Blood of the Devil

Chapter 6 - Out Damned Spot

Letha's scream echoed in the room. The arms holding her tightened, drawing her further from her father and brother. Hadrian was on the floor with Wrath's boot crushing his windpipe. His fingers clutched at the sole, coming away bloody and torn.

"Get off him! He can't help you!"

Wrath snarled, "I want these ghosts gone." A beam of light came through the window, peaking through the blinds, and he scowled, "It looks like its almost time for them to make their appearance."

Her brother choking, Letha elbowed her captor in the ribs, "You'll only kill him. He can't help you! Let me try again, maybe they'll listen this time."

Their father shook his head, "No, no, no. You can only see that irritating nun and German gymnast. And you can't even send them on their way. Your brother can get rid of them all."

"He can't," Letha yowled, "You're such an idiot! You never learn."

The red eyes that scowled at her were sharped than usual, a hint of fire flickering at the edges; hellfire.

"Archer," he ordered.

A rumble came from behind Letha, and the arms holding her became one across her shoulders. The other hand pulled her head back by her hair, exposing her throat to her father. He grinned in sick pleasure.

"You should know, daughter," he said, his eyes narrowed, "that I could have killed you just now, but, unfortunately, your brother is occupying my talents."

Hadrian's eyelids flickered shut, and his arms fell dead by his side.

Wrath nodded. He strode across the room, slapping Letha hard across the face. His nails nicked the skin across her jaw. Letha gasped, thrashing and kicking out. "You bastard."

"Shut her up." Wrath wiggled his eyebrows at his daughter as the hand released her hair and clamped over her mouth, "Now, dearest daughter, speak up when you see your brother."

Eyes frantic, Letha switched her gaze to her brother's prone form. Leaving the cemetery quickly, without so much as a word to Mickey, she'd arrived home to find her brother sitting on the front step. Their father's servant had been making gruel for them, an inedible potion that Letha had refused to eat. When her father and uncles had returned home, he hadn't taken kindly to her comments. The wall behind her was spackled with the mixture.

Now, Letha watched as the spirit of her brother floated to it's feet, casting a waxen light as it began to drift. Her eyes darted as she followed it, and her father chuckled.

"Welcome back, my son."

Hadrian smiled softly, holding out his hand to someone not even Letha could see, "A pleasure to meet you, Dominic. I am Hadrian."

Wrath followed his daughters eyes, a brow raised, "What's he doing?"

Grinding her teeth, Letha ignored him, watching her brother. Hadrian was talking earnestly with someone, his hands on his fists. All expression vanished from his face, leaving his features blank, but he jerked and was talking again.

"You stabbed your own brother," He said, shaking his head, "Your family died thinking you killed yourself. Some of them already think you're in Hell. Since most of them are in Heaven now, and you're not, it's likely all of them think it now." Letha knew her brother well enough to see the pain his words were causing him. She didn't know how his preach-ee was taking it.

A flicker of light caught Letha's eye and her head jerked to assess it. The old Nun, only her face visible in her habit, was carefully making her way towards him. Her face was contorted by fury. Letha decided it was time to act. She bit down hard on her captors hand, drawing blood. The metallic spice flooded her mouth, but she didn't unclamp her jaw until the flesh was ripped free. She spat crimson onto the tiles.