Order of the Shattered Cross: Pt. 02

The Sister shifted her eyes to Timothy in silent admiration but didn't turn her head.

"I'm not sending a report to the Archbishop that the boogeyman did it."

"Boogeywoman if we're being technical," the girl said.

"Father Kelsey said you found evidence of Witchcraft. Pursue that lead instead. Those witches are brewing something."

"The Confederation said it wasn't one of theirs," Timothy replied.

"And you believe them?"

"Best I can do is find the witch who was at Sunland. She'll have more answers than I can provide."

"Find that witch and report back."

"Our vehicle was stolen last night..."

"...our keys are in Father Brook's office, take whatever you want."

The Bishop sat back down on his chair, the girl reappearing between Timothy and Sister Frost. He resumed signing the back of checks, openly displaying his dismissal of the two without words. Timothy opened the door, allowing the Sister to depart first.

They walked silently down the hall, reading the placards on the walls, looking for the name Brook. It was found at the end of the hall, the last office before the backdoor leading to the parking lot provided for the employees. Father Brook wasn't in, but Timothy helped himself to the drawers of his desk. Several keys were in the top drawer, all labeled by type of vehicle. Bus. Car. SUV. Truck. Timothy took the keys for truck and slid the drawer back into place. He left the office door open and exited the cathedral.

"Sir, thank you for saying that," the Sister said as they trotted down the stairs.

"Saying what?" Timothy asked. He scanned the parking lot until he found a truck. A 1985 Ford F-150, faded brick red with a woodgrain trim. He tested the key in the lock and saw and heard the lock pop open.

"Defending my abilities."

"You need to learn to do that. A lot of Catholic leadership are pompous, you need to be ready to stand up to those assholes." Timothy opened the door and jumped a little when the girl was in the driver's seat.

"Irony," the girl said, prolonging the word tauntingly.

"Including you?" Sister Frost inquired. Timothy laughed a little, and slowly turned to her.

"Yes," Timothy said with a genuine smile, knowing he had set himself up for that. "Especially me."

"Truce?" The Sister extended her hand to his. He shook it, and they both smiled.

"Truce."

"Okay." She walked around the truck and opened the door. "What now?"

"We find a witch," Timothy said while starting the truck. The sister slammed the heavy door and adjusted her habit.

"How do we do that!?" she shouted over the engine he revved up a few times.

"You ever to been to Tampa?"

"No, but why Tampa?"

"The Confederation of Covens says it wasn't their witch. We need to talk to a High Priestess."

"And she's in Tampa? What makes you think she'll even talk to you?"

"She might not, but she's the only High Priestess who will at least let me ask, assuming she doesn't immediately slap me."

"Another woman scorned?"

"Something like that."

--

The route to Tampa once they hit I75 south was a straight shot. Sister Frost started to fiddle with the radio shortly into the drive, but Timothy insisted their music be the wind from the open windows. An hour into the drive they said nothing, but the quiet was grating on her. Timothy was well accustomed to silence. Never once was he in danger at being bothered.

"Theo is your ex-wife?" Sister Frost finally asked. Timothy nodded while keeping his eyes out the windshield. "She was also an exorcist at one point. Your exorcist. Now she's a fractured?"

"Pretty much."

"Did she nearly die, like you, and came back, and had to be a fractured?"

"Theo's been a fractured since she was a girl. She became a nun in her late twenties. She was my exorcist for three years, starting in 1981. We fell in love, and she was released from her vows, and we married in 84. Divorced two years later. After that she stayed on with the church as a Fractured, like me."

"I thought fractured can't become exorcists."

"They can't. Usually. Theo had a very rare exception."

The Sister tried her hardest to think of a logical reason before she had to be told.

"Fractured can't be exorcists, because you swear on your soul. You can't swear on a soul that isn't your own. Theo can, though?" the Sister asked in way that made her sound like she was merely thinking aloud.

"You know the answer; Who is Theo's passenger?"

"Saint Greca...her second soul is a Saint. Both of her souls have taken vows."

"Thus, she's capable of both."

"Fascinating," Sister Frost said, leaning into the seat, astounded at the unlikelihood of someone like Theo even existing. "What about Katrina?"

"What about her?"

"Also, your former exorcist. Are you trying to spoil nuns?"

"I'm not, not trying," he said, making her laugh a little. "Katrina, honestly, should have never taken vows. She was probably the most powerful exorcist I had. What made her strong at that, also made her a poor sister. Inquisitive, didn't care for authority, which I certainly admired. She was sheltered and had no real-life experience before taking her vows. It made her doubt the sincereness of her oath. After she used me to test her devotion, she realized she was never meant to be a nun. She still carries her faith and traveled for a time. Last I knew she was in Rhode Island teaching sixth grade English."

They sat quietly again, and now Timothy was the one more eager to break the silence. The Sister had a question sealed behind her lips, unsure of the best way to ask, or if she even should.

"What?" Timothy asked, to pry it out of her.

"I couldn't help but overhear yesterday. About your Chaplain," the Sister began. "You had two passengers?"

"For a time."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know," Timothy said, turning to her, then back to the road. "I wish I had a better answer, but I don't."

"The last time..." the girl began, suddenly appearing between the two, making the Sister jump. "...he showed his face was in 1971. Your second exorcist, what was his name again?"

"Father Kravchenko," Timothy replied.

"Ah, yes, the Russian..."

"...he was Georgian," Timothy interjected.

"Cold war, same difference," the girl snarked.

"Don't say that to a Georgian," the Sister said.

"Or what? They'll kill me?" the girl asked.

"You were saying," Timothy said, hoping to prevent her from rambling.

"So, the Russian," she said, pausing for a moment, hoping to be corrected again. "He gets torn to pieces by a demon. First one we fought. Great Duke Flauros. Someone had summoned him on a mission of vengeance, didn't end well for him because it never does. The Russian is doing an exorcism on the man, only for the house cat to emerge as the demon and cut him to ribbons with a single swipe. Timothy managed to break the ritual keeping him there and sent him back. Flauros was not happy about that."

"Where does your Chaplain come in?" The Sister asked.

"I ended the ritual by killing the man who had summoned him. Stabbed him in the chest, which immediately severed Flauros's connection to our realm. I think Johan couldn't agree with what I had done, and I haven't seen him since. Not a whisper."

Timothy had killed a man to stop a demon. The Sister looked forward through the windshield, not sure on how to digest this revelation. She knew a demon in a mortal vessel needed to be stopped, and with his exorcist dead, he needed to do it himself. The demon could no longer be immediately exorcised, so all Timothy could do was stop the ritual itself. He needed to destroy the intended vessel.

"Johan didn't approve?" the Sister asked.

"He never told me. He just vanished. I wonder about that night almost every day. I relive it, again and again, trying to find another option that could have stopped Flauros without bloodshed. The church had a hell of a time covering that one up, but I was cleared. The action was considered necessary, if unfortunate."

"You've lost four exorcists?" The Sister asked and Timothy confirmed with a nod.

"Father O'Reilly was my first exorcist. He's the one who took me out of the asylum in 1966," Timothy explained.

"Asylum?"

"Let's just say I'm empathetic with your rationale of hiding your ability to see the between. I didn't know what it was, so ten years after the war I was declared insane and put in an asylum in California. I was diagnosed with shell shock. Today we call that PTSD; post-traumatic stress disorder."

"What happened to O'Reilly?" the Sister asked.

"He was old when I met him. Neville died of a heart attack in 1970 after exorcising a poltergeist. He knew so many people like me were probably in places like that. With abilities society understood less than we did and didn't know what else to do with them. They thought drugs and electroshock were the ticket to sanity back then. I never understood why LSD was tried, but I'm not a doctor.

"My second exorcist was Kravchenko. He lasted a year. Katrina was third. She lasted five years. You know what happened with her."

"Yes, I do," she said, slightly blushing but not hiding it. "Fourth?"

"Father Ricardo Espinoza. Another five years. I learned so much from that man. He was originally an expat from Cuba. As a young man he fought for Castro, but after he participated in the mass slaughter of the very people he was told he was saving, he threw down his rifle in disgust and spent four years in a Cuban prison for his defiance. He escaped and dove into the sea, praying that God would control the currents and take him either to America or heaven. God sent him a boat instead. An American fishing boat brought him to Miami, after he had been floating in the freezing ocean for over two days.

"He was hardly alone in Miami, which has a thriving Cuban community. He began his formal religious education in 1965. By 1970 he was a Priest and began down the path of becoming an exorcist. He could have become a Bishop, maybe even a Cardinal. He had the charisma and the story to make that happen. His salvation is a miracle itself. Ricardo had no interest in climbing the hierarchy. He once told me that he assisted a great evil, so now his life would be spent fighting great evil."

"He must have been a remarkable man," the Sister said.

"Kravchenko was a humorless golem," the girl said. "Even I had a certain affection for Ricardo."

"How did he die?" The Sister asked.

"Fighting great evil."

--

The night life in Tampa was a strange beast. It didn't have the population of a large city and was too large to be a small town. A small city, or a big, small town. No one really knew which one was the more accurate description. It was big enough to have an NFL football team, so that was something. Just not big enough to have a good team. After sixteen years of tune-up seasons, maybe someday.

The city itself lacked a distinct identity of its own. There were many Latin cultural imports from Miami, but the population wasn't diverse enough to carve out anything truly unique. The drive along Bayshore showcased the cloistered mansions along the waterfront, either fully built or under various stages of construction, but none of them sharing a consistent aesthetic beyond opulent wealth. The winter homes of west coast and New England elites bringing their money to Florida; and unfortunately, their tastes.

Only a few years ago, Tampa was more known for drugs, prostitution, and porn theaters. Now, only a few months ago a new sky scrapper was complete. The New Tampa neighborhood was welcoming new residents in droves. The tourism industry was thriving. Local officials were doing what they could to address the drugs and homelessness to accommodate the rapid growth. Namely, keeping the people in East Tampa away from the rest of it.

Timothy took them to Westshore which was quickly becoming the de facto business district of Tampa. Several companies were moving regional headquarters to the area. The heavy presence of business did little to displace the gentlemen clubs, seemingly unaffected by the gentrification. They were likely benefiting from the influx of black suited men with loose morals.

Sister Frost gave Timothy a suspicious look when he parked the truck in front of one such club named Lilith's Garden. The iconography on the sign outside displayed a woman, concealed in a dark hood, flashing a cheeky grin, extending out a lush red apple with a bite missing.

"A High Priestess of the Confederation of Covens is here?" the Sister asked. "Or are we taking a pit stop before we meet her?"

"I'd recommend you stay out here. It's a little rowdy in there. You might be confused as a dancer in costume," he said, and exited the truck. A moment later he heard the Sister's door open and shut. "Suit yourself."

"How do you know her?" she asked.

"I've met a lot of people over the years Sister."

"How?" she repeated.

"She's Theo's sister," Timothy explained, and the Sister's expression asked the next question. Instead of answering, Timothy walked to the doors of the club where a large man guarded the entrance. He wore an ill-fitting suit one size too small. His tie looked to be cutting off circulation.

"Door costs ten," the man said in a deceptively soft voice for his size.

"Here's me," Timothy said, pulling out a crumpled bill from his pocket. "She's here for amateur night."

The man slowly looked at the Sister who resisted the urge to take a cautious step back. His eyes traced from her feet, stopping longer at her hips and breasts, before finally arriving at her eyes. He gave a nod, as if saying 'she'll do', and allowed them through the entrance.

"What's amateur night?" the Sister asked.

"If you need to ask, you're perfect for it."

Lilith's Garden was a dark room shrouded with a machine generated fog illuminated by green and red lights. It felt like walking into a witch's brew. The dancers at various stages of undress were on one of four circular tables that flanked the main stage, two per side. The men congregated around the four when the mainstage wasn't in use by the premier talent. Semicircular booths along the far wall could be made private by sliding curtains. The small bills given to the dancers were exchanged for large bills at the bar who took the large bills for drinks and to break large bills into small bills to give to the dancers in a perfect circle of commerce. The music made it so you could hardly hear the person next to you. Rock and roll from the sixties and onward.

Timothy took a seat at one of the four tables and the Sister gingerly sat next to him. He could have picked any one of the four, but he chose the woman who appeared the most conservative at first glance. Tight country girl jean shorts with a shirt ripped in half, leaving enough fabric to hide all but the bottom of her breasts. Timothy enticed her with a twenty, making her take a squat for her reward. He inched her further with a curled finger and placed his mouth to her ear.

"Tell Nora that Augustine is here," he whispered, and tucked the bill into the top of her shorts. She stood up, looked across the room to a woman at the bar and gestured with a tilt of her head. The woman at the bar disappeared through a two-way door.

"Twenty gets you one song in a booth," the dancer said.

"Not interested, but the Sister might be," he teased, and she turned beat red, while vigorously shaking her head.

"Please no," she said, facing her lap with her palms in her face. The dancer sat at the edge of the circular stage with her legs open wide. She placed her heels on the back of the Sister's chair and drew her closer.

"I haven't had an exorcist in a long time," the dancer said. The Sister peeked through her fingers and shifted her head to look upwards. "I can tell."

"Be gentle with her," Timothy said. The dancer spun her leg over the Sister's head and slid off the table. She grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chair before leading her away. The Sister looked back at Timothy who only waved with his fingers as the curtain glided shut.

"You have a lot of nerve Tim," a voice said. Timothy followed it and saw a woman sit where the Sister just departed.

Nora Abernathy took her seat with a glass of whiskey two fingers deep. She wore converse shoes, black jeans with tears, and a black tank top with her white bra stapes visible. Dark hair like her sister with her bangs dyed blue. She wore blue lipstick to match her hair and her chilling blue eyes. A nose and lip ring to go with the four rings across the top of each ear. Her entire right arm was a tattoo sleeve featuring a pale green snake constricting her arm. The snake was depicted as a vine with various flowers growing from it. Runic symbols were on her right hand, a large one on the back with several smaller ones inked between the knuckles of her fingers.

On the surface, she looked like any other woman who fell into the punk rock lifestyle of the 70s. In truth, she was one of the most powerful sorceresses in the United States, and the High Priestess of the Eastern Covens, a collective of smaller covens across the east coast. She had been elected four years ago and was the youngest to ever hold the position.

"Nice to see you too," Timothy said and watched her take a sip to clear her throat.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Your help."

Nora chuckled to herself, finished her drink, and spun her finger in the air to alert her staff she needed a refill.

"You are out of favors Timothy Augustine. You're lucky I don't hex you."

"Your sister was attacked," Timothy said to get her attention. Nora stared him down and saw he wasn't lying. "Tallahassee, two nights ago. Something real powerful did it."

"Thanks for telling me. I doubt the church would have. Is she okay?" Nora asked, sincere in her concern for her sister. The two hardly spoke anymore, as they took near opposite paths in life, but they held no ill feeling toward the other. "Is that why you're here? To tell me? Could have called."

"Would you have answered?" Timothy asked, and Nora thought for a moment, concluding she probably wouldn't have. "I don't know what did it."

"Yes you do," a voice said. Timothy looked at the chair next to him and saw the girl. Nora watched Timothy turn to face something she couldn't see. Nora rubbed the rune on her right ring finger with the index finger of left hand. The rune shimmered, and a light arched up her arm, following the snake, and her eyes began to glow.

"There you are," Nora said, her eyes returning to normal. The girl gave her a silly wave with both hands. Now she could see and hear the girl as well. "What did you just say?"

"I said, he knows what did it. He just can't believe it," the girl explained.

"Something even you can't identify? Okay, I'll bite," Nora said as her drink was replaced. "What did it look like?"

"A woman. Naked, but her body flowed like she was underwater. She never touched the ground. More alarmingly, she has some effect on fractured. Only fractured as far as I can tell."

"What effect?"

"She crushed us. When we're close to her, we can barely move. It's like gravity increases around her. When she got really close to me, she crushed me to the point I felt like a car was on me."

"Interesting," Nora said and took a sip. "Gravity is under elemental magic, but it only hit you?" she asked, and Timothy confirmed. "It might be exerting magic on both realms simultaneously. Not enough on either side to effect those only in one. Fractured exist with a foot in both worlds. Magic is pulling the energy from other places into the mundane realm. Our realm."

"Any idea what does that?" Timothy asked.

"He's leaving out the best part," the girl said, gaining Nora's attention. "It destroyed astral energy by consuming it."

Nora rapidly looked between the two of them, hoping for Timothy to say the girl was jesting. Timothy averted his eyes and sighed.