Tales From the Black Chamber (25 page)

“People, this is,” he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and read, “Father Thomas-Joseph Jean-Baptiste Amédée-François Lamy of the Dominicans and the Archdiocese of Montreal.”

The priest, a young man with the fine features of Burgundy, said with only the slightest Québécois accent, “Call me Tom.”

Mike said, “Father Lamy is an exorcist and a former professor of epigraphy, Assyriology, and Egyptology at the
École biblique et archéologique française de Jérusalem
.”

“No offense, Father, but how old
are
you?” asked Claire, in mock surprise.

“Older every day,” the priest smiled.

“Wait a second,” said Rafe, “Assyriology and exorcism? How often do you get Pazuzu and Max von Sydow jokes?”

“All the time,” said Father Lamy. “Well, from those who know I'm an exorcist, at any rate. My mother's particularly bad about it, but she had a crush on von Sydow since
The Seventh Seal
. Me, I could take or leave Bergman and I tend to think of von Sydow as Ming the Merciless in
Flash Gordon
. I'm more of a Luc Besson guy. So how can I help you all?”

“We're going into a situation where there's a risk of encountering something demonic,” Mike said.

“Ah. Well, shall I come along?”

“How are you at hiking in those shoes, Father?” asked Steve.

“Fine.”

“Okay, then, if you want to come along, you're more than welcome.”

“What should I do with my car?”

“Good question.” Steve pulled out a map. “Okay, park it about here, then walk this way, and wait here by this creek. We'll meet you there.” He held up the map. “Everyone, Father Lamy's car is going to be about here. If you find yourself needing out quickly, that's another option. Leave the keys under the mat, will you, Father?”

“Of course.”

Joe spoke up. “Father, would you mind offering a little prayer for us before we go?”

“Not at all.” He raised his hands in the
orans
posture and, as the Catholics bowed their heads and the rest looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, said, “
Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in prælio; contra nequitiam et insidias Diaboli esto præsidium. Imperat illi Deus; supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiæ
cælestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute in infernum detrude. Amen.
”

Anne surprised herself by joining in when everyone murmured, “Amen.”

“Okay, folks, let's go,” said Steve. “Come over here and get your weapons.”

Father Lamy walked back off through the trees, as the Black Chamber team holstered pistols on their hips and slung submachine guns over their shoulders. When everyone was armed, Steve said, “This way,” and headed off into the woods.

Under the sheltering evergreens, the moonlight was much reduced and they waited five minutes for their eyes to adjust. Once they were accustomed to the dimness, they followed Steve, single-file, through the trees. Anne occasionally caught herself wondering,
What am I doing here?
but tried to let it go immediately, lest she get distracted and do something to endanger herself or the others. Ordinarily, the hike through the forest would have been a charming nature walk, even at night, as badgers, raccoons, bats, nocturnal birds, and lizards regarded them impassively, wild enough to show no fear of humans deep in the middle of the dark, dark woods; but the walk quickly became a test of concentration and focus, as Anne noticed her focus slipping every so often.
How do soldiers do this?
Anne asked herself.
Well, the bad ones probably get killed quickly, leaving only the stealthy ones. God, I'm in trouble.

About an hour and a half into the walk, they came across Father Lamy, sitting quietly on a log next to a shallow creek. He put away the rosary he'd been fingering and tucked his pectoral cross under his shirt. Steve pulled a Glock out of his knapsack and offered it to the priest. The priest paused, then took the gun and put it in his jacket pocket. He fell in between Anne and Rafe, who guarded the rear of the line. Unlike the rest of the team, Rafe carried a gun that looked very strange to Anne. When she'd asked him about it at the airport, he'd explained it was a Tavor rifle. He collected Israeli weaponry and was more comfortable with his own guns than the ones Steve issued. He'd wanted to bring an Uzi, which was smaller and lighter, but Steve had said that, if he was bringing something non-standard, he might as well bring something with greater range and a larger caliber. The Tavor wasn't much longer than the UMP, but because its magazine sat behind the handgrip, it had a full-length rifle barrel and fired the same bullet as an M16. Rafe seemed to handle the weapon very confidently, so Anne felt much safer with him at her back.

After what seemed like forever, Steve signaled for the group to stop and get down. They'd reached the edge of the forest and he was cautiously scanning the open space in front of them. He took out a pair of goggles and looked through them, then stashed them. He moved silently across the grass to the base of a high stone wall about a hundred yards away, staying stock-still, then walking its length and peering around both corners. Then he signaled the group forward.

Crouching, they all hurried deliberately to the base of the wall. Steve threw a line with a grapple to the top, then scaled the wall to peek over. He pulled out the goggles again and scanned one more time, then signaled the others to follow. They all went over with aplomb. Anne watched with amazement as Claire went over like a cat.
Oh hell, there's no lower bar for girls
, she thought. When it was her turn, she climbed awkwardly, her long legs occasionally splaying in different directions. She was grateful, not offended, when she felt Rafe's hands on her backside, pushing her up to the top. She swung her legs over the wall and let herself down as gently as she could. It still hurt. When Father Lamy came over, he whispered in her ear, “I was even worse,” and smiled conspiratorially. Anne smiled at him and then looked across a wide lawn dotted with trees and shrubs to an 1890s Norman Revival mansion built of stone and heavy timbers but shaped with a grace that made Anne silently admire the architect. Once Rafe dropped to the ground, they moved out, one at a time, using individual trees and bushes as cover.

Suddenly the night's stillness was rent by a hideous, deafening blast and roar. Anne braced herself, thinking something had exploded, but instead of a burst radiating outward from the house, she had the sensation of the air around her being drawn powerfully towards it. She felt Rafe's hand grab her pack and pull her to the ground. She turned her head and saw him between her and Father Lamy, his left hand on the priest's windbreaker. The strange winds ceased and the air was unnaturally, perfectly calm.

After a long, long moment, Steve signaled the group to rise. Anne was just on her knees when it hit. It felt like a shock wave, but it was black. The world went dark, and she could only glimpse the dim silhouettes of her colleagues being tossed onto their backs as she crashed onto her backpack, her gun flipping on the sling and hitting her in the face. She was vaguely aware of the pain and the blood, but her mind was overwhelmed by a horrific series of impressions, none of which made sense, but all of which felt as if jagged talons were tearing across the fabric of her consciousness. Skull. Hunger. Rot. Flame. Ice. Hate. Acid. Sulfur. Slave. Prey. Blood. Rape.

Death.

Then it swept away. Anne rolled over, pushed herself up on all fours and vomited, shaking. When she managed to get her body under control, she looked around and saw the rest of the Black Chamber team rising, staggered. They all made their way together to the base of a large oak.

Father Lamy pulled his shirt up, exposing the pectoral cross burnt into his chest. He pulled it out, tearing bits of flesh with it. “
Sacre ciboire de tabarnac de Calvaire
,” he swore, then looked around. “Sorry.”

Mike pulled some Neosporin and a bandage out of his backpack and began dressing the priest's wounds. He whispered, “Don't worry, Father. Let me capture our common sentiment.
What the fuck was that
?!”

Claire tugged at a pocket on her vest. “Shit,” she hissed. “It's fucking melted.”

“What is?” asked Joe.

“My amulet. I have a Syro-Egyptian amulet from 200
B.C.
with a protective petition to the Lord of Hosts. The pocket melted around it. I'm going to have to scrape all this fucking plastic off it.”

“Let me reiterate,” said Mike. “What the fuck was that?”

Father Lamy said, “It was evil.”

“No kidding, Father,” said Joe.

“No. I mean, it was evil-with-a-capital-e. Active, searching Evil. Some sort of major, major demon or something. I've never felt anything
close
to that.”

Steve looked from face to face. “So, is everyone still up for going in there?”

No one said anything. Finally, Mike spoke up. “Well, if we don't, there was no point in coming up here.”

“He's right,” said Rafe. “That was some crazy shit, but who's to say there isn't worse to come.”

“Worse than
that
?” said Claire. “All in all, I'd rather be … anyplace else.”

“Okay, well, if no one wants out, everyone please make sure your weapon is loaded, cocked, and ready to fire,” said Steve.

Anne looked around and then sheepishly pulled back the cocking lever above the barrel of her gun. She clicked the safety/selector lever from the safe symbol to the four bullets that meant “fully automatic” and carefully set her index finger on the side of gun just above the trigger.

They spread out and slowly made their way across the lawn. They were less than twenty feet from the back door when it burst open, and six men with guns in their hands and long robes over their clothes ran out, screaming. Things started moving in very choppy impressions for Anne. The screaming men started firing wildly, and the Black Chamber returned fire in short bursts, the heavy .45 bullets tearing into the crazed men's flesh. Anne was paralyzed at the sudden, chaotic violence and the horrific gore spurting from holes in the men's bodies, or pieces that simply blew off. Before she knew it, one of the men was right in front of her, screaming, and raising his gun. She fumbled vainly with her gun, but suddenly there was a hole in his chest, and his throat, and the left side of his face was gone.

Something flared in his remaining eye before his body crumpled, and Anne felt something forcing its way into her head, shoving her mind aside. She felt cold intelligence and hot malevolence.
Dear God, help me!
she thought but could not enunciate. She heard her voice say something she didn't understand. Then she was pulled to the ground. Suddenly she felt a cloth wrapped around her shoulders and Father Lamy knelt next to her, his hands on the sides of her face, a purple cloth around his neck. She felt herself fighting him, though she had no volition in it. She felt like a small, powerless spectator trapped in a cage with a pack of lions. In the distance, she heard gunfire.
I wonder what that is
, she thought. Then, suddenly she felt a wave of sensation—and pain—and she was herself again.

Anne rolled over and tried to vomit, but only had the dry heaves. Then the thought of the carnage she'd just witnessed, the sight of that be-robed sack of bloody meat on the ground in front of her, and the memory of that
thing
in her head … caused her to pass out cold.

She woke up to find Claire holding a cold, wet towel on her forehead and staring intently at her, her brow furrowed with concern. “Hey,” Claire said softly, “you're back. You okay?”

“I feel like shit,” Anne said weakly, “but I'm okay. What happened?”

“Short version, bunch of crazy guys come out of the house, start shooting. You freeze up, Rafe blows away a guy who's about to kill you, all of a sudden you're screaming crazy stuff, so Rafe tackles you. Then more crazy guys come around the house, we kill them. Joe and Steve get shot—nothing serious, thank God. Turns out crazy guys have shitty aim. Meanwhile, Father Tom is performing a battlefield exorcism on you. You calm down, retch, and pass out. Which brings us to now.”

“Exorcism? My God. I can't believe it, but that makes sense. There was something … in me. It took over. It hated me. Hated everything.”

“Yeah, we think the reason the guys were crazy and crappy with guns is that they were just recently possessed. Sort of demon puppets.”

Father Lamy hove into Anne's view. “Are you all right, Anne?”

“Not great, Father, but Claire tells me I'd be a lot worse without you. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Do you remember anything about what happened?”

“Only vague impressions. I sort of remember watching things as if they were very far away, and all the sounds were muted. I remember the feeling of having something inside my head. It was a little like that blackness, though not anywhere near as strong. It just sort of pushed me aside and I couldn't do anything.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

“No. Did I tell you something?”

“Yes. Just as I was beginning the exorcism, you said, ‘
O prædicator, Bel-Namtar kašid.
'”

“Well, I know Latin. ‘O preacher.' But you lost me after that.”

“Right. I'm a Dominican, we're the
Ordo Prædicatorum
.”

“Spooky.”

“Not as spooky as saying, ‘
Bel-Namtar kašid.
' That means ‘Lord Namtar is arrived.' In Akkadian. You don't know Akkadian, do you?”

“Hardly.”

“I think the demon was taunting me, because it knew I speak Akkadian.”

Claire asked very deliberately, “Father, who's Lord Namtar?”

“Namtar is the messenger of the Goddess of the Underworld. He's Death.”