Battle for His Soul Page 5

  At Nadriel’s prompting, Roland flung himself at Peter and wrapped his arms around him from behind. “Let it go, man,” Roland said. “You don’t want to do that.”

  Glaring at Jarret, Peter wrestled to get free. “Oh yes, I do.”

  Roland clung to him.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Jarret said, grinning. He dropped his fist to his side but his eyes held a cocky look, a look that might get an angel riled up against him.

  Deth-kye appeared in the midst of them, his vile laughter filling the air. “Don’t you love a good fight?” he said to Ellechial. “Especially when it’s so unbalanced, so unfair. I mean, look at Peter: unskilled, incompetent. He can’t touch Jarret, not with Jarret’s arrogance and talent. Look at him gloat.” He threw his head back, laughing harder. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “The word love ought not to come from one like you,” Ellechial said.

  Deth-kye sneered and vanished, most likely to set another snare.

  Jarret swaggered across the yard to the house, a smug look on his face.

  Ellechial followed.

  As Jarret stepped into the house, his grin faded. He shut the door behind him, and his gaze traveled to the staircase halfway down the main hallway.

  “Yes, go talk to him,” Ellechial said. “Fighting has never calmed your restless spirit. Keefe has. His message may be foreign to you, but be not afraid.”

  Jarret’s eyelids flickered. His head turned, and his gaze skated down the front hall to the door of his father’s study. After a deep breath, he strutted in that direction.

  Had he decided to go with his father, then? Ellechial floated along with him, keeping close to his side and attentive to his mood, praying for the Lord’s will and waiting to see it unfold.

  His father’s voice traveled from the study. “Sure, I’d like that.”

  “I’ll be free next week,” a woman said, her playful voice coming from the speakers of a computer.

  Jarret slowed as he neared the door. He stopped where he couldn’t be seen and leaned against the wall. His gaze flitted, focusing on nothing in particular, the way it did whenever he eavesdropped.

  “Nah, next week is too soon,” his father said. “I’ll be in Arizona. My friend Juan asked me to come out, Juan Zamorano. Remember him?”

  The woman laughed. “I think you’re putting me off again. Are you afraid of me?”

  Jarret’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the voice. He peeked into the room.

  His father sat sideways at a long oak desk, his boots propped up on one end. He played with an ornate desk globe, spinning it one way then another. He smiled at a large, flat computer monitor. The angle of it allowed Jarret to see the image of the blonde woman with whom he spoke. “Yeah, Anna, you know I’m simply a cowboy at heart, comfortable with fields and solitude. You’re a real live woman. Of course I’m afraid of you.” He chuckled.

  Jarret nodded and smirked as if the visual confirmed what he’d already guessed. His father spoke with Miss Anna Meadows. Jarret met the woman this past spring when his father made him go on an archaeological dig in Mississippi. His father had known her in college, years before he’d met their mother. Their friendship resumed several years after their mother’s death, but it had yet to progress to a romantic relationship.

  “Really now, Ignatius, I’m starting to think that you—”

  “No, no,” his father said, “it’s just that I made these arrangements last—”

  Jarret stepped into the room. “Hey, Papa.”

  His father’s boots slammed to the floor. He straightened up and swiveled the monitor, preventing a view from the doorway. “Hey, uh, I’ll have to call you later.” He spoke low and turned the volume on the speakers down but not before she said, “Okay, cowboy, but don’t make it too much later. I miss you.”

  “What’s up, Jarret?” He shut off the monitor and slid the globe to the back of the desk.

  “I’m going with you to Arizona.”

  His father smiled. “Oh yeah?”

  It wasn’t spoken in a tone of challenge, but the curl of Jarret’s lip showed he took it that way. He huffed. “Well, can’t I?”

  His father stood and walked around the desk. “Of course, yeah, of course you can. What made you change your mind?”

  “That would be me,” Deth-kye said and hissed, his voice coming from a dark corner of the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DOUBT & DISSENSION

  Roland

  Saint Michael’s Church felt like a sanctuary, providing cool relief from the hot afternoon sun. Light streamed in through tall stained-glass windows, painting colorful abstracts on the pews. Candles burned in shrines and over the tabernacle.

  Roland took a deep breath. The sweet, woodsy smell of incense lingered in the air. Nothing was more peaceful than sitting in church before the lights went on.

  “I can give you fifty reasons not to go.” Peter sat next to him with his arms folded across his chest, slumping so that his knees touched the back of the pew in front of them. “Well, a dozen anyway. Maybe fifty if I got creative.”

  Roland shrugged. He had a few reasons of his own for not wanting to go to Arizona at this particular time.

  Caitlyn sat two pews ahead, whispering loudly with Kiara and Phoebe who sat on either side of her. She wore her hair up in a sloppy ponytail, a few red-mahogany curls hanging free. Judging by the tone of her whisper, she felt defensive.

  “The weather, for one,” Peter said. “An Arizona summer has gotta be hotter than hell.”

  “Peter!” Kiara whispered harshly. “We’re in church.”

  “I’m not swearing. It’s a fact.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward Roland. “It’ll probably be a hundred and twenty outside. Can your ghost-white skin even take the sun?”

  Roland rolled his eyes. Peter liked to mock his pale skin every chance he got. It wasn’t Roland’s fault he’d inherited his skin pigmentation from the fairest of his relatives.

  “Do you doubt me?” Peter said. “Don’t you watch The Weather Channel? It’s hot down there.”

  The three girls glanced around the church.

  “So where is everyone?” Phoebe made a dramatic gesture at the empty pews, her dozen or so metal bracelets jangling.

  Roland and Peter had arrived at Saint Michael’s first, twenty minutes early, having bummed a ride from Peter’s aunt, who had a tight schedule. Caitlyn, Kiara, and Phoebe showed up at five to three. The prayer group was to begin at three o’clock.

  “Yeah,” Peter said in his outdoor voice. “I thought you invited the Catholic youth group. They show up for everything, don’t they?”

  “The Fire Starters,” Phoebe and Kiara said together. They were always the first to correct anyone who didn’t know the Catholic youth group’s new name. It had something to do with Luke 12:49: I have come to cast a fire upon the earth, and how I wish it were blazing already.

  Phoebe reached past Caitlyn and grabbed Kiara’s wrist to check her watch. She let go of Kiara’s wrist, huffing.

  Caitlyn turned to Peter. “Well, um . . .” She frowned. “Dominic was supposed to tell them. Maybe he forgot. He has a lot going on in his family.”

  “So nobody’s here.” Peter started bouncing one leg. “We still gonna do it?”

  “Don’t say nobody’s here. There are five of us,” Caitlyn said. “All we really need is two.” She and Kiara exchanged nods. “Where two or more are gathered in His name . . . Right?”

  “I guess so.” Peter looked at Roland. “Where’s Keefe? Isn’t he coming?”

  Roland shrugged. Keefe had been horseback riding since late morning. He seemed distracted lately.

  Peter faced Caitlyn again. “So how’s this gonna work?”

  “I don’t know,” Caitlyn said. “I thought—”

  “You don’t know? Shouldn’t you have it all planned?” Now both of Peter’s legs shook, bouncing to a broken rhythm.

  “I thought we should all decide how it goes. This is only our first meeting. I
t doesn’t need to be perfect. We can make changes as we go along.”

  “Where’s Father?” Phoebe said. “Are you sure you told him? Isn’t he supposed to bring the relic?”

  Caitlyn took Kiara’s wrist and glanced at her watch. “I don’t know where he is. I guess he’s late. We can start planning our prayer time, anyways. When he comes we should probably know what we’re doing.” She picked up a Mass Missal and flipped to the back. “Since he’s going to bring out the Blessed Sacrament, I thought we should start with the Divine Praises. It’s in the back here. Then maybe we could do a song. Or maybe we should sing first.”

  “A song?” Peter practically shouted. “I’m not singing. There’re five of us. Whose gonna sing?” He turned to Roland. “Are you gonna sing?”

  Caitlyn looked at Roland, her green eyes gleaming with hope.

  Roland shrugged. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but no, he wasn’t going to sing. He never sang, not even in the shower. Everyone would hear him. Could he even hold a note? This was not the time to find out. He’d find out alone in the woods sometime, maybe, but no, not now.

  “Well, whoever wants to can sing,” Kiara said, flipping through the Missal. “I like to sing. What song?”

  “You pick one,” Caitlyn said. “We girls can sing.”

  Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “Then what?”

  “Well, how about some spontaneous prayers?” Caitlyn said.

  “Spontaneous?” Phoebe’s eyes bugged, emphasizing the thick black eyeliner all around them. “You don’t mean like that weird charismatic stuff, do you? . . . everyone raising their hands, shaking their bodies, and making strange noises.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Can’t we just say a few prayers out loud, from our hearts?”

  “Why can’t we say them in the silence of our hearts? We can share our intentions then pray the Rosary or something. I’m not into that charismatic stuff. In fact, I find it kind of disturbing.”

  “Okay.” Caitlyn frowned. “I wasn’t going to speak in tongues or anything.”

  The frustration in Caitlyn’s eyes made Roland’s insides lurch. “I’ll say a prayer out loud.”

  Caitlyn smiled at him, thankfulness written on her face.

  “Yeah, sure.” Phoebe glared at him. “Get spontaneous prayer started and then leave. You aren’t even going to be around after this first meeting, are you?”

  Not wanting to hold Phoebe’s fierce gaze, he looked at Peter.

  Peter shrugged, but his pouty lips and sulky eyes showed he sided with Phoebe. He scooted closer to Roland and whispered, “Reason number two for not going to Arizona: you’ll miss all this.” He grinned.

  Roland chuckled.

  Phoebe checked Kiara’s watch again. “What’s keeping Father? Do you think he forgot about us?”

  Caitlyn peered at the vestibule. “Maybe someone should go check on him.”

  “I’ll go.” Phoebe slid to the end of the pew and got up. “You decide what we’re going to do. My vote is for the Divine Praises and the Rosary.”

  “Rosary?” Peter frowned. “No one said to bring a rosary.” He looked at Roland. “Did you bring a rosary?”

  Roland dug into a leg pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out his black rosary.

  “Oh.” Peter shifted his position. “I guess I can use my fingers.”

  “What about the Divine Mercy Chaplet?” Kiara said to Caitlyn. “And I brought my Bible. Maybe one of us . . .”

  “But really, man,” Peter whispered to Roland. “Reason number three: Why the heck would you want to go anywhere with Jarret? Is he really gonna go with you guys now?”

  Roland nodded.

  “I mean, he spent the past year tormenting you, thrashing you, locking you up, getting you into trouble at school, and—”

  “Why don’t you shut up?” Roland snapped.

  Caitlyn turned her head.

  Roland’s face warmed. He slid down in the pew. “People can change,” he whispered.

  Peter rubbed his hind end where Jarret had kicked him. “Seems like he’s changed.”

  “Well, maybe he hasn’t changed yet, but I’m not giving up on him. We can pray for him.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding me? I’m not praying for him.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “I’ve got payback on my mind.”

  Roland sighed and rolled his eyes. “That’s the Christian spirit. Glad you’re in our prayer group.”

  “Want me to leave?” He slapped his hands on the pew in front of him and leaned forward.

  Roland tugged him back. “Sit down. Here comes Father.”

  The doors to the vestibule opened and Keefe strolled in.

  “Father, huh?” Peter smirked.

  Keefe genuflected and slid into the pew next to Roland, smelling like he had jogged all the way to the church. “Hey.” He gave Peter and Roland a nod. “I thought I was late. Where is everyone?”

  Cyabrial

  With his thoughts close to the Lord hidden in the tabernacle, Cyabrial prayed for Caitlyn. Doubt had flickered in her eyes while her friends argued over what to do and how to pray. He could almost hear her wondering if this was really God’s will.

  As soon as Keefe and his guardian Monettello had entered the church, Dissension and Doubt withdrew to the shadows. When Monettello gave them no more than a cursory glance, Dissension crawled back to Peter, Doubt to Caitlyn.

  Cyabrial, his gaze on Doubt, put a hand to the hilt of his sword. “Be gone.” Caitlyn had been tested long enough, as God had willed it, and had clung to faith. She’d even offered a prayer that he had carried to Heaven. I believe you want this, Lord, so even if it’s only me and one other, I will do it. I will watch one hour with you.

  Doubt grimaced. “I am not done here.”

  “Oh, but you are.” Cyabrial stepped toward him, unsheathing his sword.

  Doubt cringed and backed up.

  Before Doubt could flee, Monettello swung chains around both him and Dissension. “Not so fast,” Monettello said. “There is one thing you must do before you go.”

  A side door of the church creaked open and Father Carston hastened in. He genuflected toward the tabernacle, greeted the five teens, and rushed to the sacristy.

  Dissension grunted like a tied pig. Doubt writhed and tugged at his chains.

  The church lights flickered on. The priest stepped into the sanctuary, cradling the silver reliquary that contained the relics of Saint Conrad of Parzham. After placing it on the altar, he returned to the sacristy.

  Peter’s face flushed. Perhaps his thoughts went to his discovery of the relic last fall and the transforming effect it had had on his faith. He blinked a few times and bowed his head. His guardian angel lifted his gaze to Heaven.

  A moment later, Father Carston brought out a tall monstrance, set it under a golden beam of sunlight that fell on the altar, and went directly to the tabernacle.

  All whispering ceased and the teens fumbled with the kneelers. The angels knelt too, the seven angels around the altar bowing low.

  As the tabernacle door opened, Monettello tugged at the chains. “Every knee will bend.”

  Dropping to their knees, Dissension groaned louder and Doubt whimpered, “Why torture us? Let us go. We will leave the children alone. Don’t make us look upon . . . Him.”

  Father Carston placed the Blessed Sacrament in the monstrance, knelt, and whispered a prayer.

  The angels fell prostrate and worshiped the Lord of lords and King of kings, hidden to human eyes but not to them. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord,” they sang with one voice. Glorious prayers of praise and adoration rang out, and grace burst forth.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SCHEMES

  Ellechial

  Ellechial prayed as he watched his charge.

  Jarret moved to the beat of the song that blasted through his computer speakers. He stuffed a pack of cigarettes into an outer pocket of his carry-on bag and strutted to the walk-in closet. He yanked two shirts from hangers a
nd laid them on the bed. With folded arms and narrowed eyes, he appraised the shirts, both of which had cost him a sinful amount of money. Having packed almost everything he wanted to bring, his two suitcases and carry-on bag could hold no more.

  With his gaze on the white Diesel polo, he picked up the tan-striped Marc by Marc Jacobs cotton knit. “Roland,” he mumbled, staring at the shirt. “I’ll wear this and stash that one in Roland’s suitcase. Yeah.” He grinned.

  Ellechial sighed. Tomorrow morning Jarret would be on a plane headed for Arizona. Then he would spend the next few weeks in the home of the Zamoranos where, for him, challenges and temptations would abound. If only Keefe could change his mind and convince him to stay home. Keefe’s new openness to God could make him instrumental in leading Jarret’s thoughts to the spiritual side of life. He could help him recognize that God had been tugging at his heart.

  After a brief prayer, Ellechial passed through the bedroom door and into the hallway.

  Roland’s voice traveled from his bedroom through the open door. “I’m not afraid of him. And I really want to see where my father grew up. Why should I let him change my mind?”

  In the open area of Roland’s room, between the bed and the window, Peter held a sword aloft and bounced on his feet like a boxer. Grunting, he lunged toward the wall. “I wouldn’t go anywhere with him, even if he were my brother, which, thank God, he’s not.”

  “He’s not that bad.” Roland set a stack of dark t-shirts in the open suitcase on his bed and turned to the dresser. “Don’t worry about it. I think you only want me to stay so you can practice fencing.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Peter chuckled, lowered the foil, and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Finish packing and let’s go duel outside somewhere, but not near the house. I don’t want Jarret interfering again. And I don’t want him to think of me when my plan unfolds.”

  Ellechial sighed. What was Peter’s plan? Jarret had enough temptation.

  Roland glanced at Peter through the mirror over his dresser. “You know he’s going to blame me.”