Excerpt 1- Chapter 1
Just as she was in life, Deliverance was a demon in death.
Her cruel whispers invaded quiet conversations. Her hate-filled face raced past in the shadows. Destroying the body didn’t end her baneful abuses. Instead, she became limitless and everywhere, always.
A thick breath of fog rolled in from Derby Wharf, obscuring much of the town in its salty grip. Beneath a brick wall, Angela’s torso hovered close to the ground like a disembodied specter. It was just past the witching hour.
Trying to ignore the demon’s voice, her foot forced a shovel tip between the invading roots of an old elm tree. Late summer rain softened the first two feet, but the deeper she went, the more arduous her task became. As its blade struck the cold earth, the shovel’s handle creaked once more. If it could just hold out a bit longer, weeks of their nocturnal labor would come to an end tonight.
The whispers beneath her feet intensified into a full-throated growl. Too loud. Angela pulled a small bottle of water out of her pocket and sprinkled it over the soil. Its bitter blessing drove the sound into silence once more.
For years, drugs numbed the whispers and obscured the demon’s face, but Angela’s gatekeepers eventually tossed her out like many crumpled bits of garbage now littering the streets of the North Shore. In Boston, she found ways to calm the chaos by coercing the gullible. Many survived their interactions with her. Some were not as fortunate.
During a moment of weakness, she tried to end her own life, but Lyssa and Hekate kept her from the slumber of death. Instead, her beloved Goddesses graciously bestowed visions of destiny upon their troubled servant.
The shovel finally bumped against something other than rocks and roots. A rush of excitement flowed through Angela’s veins. Turning the blade over, she scraped back the earth from the old pine lid. Then she jammed the shovel’s metal edge between the boards.
Nails loosened, but the pressure snapped the rusted collar from the shovel’s wooden handle. She grumbled something incoherent and tossed the broken tool aside. It landed with a soft thud onto the foraged slab of plywood she’d been using to cover the grave.
Adrenaline in her veins shifted to pulsing dopamine.
Angela grabbed the axe lying next to the rejected shovel. She lifted it above her head and let its blade fall onto the rotting timber. Not too hard. Just enough to break it. Must not harm the treasure inside. She set the axe aside and grabbed hold of the broken coffin lid. When one of the planks snapped in half, it ripped open the skin on her knuckles.
A face stared back at her. Though not recognizable in its present state, it still gave Angela nauseating chills. Crimson drops christened the bones as she placed them one by one inside a black trash bag. It wasn’t the first time the demon drew blood from her.
When she was done, she pulled the plywood back over the open pit and spread a thin layer of earth on top with the shovel blade. Once more, her work was hidden. Then she picked up the axe and swung it hard against the cheap concrete headstone. It tumbled over into the tall weeds. She struck it several times more, letting fury flood her soul.
Angela rolled over in the darkness and opened her eyes in a panic. Did she just come from the cemetery, or was it something she had yet to do?
No.
She reached over and touched the black bag lying next to her. It had been days since that task had been completed. Time slipped back and forth so easily sometimes.
Obtaining the bones was one step. Soon, Angela would bend the demon to her will with the threat of silencing it forever. Remnants of the forbidden ritual remained engraved in her mind. The rest, the part she wasn’t allowed to read, was in a Book of Shadows hidden somewhere in this house.
Muffled voices from the room above interrupted the dead’s incessant whispers.
