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  Jared took an extra screwdriver from the toolbox and helped her. “Miss Madigan, right?”

  “Just Faith.”

  “Think you can take a break? We came a long way to talk to you.” Alara leaned against the wall, looking unimpressed.

  “And you would be?”

  “Just Alara.”

  Elle waved. “Hi. I’m Elle.”

  I took a deep breath. Telling her my name made the fact that I was standing in front of my father’s sister feel more real. “I’m—”

  “Kennedy.” She stopped digging through the box. “I was there the day you were born.”

  For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. How many times had she seen me before? Were she and my mom close? “I have a picture of my dad and me in front of this house. But I don’t remember you.”

  “You were young the last time I saw you. Maybe five or six.”

  “Five. I was five.” Certain things stay with you, like how old you were the last time you saw your father. “Why haven’t I seen you since?”

  Faith hauled a box of batteries out of the closet. “I was in hiding, and your father had—”

  “Ditched me by then.”

  Faith’s expression clouded over. “Alex did what he had to do.”

  Tears pricking my eyes, but she had already turned back to whatever it was she was doing.

  Lukas noticed my reaction and jumped in. “We didn’t come here to fill out the missing branches of Kennedy’s family tree. There’s something you need to know. Except for you, we’re all that’s left of the Legion.”

  “The other four—our family members—all died on the same night two months ago,” Alara added.

  “And my mom,” I said.

  “Why Elizabeth? Kennedy’s mother wasn’t part of the Legion.” The way Faith emphasized every word made the idea sound unthinkable.

  “The demon made a mistake,” Lukas said, covering for his brother.

  Jared stared at his hands. No one except Lukas and I knew that Jared’s innocent search for the Legion members had led Andras right to their doors. Any mention of our dead family members seemed physically painful for him.

  After what I’d done, I finally understood the weight of that kind of guilt. The way one mistake could feel like ten thousand. I carried that feeling with me every minute of every day.

  Priest pulled at the strings of his gray hoodie. “It was an execution. And Andras’ vengeance spirits have been hunting us ever since.”

  “That’s why we came,” I said. “We need your help.”

  Faith looked back at us. “Listen to me. You don’t know what you’re up against. This is a fight you can’t win. Split up and disappear like I did. Before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late.” I let the truth spill out before I could change my mind. “Andras is free.”

  She shook her head, dismissing the idea. “It’s easy to mistake a demonic entity for the demon himself. Andras can’t break free from the prison holding him. It’s not easy to explain, but there are safeguards in place.”

  “You mean the Shift?” Priest took out his journal and flipped to the diagram.

  Faith stepped closer. “I’ve never seen it before, only a piece.”

  “The one you gave Darien Shears?” Lukas asked.

  She turned around slowly. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “From Darien’s spirit. We had a little run-in with him at West Virginia State Penitentiary.” Alara studied my aunt, measuring her reaction. “He told us a woman gave him the cylinder—the last piece of the Shift—and asked him to keep it safe.”

  “Shears said it was his chance at redemption,” Lukas said.

  My aunt stared at them in shock.

  “You and my grandmother were the only women in the Legion.” Alara took a step toward Faith. “You’re the woman who gave him the cylinder, aren’t you?”

  “There’s no way you would know about that unless you found it.” Her eyes went wild. “Where is it? You have no idea what that device can do.”

  I didn’t want to tell her the next part.

  “I assembled it.”

  8. THE BLOOD OF ANGELS

  Then Andras is free.” Faith slumped against the wall, her shoulders sagging. “And the clock is ticking.”

  “Until what?” Priest asked when she started to turn away.

  “He opens the Gates and invites the rest of the demons to his party up here.” Faith stifled a bitter laugh.

  “So how do we stop him?” Jared asked.

  She took a deep breath and rubbed her neck. “Andras isn’t some vengeance spirit you can destroy with salt rounds. He is a marquis of hell. The incarnation of evil. He’s everywhere and nowhere, and he will find us.”

  “With all five members of the Legion, we stand a chance,” Priest said.

  Faith gave him a strange look. “You honestly believe I even the odds against a demon?”

  Lukas slipped his journal out of his jacket. “My dad always talked about how much stronger the Legion would be if all five members were together.”

  She shook her head. “And you think that means we have some kind of superpowers?”

  “Of course not.” Lukas frowned.

  Faith sighed. “When all five Legion members are together, they can raise a protective barrier. Priests used grimoric magic and seals to protect themselves from evil for centuries. The barrier is an extension of that principle. It can’t help us hurt Andras. It keeps him from hurting us.”

  “That’s it?” Priest picked at the silver duct tape on his headphones. “The five of us get together and it makes what—a force field?”

  “I’m sorry you thought it meant something else. But we aren’t talking about catching a stray dog and delivering it to the pound. Faith stopped pacing and looked him in the eye. “Do you know your Legion history? What happened the night our ancestors in the Legion summoned Andras?”

  “Marcus Lockhart drew the Devil’s Trap. But he screwed it up somehow, and they lost control of Andras.” Priest sounded like someone tired of recounting the story one too many times. “We know everything, except the part about what happened to the angel.”

  My aunt stiffened. “Your families certainly didn’t tell you much.”

  Alara hooked a thumb under the edge of her leather tool belt. “Then why don’t you fill us in?”

  Faith slipped back inside the hidden closet behind the bookshelf, and came out carrying a brown leather-bound book embossed in gold.

  “Is that your journal?” Alara sounded hopeful.

  Faith dismissed the possibility with a wave of her hand. “Of course not. Someone who’s been running as long as I have knows better than to keep anything important with them. This book belonged to my father, the Legion member who trained me. The journal he inherited was in terrible condition, so he transcribed the older entries into this book. He died before he finished, but he did transcribe the most important entry—the one from the night Andras was summoned.”

  Priest’s eyes widened, and Alara looked like she was holding her breath. The story none of them knew—the missing puzzle pieces—were written on the pages in my aunt’s hand.

  “What exactly were you told?” Faith asked.

  “My journal has an entry about the plan.” Lukas held it up.

  Jared shoved his hands in his pockets. “The one in mine was written after everything went bad. A lot of stuff about unleashing the beast and Marcus taking the blame for whatever happened to the angel. He said her blood was on their hands.”

  “Which makes it sound like she died that night,” Alara said.

  Elle gave her a strange look. “Angels can’t die.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever met one?” Alara shot back.

  Faith rested the book on one of the taller stacks scattered throughout the room.

  “You should read it for yourselves. There’s nothing more dangerous than going to war without knowing your enemy.”

  15th December 1776
/>   Nathaniel Madigan

  As I write this, I fear God will not forgive us for what we have done. I know I will never forgive myself. But our errors on this night must be recorded, even if our sins cannot be forgiven.

  With only candlelight to guide him, it is no surprise Markus’ hand betrayed him. Julian read from the Grimorie, and all five of us spoke the words to summon the beast. In my darkest dreams, I had never imagined seeing the true face of evil—a creature that was not man nor beast, but something between the two.

  Markus had already prepared the angelic summoning circle, and we called the angel, Anarel, to control the beast. She appeared, her tattered wings reaching out like crooked fingers on an old woman’s hand. Anarel’s ferocity rivaled that of the beast himself. With features cut from the finest stone, she did not resemble the winged protectors painted on the ceilings of the city’s wealthiest churches. She seemed as angry to be called as Andras had been, when he first appeared. But unlike the angel, the marquis of hell was amused.

  Julian spoke first, facing the beast without fear. “Andras, Author of Discords, we call you to do our bidding in the name of his holy father. We command you to seek out the men who call themselves the Illuminati and—”

  The demon laughed. “You dare to call me and command me? I command six thousand legions in the Labyrinth, and you stand before me, five men, and this”—he faced the angel with disdain—“cast off, as if she has the power to control me?”

  The angel showed no emotion as she responded to the beast before her. “This would not be the first time I have commanded you, Andras. Or the first time you have bent to my will.”

  In that moment, all things happened at once.

  Andras crossed the line enclosing the circle and looked into Markus’ eyes.

  Then he stepped inside our friend’s body, as Markus’ chest expanded, as though he were taking a deep breath. His back stiffened, and he stood straighter than any man I had ever seen.

  When Andras had filled him, Markus turned toward the angel, cracking his neck as though his bones were stiff from days of sleep. The demon’s shining ebony eyes replaced Markus’ green ones.

  Markus opened his mouth, but the voice that spoke to us was not his own. “I should thank you all for inviting me into this world. The Devil’s Labyrinth has become crowded, with fewer souls to harvest. I prefer my space.” He turned to Anarel, whose terrifying and tattered wings flickered in and out of view like a candle flame.

  She drew a sword from her belt, clear in places and stained with dark streaks in others. “Killing you will be a great honor. One for which I will be greatly rewarded.”

  Konstantin stepped forward, his rosary and Bible in hand. “He is an innocent, possessed by the darkest of evil. You are an angel, a messenger of God.”

  Anarel’s tattered wings rippled in the candlelight, and she faced Konstantin with the same disdain she had shown the demon. “A messenger? That is what you believe me to be? I am a soldier for a father you do not know. My loyalty is to Him, not to you. Soon enough, the sins of man will rival those of the demons in hell.” The angel raised her sword. “There are no innocents among you.”

  In futile desperation, Konstantin began to recite the rites of exorcism. Julian, who knew them by heart, ripped the crucifix from his own neck and joined him:

  “I cast you out, unclean spirit,

  along with every Satanic power of the enemy,

  every spectre from hell,

  and all your fell companions;

  in the name of our Lord.”

  In a flurry of actions, the angel lunged at the demon inside Markus’ body. Another blade, infinitely smaller, forged from steel and the hands of man, shot forth from Vincent’s hand.

  This ordinary blade cut through Anarel’s glistening chest plate.

  The angel seized, the shock passing across her face as she looked down at the dark pool gathering at her feet. Blood as black as coal soaked the floor of the church.

  Vincent dropped the dagger, as much from shock as horror.

  The man who killed an angel.

  It is the name they would give him in books written hundreds of years from now. Andras reared back his head, thrashing and jerking as Konstantin and Julian continued the rites, their voices unwavering in the face of the carnage.

  The angel held her wound with one hand and drew something from beneath her chest plate with the other. Anarel raised the object above her head, her wings hiding it. “From the gallows of hell you emerged, and in the prison between that world and this one, you shall reside. Command your legion there, Andras. The only way I would send you back to hell is skinned like the beasts that serve you.”

  A blinding light burned my eyes.

  “With this key, I open the door to your prison,” the angel said, pressing the wound, a pool of dark blood at her feet.

  A shrill sound ripped from Markus’ throat and pierced my eardrums.

  I turned my face away and covered my ears, knowing that if I ever survived this night, that sound would haunt my every waking hour.

  May the black dove always carry you—and us all.

  I closed the book and handed it back to my aunt. “Thanks for letting us read it.”

  “Unfortunately, that isn’t the end of the story.” Faith paced in front of us, stopping in exactly the same spot each time, before she turned and followed the same path back in the opposite direction.

  “OCD much?” Elle whispered.

  “The Legion went back to the Vatican that night. But after they lost control of Andras and failed to deliver the Illuminati members, the Vatican deemed them enemies of the Church. As ex-communicated priests, the Legion members were well versed on the way the Church dealt with its enemies. So they fled through the tunnels under Vatican City. But they didn’t leave empty-handed. They took the Diario di Demoni—the private journals of the Vatican’s exorcists.”

  “Exorcism records?” Alara asked. “Seems like a weird choice.”

  “Not weird. Smart.” Faith paced faster. “No one knew more about demons than the Catholic Church’s exorcists, and the Demoni was filled with their first-hand accounts.”

  “Were they trying to exorcize Andreas?” Elle asked.

  My aunt scowled at her.

  “It’s Andras,” Lukas whispered.

  Elle rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s not like he’s here to be offended.”

  Faith waited to make sure Elle didn’t have any more stupid questions, before she continued. “The Art of War: ‘To know your Enemy, you must become your enemy.’ If you want to destroy a demon, you have to know everything about them. Any exorcist will tell you that demons love to talk. One of their favorite topics? Hell.” She stopped pacing. “According to the Diario di Demoni, demons don’t want to live in hell any more than we do. They like it here.”

  Lukas shook his head. “More good news.”

  My aunt ignored him, lost in her own manic train of thought. “But when demons cross over, they aren’t strong enough to take their true forms.”

  “I don’t like where this is going,” Priest muttered under his breath.

  “Until they consume enough souls to regain their strength, demons need human bodies to posses.”

  “Consume?” Elle winced as she said it.

  “Demons feed off violence, so they entice people to kill or brutalize each other. If a person racks up enough sin, when they die—or kill themselves, which is often the case when the devil’s soldiers are involved—the demon consumes their soul.”

  I thought about the Boy Scout leader, who had killed his troop and the fireman, who set his neighbors’ homes on fire. In the last nineteen days, most of the mass murderers ended up killing themselves.

  Faith glanced at the canvases in the next room. “If Andras opens the Gates of hell, the people whose souls they don’t consume, or bodies they don’t use as temporary housing, will be enslaved or tortured for their amusement.”

  I envisioned my disturbing nightmares and the images in
Faith’s. “Our world will become the new hell.”

  Jared’s expression hardened. “I’m not okay with that.”

  “Unless you have a magic wand or the Vessel, you won’t have a say in the matter,” Faith said.

  “Where do we find this Vessel?” I asked.

  No one ever mentioned it before, which seemed strange. Jared, Lukas, Priest, and Alara listened, waiting for her answer.

  My aunt stared at us like we were idiots. “No idea. You’re the ones who lost it.”

  “She’s talking about the Shift,” Priest said.

  Faith threw up her hands. “Of course I am. And without it, there’s no way to stop Andras.”

  Lukas stepped in front of Faith before she could start pacing again. “How do we keep him from opening the Gates?”

  She stared at him for a long moment, sadness passing over the green eyes she shared with my father. “Once he gets strong enough, you can’t.”

  9. BULLETS AND BEAR TRAPS

  The closet door slammed behind Faith. Within seconds, the doors upstairs began slamming, one by one, like falling dominoes.

  Bear crouched at the base of the steps, barking.

  Faith raced to the windows and checked the salt lines. When she turned around, the blood had drained from her face. “None of them are broken.”

  Lukas yanked a paintball gun from the waistband of his jeans. Instead of paint, the casings inside were filled with Alara’s holy water cocktail. “I’ll check upstairs.”

  Alara followed him, taking the steps two at a time.

  Faith pointed a thin arm at the second landing. “Bear. Search.”

  The Doberman jumped the moment she gave the command.

  Priest watched the dog vault up the steps. “Where can I get a dog like that?”

  “Spend five years putting one through combat-training.” Faith hit a button on the wall with the side of her fist. The fire sprinklers above us hissed, and salt water rained down on us.

  The lights flickered, and the dead bolts on the front door started unlocking themselves from top to bottom, in rapid succession, and then locking again in reverse order.