M L N Hanover - Killing Rites

Alexander pressed his fingertips to his lips, scowling.

“No,” he said. “If she wants our help, I’ll do whatever I can to help her because I think she has a good soul. But if she doesn’t want it, we can’t force it on her. She’s not even a Christian, Father.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you shouldn’t have accepted her in the first place,” he said. “She’s only here because you and Xavier killed that girl years ago, and somehow she’s supposed to make up for it.”

“Well, there’s an uncomfortable perspective,” Carsey said. “So we should just open the door and usher her out into the world? With what she is?”

“We will not!” Chapin shouted. “We will not free the devil! What I have done wrong, I will answer for, but I will not sin again. I refuse to. I will die here if I must, but I will not leave while she is free!”

didn’t even turn to see what the commotion was about. I knew that some riders did more than lurk in the back of a mind. Some kicked the original owner out, taking the body whole. If the Akaname were like hermit crabs, taking over the bodies that other riders had already opened up, that meant Tomás had been ridden before, and maybe that first rider had killed his soul years before. Maybe he was only qliphoth now, an empty shell without self or rider. And even if there was something of the man left in the body, he was broken in ways that wouldn’t ever be made whole.

And then I knew what they reminded me of. They had been parasitized. Tomás had been the one with the actual beast in it, but they had all been used. Tamblen and Carsey, Miguel and Chapin. All these men dedicated their lives to freeing people from possession, and instead they’d become an engine for spreading riders. Tracking down the Akaname they had spread would be the work of years, if it could even be done. Right now in front of me, Chapin was doing anything he could to distract himself from the grief bearing down on him. And grief, I knew, made people crazy.

Chapin really was going to let himself die.

“Jayné,” Ex said. “I need a favor.”

“You want to lock me up,” I said.

“Just long enough to get him to the hospital. So that he can know you’re safe.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Please,” Ex said. “I need to save him. At least let me try.”

I looked over at Chogyi Jake. The gun in his hand hadn’t moved. I had the distinct impression that if I’d said so, he’d have shot everyone in the room who tried to keep me from walking out. It wasn’t what I’d expected of him, but the fact that he was there—that the choice was there—made choosing possible.

Ex stepped closer, leaning in. His voice was low and fast, and his hands fluttered in front of him as he spoke, like little sparrows trying to take wing.

“If you don’t want the rite of exorcism, I’ll make sure you don’t have it. Just let me put you down there for now. I promise I’ll free you again later.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not my call,” I said. And then: “Hey. We’ve got a situation here. You want to chime in?”

Always before, the rider had come suddenly or not at all. My hand might move on its own, or I might say something I hadn’t known I was going to say. Or else she just took the wheel, and I was a passenger. This time, it felt like she was welling up around me, pulling herself up to control my body through an act of will. Like running things was hard for her. Like it was a chore.

Ex saw the change. His face went pale and he started to step back, then caught himself. Behind him, Carsey’s eyes went wide. I couldn’t see the others.

“You’ve got no reason to trust me,” Ex said.

My rider swallowed carefully, like my throat was sore.

“Will you help me?” Ex asked.

The pause lasted years.

“Yes, I will,” she said. “Take me to your prison.”

Ex sagged with relief. I heard Carsey and Miguel moving behind me. Tamblen put a hand on my shoulder and the rider shrugged it off.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, and then I was in control again. I turned to look up at Tamblen’s face. “Yeah, I can walk it.”

OUTSIDE, THE cold was bitter. Ex and Chogyi Jake and I walked through the snow together, Tamblen and Alexander following just behind. It wasn’t eight o’clock yet, and it felt like midnight. Overhead, the crows were wheeling in great, excited flocks, calling to one another. Moonlight silvered the black wings. The smell of snow had the taint of fumes; it was like standing beside a gasoline pump. I stopped and looked up at the stars. Chogyi Jake was at my side.

“They’re beautiful,” I said.

“They are,” he agreed.

“Can you go make sure Dolores is all right?”

“I’d be happy to.”

“And thanks for offering to shoot Tamblen.”

Tamblen cleared his throat and looked pained.

“You’re welcome,” Chogyi Jake said.

It took a few seconds to knock the ice off the cellar door. I walked down the rough concrete stairs, ducking under the doorway that led to my prison. The ring waited for me, and the chains. I sat down, my legs crossed, and held out my wrists for the manacles. The others watched while Ex squatted beside me and carefully, gently fastened the metal around me. There were spells and cantrips worked into them, and I could feel my skin trying to pull away from the contact. He closed the locks, the bolts making a final-sounding steel trill as they shot home.

“How are we feeling about the space heater?” I asked.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Ex said. “Thank you for this. I owe you.”

“Not me. I’m just backing her play.”

“Well,” he said, and then left the word hanging there in the cool air. They turned to walk away, Ex going first, with Tamblen and Alexander following him. Before Chogyi Jake could leave, I called out to him.

“Hey!”

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder. I could see the others had paused on their way up the stairs.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to need the car key.”

“An excellent point,” he said, coming back to me. I dug in my pocket as best I could with my restraints, then handed him the fob with the key on it.

“Make sure Ozzie gets fed too, okay?”

“I’ll be back,” he said.

“I’ll be fine.”

I watched them walk away, listened to the cellar door close, and settled back to wait the long hours—maybe the whole night—before they came back for me. For me, and for the rider in my flesh. I thought about the choice it had made, surrendering to Ex and the others. And on what? The strength of Ex’s promise. It was an act of faith I couldn’t help admiring. I wasn’t sure I’d have taken the risk. I lay back, the chains hissing against the concrete, and hoped he’d remember the space heater. Or at least a couple of good blankets.

The summer before I turned five, my mother put me in church day care. Five days a week from eight thirty until noon, I played and fought and laughed and cried in the basement rooms under the church. One of my most vivid memories of childhood was pelting through the great maze of rooms, running until I was out of breath, screaming with delight. At fifteen, I went back as a volunteer, and the rooms I’d known as a girl were gone. Instead, there were three relatively dingy boxes in a straight line, one after the other, that had clearly been designed for storage. Some carpet had been put in, and the walls painted in nursery colors. That was all, and what was more, that was all that had ever been.

The prison was the same. I’d been here a few days ago, bound by the same manacles to the same floor-set ring, and even though it looked the same, smelled the same, felt the same, it barely had any relationship to the place I’d been. It was hard to believe I’d changed all that much until I started thinking about exactly what had happened.