Another rope gave.
Darius placed the knife at another point of the pentagram and wrapped his wound in black cloth. Curran saw the fabric immediately turn brighter as the red blood soaked it through.
Darius continued his prayers over the vat.
The contents bubbled now.
Like watching a pot come to a boil, thought Curran.
Darius walked over toward the sarcophagus. Curran fidgeted, straining some more against the ropes. He looked and saw that affixed to the bottom of the sarcophagus were small wheels.
Darius wheeled it toward the vat.
Curran frowned. No! He had to get free!
He flexed again.
Another rope gave.
But more still held his wrists tight.
Darius stopped the sarcophagus and resumed his position in front of the vat. Again, he raised his arms toward the ceiling.
The chanting continued.
Any minute now, he’s going to dump that crap all over Lauren, thought Curran.
He flexed again.
Nothing budged.
Curran chewed his lower lip. The room had grown a lot hotter all of a sudden. It was beginning to happen. Darius was beginning to call Satan forth.
A line of sweat broke out along Curran’s hairline, dribbling down over his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them.
He made a decision.
He jerked himself to the right and fell to the ground, the chair with him. He tried to twist just so, that one side of the chair would impact with the stone floor and hopefully break.
It didn’t.
Curran lay there struggling, trying to escape the ropes that continued to bind him tight.
And suddenly realized the chanting had stopped.
The demon stood in front of him.
“It would be wise, I think, to not interrupt me again. The requirement is only that you be alive for my master when he comes on to this plane.” Darius grinned. “I can easily make you far more submissive.”
“Yeah, but you won’t do that.”
“No?”
“You want me to see this. You need me to see this. After all, this is almost ten years of our lives, isn’t it, Darius? You’ve tormented me for so long already. You aren’t about to let me get out of that kind of torture. You live for this kind of crap. I’ll bet the last time you had this much fun was when you killed Graham Westerly.”
Darius laughed. “Perhaps.” A single hairy finger nudged Curran in the chest. “Lay there then. Be still and I will allow you to witness the resurrection of my Lord.”
Darius turned back to the vat. The contents had stopped boiling when Darius had stopped chanting. Now and then a small bubble would pop on the surface, sending a tiny pocket of putrid air into the room.
But now Darius began chanting again.
Instantly the vat responded. It was as if Darius was calling the evil contained within the vat to become ready for the final metamorphosis.
Curran desperately wished there was some way he could get Lauren to wake up. He didn’t think shouting would do a thing. Especially if the sound of Darius’ chanting hadn’t woken her up yet.
He had to do something!
He flexed again. Tried straining hard to break another bit of the rope. It didn’t work. Curran slumped forward and sighed.
Was this it? Was this how he was doomed to go out? And what about Lauren? Didn’t her life of good count for anything at all?
Darius’ voice grew louder.
The vat was almost rocking in time to his voice.
Curran had never realized how full the vat was. The contents were again boiling, almost overflowing from their containment.
The time seemed close at hand.
Darius bent down by the bottom of the vat and wrapped his arms around it.
Curran frowned. What the hell was he going to do, lift it up and pour in onto Lauren’s body?
Darius hefted the vat.
Curran jerked his body again, trying to get free of the ropes. They held tight. The chair wobbled again.
The Soul Eater looked back and smiled, still chanting. He was obviously enjoying Curran’s frantic attempts to get free. He shook his head and kept chanting.
He held the vat higher now, up by his chest.
Curran shook his head. How Darius could stand the smell that close was beyond him.
Darius lifted the vat higher.
Still chanting.
Popping sounds erupted from the vat now, sounding like zaps of electricity in the cellar air. More pockets of stench filled the room.
Curran gagged again.
Darius held the vat even higher.
Almost over head now, his voice grew louder. The tempo of his chanting increased. The pops of electrical energy increased. The room grew hotter again.
Curran jerked in his chair.
Come on, he thought, just break already!
Darius’ voice grew soft then and Curran knew instinctively that he was too late. That all his efforts had been for nothing. There was no way he could stop Darius. Not now. Not like this. Not tied to some chair in a cellar in the middle of Chestnut Hill.
Not in this lifetime.
Curran hung his head.
Lauren. I’m so sorry.
His head swam with a million images until at last a solitary image of Lauren stood out. Her smile. Her face. Her entire body. She radiated goodness. It zoomed out of her — a white light halo that expanded ever outward toward him.
Was this her?
Curran saw himself reaching out — trying desperately to make the connection. He had to believe he could reach her. He had to believe she could touch him.
He had to -
— believe!
A rope broke.
Another broke a second later.
Curran kept Lauren in his mind. He kept looking at her. He could feel the warmth of her smile wash over him now. It poured strength into his arms, into his body.
Come back to me Lauren. Come back now!
A final rope broke.
“Steve?”
And the voice that filled the room then — the voice that rose above the chanting of the demon…
…belonged to Lauren.
Chapter Forty
Darius — the demon — the Soul Eater — roared.
Curran opened his eyes. His hands were free. He scrambled to his feet. He could see Lauren sitting up in the sarcophagus. She seemed to be regarding the demon standing before her with the vat in his arms.
Lauren’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Stop this now, Darius. Your mission will never succeed.”
Darius’ voice challenged her. “It is too late mortals. Too late! The time is now at hand.”
He lifted the vat high and moved closer to the sarcophagus.
Curran scrambled to his knees and fumbled with the cuff of his khaki pants. He ripped the right cuff up.
Darius lifted the vat up high — his arms fully extended.
Lauren simply looked at him and smiled.
“Don’t do this.”
Darius paused.
Lauren kept smiling.
What the hell was she doing?
“Put that down, Darius.”
Her eyes seemed glassy. Her voice changed now and she began speaking something that sounded like what Darius had spoken.
Curran thought he saw the demon’s arms slack a little.
Was she getting through to him?
And then a cold wind swept into the cellar. Followed by a voice that made the hair on Curran’s neck stand straight up.
“Do it now! I command you! Do it now!”
Darius roared again.
Curran saw the strength flood back into him. Back into his arms. He lifted the vat again. He stood close by the sarcophagus.
Curran ripped his gun out of the holster.
And shouted.
“Darius!”
The demon turned.
Curran flicked the safety off.
He could see the vat beginning to turn — almost ready to empty into the sarcophagus.
He fired.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The bullets slammed into the demon’s chest, ripping small holes of crimson open. Darius grunted as each round impacted. More blood spilled out of him.