Excerpt 1- Chapter 1
Just
as she was in life, Deliverance was a demon in death.
Her
cruel whispers invaded quiet conversations. Her hate-filled face raced past in
the shadows. Destroying the body didn’t end her baneful abuses. Instead, she
became limitless and everywhere, always.
A
thick breath of fog rolled in from Derby Wharf, obscuring much of the town in
its salty grip. Beneath a brick wall, Angela’s torso hovered close to the
ground like a disembodied specter. It was just past the witching hour.
Trying
to ignore the demon’s voice, her foot forced a shovel tip between the invading
roots of an old elm tree. Late summer rain softened the first two feet, but the
deeper she went, the more arduous her task became. As its blade struck the cold
earth, the shovel’s handle creaked once more. If it could just hold out a bit
longer, weeks of their nocturnal labor would come to an end tonight.
The
whispers beneath her feet intensified into a full-throated growl. Too loud.
Angela pulled a small bottle of water out of her pocket and sprinkled it over
the soil. Its bitter blessing drove the sound into silence once more.
For
years, drugs numbed the whispers and obscured the demon’s face, but Angela’s
gatekeepers eventually tossed her out like many crumpled bits of garbage now
littering the streets of the North Shore. In Boston, she found ways to calm the
chaos by coercing the gullible. Many survived their interactions with her. Some
were not as fortunate.
During
a moment of weakness, she tried to end her own life, but Lyssa and Hekate kept
her from the slumber of death. Instead, her beloved Goddesses graciously
bestowed visions of destiny upon their troubled servant.
The
shovel finally bumped against something other than rocks and roots. A rush of
excitement flowed through Angela’s veins. Turning the blade over, she scraped
back the earth from the old pine lid. Then she jammed the shovel’s metal edge
between the boards.
Nails
loosened, but the pressure snapped the rusted collar from the shovel’s wooden
handle. She grumbled something incoherent and tossed the broken tool aside. It
landed with a soft thud onto the foraged slab of plywood she’d been using to
cover the grave.
Adrenaline
in her veins shifted to pulsing dopamine.
Angela
grabbed the axe lying next to the rejected shovel. She lifted it above her head
and let its blade fall onto the rotting timber. Not too hard. Just enough to
break it. Must not harm the treasure inside. She set the axe aside and grabbed
hold of the broken coffin lid. When one of the planks snapped in half, it
ripped open the skin on her knuckles.
A
face stared back at her. Though not recognizable in its present state, it still
gave Angela nauseating chills. Crimson drops christened the bones as she placed
them one by one inside a black trash bag. It wasn’t the first time the demon
drew blood from her.
When
she was done, she pulled the plywood back over the open pit and spread a thin
layer of earth on top with the shovel blade. Once more, her work was hidden.
Then she picked up the axe and swung it hard against the cheap concrete
headstone. It tumbled over into the tall weeds. She struck it several times
more, letting fury flood her soul.
Angela
rolled over in the darkness and opened her eyes in a panic. Did she just come
from the cemetery, or was it something she had yet to do?
No.
She
reached over and touched the black bag lying next to her. It had been days
since that task had been completed. Time slipped back and forth so easily
sometimes.
Obtaining
the bones was one step. Soon, Angela would bend the demon to her will with the
threat of silencing it forever. Remnants of the forbidden ritual remained
engraved in her mind. The rest, the part she wasn’t allowed to read, was in a
Book of Shadows hidden somewhere in this house.
Muffled voices from
the room above interrupted the dead’s incessant whispers.
