Forty-Four Book Twelve (44 series 12) Read online

  I wasn’t sure where God stood when it came to our quest to destroy Nathaniel, but that didn’t mean we were necessarily all alone. Samael never mentioned anybody else, but sometimes I wondered. It didn’t make sense that it had been left up to just us to take down such a diabolical force. I hoped that Samael wasn’t putting all his eggs in one basket, that there were others like me that he was tutoring, tucked away in different hiding places until the time came.

  He glanced over, his blue eyes glistening in the sun. Gone was the canyon of dread that used to fill me when I saw him. Now I just felt a connection.

  “Hi, Samael,” I said as I approached.

  “Hello, Abby. Let’s walk.”

  The old priest didn’t seem to mind the brush off. He spoke a little more, moving his hands in small circles in front of his face, and then shuffled off toward Rebecca.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said that he’s grateful that you’re here. That he’s happy to help.”

  “Does he know everything?”

  “He knows enough to be praying for you,” he said.

  We were quiet for a moment as two monks went by, pushing a cart. I told them the herbs were ready. They didn’t see Samael and when they were gone, we resumed talking.

  “The monastery is a place of light,” Samael said. “You are safe here.”

  “I feel safe.”

  “It’s different out there,” he said, pointing past the gates. “It is best that you stay within these walls, until you are ready.”

  “I’m good with that. I like it here.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “How are your studies going?”

  “Good,” I said. “I write down lines that I want to remember from the books you brought me.”

  “And you’re still running?”

  “I’m almost up to ten miles a day.”

  “And your prayers and meditations? Are you…”

  “Every morning, every night.”

  “Your light is bright,” he said. “You’re healing and becoming stronger.”

  We turned down the cobblestone path and followed it into the flowerbeds.

  “What have you learned from Sun Tzu?”

  I paused, thinking.

  “I like the line, ‘The opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.’ Maybe that means that Nathaniel not only holds the key to the world’s destruction, but to his own.”

  And then I made another connection, which I kept to myself. If it was true, as he always claimed, that Nathaniel Mortimer had brought me back to life after I had been pulled out of that frozen lake, then he had sowed the seeds of his very own demise. Because I was going to destroy him.

  Samael nodded as he leaned down over a bush. He took a rose in his hand and brought it gently to his face.

  “This garden would not be what it is without Father Étienne,” he said. “It is important to remember the difference that one individual can make. It can make all the difference. Sometimes all it takes is the courage of one person to stop an entire army. Of weeds. Or of darkness.”

  “And you think I’m that one person?”

  He turned and stared at me.

  “That is my hope,” he said.

  We walked a little farther.

  “Has there been anything different? Anything at all?”

  He usually asked this question, but today I sensed a hint of desperation beneath his words. I wanted to give him something, but I never knew exactly what he was looking for.

  “No. Nothing new. Everything’s been the sam…” I stopped. “Well, actually, there is something different. I’ve been getting these flashes, these glimpses, that I’ve never had before. Not visions exactly, just—”

  “Flashes of what?”

  “Well, that’s why I didn’t think of telling you. They’re of nothing really. I mean, nothing to do with Nathaniel. It happens when I’m talking to someone, a scene sometimes will play in front of me, like I’m standing there watching something from their past. It only lasts for a second or two and then it’s gone. They’re very different from the usual visions I get. I’m awake and they’re just brief moments, but it feels very real.”

  I told him about seeing Father Carmichael crying in a church and the new girl with all those bruises on her face.

  Samael was quiet. His face remained tense as he stood there, staring at the garden.

  “Is there something else?” I said, suddenly feeling uneasy.

  He nodded slowly, his eyes slicing into mine.

  “He knows,” he said. “He knows where you are. And he knows what you’re doing here.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I tried to settle my nerves, but Samael’s words had left my thoughts spinning all evening and I had trouble sleeping. I got out of bed and went over to the window and listened to a symphony of croaking frogs. The air was heavy and still. It was almost two in the morning.

  I took the rosary off the bedpost and began praying it. After I was done, I thought about the Virgin Mary and what she represented.

  Faith. Faith that God is always with us.

  I wanted to believe that. I wanted to release my fears and feel that God was with me, but inside sometimes I was just plain scared. Like tonight. I got into bed and turned out the light, my mind still working.

  I wondered how it was two thousand years ago, when extraordinary things were asked of her, if she, too, had some doubt. Wasn’t she frightened when the archangel Gabriel came to her and announced that she was pregnant with God’s son? Or scared when she needed to find a place to give birth? And did she really still have such strong faith as she watched men nail her son to the cross? I wasn’t so sure.

  There was still so much I didn’t understand.

  And then there were the things that I did know. There was so much darkness in the world. Nathaniel was just part of it. Even if we somehow found a way to stop him, there were plenty of other dark souls, like the man who had beaten Anna or the person responsible for slitting the throat of the young ghost I had seen in the courtyard.

  Evil was everywhere. And God was so hard to see.

  Especially at two in the morning.

  CHAPTER 18

  I found a note from Sister Charlotte when I got to the center, letting me know what needed to be done.

  I tried to stay focused, but I found myself peering outside a lot, looking for the ghost of the murdered girl. I didn’t see her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t close by.

  I opened a window and let in the weak breeze. It helped a little but not much. With the sunlight streaming in, it didn’t take ten minutes before I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass about to burst. Beads of sweat dropped down onto the files.

  After an hour or so I checked again. Still nothing. I knew there was a chance, a small chance, she had moved on.

  I collected the files and started for the door, but some photos on the desk caught my eye. I paused. There were three frames. One was of an older couple in front of a Christmas tree. Another one was Sister Charlotte with a group of nuns in front of a church, all wearing their full-length habits. But it was the last one that drew me in.

  I picked it up and stared at it. It was of two teenage girls, arms over each other’s shoulders, wearing bathing suits and beaming with the sun in their faces. They were by a swampy-looking lake, next to a moss-covered tree, a boat in the background.

  I recognized Sister Charlotte right away. She was the younger one, probably about twelve or thirteen. I assumed the other girl was her sister because she had the same smile and eyes and hair color.

  I didn’t realize it at first, but I started comparing Sister Charlotte’s sister to the ghost. It was hard to tell. This photo was of someone carefree and full of life, while the dead woman I had seen was dark and troubled.

  Still, something told me that despite the obvious differences, they just might be one and the same.

  “Excuse me, Elizabeth, can I help you with something?”

  Th
e harshness in Sister Ruth’s voice cut through me like a blade and I nearly dropped the frame. I caught it at the last moment and fumbled with it before placing it back on the desk. I looked over to the nun standing in the doorway. She was holding a stack of binders in her arms and dressed like always, a blazer, ribbed shirt, and a long skirt. A large, rough wooden cross hung from her neck, reminding me of something out of the Spanish Inquisition.

  “Oh, hi, I, ah…” I stammered, picking up the stack of files. “No, I was just going to put these away and get some more downstairs. I saw the picture of the girls. It reminded me of my own family, I guess.”

  She was glaring at me with her owl eyes shooting out from above her glasses, which were down near the tip of her nose.

  “Hmmm,” she said. “Well, perhaps that’s something you should share with Sister Charlotte when she’s here. I don’t think she’d like you pawing around her desk.”

  “Of course, you’re right.”

  I moved toward the door, hoping to get by her and cut my losses.

  “I understand you’re from up north. Montana, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  I wished David had used a different state on my fake ID. I knew it was from his heart, that he had done it so I would hold on to the belief that someday I would return to Ty. But it had the opposite effect, leaving me sad every time I had to think about it.

  “Horse country,” Sister Ruth said, pulling the pencil out of her gray hair. “We have stables not too far from here if you’re missing that too.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t ride.”

  “You’re from Montana and you don’t ride horses?”

  “No,” I said. “They’ve always scared me.”

  “Well, young lady, you must be the only person from that state too afraid to get on the back of a horse.”

  “I guess that’s true, huh?” I said, forcing a laugh. “I’m probably an embarrassment.”

  “And you’re from Missoula?”

  “Yeah.”

  I kicked myself for not knowing more about the city. All I knew was that it had a lot of pine trees and snow and a university. I should have been better prepared, but I hoped it was enough.

  “Well, that explains it, then. You’re city folk.”

  She dropped her eyes on the sheet of paper sitting on the top binder and wrote something down.

  “Well, I better return these files,” I said.

  I walked by her and out into the hallway, wild horses thundering in my chest.

  CHAPTER 19

  I pushed open the door to the small, windowless storeroom, leaving it ajar with a wooden block, and turned on the florescent light. It flickered on and off for a long moment before finally turning on. Sometimes it would just go off after a while for several minutes, which was why everybody kept the door open. Otherwise, you would be left standing in the dark, hoping that the lights would come back on.

  It was cooler inside than upstairs, but it was stuffy with ancient decay. It was a cross between a morgue and things left in the back of a refrigerator. I walked to the cabinets against the far wall and pulled out a drawer and started filing. The light flickered again and I drew in a long breath before turning around, half expecting someone or something to be there. But it was just me and my jitters.

  I finished and then pulled out about ten more files. I closed the drawer with my hip and noticed the bottom drawer was open, papers coming out of the crack. I set down the files and pulled out the papers, pressing the edges in my fingers to iron out the wrinkles. I absentmindedly began looking at the information on the sheets but it was just letters forming words forming sentences that meant nothing to me.

  Suddenly a cool wind rustled through the papers in my hand and the hairs on the back of my neck immediately stood up. I thought I heard faint breathing coming from behind me.

  I was too afraid to look. The damn lights started flickering again and I stood there frozen as I did my best to gather enough courage to turn around. Was it the ghost? Or was it Nathaniel, somehow having broken through the abbey’s circle of light? I sucked in air, readied my fists, and slowly turned around.

  Again, there was nothing there.

  “Show yourself,” I whispered, my mouth as dry as dirt.

  Silence. Nothing more.

  Regardless, I was done. I slid the papers back in the drawer, grabbed the stack, and flew out of the room.

  CHAPTER 20

  I took the stairs two at a time and rounded the corner back to the hallway. The place was deserted again. No signs of Sister Ruth. I was about to let out a sigh of relief when I saw it. The desk.

  It was a mess. One of the framed pictures was down on the floor, the glass shattered. A vase had toppled over and water was dripping down. Just then I heard footsteps behind me and my sigh turned into a small gasp.

  “Elizabeth?”

  It was Sister Charlotte. Her voice was a pitch higher.

  “What’s… what’s happened here?” she said.

  She came over to the desk and then dropped down on her knees, picking up the picture of the two girls by the lake. She was staring at the photo with a look of horror on her face as water dribbled off of it.

  “I don’t know. I just walked in myself and saw it like this.”

  A dark, frantic energy swirled around her like a tornado.

  “Grab a towel from the bathroom,” she said, her eyes pooling with water. “Hurry!”

  I went and got one, handing it to her. She was sitting on the floor now, her back against the metal desk, still staring at the photo. I started picking up the larger pieces of glass, plucking them carefully off the ground and tossing them in the trashcan.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I really don’t know what happened.”

  She dabbed at the picture, trying to soak up the water. It was damaged, but the image was still there. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Then she got up and walked over to the window, slamming it shut.

  “It must have been a gust,” she said, sounding tired. “Let’s just call it a day. I’ll see you Wednesday, Elizabeth.”

  “Okay, bye,” I said, heading for the door.

  It could have been a gust, but I wasn’t so sure.

  “Oh, wait. Maybe not Wednesday. Sister Ruth told me that she was thinking about rearranging your schedule. She wants you to help the monks.”

  “The monks? I’m not that handy with a saw and hammer.”

  Sister Charlotte smiled for a second as a little color washed back into her face.

  “No, you’re not going to be making coffins. It’s much better than that. She wants you to help them with the farmers market.”

  I began to smile, too. The idea of going into New Orleans sounded exciting. But then I remembered what Samael had said about Nathaniel.

  Suddenly the thought of building coffins didn’t seem so bad.

  CHAPTER 21

  As I walked back in the sultry heat, my mind was filled with Samael’s warning.

  How I shouldn’t leave the abbey. How I wasn’t ready. And how Nathaniel knew where I was and what I was doing.

  At least now I was pretty sure that it hadn’t been Nathaniel behind me in the storeroom. The ghost I had seen by the fountain, coupled now with the broken frame, made me think that it was most likely Sister Charlotte’s sister.

  I sighed.

  I saw Father Carmichael standing in front of his cabin, barefoot in the grass again, drinking something black. Well, if not black, a very charcoal shade of gray.

  “Hello, Elizabeth,” he said.

  “Hi, Father. It looks like you dipped your glass in the swamp.”

  He held it up.

  “I guess it does at that. It’s a green drink. Spinach, kale, Swiss chard, coconut water.”

  He tipped back the glass and finished the last of it.

  “I just bought one of those juice extractors. Come in, I’ll make you one.”

  I cringed, not really wanting to drink liquid spinach. But I didn’t want to hurt
his feelings.

  “Uh, sure,” I said.

  It was the first time I had been inside his bungalow. The place didn’t look lived in. Everything was very neat, the bed made, the dishes were put away, no coffee grounds in the sink, no trash in the little wastebasket. The towels hung perfectly on the rack.

  He pulled out the small blender and began rinsing and chopping vegetables. Then he placed them in the jar with a little of the coconut water before screwing on the lid. It only took a few seconds to pulverize the greens into a juice. There was a seriousness to everything Father Carmichael did and this was no different.

  He poured the contents into a glass and handed it to me.

  I took a cautious sip. It wasn’t great but it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting either.

  “Not bad,” I said. “What brought this on?”

  “I’m turning forty next month.”

  “The big four-oh, huh?”

  He nodded, cleaning out the extractor jar.

  “So, what, you’re trying to outlive Father Étienne now?” I said. “Or maybe trying to rediscover the fountain of youth?”

  “Something like that.”

  It was hard work making small talk. Harder still getting him to smile.

  I downed the rest of the drink and rinsed out my glass.

  “Thanks,” I said as we walked out to the porch. “How are the repairs going at the church?”

  “The pews are finished. Tomorrow I’m getting on the roof. Last time I was on a roof I broke my collar bone and both ankles.”

  “Oh, no,” I said.

  He pulled the neck of his shirt back a little, showing me a scar.

  “Oh, yes. I had to get a couple of screws put in because it was so badly shattered. But luckily I landed in some bushes that helped break the fall. Otherwise…”

  I shook my head.

  “And you’re really going to go back up on a roof after that?”

  “It’s time. It’s been five years.”

  He cocked his head and scratched his jaw.