Lazarus nodded grimly. “That’s the plan, Morgan. Don’t worry.”
“You didn’t bring anyone with you?”
“No. Daye is still involved with a case of his own and I couldn’t reach any of the others,” Lazarus said. “This started with us and it’s going to end with us.”
Eun forced a grin, though there was no mirth in it. He had loved Samantha, just as they all had. She had been the sister he’d never had. “We didn’t come empty-handed, though.” He reached into one of his pockets and came back with a box full of shells. “Silver bullets, each one soaked in holy water. Lazarus even etched the tips of them with special runes that give them mystic power. And we’ve got the usual array of knock-out bombs, too.”
“I’m not sure it’s going to be enough,” Morgan responded. “The witches arrived early this afternoon. They’ve taken over the whole area; drinking, dancing, and fornicating. They even sacrificed a goat.”
Lazarus tilted his head to the sight, his keen hearing detecting the din from the abbey. Most of those who practiced witchcraft were pretenders, drawn to the craft by promises of power and sex. But the ones here today wouldn’t be like that. These would be men and women who could sense the invisible energy that surrounded all things — and manipulate it.
“How many witches are we talking about?” he asked.
“About thirty.”
Eun whistled. His confidence was still intact but it was beginning to take some severe hits.
“There’s something we need to discuss, gentlemen.” Lazarus gestured to a small briefcase that he’d brought with him. “Inside this are enough explosives to take the abbey off the map. It’s a last-ditch weapon, however. There’s no way we’d be far enough way to survive its detonation.”
Eun blinked. “You’re talking about a suicide run?”
“If need be. The moment it looks like we’re going to fail at stopping Jack-In-Irons, one of us needs to use this. And the other two, if they’re still alive at the time, will have to understand. Do either of you have a problem with that?”
It didn’t take long for both of them to respond with shakes of their head. Every member of the group knew that they could die at any time and had accepted that fact long ago. The shock of Samantha’s death had reinforced that.
Lazarus nodded briskly, picking up the briefcase and holding it up for them to see. “There’s no need to open the case. There are two buttons on the top. Depress both simultaneously and it will trigger a timer inside the case. From that point on, you have approximately ten seconds.”
“Not much time for an escape route,” Morgan offered.
“Like I said, you wouldn’t be able to outrun this blast. If it’s used, we’re all dead.”
“Then let’s do this.” Morgan emptied his weapon of its bullets and replaced them with those brought by Eun. He tossed a handful of backup ammunition in his pocket.
The three of them set off towards the abbey, aware that these moments would probably prove to be their last.
Abigail Cross sat on the ground, her back against one of the crumbling walls of the abbey. Twenty-six years old with raven-black hair and a slender build, she was well aware that many of the warlocks in attendance were hoping she would join in the orgy that had begun hours before. She smoothed down her ankle-length white skirt and pretended not to notice. Her emerald green blouse was low-cut, allowing the moon-shaped pendant she wore between her breasts to show. The pendant seemed to sparkle in the starlight and occasionally Abigail would reach up to caress its smooth surface with her fingers.
Turning her eyes to Jack-In-Irons and his progeny, Abigail watched as the creatures talked to each other in some strange, chattering language. What they were discussing was unknown to her but she could guess that it had to do with the upcoming ceremony. She shivered in unholy anticipation, knowing that there were literally only minutes before the moon would be properly aligned and the ritual would begin.
As she stood up and began brushing grass off her skirt, she wondered what her mother would say if she could see her now. A single mother in the backwoods of Tennessee had raised Abigail, teaching her all there was to know about the Mother Goddess and her ways. After her mother’s death, Abigail had continued her lessons on her own, eventually coming into contact with a coven based in New Orleans. They had focused on black magic, which was something that her mother had always shied away from. The experience had been mind-blowing for Abigail and for nearly three years, she’d lost herself in a rising tide of hedonism. She’d picked up a snake tattoo that ran from her right ankle up to her thigh during that time, though she had no memory of doing so. Of course, a lot of things from that time were blurry in her recollection.
But eventually she’d come to her senses and remembered the person that her mother had wanted her to be. She’d silently turned her back on black magic but had pretended to still be one of the gang. In that way, she’d been able to sabotage some of their efforts and help those who had suffered at the hands of the witches.
And now here she was, standing on the cusp of horror. She’d seen demons and vampires in her time but never anything like Jack-In-Irons. He was huge, his power seeming to radiate from him like the heat of the sun. His progeny was terrible enough but next to their father, they were like nothing.
Abigail felt the weight of the knife strapped to her leg. It pulsed with occult power and she was glad she’d worn such a long skirt… the blade glowed brightly in the presence of evil and there was certainly enough of that present. The blade — one of the four fabled Knives of Elohim — had been soaked in the blood of Christ. Now it not only warned its owner of nearby evil but it could do terrible harm to creatures of supernatural origin, hurting them in ways that conventional weapons could not.
Would it be powerful enough to kill Jack-In-Irons? Abigail wasn’t sure. But it was the only hope she had. Her own occult powers wouldn’t be strong enough to put a dent in Jack’s forces. Speaking of which, Abigail already knew that her own life was forfeit. Once she killed Jack, the witches and Jack’s children would rip her to shreds.
She moved through the crowd, avoiding the hands of men and women who sought to touch her smooth skin. Her eyes never wavered from Jack and she kept him in her gaze as she knelt to retrieve the blade. It almost burned her palm as she slid it free of its scabbard. Her soul was tainted enough that it hurt for her wield the weapon.
Abigail paused as she caught sight of a bloodied figure crawling through the grass. It was a woman and from the looks of her, Abigail was shocked that the woman was still alive, let along still moving. It looked like someone had shot her in the head.
Abigail yanked the knife free but kept it hidden against her side, hiding the glow under a fold in her blouse. She approached the injured woman, being careful not to let anybody notice what she was up to.
Kneeling beside the woman, Abigail lightly touched the woman’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m going to help you.”
The blonde looked at her and Abigail breathed a sigh of relief. There was a horrible gash on the woman’s temple where a bullet had grazed her skull but aside from a lot of blood, she seemed quite alert. “Are you one of them?”
Abigail felt something dig into her side and she looked down to see that the wounded woman was digging the barrel of a gun against her. “A witch? Yes and no. I’m not a bad witch. What’s your name? What are you doing here?” Abigail cast a quick glance around but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.