Chapter XII

The next morning Morgan and the corporal reconvened at the address listed on the exorcist’s business card, a squarish two-storey block of weary concrete wedged between two younger buildings – it might have been pretty once but the place now lay worn and outdated. The rest of fourteenth was much the same, newer attractions – casinos and bars and the like – growing around the corpses of their predecessors in an effort to attract new clientele.

Jude’s apartment garnered anything but attention. Morgan suspected the exorcist had erected a perception filter around the entrance, a barrier of either tech or magic that skewed the eye and attention, made it hard to see the building unless you knew where it was and what you were looking for. When he turned from the block, the light bent and distorted strangely in the corner of his eye.

‘A barrier?’ Morgan asked, the cold wind whipping his hair around his face. It was getting long, the curls just on the edge of becoming unruly.

Shalia adjusted the XT’s, pushing a button on the side of the lenses. ‘Perception filter. Barely legal by the looks of it.’

‘We can’t have that now, can we?’ Morgan took the steps in a single bound and gripped the silver knocker, a cherubic angel with a wide metal ring in its chubby-cheeked mouth.

And yelped, the metal scorching skin. The knocker fell back to the wood with a resolute thud as Morgan swore. When he glanced down, a few good layers of skin had been singed off the pads of his fingers before the flesh scabbed and healed over with a hiss. ‘Ow.’

‘You alright?’ Shalia inspected the cherub knocker – a lot less angelic than it looked – with the end of a ballpoint pen.

Morgan sucked a finger though the wounds were long gone. ‘I’ll live. Maybe try the door?’

‘And no longer have knuckles?’

‘I think it’ll be fine if you do it.’

She shrugged and grabbed the knocker. They waited on tense breath, then…nothing.

‘I thought fairies hated iron,’ he said.

Shalia knocked, then took a step back, fingers brushing the butt of her Austere. ‘It’s not iron, it’s silver. And pure iron is rare in Joudai.’

They waited in the chill. Morgan couldn’t hear or smell anything unusual from behind the door, but after two minutes the jangle and click of several locking mechanisms came from the wood, and the sliding of metal chains and the scrape of fingers scrabbling for purchase. This went on for some time until, with an ominous creak, the door slowly, slowly inched open.

‘Now’s not a good time, friends.’

Jude – at least, Morgan guessed this was the fabled theurgist – was tall, almost as tall as he was though not as broad. He was human, for the most part, brown hair long and pulled back in a loose ponytail, stray whisps framing around high cheekbones set in a rather handsome face of deep brown skin and pewter eyes, the pupils black and thin and growing thinner in the light like a cat woken from sleep. Expensive cologne wafting through the open doorway barely concealed the smell of sage and yarrow and other exotic spices Morgan couldn’t name, and something darker, acrid: the stink of evil.

‘I’m afraid it’s urgent,’ said Shalia.

Jude looked from the corporal to Morgan, then back into the building.

‘YOU COCK-SUCKING MOTHERFUCKER I’LL RIP OUT YOUR HEART YOU –’

Jude inched the door closed, as though that would stop the steady stream of profanities from echoing into the street. ‘As you can, erm, see, I’m quite busy at the moment. If you’ll excuse me –’

Morgan knew a salesman’s smile when he saw it. He gripped the edge of the door – curiosity had its claws in him more than his duty as an officer. Jude’s cat eyes narrowed but he didn’t have the strength to contest.

‘Busy doing what?’ Morgan tried to see around the exorcist but Jude moved to block his view. ‘Are you, uh, exorcising in there?’

‘FUCKER! GET BACK HERE AND FACE ME…!’

‘Something like that…’ Jude’s laugh rang almost pityingly hollow.

‘Can we watch?’

‘Lieutenant!’

‘Ow! I’ve never seen an exorcism. Well, actually. I did kind of perform one once but it doesn’t count –’

‘Sir.’

‘Alright! Fine.’ Morgan fished his bureau badge from within his coat. Jude snatched it out of his hand and squinted as he read, heedless to the string of insults being hurled at his back.

‘A lieutenant?’ He looked Morgan up and down. ‘Aren’t you too young? Guess I have no choice. Come in, I suppose. I work better with an audience.’ Warmth and the stink of spice buffeted the pair’s faces as Jude ushered them inside. Of its own accord, the door slid closed at their backs, trapping them within quite a strange tableau.

Jude was an astute decorator. Furniture of wicker and oak, hardwood floors – likely more for function than taste since exorcism had to be a messy business – and an abundance of plants, both living and dead – including dried herbs used for some hermetic purpose or other – made up Jude’s work-slash-living space. It reminded Morgan of the Balmaris family home, except Jude was a lot better at hiding his proclivities from the public eye – a showman as much as he was a priest. Books were everywhere to be found, barely contained in tasteful shelves or stacked neatly on pinewood desks, the more pertinent ones open, their pages spread with the aid of gemstones and other holy curios used in the banishment of demons.

At least, this is perhaps what Jude had intended for his living space.

Currently, those same books and papers were flying around the room beside religious paraphernalia that threatened to clock someone over the head. Leaves and dirt whirled within a tornado in miniature in the middle of the living room, all trapped within a five-pointed pentagram burned into the floorboards. And at its core a woman, bound to a chair with rope that dug into skin, screaming murder from a mouth that flung bloody spittle.

As Jude neared the pentagram the woman’s head turned, her eyes as black as midnight, no whites to be seen. ‘HE’S RETURNED…!’ she snarled, flashing straight, bloody teeth. ‘COME TO TRY AGAIN?’

Jude spared both her and the tornado barely a glance. He gestured to the dining table, where the chairs rattled from an eldritch wind beneath the table’s surface. ‘Care to take a seat?’

Shalia crossed her arms over her chest, inching closer to Morgan’s shoulder. ‘No, thank you. I’m good right here.’

‘Ditto,’ said Morgan, eyeing a rose quartz that whizzed by dangerously close to his ear.

Jude shrugged. ‘Suit yourselves. Careful with the whole…’ He gestured vaguely around the disaster unfolding around them. ‘High chance of hail today.’

‘COME CLOSER…!’ the bound woman screeched.

When Jude smiled it was ravishing, lopsided and feline, a dimple dotting one cheek. ‘You’d like that wouldn’t you, Merihem?’

The colour drained from the possessed woman’s face.

‘Oh yes,’ goaded the exorcist as he snatched a beaker from a table nearby. ‘I know your name. I know where you’re from too, and I know for a fact that you don’t belong here.’ He rummaged around in a draw, crushing the dried herbs he discovered between his fingers and stuffing it in the bottom of the beaker. As the tornado swirled past, Jude snatched a small vial from the wind, pulled the cork with his teeth and tipped the whole thing into the brew before rejoining the pair.

‘Spit into this, would you, sweetheart?’

Shalia furrowed her brow but leaned down to do as he asked.

Jude danced out of reach. ‘Not you.’ He placed the beaker, the contents black as sludge and smelling foul, beneath Morgan’s nose.

Morgan could barely contain his amusement. Meeting the exorcist’s feline gaze, he spat into the sludge, the saliva sinking and turning the brew an intoxicating red and gold.

‘That’ll do in a pinch,’ said Jude, sending a wink Morgan’s way.

As the exorcist stood before the pentagram, long hair flying, Merihem began to panic, thrashing and contorting in its bindings, spittle flying. ‘YOU CANNOT CROSS THE CIRCLE YOU COCKROACH!’ the demon screamed. ‘YOU’LL BE TORN TO SHREDS!’

Jude lifted a carefully manicured brow. ‘Will I?’

And he chugged the witch’s brew in a single gulp. With gold still dripping from his chin, the exorcist put fingers to lips and blew, much like a child blowing up a balloon – except from between his fingers emerged a torrent of white-hot flame. The fire quickly engulfed the tornado of wind and debris, flame mingling with wind until the fire swallowed the air and consumed itself, vanishing to leave Jude’s belongings, unburned, crashing to the ground without the magic to keep it suspended.

Merihem’s jaw lay ajar, black eyes wide, too stunned to hurl insults. Jude took the lapse in the demon’s focus to cross the pentagram and into the creature’s domain. Placing his hands on the woman’s shoulders, the exorcist leaned in close and began to whisper in its ear.

Wasn’t he worried about being bitten? wondered Morgan as foreign words drifted on Merihem’s heavy breaths, growing more laboured with each word. He didn’t know what the words meant or even the language, but he felt rather than knew the undercurrent of meaning. It twisted his guts into knots, set his teeth on edge, sent a ringing in his ears and a headache pulsing in his head. Holy words used to deter and banish evil. It reached into the very core of darkness that prowled around his heart and shook it loose.

Stolen story; please report.

Morgan couldn’t imagine how effective it would be on a demon, a creature unfiltered by humanity as he was.

‘YOU…CAN’T…THIS BODY IS MINE! I WORKED FOR IT!’

Jude’s Joudean held a foreign melody, too used to speaking holy words: ‘And it’s time you let it go.’

Merihem thrashed. ‘NO! SHE’S MINE! SHE’S MINE!’

Jude’s chanting grew louder and more desperate, his alien words and the demon’s struggling to be heard over the other.

The headache at Morgan’s temples grew in strength. When he touched the sudden warmth above his lips, his fingers came away bloody.

The demon began to cry. Tears as black as its eyes, its gaze wide and terrified so that for a moment it looked almost human.

Jude, in a low and gentle whisper, like a lover to a dying companion: ‘It’s time you returned to Runeja.’ And he kissed Merihem on the lips with true affection, love and pity for the suffering, tears in his own kohl-lined eyes.

Merihem – or the woman that housed Merihem inside her – stiffened, head tilted back, veins and tendons standing out on her neck in very visible pain, foam forming at the mouth. She shuddered once, twice, then slumped forward. Unconscious.

Hiding his face from view, Jude dabbed at the tears on his cheek. When he turned around that showman’s smile returned, although there was no hiding the smeared eyeliner or the dark circles. ‘Show’s over.’

His headache and nausea easing, Morgan wiped the blood from his nose with a thumb and licked it clean. ‘Wow,’ was all he managed.

‘Ridiculous!’ exclaimed Shalia, crossing the room to kneel by the newly exorcised woman. She glared at the exorcist. ‘Was the theatrics really necessary? You should have called the bureau for this.’

Jude barked a laugh. ‘And then what? Those idiots at the bureau don’t know a demon from a shifter. They’d rather put her away somewhere then deal with the problem. And anyway,’ he rummaged around inside the pocket of a coat hanging on the back of a chair at the dining table, producing a steel badge that looked remarkably similar to Morgan’s own. He dangled it before the corporal’s nose. ‘I have a private license. Everything I’m doing is perfectly legal.’

Shalia scowled, palm pressed to the woman’s forehead as golden light shined from between her fingers.

‘You heard the man, corporal.’ Morgan sniffed, the tang of his own blood – acidic and dark – heavy on his tongue. Jude began to tidy the lounge, and with the corporal occupied with the woman Morgan had little else to do but help.

As he steadied a stack of gathered books on the dining table, he asked, ‘Is it always like this?’

Brushing dirt into a pile, Jude shook his head. ‘No, not always. True exorcisms are rare. When it rains, as they say. You just caught me at a bad time. I’m sorry about the nose.’

‘No big deal. I’m not dead. I think. Why’d you need the spit?’

‘Hmm, hard to say to the uninitiated. I needed a fire-based component for the spell and you just happened to walk through my door.’

‘Fire-based? But how…’

Jude stretched his arms over his head, looking very feline. ‘Oh, my house is warded to the teeth, sweetheart. Nothing passes over the welcome mat without me knowing why it’s there and where it came from. I know your partner over there is both a fae and carries a bureau badge. And I could smell the lovely Miss Rafaella on you – rest her damned soul, wherever it is Vorvintti go when they die. The perfect ingredient for a fire spell.’

‘So you’re some kind of…wizard exorcist?’ Morgan took a seat at the dining table, the exorcism from earlier still ringing in his ears and messing with his sense of balance.

Jude laughed and joined him. ‘Most exorcists dabble in magecraft. Would be pretty hard to banish demons with strength of faith alone, though it does happen. Miss Fairy, care to join us?’

The corporal peered over her shoulder. The woman was looking better; Shalia had freed her from her bonds and had placed her on the sofa with Morgan’s help, a blanket draped over her. Colour had returned to the woman’s face and her breathing was no longer laboured.

‘Alright,’ said Shalia cautiously as she joined them.

Jude continued, ‘I’m guessing you didn’t come here for the show.’

‘No, we didn’t,’ Shalia replied. ‘We need your help with a case.’

‘A case, hmm? What type of criminal requires a theurgist, my dear? Why not go to the Patrol?’

Shalia shot Morgan a narrow-eyed glance. ‘This is a personal matter.’

Morgan leaned back, hands on the back of his head. ‘Ling told us to stop by. Said you might be able to help us out. You know him?’

Jude pursed his pretty lips. ‘Do I ever…Slimy little man, but I’m not one to judge. I don’t agree with the way he treats the fighters – they’re just tools to make him money. Some of the possessed – most of them, really – don’t get a choice. Locked out of the system and flying under the bureau’s radar.’

Morgan took a steadying breath, working up to the main topic. ‘And do you know any of them? The fighters, I mean.’

‘I might,’ Jude said slowly, cautiously. ‘Who did you have in mind?’

‘Red Wrath.’

The exorcist sucked in a breath. Without a word he scraped the chair back and ventured into the kitchen, returning with three glasses and a bottle of brandy from which he filled their cups without waiting for approval. He tipped his own glass back and swallowed the liquor in a single gulp, immediately pouring a second shot. ‘Wrathy boy. Yeah, I know him. Kind of infamous in exorcist circles, really, but not for what you might expect.’

Morgan tilted his glass, watching the gold liquid pool on the bottom, before taking a sip. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Well, he went around asking how to become possessed, not how to stop. That isn’t unusual. Plenty of idiots go around looking for power and don’t mind too much how they get it. Wrathy, oh, he was different. It’s taboo among our, hmm, our creed, I guess you could call it, to tell one of the uninitiated where and how to make a demon contract. We don’t want the JNDB sniffing around our business – no offense.’

Shalia sniffed her drink but didn’t take a sip. ‘None taken…’

‘But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Just kept bouncing from exorcist to exorcist until some of them started winding up dead. I’m guessing someone finally cracked. Everyone’s been real quiet since, ‘til Wrath started working for Reggie and that bastard Ling. I’m surprised Ling told you about me. He’s not usually so cooperative.’

‘He wasn’t,’ said Morgan. ‘I’m very persuasive.’

Jude poured another glass for Morgan and himself. The corporal’s remained untouched. ‘Most Vorvintti are, I believe. I hope you didn’t have to hurt him too much. For all his faults, Ling is a good client of mine and an excellent source of information.’

‘Just a scratch.’

‘Cheers to that, darling.’ Jude toasted in Morgan’s direction then took another sip, brown lips wet by the liquor. Morgan smothered his smile with the rim of the glass.

‘It’s a little early to be drinking,’ noted Shalia, brows furrowed and arms crossed.

‘Time is a matter of perspective, my dear. And what of your nocturnal friend? Going to tell him it’s too early to be drinking?’

‘The lieutenant can do what he wants.’

‘Is that so?’ said Morgan. ‘Then I’m honoured you care so much for my health, corporal. A toast to you as well.’

Shalia slammed her palms on the table, frustration boiling over. ‘Can you help us or not?’

Jude lifted an eyebrow. ‘Of course. Just tell me what it is exactly you want me to do.’

Morgan hurried to diffuse the growing tension. What had Shalia so angry he had no idea, but they wouldn’t get the exorcist’s help if they continued like this. ‘We had a fight with Wrath. It wasn’t much of one though. He came after my family personally, so I’m guessing he has a grudge against me. The problem is that when we fought, we were pretty much evenly matched –’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ interjected Shalia, regaining control. ‘I think it was a lot worse for you than him. He’d already been worn down by Rhiley and the others before we got there. Plus, he knew how to immobilise you. I think the next time Wrath might have a better strategy. If you come across him a second time without preparation first, you might be seriously hurt. Or, more likely, dead.’

Jude whistled. ‘I’m surprised you lived at all, to be honest. Wrathy’s killed even skilled exorcists, and they had magic on their side. But then, they weren’t me. Anything else?’

‘We need you to help us come up with a way to stop Wrath’s fire demon,’ the corporal explained. ‘What its weaknesses are, how we might fight it, maybe even exorcise it. Whatever information you have would be appreciated.’

Jude swirled the remaining liquor in the bottom of his glass, lost in thought, before he asked, ‘And you won’t go to the Patrol because this is a personal matter?’

‘That’s right,’ said Morgan. ‘Though we are technically on this case. Bringing Wrath in should be enough. Doesn’t matter how it’s done.’

‘Heh, typical bureau. Don’t much care for the methods, do they? As long as they get what they want in the end.’

Morgan shrugged, inching his jacket sleeve up to reveal the Tape bracer beneath that glowed yellow and red – the ultimate representation of the bureau’s will to put aside all faults to justify their ends. Jude pursed his lips, holding something back. When Morgan attempted to search his thoughts, he found the exorcist’s mind abruptly walled – not silent, like the corporal, but a physical presence he could feel and touch but not breach, the whisper of thoughts concealed behind it. Jude watched him carefully.

‘My thoughts are my own, sweetheart. You’ll have to do better if you want to hear them sing.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t –’

Jude waved him off. ‘Don’t worry about it. Happens a lot in my profession. Information, hmm? I’ll do you one better. I’ll help you kill – sorry, arrest the sonofabitch.’

Shalia, tense: ‘We can’t afford something like that! Even if we report it as a necessary expense –’

‘And just what has Ling told you, my dear? That my services are worth hundreds and thousands of cen?’

‘Not in those words but…’

‘He’d say that, just because it cost him that much. I just didn’t like the little shit. For the both of you…’ He looked them over lazily, almost salaciously, ever the salesman. ‘A favour. Of my choosing and when I see fit for it to be delivered.’

Shalia paled. ‘You can’t – you can’t do that. That’s too much. It could be anything, even our lives.’

‘My dear,’ Jude clicked his tongue, ‘just because that is the custom among the fae doesn’t mean it’s my custom. I didn’t ask for your names, and you were smart enough, maybe by habit, to not to take a drink?’

The corporal peered down at her untouched glass. ‘Yes, but –’

‘I promise the favour will be something you’re capable of doing. It won’t be something outrageous. You have my word.’

Morgan crossed his arms. ‘A favour? That’s it?’

Shalia shook her head. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t take deals like this lightly. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Listen to her, she knows her stuff. Unless you think you can take the favour on yourself? You might have a better chance of surviving than her.’

‘Is that a threat?’ the corporal demanded, getting to her feet, hand reaching for the gun concealed beneath her jacket.

‘Deal.’

‘Morgan – lieutenant! This isn’t right! We can go to another exorcist. Or even the Patrol! Call this whole thing off. We’ve done enough.’

Morgan got to his feet as well and put a placating hand on her shoulder. ‘You know I can’t do that. We need his help. And anyway, how many other exorcists will work for this cheap?’ He attempted a wink but she wasn’t having it. His charm fell flat with a shake of her head.

‘You don’t know what you’ve done,’ she said. ‘Cheap? A favour can be priceless if it’s the right one.’

This made Morgan frown. Before he could dwell on it though, Jude clapped his hands, as though clearing the tension from the atmosphere through the motion alone.

‘My dear corporal, you have nothing to worry about. I’m happy to help. Wrathy killed a few of my closest friends in the business. This is almost as personal for me as it is for your lieutenant.’

Shalia took a steadying breath – Morgan could see her lips count to ten. ‘…Fine. You have a license, so I suppose it’s okay if you tag along. When are you next available to discuss a plan of action?’

Jude got to his feet and stretched, the dark circles beneath his cat eyes more pronounced than ever. He gestured around the house, still not entirely spotless. ‘I’ve still got a bit of cleaning up to do, and, despite what many would think, I need a break. The magic took a lot out of me. Anytime tomorrow is fine, I suppose. Tonight, I’m occupied.’

Shalia nodded, all businesslike once again, venom forgotten in the wake of action. ‘Okay. We’ll be back tomorrow, around noon?’

‘Better make it later,’ suggested Jude with a yawn.

‘Fine. Thanks for the drink.’ The corporal turned to leave and Morgan followed close behind. Before he could get to the door however Jude tapped him on the shoulder.

‘May I borrow your lieutenant for a moment?’ asked the exorcist as Shalia pulled open the door, frigid wintry air stinging their faces.

She shrugged. ‘Sure.’

As the corporal crossed the threshold Jude murmured in a low, conspiratorial whisper, ‘I’m afraid that favour can’t wait. I need your help with something – tonight, if you’re free. You don’t have to let your corporal know.’

Morgan pondered that, turning the phrase over and over in his mind and trying to glean its true meaning. ‘Do you…not want me to bring her?’

Jude’s grey cat eyes sparkled. ‘That’s up to you, sweetheart.’

Morgan felt the first prickling of heat creep up his neck. He didn’t think it was the brandy.

‘Then I won’t.’