Rearing up behind Jake was a ten-foot angel made of stone. It had to be one of the most chilling earthly things I’d ever seen. Despite looking like an angel, there was something sinister about it. It had narrow eyes, huge black wings that reared majestically behind it, and a powerful body that looked as though it could crush anyone and anything. A long stone sword was melded to its muscular waist. Jake stood under its shadow as though it was protecting him.
The group were gathered in a semicircle around him. They were dressed strangely, some in hooded garments that shrouded their entire faces and others in tattered black lace and chains, their cheeks powdered chalk white and their lips stained bloodred. They didn’t seem to be interacting with one another, but they approached Jake in turn, each bowing in deference before removing some object from a drawstring pouch and depositing the offering at his feet. They made a woeful spectacle that afternoon, standing in the watery sunlight. I wondered by what means and through what promises Jake had lured these young people from their regular pursuits to join him here and disturb the departed.
And I wondered why I didn’t see Molly.
Jake held up his hands and the group stilled. He threw off his hat, and I saw that his long, dark hair was uncombed and tangled. He looked almost wild. When he spoke his voice seemed to reverberate from the stone angel itself.
“Welcome to the dark side,” he said, and laughed coldly. “Although I prefer to think of it as the fun side.” There were murmurs of appreciation from his followers. “I can promise you that nothing feels better than sin. Why not turn to pleasure when life treats us with such indifference? We are here, all of us, because we want to feel alive!”
He ran a slender hand over the coarse stone of the angel’s thigh and spoke again, his voice dripping like syrup. “Pain, suffering, destruction, death, these things are like music to our ears, sweet as honey on our tongues. We thrive on them. They are food for our souls. You must all learn to reject a society that promises everything and delivers nothing. I am here to show you how to create your own meaning, thereby freeing yourselves from this prison in which you are all chained like animals. Man was created to rule, but you have become simpering and soft. Let us reclaim our power over the earth!”
He looked around the group, and his voice became suddenly cajoling, like a parent coaxing a child. His hand gripped the hilt of the angel’s stone sword. “You have done well so far, and I am pleased with your progress. But it’s time to take more than baby steps. I urge you to do more, to be more, and to throw off those shackles that bind you to polite society. Let us invoke the twisted spirits of the night to assist us.”
His words seem to incite a kind of fever in his followers, as if by mass hypnosis. They threw back their heads and cried incoherently into the air, some whispering, some screaming. It was a sound full of pain and vengeance.
Jake smiled approvingly then glanced at his gold watch. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get down to business.” He peered into the crowd. “Where are they? Bring them to me.”
Two figures were thrust forward so they fell at Jake’s feet. Both were wearing hooded cloaks. Jake took hold of the figure closest to him and pulled back the hood, revealing an ordinary-looking boy whom I recognized from school, a fairly unassuming student who kept a low profile and was a member of the chess club. There were no shadows under his eyes, and his eyes themselves were not black like the others’ but a pale green. Despite his fresh-faced appearance, he looked shaken.
Jake placed his hand on the boy’s head. “Don’t be afraid,” he purred in a seductive voice. “I’m here to help you.”
Slowly he began to make swirling signs in the air above where the boy knelt. From where I was crouched, I saw the boy follow Jake’s hand movements and scan the faces in the crowd, obviously trying to gauge the seriousness of the situation. Perhaps he was wondering if this was some elaborate prank, an initiation rite that must be endured before he was accepted into the group. I feared it was something much more sinister.
Then one of his followers handed Jake a book. It was bound in black leather, and the pages were yellowed from age. Reverentially, Jake held the book aloft and let it fall open. Instantly a gust of wind shook the trees and sent dust flying around the squatting headstones. I recognized the book from my teachings back home.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
“What?” Xavier sounded alarmed as he too, caught sight of it. “What’s that?”
“It’s a grimoire,” I said. “A book of dark magic. It contains instructions on how to call on spirits and raise up the dead.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Xavier looked like he was about to pinch himself to try to wake from the nightmare he had unexpectedly fallen into. I was struck for a moment by how innocent he was, and I felt almost sick with the guilt of having dragged him into this. But now wasn’t the time to lose my head.
“This is a bad sign,” I said. “Grimoires are powerful things.”
Still atop the grave, Jake’s chest began to heave. His chanting grew faster and more manic and he read from the book. He spread his arms wide. “Exorior meus atrum amicus quod vindicatum is somes.” He was speaking Latin, but not like I’d ever heard it before. It had been altered, and somehow I knew it was the language of the Underworld. “Is est vestri pro captus,” Jake sang, his hands clutching at the empty air.
“What’s he saying?” Xavier whispered. I was surprised to find that I could translate the meaning of the words exactly.
“Come forth, my dark friend, and claim this body. It is yours for the taking.”
His followers watched with bated breath. No one moved, no one uttered a sound, not daring to interrupt whatever unnatural process was taking place.
Beside me, Xavier sat so transfixed that I had to touch his hand to reassure myself that he was still conscious. We both jerked when a sound like splitting stone filled the air and had to resist the urge to cover our ears. It was a screeching noise, like nails tearing down a blackboard. It stopped abruptly, and a cloud of black smoke poured from the mouth of the massive stone angel. It drifted down to where Jake was standing and seemed to be whispering in his ear. Jake grabbed the boy by the hair, tilting his head back and forcing his mouth open.
“What are you doing?” the boy cried.
The black cloud seemed to reel and spin for a moment in midair before plunging into the boy’s open mouth and down his throat. Jake released him, and the boy instantly uttered a guttural scream. He clutched at his throat and clawed at his body as it convulsed on the ground. His face was contorted as though he were in agony. I felt Xavier’s arm begin to shake with anger.
The boy lay still. A moment later he sat up and looked around him, his expression of confusion turning to one of pleasure. Jake offered him a hand and hoisted him to his feet. The boy flexed his body as if discovering it for the first time.
“Welcome back, my friend,” Jake said, and when the boy turned around, I saw that his green eyes were black as tar.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this before,” I said and dropped my head in my hands. “I befriended him, I wanted to help him. .. I should have sensed he was a demon.”
Xavier put his hand on the small of my back. “This is not your fault.” His eyes swept over the congregation gathered at Jake’s feet. “Are they all demons?”