Battle for His Soul Page 11

  Roland sat on a patio chair near a three-tiered, gurgling fountain, his attention on the couples dancing on the flagstone patio—on one couple in particular: Jarret and Selena. His typically emotionless expression flickered as Jealousy’s whispers surrounded him like trails of smoke.

  “Rise above the temptation, my friend,” Nadriel commanded as he unsheathed his sword.

  Jealousy shut his mouth and reached for his own sword.

  With a deep breath, Roland turned away from the dancers and scanned the other party guests. His expression softened and Jealousy backed away.

  Nadriel sheathed his sword and turned to Ellechial. “Jarret seems pleased tonight.”

  “Indeed.” Ellechial lifted his wings, which, happily, moved freely. He appreciated that he could now travel at will to solicit prayers from others.

  Jarret danced with Selena to Cielito Lindo. When he’d asked her to dance and she said yes, he blinked a few times as if he’d expected rejection. As he led her to the dance floor, he studied the other dancers. He hadn’t a clue how to dance to the music of a mariachi band, but he had unbeatable courage and determination. He picked up the Mexican dance style well enough, placing his hands behind his back, marching in place, kicking and turning every now and then.

  Selena, in her Mexican party dress, white with red and yellow embroideries, had begun the dance in all seriousness. A few seconds into it, Jarret’s kicking made her laugh. Since then the smile hadn’t left her face as she swished her skirt and twirled around him.

  “I do hope he is soon converted,” Nadriel said.

  “As do I,” Ellechial said. No one but the Lord wanted it more than he did.

  “Keefe has received his calling.” Nadriel’s wings fluttered. “Though he has not yet grasped it.”

  “Hmm.” Ellechial sent prayers up for Keefe. “Then we haven’t much time.”

  “No. The Franciscan friars shall not stay long. I fear Keefe’s worry over Jarret may prevent him from discernment of his own vocation.”

  “Yes. Keefe has great concern for his twin. Jarret has not been forgotten in his prayers.” Ellechial lifted his hand and a shiny shield appeared, gold with a blue M in honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

  Nadriel smiled looking it over. “Impressive.”

  “Thank you.” Lowering his hand, the shield vanished, but it would be available to him for some time.

  “Have you plans for tonight?” Nadriel said.

  “I have. Perhaps you can help.”

  Nadriel gave a nod and his full attention.

  “I should like to get Jarret to the shrine. The artwork there may move his soul. It would also be well for him to see that the girl of his infatuation has a lively faith.”

  The music stopped, people clapped, and a few couples left the patio. Selena held Jarret’s arm as they walked but let go as she neared Roland. Roland got up and met them, and the three of them went to the fountain.

  “Now what?” Selena beamed, glancing from Roland to Jarret.

  “You would like to see the shrine,” Nadriel said to Roland.

  Roland didn’t appear to have caught the suggestion as he seemed quite taken by Selena’s joy. “You looked great out there.”

  Selena lifted one end of her skirt and bowed. “Why, thank you. Maybe you will ask me for a dance.”

  Jarret shot Roland a look of warning. “Roland doesn’t dance. Do you, Roland?”

  He gave the hint of a smile and blushed. “No, I can’t dance. I didn’t know you could.” He looked at Jarret. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

  Jarret stood a little taller and shrugged, grinning.

  “Well, let’s sit down.” Selena sat on the edge of the fountain and, eyes on Roland, patted the spot next to her.

  “Maybe you ought to get a chair, Pale Rider.” Jarret sat on Selena’s other side. “We don’t want Selena to get her pretty dress wet, having to save your hide again.”

  Roland’s mouth twitched. He hid his anger well, but he appeared to be reliving the entire pool incident in his mind. After Jarret had shoved him into the pool yesterday and he’d flailed about in sheer panic, Selena had come to his rescue. Once seated on a chaise lounge, it had taken a good fifteen minutes for him to calm down and breathe easy again, all under the concerned gaze of Selena. Then he seemed to feel it necessary to prove he was okay by joining them in the pool. That time he went in on his own, slowly from the shallow end. Under his breath, he vowed never to swim at the Zamoranos’ again.

  “What do you want to do now?” Selena played with her skirt, swishing the part that draped from her knee.

  “You would like to see the shrine, wouldn’t you?” Nadriel whispered in Roland’s ear.

  “Yeah, I would like to see the . . .” Roland glanced to either side, as if the thought surprised him.

  Jarret’s gaze trained on a servant with a tray of pink and yellow drinks, each topped with a chunk of fruit. “Let’s get some of those drinks and go for a swim.” He gave Roland a sideways glance.

  “I don’t want to swim. The party’s for us, you know,” Roland said. “And those drinks have alcohol.”

  “No kidding,” Jarret said. “Don’t you wanna have some fun? You’re so lame.”

  “There’re a lot of people here.” Roland changed the subject with admirable calmness. “I noticed some of them wandering off.” He gave a nod toward the back of the property, which now glowed pink under the setting sun.

  Selena looked.

  “Are all of the guests from the last party also here tonight?” Roland said.

  “I think so,” she said.

  “What about the second time something was stolen? Were any of these same people over?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re playing detective again.” Jarret sneered. “I’m getting me a drink.” He jumped up, but his gaze snapped to his father who stood about twenty feet away with a group of men in Stetson hats.

  “We had a dinner party the night Saint George and the Dragon was stolen,” Selena said to Roland. “It’s a bronze statue. And, yes, some of the guests were the same.” Her eyes popped wide open. “I know. I’ll go find the guest lists.” She jumped up, took a few steps, and spun back around. “I’ll get you a drink, Jarret.” She smiled and bounced off.

  “Don’t worry, my boy,” Deth-kye’s wicked voice sounded somewhere near Jarret an instant before he made himself visible to the angels. “We won’t let that little brother of yours ruin a perfectly good party.”

  Jarret cast a grumpy glance at Roland.

  Roland smiled. “We should walk down to the shrine, check it out.”

  “No, we shouldn’t. We should see how many drinks we can snag without Papa finding out.”

  “No, we shouldn’t.”

  A few minutes later, bouncing to the music, Selena returned with a drink in each hand. She took a sip of one then handed it to Jarret. When she tried to give one to Roland, he shook his head and glanced over his shoulder.

  “Let’s go put our swimsuits on,” Jarret said, leaning close to Selena.

  She laughed. “I have the guest lists.” She pulled folded papers from her waistband and handed them to Roland.

  He flipped them open and started comparing them side to side. “Not so many people at the dinner party, huh?”

  “Forget about that.” Jarret finished his drink and set the empty glass on a table. “I wanna swim.”

  “The shrine,” Nadriel said to Roland. “You want to see the shrine.”

  Roland looked up from the lists and stared at Selena.

  Selena looked up from the lists and met his gaze. “What?”

  “Do you think we could see the shrine?”

  “Tonight?”

  Jarret rolled his eyes and groaned. “Not tonight. Let’s do something fun.”

  Selena faced him with narrowed eyes and a playful grin. “Why can’t we do both?”

  “No!” Deth-kye lunged at Selena, hands reaching for her throat.

  “Get back!” Her guardian thrus
t his shield, blocking Deth-kye’s attack, and drew his sword for battle.

  Deth-kye shrunk back, cowering before the angel. He had no permission to attack Selena.

  “It won’t kill you to go to the shrine,” Ellechial said to Jarret, not expecting him to sense it.

  Jarret raised his hands, surrender in his eyes. “Lead the way,” he said to Selena.

  Nadriel and Ellechial exchanged glances.

  “Did he . . .” Nadriel said, “. . . hear you?”

  “I don’t know,” Ellechial said.

  With unnatural movements, Deth-kye crawled after Jarret then rose to full height and leaped into the air. Leathery wings shot out from his sides. From his overhead position, he leered down at the angels. “One point for you, my despised enemy. But only one.” He sped away, heading for the shrine.

  Selena led them to her father first, to get the key. Then they walked three-across between the horse corral and a line of flowering desert willow trees that went all the way back to the shrine. Roland and Selena discussed the guests at the last dinner party, while Jarret flexed his jaw muscles and ground his teeth.

  The shrine resembled a little adobe church with a terracotta roof and a wooden cross on top. An angel stood guard at the door, gracefully stepping aside as Selena reached for the knob. When she cracked open the door, a gray mist slithered in along the floor.

  Selena flipped the light switch, dipped her finger in the holy water font by the door, and crossed herself. Roland followed her lead.

  “Well, go on,” Ellechial said to Jarret. “It won’t kill you.”

  With a sigh, Jarret stepped onto consecrated ground and dipped his finger in holy water.

  The instant Jarret crossed himself, the gray mist on the floor shot back. It slithered up a wall and into a three-by-four-foot painting.

  Roland perused the artwork and statues, taking slow steps. “Wow. This is some shrine.”

  Candles burned before life-size statues of the Blessed Virgin, Saint Joseph, Saint John of the Cross, and Saint Ignatius of Loyola. Paintings of various saints and religious scenes hung on the walls. Smaller statues, ornate candlesticks, crucifixes, and other religious items filled shelves and niches in the walls.

  Selena had gone to a kneeler before the Blessed Virgin and offered a prayer that her guardian took immediately to Heaven.

  Jarret took only a few steps into the shrine, but he stopped too close to the picture Deth-kye had entered.

  Putrid gray smoke spewed forth from the picture.

  Ellechial shot to Jarret’s side, shield in hand.

  Smoke, which would’ve shot directly into Jarret’s face, rolled off the shield and reformed itself into the shape of a snake. The snake circled in the air around both Ellechial and Jarret, increasing its speed with every turn. Arms and legs grew out of the spiraling snake as it mutated into Deth-kye’s ungainly form.

  Hot black anger flashed over Deth-kye’s countenance. He sprang for Jarret.

  In an instant, Ellechial met him in the air. Their spiritual forms collided with a burst of foul gray smoke and a flash of light.

  “I command you to leave this place,” Ellechial said, wrestling to keep the demon from poisoning Jarret’s thoughts.

  Jarret’s features had softened as he beheld the statues of saints, the paintings, and Selena at prayer. This could be the moment of grace for him. If only—

  Deth-kye jerked back, lifting and twisting his hands to flaunt his weapons, a short dagger and a blackened scythe. “Jarret has made me strong. You, I see, still have nothing but a puny shield. You will not tell me to go. I will tell you.” Stretching his form to unusual height, he swung the scythe.

  Ellechial dodged and flashed back to Jarret’s side.

  The scythe came at him again, slicing through the air in motions so quick it made a breeze.

  Wings held high, Ellechial brought up his shield. The scythe came down and sliced it clean in two. Half of the shield vanished, the other he whipped at the demon.

  Deth-kye blocked the projectile with his dagger, then drew near and laughed in Ellechial’s face. “The victory is mine.” His form disintegrated into a dark cloud, which stretched out and slithered up the wall and back into the painting.

  Ellechial turned his thought heavenward. “Why, my Lord?” He remained in prayer, begging God for the grace of Jarret’s conversion, for a softening of his heart, for victory. “May God be glorified.”

  Jarret

  Jarret glanced at the door, ready to leave. Something about the little shrine disturbed him. But what? And why?

  At first, it had seemed quaint—if that was the word—somewhat old-worldly with all the colorful paintings and statues. It had lifted his spirit in a strange way that made him feel special, or maybe as if something awesome could happen to him. He had even thought about God for a minute there, as if God had wanted to connect with him. Strange thought. Why would God want anything to do with him?

  The Zamoranos obviously felt differently, as their little shrine displayed, but he couldn’t accept that God would really stoop down and get involved with His creatures. No. People may have found comfort in that thought, but it didn’t make it true. People liked to have their little holy pictures or statues or whole shrines devoted to God and the saints, but that didn’t mean it moved God. What would He care about this shrine?

  Did people think it pleased God to have a shrine built and filled with all sorts of expensive artwork? Silly. They simply clung to their old-world, semi-superstitious beliefs that, whether they wanted to admit it or not, resembled the people in the Old Testament times with their gods of wood and stone. What was the difference?

  No. This place was not for him.

  Roland turned toward Selena as she rose from the kneeler. “What about motive?” he said, still harping on the thief. “Do you think money alone is the thief’s motive? And why only recently? Maybe he has some pressing need.”

  “Maybe he just discovered that we keep the shrine unlocked.” Selena came up to Roland. “I mean we used to.” She spun the keychain on her finger, a playful look in her eyes. “Papá even thought about getting a security system. He likes the shrine to be open, though, in case anyone wants to visit. Maybe he will just get cameras and post signs.”

  “I wish my father would let me help make a detailed list of the antiques.” Roland stared at a statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Gold candlesticks and flowers in ceramic vases stood on pedestals on either side. “There’re so many of them here. I can look things up, help him out a little.”

  “Have you asked him?” Selena gathered her hair in one hand and released it, letting it cascade down her back.

  Liking what he saw, Jarret decided to go to her. Before he took a step, something on the wall moved or came into focus in his peripheral vision. He stopped, looked, and did a double take.

  A painting of a saint hung on the wall nearby. The saint—nearly naked, bound to a tree, and with arrows sticking out of his body—resembled him. Same curly dark hair. Same eyes and . . . the face . . .

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Selena appeared by his side.

  He shut his mouth and wanted to face her, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from the curly-haired man in the picture. “He’s got an arrow through his neck.”

  Selena giggled, moving closer. “It’s Saint Sebastian. Do you know about him?”

  Jarret shook his head and turned away from the painting.

  “He was a captain of the Praetorian Guard,” she said, “before they discovered he was a Christian. He converted two brothers, twin brothers—”

  “Twin brothers?” Shaking his head again, Jarret stepped back.

  “. . . and then he converted their parents. And also a mute girl named Zoe.”

  “Zoe?” His eyes popped, nearly bursting. He put a hand up, signaling for her to stop explaining.

  “Once Zoe converted, her speech returned. Sebastian converted many others. Then he died during the Roman emperor Diocletian’s persecution of the
Christians. He didn’t actually die from arrows.”

  “Oh.” Jarret glanced about the shrine, looking for something else to talk about.

  “He was clubbed to death. Zoe was burned.”

  “You know what?” Jarret’s stomach twisted. “I don’t really want to know about Saint Sebastian. I don’t see the point in all these people dying, all these martyrs. You think God wants that? Wants them to sacrifice themselves? For what? He gave them brains and strength. Why didn’t they fight? Why didn’t Sebastian have his own bow and arrows?” He backed up a few steps, hoping he had moved toward the door. “Ain’t nobody gonna bring me down without a fight. Let’s get back to the party.” He turned away from her and raised his voice. “Roland, you’ve seen enough.”

  ❖

  Walking under the row of desert willow trees, brushing into an occasional low-hanging seedpod, Jarret clipped along at a good pace, glad to be shut of the shrine. He couldn’t wait to return to the party. The distant sound of the mariachi band, while not his favorite type of music, drew him. It had a certain appeal out here under the dark sky on a hot desert night. And it mellowed his mood.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Selena jogged to catch up to him.

  “There wasn’t any alcohol in that drink you gave me, was there?” He hadn’t realized it initially, but now he was certain. He didn’t feel a thing. He should’ve at least felt a wee bit fuzzy. As soon as he got back in the mix, he’d take care of that.

  She laughed. “I never said there was.”

  “You’re only seventeen.” Roland caught up to them and walked on Jarret’s other side. “You don’t need to drink.”

  “Need to? No. Want to? Yes.” He grinned. “You never do anything fun. Don’t knock it till you try it.”

  Roland rolled his eyes and shook his head, probably wanting Selena to know he disapproved.

  Selena dropped her head, giggling, and her hair fell over her face like a black silk curtain. The way she laughed at every little thing, she seemed like a girl who could have some fun.

  That’s what he needed: a few drinks and some time with her. “What about you?” he said to her.

  “Me?” A smile flickered on her face. “What about me?”