruction.”

  Astarte continued to look at Asmodeus. He looked back at her through the mortal frame that held him prisoner. His eyes were now dark and deep and empty, like the night sky.

  “Will you let him speak for a moment?” she asked P
aul.

  Paul’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded curtly, then made the sign of the cross and said, “Speak, Asmodeus.”

  Astarte walked over to the bed. “Well, Asmodeus?” she asked. “Will you follow Philotanus into oblivion?”

  “Does it matter?” asked Asmodeus. “I see now what this was. They knew you were on to their operation here. I was bait to draw you out. I was expendable, expected to fail. But why? I have faithfully served His Grace. I have done everything in my power to earn his favor.”

  “You know why,” she said, almost gently. “Belial will never truly accept you.”

  “Because of what I once was,” Asmodeus said hollowly. “A halfbreed.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I sacrificed my mortal side,” he said, his eyes screwing up with anguish. “I destroyed half of myself. Can there be any worse torment?”

  “Belial’s hatred for halfbreeds is endless. No amount of suffering on your part will ever satisfy him.”

  He nodded. “And yet, what else could I do? If I had not tried to appease him, he would have killed me outright.” He closed his eyes. “No matter what I do, I can never escape what I am. I have tried, and I have failed. Worse, I have defiled myself beyond repair. My existence is bereft of meaning. Let your avenger destroy me. It makes no difference to the universe.”

  Astarte looked at him for a moment. “Perhaps you are mistaken,” she said at last. “Perhaps you still have tasks to complete.” She turned to Paul. “Spare him. For me.”

  Paul’s eyes widened. His mouth set hard, as if he was in pain. The hand that held the crucifix tensed up and the blade quivered. Then he took a deep breath and nodded.

  “For you,” he said quietly. “Anything.”

  He wiped his blade on the bedsheet, slid it back into its sheath, then walked to the other side of the bed.

  Asmodeus looked to Paul on his left and Astarte on his right, his expression baffled.

  “I give you your life, Asmodeus,” said Astarte. “A day will come when you will be able to repay this debt. Until then, bide your time and serve your cruel master as best you can.”

  “I do not understand,” said Asmodeus.

  “Oh?” said Astarte, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps you understand better than anyone.” She held his gaze for a moment and something passed between them.

  “No!” he said. “You—”

  “Yes,” said Astarte calmly.

  He stared up at her, his face merely a frame for those bottomless eyes. “I feel your sorrow,” he said at last.

  “I feel no sorrow,” she said firmly. Defiantly. “I feel joy.”

  An expression of awe slowly grew on the possessed’s face.

  “Can such a thing be? Can your heart be so bold?”

  “Of course.”

  He looked up at the ceiling, and a strange little smile formed on the possessed’s lips. “Astarte, you have given me something more rare than my life this day. You have given me hope.”

  “There will be many dark times ahead,” she said. “Remember that hope. Keep it close.”

  “Always,” he said.

  Paul looked back and forth between them, his eyes narrowed.

  “Please release him now, my love,” Astarte said.

  Paul nodded curtly, leaned over, and laid his hand on the possessed’s forehead.

  “Swear that you will never possess another mortal man or woman,” he said.

  “I swear,” said Asmodeus.

  “I release you,” Paul said.

  The possessed convulsed, then fell unconscious. A fine mist coalesced above Emile’s head. For a moment, Asmodeus appeared in his true form—a creature with three heads: man, ram, and bull. He bowed in thanks first to Paul, then to Astarte.

  Then his form dissipated.

  “What was all that about?” asked Paul.

  She looked at him then in that way she had, her fierce green demon eyes piercing down to his soul. It stripped away all the safeguards he held up during the fight. She disarmed his heart until he stood before her, the same man who had thrown himself off a cliff because he loved her too much. Still holding his gaze, she walked slowly around the bed until she stood in front of him.

  She held out her hands and he took them immediately in his.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  It hung there in a silence that stretched on for a long time.

  Then Poujean, off in the corner, cleared his throat. “Would it be appropriate to offer my congratulations?”

  “Of course it would,” said Astarte. Her eyes were still locked on Paul’s, and there was a vulnerability in them that he had never seen before.

  “Part demon, part mortal,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “A halfbreed.”

  “Forbidden by Hell,” he said. “And Heaven.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “They will hunt us,” he said.

  “Yes, they will,” she said.

  “They will kill us,” he said.

  “They will try,” she said.

  He slowly knelt down and pressed his forehead to her stomach.

  “You will see,” she said, stroking his hair. “This is our destiny. This child will set right that which has been wrong for so many centuries now.”

  “I love you,” he whispered. “Nothing else matters.”

  A DATE AND DESTINY 7

  “Ms. thompson! study hall is for work, not sleep!”

  Jael jerks awake, Father Aaron’s voice ringing in her ears.

  She mutters an apology as she massages the indentation on her cheek from her geometry book. Another one of those visions.

  Or memories. Whatever they are. She wasn’t even aware of falling asleep this time. One minute she was studying isosceles triangles, the next she was watching her dad chop a demon to pieces.

  Her hand touches the gem that hangs around her neck and again she wonders what it is and where it came from. Hell, like she told Father Ralph? She said it more to freak him out than because she believed it. But is it really such a stretch? And why is it the one thing her mother made her father promise to give her? Maybe these visions she’s been having are supposed to happen. Maybe it’s what her mother wanted.

  For the rest of the afternoon, she can’t shake the gruesome visuals the necklace showed her. First that fish monster in that place with the giant clamshells. Then her parents, clearly in love, and killing demons together. In a weird kind of way, it’s like a dream come true. She’s always wanted to know more about her mother. And seeing her father as a badass exorcist mage (or whatever that Haitian guy called him) definitely explains a lot about the way he is. She wishes she could have known him back then. Of course, she wishes she could have known her mother at all.

  “Hey, Betty! Wait up!”

  She’s just leaving school after the last bell when she hears Rob’s voice. She turns and sees Rob standing at the top of the steps with some of his skater buddies. He waves to her, then pulls his board from the strap on his backpack, jumps, lands the board on the stair handrailing, and slides down.

  “Mr. McKinley!” yells Father Aaron from his post by the door. “Not on school property!”

  “Sorry, Father,” calls Rob over his shoulder as he lands at the bottom of the steps next to Jael.

  “Wow,” says Jael. “Um, hey.”

  Rob kicks the board up and catches it with one hand, then brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Hey,” he says, “you doing anything?”

  Jael stares at him for a moment. “What, like right now?”

  “Sure, right now.”

  “Uh, no,” she says. “Not really.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, you wanna . . . uh, hang out?”

  “Hang out?” repeats Jael. “Like, you and me?”

  “Yeah, you know,” says Rob. “A buddy of mine just started working the dinner shift at Denny’s. He can score us some free grub, as long as we don’t care what it is. Just, whatever’s easy for him to make extra of without people noticing.”

>   “Free dinner at Denny’s?” Why is she unable to say something even remotely intelligent right now?

  “Well, it’s not fancy or anything, but I thought, you know . . .”

  He tries to smile again but this time there’s a hint of nervousness to it. “I mean, if you don’t like Denny’s, we could do something else.”

  “No,” says Jael. “Denny’s sounds just about perfect.”

  She smiles, and that wipes the nervousness away from his smile.

  “Excellent,” he says.

  The Denny’s is just like any other: thin green carpet, brown Formica tables, and bright fluorescent lighting that still makes the place seem dim somehow. Jael and Rob sit in a corner booth and sip burnt coffee. Even though they’ve talked a thousand times at school, it feels completely different to be off school grounds, sitting across from him in the cramped booth. A tingle of nervousness runs through her, and she’s glad she has the comforting weight of the necklace against her skin.

  A guy with a buzz cut and dressed in a Denny’s apron comes over. Jael’s seen him climbing out of one of the many expensive SUVs in the school parking lot.

  “Yo, Robbie!” says the guy as he leans across the table and clasps Rob’s hand.

  “Chas!” says Rob. “I’m feelin’ that apron, bro!”

  “I know, right?” says Chas. “It’s totally hot.”

  “I’m gonna have to borrow it sometime,” says Rob.

  “No way, man. This shit is Denny’s employees only. We have to take a blood oath. Like the Masons.”

  “Sounds serious,” says Rob.

  “Totally. So, you finally decided to take me up on my offer, huh?”

  “Finally? It’s only been two weeks.”

  “For free grub? I would have jumped on that in, like, two days.”

  “Yeah, well . . . ,” says Rob. “Hey, do you know Jael?”

  “I have not had the pleasure,” says Chas. He turns to her and grins in a weird way, like he knows something. “I’m Chas.”

  “Thanks for the food hookup,” says Jael.

  “All right, folks,” says Chas. “You just chill and act like whatever I bring you is something you ordered. Let the feasting begin!”