Father Paladina and Haatim arrived at an old building in an older district of the city early the next morning. The previous day, Father Paladina had given him a tour of the city, explaining that nothing ever happened fast in Vatican City and that Haatim would need to stay patient.
Haatim suspected the priest had employed delaying tactics but didn't know the man well enough to be certain. In either case, the tour proved a lot of fun, and they had a relaxing dinner at an outdoor restaurant.
Now, they made their way to a not-oft-used library. Not one of the Vatican libraries (secured and impossible for either of them to get into without months of waiting—and even then it remained doubtful that Haatim would ever get approved to enter), but a library where they could work in privacy without fear of intrusion.
Dim inside, it had a high-vaulted ceiling and rows and rows of tables running down the center. At least fifty. Each table held a small lamp for reading, and the room itself didn't look at all well-lit. Most of the lamps sat turned off, and the building lay almost empty. The air smelled of aged parchment and binding glue, with an undercurrent of dust that tickled the back of his throat.
Around the outer walls of the central chamber stood bookshelves filled to the brim with old tomes, most of which looked ancient but well-tended. Haatim's breath caught at the sight, and when he glanced over at Father Paladina, the man smirked at him.
"You should see the Vatican Libraries. They put this and the others like it to shame."
"You've been?"
"A few times. The one that you require, I've pulled out for extended use. The actual text gets stored in the archives, so when I need it, a senior librarian has to retrieve it for me and make copies."
He led Haatim over to one of the librarians' desks, where a middle-aged woman sat. She peered at them through glasses perched at the end of her nose, her expression hawkish as she sized up and summarily dismissed Haatim.
She spoke to Father Paladina in Italian, ignoring the fact that Haatim stood beside him.
Father Paladina answered her easily, and after a few minutes of pleasant conversation and a few laughs, she retrieved a binder from under the desk and handed it to him. She gave one last, untrusting look at Haatim before releasing the book, but Father Paladina won her over.
He thanked her and tucked the tome under his arm. Then, nodding to Haatim, they walked over to one of the tables and flipped on the light.
"Not that secure if you ask me," Haatim said. "She kept that under her desk?"
"The relevant pages that I managed to copy aren't deemed important enough by the Church to protect. And, this building is rather secure with cameras, guards, and modern security in case anyone tries any foolishness."
"From what did you take the documents?"
"A History of the Council of Chaldea. The original text that recounts the founding of the Council."
They sat down at the table, and Father Paladina slid the folder across the top to Haatim. The wood was smooth and cold under his fingertips, worn by centuries of scholars leaning on its surface.
"But, those tales can wait for another day. Right now, we have work to do."
Haatim opened up the folder, which held only a handful of pages. They showed photocopies of what looked to be an ancient text, and one that proved difficult to read.
Each of the pages held a family tree, detailing the lineage lines of various families. The first two pages expanded wildly, following a prolific growth pattern that would result in countless living descendants.
The other bloodlines appeared slightly less prolific but still entailed quite a few people who might share the blood, provided none of the lines ended. Haatim scanned the names—he only recognized Gotlieb and Reinfer.
The Gotlieb and Reinfer lines looked considerably less expansive, and the spouses or partners didn't get documented at all if they didn't share the bloodline directly.
Someone had circled some of the names and left others alone, and the entire list began around the thirteenth century and continued up through the sixteenth.
"They stopped tracking there," Father Paladina said, seeing the question on Haatim's face before he could even ask.
Haatim traced his finger along the Reinfer line, following branches that dead-ended centuries ago. Then he stopped. "Wait. Four of these lines—they all converge on the same period. Mid-sixteen hundreds. Something happened there."
Father Paladina raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"The tracking stops for four of the seven at almost the exact same time. That's not coincidence—that's an event. And these two—" Haatim pulled the Reinfer and Otolan pages closer. "These are the only ones still viable. But look at the Otolan line. The circled names just... stop."
"You have a good eye." Father Paladina leaned back. "Four of the bloodlines are already compromised and not worth our time. And Frieda's blood got taken as well."
He pulled loose the Gotlieb page, leaving only two.
"Two left," Haatim said. "And if I'm reading this right, the Reinfer line has a clear descendant in Jill Reinfer, who served on the Council. But the Otolan line—"
"Around this point, nearly all of them died," Father Paladina confirmed, pointing to where the tracking ended.
"What? Over sixty people? How did they all die?"
"They got hunted."
"By whom?"
Father Paladina stayed silent for a long time. "Us."
***
A stunned silence hung in the air.
"You're saying the Catholic Church hunted down and killed all of these people?"
"Every single one; at least, as far as I can tell."
"Why? There are dozens of people here."
"So this ritual could not be completed. If all of them died, we surmised, then the ritual could never take place."
"That's …" Haatim couldn't think of the words to describe it.
Father Paladina nodded. "I know. Barbaric. Genocidal. Darker times, Haatim."
"Why then? What happened to make them do it?"
"If I had to guess, someone tried to do what the demon is doing today. Someone tried to release Surgat. The Church officials theorized that if one of the bloodlines got eliminated completely, then Surgat would stay trapped in hell forever."
Haatim sat in silence, working through the ramifications. "Then, all of this is for nothing. If they murdered everyone involved, then the ritual can't get completed, right?"
"If that were the case, I doubt the demon would bother at all. The demon must know something we don't."
"So the purge happened for nothing?"
Father Paladina shook his head. "They didn't get them all. They thought they had, but one of the children survived, and his bloodline continued. The only problem is, I can't follow it past the mid-nineteen-twenties, so I don't know who or where the descendants might be today."
"And you think the demon does?"
"We have to assume so. If there remains even the slightest chance that the demon can find out what living descendent might have the necessary blood, then we need to find that person first."
Haatim tapped his chin. If what Father Paladina said proved true, then he estimated that there could be no more than ten or twelve living descendants if each generation had the normal number of children. That meant only ten or twelve people lived out in the world that Nida could use to complete her ritual.
After a few moments, Father Paladina's eyes bored into him.
"You have it, don't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Frieda didn't tell me that when she told me of you. Quite interesting."
"What are you talking about?"
"The Gift. The Touch. The Curse. Whatever you want to call it. You can channel, can't you? I can sense it inside you. How many times have you done it?"
The hairs rose on the back of Haatim's neck. "I have no idea what you're on about."
"Yes, you do. You know exactly to what I refer. Maybe that made for one of the reasons Frieda sent you here to me. She asked me to keep you safe, which I thought strange. Of all the places she could have sent you, she chose here. But, now it makes sense."
"What are you talking about? What do you mean that Frieda asked you to keep me safe?"
"Come with me."
Father Paladina stood, sliding the papers back into the file. He walked quickly over to the counter, spoke to the woman, and handed her the folder. She slipped it back out of sight, and then the priest rushed toward the exit.
Haatim struggled to keep up, not sure what was going on. What did the priest mean by "keep him safe?" Frieda had sent him here to find information, right?
Keep him safe from what?
They slipped back out of the dark library and into the sun, headed for the car. Father Paladina spoke at speed to the driver in Italian and then gestured for Haatim to climb in the back seat.
"Where are we going?"
"One last stop, then I will drop you off at your hotel for the rest of the day."
"Stop where?"
"Please, Haatim, just get in the car."
Haatim hesitated, and then nodded. He climbed into the back, and Father Paladina stepped in after him. The driver put the car into motion, and they got back on the road in only moments.
They traveled in silence, and Father Paladina wouldn't even look at him as they went. The drive took about fifteen minutes, and as they went, the buildings grew less impressive and more rundown. They'd entered the slums.
Finally, they stopped in front of a nondescript older building with no identification or markers. It stood in a residential district that appeared incredibly quiet, with brick roadways and numerous arches segregating the areas.
"Where are we?"
"A training ground, of sorts."
"Training for what?"
The priest didn't answer. Instead, he opened the door and climbed out, and without looking back, walked into the building. Haatim glanced at the driver but found no help there. Finally, he unbuckled and followed.
Dark inside, age pressed from every surface of the building. It had a low ceiling and smelled of damp stone and something else—something acrid that burned the back of his nostrils. Sulfur, maybe. Or rot.
It reminded him, just for a second, of when he had gone with Abigail into the caves in the forest outside of Raven's Peak, where they'd found the knife. This building closed in on him the same way those narrow holes deep underground had.
Father Paladina had gone already, walking further into the building. Somewhere up ahead, a door closed.
"Hello?" Haatim asked. "Where did you go?"
No answer. He waited a second, but the room remained silent and empty. A hallway stretched off in front of him, heading deeper into the building, but no sound came from within.
He waited a full five minutes, but the priest didn't return. Finally, hesitantly, he walked to the hallway and peered inside. It had no windows or lights, but a faint glow flickered somewhere further down. A sound drifted from the distance—a rasping, wet exhalation, like air forced through ruined lungs.
"Hello?" he tried one more time. Again, he received no response.
Haatim steeled his nerves and edged down the hallway, peering into the rooms on his right and left. They looked like cells in a prison, though with no attached doors or windows with views of the outside world. Empty boxes, roughhewn and uncomfortable.
The deeper he went into the building, the heavier the air grew. The smell intensified—not just sulfur now, but the sweet-sick stench of meat left in the sun. Cold radiated from the walls, unnatural cold that had nothing to do with the depth underground. His breath misted. He came to the end of the hallway, where it turned to the right to a staircase leading down. The rasping grew louder.
Briefly, Haatim considered his options, sighed, and then started down the staircase. It went down into the darkness for a long way, with the stairs cut into the rock of the ground. It proved narrow and offered no handrail. The small steps, broken in places, made it difficult to navigate. If he tripped, it wouldn't end well for him.
He stepped off the final stair what must have been four floors deep into the ground, maybe more. Though still dark, just enough light filtered in from up ahead that he could see and move.
He walked, one hand touching the cold and unforgiving wall until he came to another doorway. This one opened into a large chamber, and the rasping sound came from inside. The temperature plummeted further—his fingertips went numb against the stone, and frost crystallized on the doorframe.
His eyes had adjusted to the thick gloom, but he couldn't see the far wall of the room. Had Father Paladina gone this way? Eeriness crept along his skin, and Haatim hesitated.
"Father Paladina, are you in here?"
No response. He thought to turn back and head for the car. Whatever was going on, Father Paladina clearly wanted to mess with him, maybe even scare him.
If that was the case, then it had worked.
Haatim turned back toward the stairs, but then a shuffling sound came from the chamber behind. He glanced back. A form stood a few meters away, shrouded in the darkness.
"Father Paladina?"
Haatim pulled out his phone, flicking it to turn on the flashlight. The shuffling sound moved closer, and then came a metallic clanking sound too.
Fear replaced the eeriness. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold. He panted as he backed out of the room. Finally, Haatim managed to swipe his phone and get the flashlight activated.
He held up the light.
It shone onto a torn and ragged face in front of him, only a meter away and with a collar around its neck. The stench hit him full force—putrid flesh and something chemical, like ozone after a lightning strike.
It tried to jerk forward, face in a twisted grimace, but reached the end of its slack. It snarled at Haatim, rotten teeth and blackened gums.
A chained demon.
Locked in the basement of this building.
"What the hell?"
The demon lunged at him, and he stumbled back. It couldn't reach him but still scared the crap out of him. His foot caught on the rough ground, and he fell backward, landing hard on his tailbone with a grunt.
"This is where we train new exorcists." Father Paladina's voice came from off to the right.
Haatim turned his light. The old Priest sat on a wooden stool in the corner of the room, watching him solemnly. "We give them their first taste of what they will have to deal with."
"What?"
Father Paladina glanced over at him. "Most don't even make it to this point. A few don't make it past that. When you see something like this, it changes you. For the longest time, I knew nothing of this world. But then, my eyes were opened."
"You're an exorcist?"
"A scholar and teacher. My duty was to survey situations to determine where a true exorcist would be needed. We have so few, and their services remain in constant demand. In my lifetime, I've only known a few true exorcists. That's how I could sense your gift. It's tangible, otherworldly, and once you see it … well, you can't forget it."
"What do you mean?"
Father Paladina shook his head. "When did you first channel? How many times?"
Haatim hesitated. "Raven's Peak. The first and only time. Frieda told me not to talk about it."
The priest nodded. "She told you right. Your gift could get corrupted as easily as harnessed. She should have sent you directly to us when she realized, but I can understand her reluctance. I haven't felt anyone quite like you before. Most people only get a touch if anything at all, but you …"
"What is the gift?"
"The real power. The essence of how you can affect the world around you. It is divinity incarnate."
"And you think I have it?"
"I know you do. What happened that first time?"
"I …" Haatim frowned, climbed back to his feet, and rubbed his tailbone. It hurt, a lot. "I walked through a volley of flying objects and came out unharmed."
"Do you remember how you did it?"
"I didn't do anything. I just knew they wouldn't hurt me."
Father Paladina nodded, then turned and gestured toward the chained demon.
In the light, Haatim could see that it lay dead already, skin rotting off the corpse. It looked to have lain here for a long time.
The priest said, "Expel this creature."
"Excuse me?"
"Command this creature to leave and return to hell."
Haatim stared at the priest.
All of a sudden, the demon lunged forward, reaching for Haatim, who staggered back out into the hallway. It snarled, at the end of its chain.
"What is wrong with it?"
"It has been trapped here for a long time. The body died, and it lost the ability to communicate."
"You mean you've been torturing it?"
Father Paladina frowned but didn't answer. "It is a creature from hell. Send it back there."
"I can't do that."
"Yes, you can. You just don't know how. Yet."
"Can you teach me?"
Father Paladina shook his head. "I can guide you, but it isn't something I've ever experienced personally. It remains an incredibly rare thing. Less than one percent of one percent of the population has it, and even then, few ever learn how to use it even a little bit. You have the gift, and you have a lot of it."
"But you can't teach me how to use it?"
"Practice. That's the only way I know."
Father Paladina stood from his stool and walked toward Haatim. Then he went into the hallway and headed back toward the staircase.
"You will return here daily. Learn how to control your powers. How to use them. Because they can make a weapon for good."
"We need to figure out who the demon in my sister has gone after," Haatim said. "We can't waste time on other things."
"This will not prove a waste. You will find it incredibly necessary, and it could prove vital."
"Why?"
"I offer no exaggeration. When you can control your abilities, you can send these creatures back from whence they came. You can command and control them."
"I thought I needed to know their names."
"The name gives power, but you won't need it. With your gift, you can send demons home without it."
Haatim frowned. "That still doesn't help me with the 'how' of what you're talking about."
Father Paladina laughed. "Hence the practice. Over the coming days, you will get to know this demon well."
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