The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Prologue

Silas blinked back tears as he drew symbols on the floor.

Bobby Taylor was a fucking asshole. The day before, after school, he and his pack of hyenas in matching letterman jackets had casually tossed Silas into a dumpster. Bobby laughed as he slammed the lid shut. It was that cocky laugh specifically reserved for him, splitting his ugly face in half and showing too much gum. The way they taunted him through the gap made his blood boil. Then the hyenas locked it and walked away. It was a long, cold night before a janitor found him as the sun was coming up.

When he came home this morning covered in garbage and smelling like a sewer, he could imagine what Mom and Dad would have said, if they even noticed he was missing. They would’ve asked what he did to piss the other kids off. They would’ve said he probably deserved it. But even that would have been better than the silence that greeted him as he stomped through his front door.

The teachers weren’t any better. Whenever he tried to tell them about Bobby, they just rolled their eyes and told him to ignore it, like it was the easiest thing in the world and he should have thought of it himself before bothering them. Silas ground his teeth together. The piece of chalk in his hands snapped. If his parents were here now, Silas would… he would…

He glanced at the stairs. At the top, where nobody went anymore, darkness gathered like fog. Then he looked at the oven that hadn’t been turned on in weeks. The couch, where he used to put a pillow under Mom’s head when she fell asleep, drunk and mumbling. The kitchen, where he’d found Dad’s body.

Silas pulled another piece of chalk from the box and returned to the floor. The design wasn’t perfect. The lines wobbled where his hands shook and were sprinkled with droplets of blood. He scolded himself for letting his temper get the better of him again. He needed a clear head. At least, that’s what the man at the store said.

A memory washed over him. A few weeks earlier, right after Dad died, Silas ducked into an open storefront while running from Bobby and the hyenas. Hands on his knees, sucking in heavy air, he watched them through the glass door. They paced back and forth but didn’t come inside. When he turned around, he was blown away by what he saw.

Candles and incense were burning in the back, giving off an earthy, smoky haze. Cards with weird symbols sat on dusty shelves. There were crystals, herbs, statues. And books. More books than Silas could count. More than the school library had.

“Something the matter?” a gruff voice asked.

Silas jumped at the sound, turning to see an old man standing behind a counter, a pair of glasses hanging low on his nose. One wrinkled hand held a book open on the counter, while the other scribbled notes on a loose sheet of paper.

“I’m fine,” Silas snapped, wiping his nose and trying to hide the smear of blood on his sleeve.

The shopkeeper gave him a once-over, then glanced at the hyenas standing outside. “Suit yourself. Feel free to take a look around.”

Silas felt his face grow hot. He turned away and moved deeper into the store. There was a metal hand, palm up, fingers splayed, holding a crystal ball. Next to it, a gold necklace hung from a hook, the ruby gemstone in the locket glittering like sunlight on a red ocean. Three huge shelves loomed tall, full of old books with thick pages. Many were bound together by ornate silver hardware.

The man asked, “See anything you like?”

Silas looked at a few price tags, his eyes getting wider with each one. He didn’t belong here, but the hyenas were still waiting outside, resigned to sitting on the sidewalk and glaring into the store. “Um, yeah, a couple things,” he said, desperate for a few more minutes of peace.

“Come over here, kid.” The shopkeeper’s voice was low and gravelly, his dark eyes knowing.

Silas carefully hid his bloodstained sleeve behind his back and meandered over to the counter.

“Friends of yours?” The shopkeeper asked, nodding to the kids waiting outside.

Silas shook his head.

“Didn’t think so. They give you trouble often?”

Silas remained still.

The man sighed. “Walk with me, kid. I want to show you something.” He pulled a box from one of the shelves. “Lavender for cleansing and relaxation. It’ll help with that temper.”

Silas glared at the old man, who just chuckled and said, “I know... I know.”

He kept moving, searching along another shelf. The store was… different than anything Silas had seen before. He wanted to sit in his bad mood and stew for a while, but every time he looked around something new grabbed his attention. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a bowl full of what looked like little wooden chips.

“Runes,” the shopkeeper answered simply.

“What are runes?”

The man smiled. “They’re used in divination.” He lowered to one knee, slowly pulling his hand through the air like he was peeling back a curtain. “Masters of divination can see behind the veil.”

“And those?”

The shopkeeper followed his gaze. “Ritual oils, to manifest intentions and attract prosperity. Used in traditional ceremonies for anointments and blessings.”

Silas lost himself in the store’s wonder. The walls were painted a dark blue, like the evening sky just before the last of the day’s light faded. The deeper into the shop they went, the more immersive it all became. The light was dim, just enough to make out more than shadows. Objects of every size, shape, and color rested on shelves or sat within glass cases. It felt like a different world. Something glinted, catching his eye. A gleaming strip of wavy metal, narrowed to a point.

“What is that?” Silas asked, awe in his voice.

A pair of hands on his shoulders steered him away from the object. “Ah. That’s not for you, young one.”

Silas shrugged his hands off, unable to take his eyes from the sleek knife.

“No, really, what is it?”

The shopkeeper sighed. “We call that an athame. It’s used in pagan traditions, directing energies and creating sacred spaces. But let’s move on.” The man pulled another box from a shelf. “Lemongrass, to help you focus.”

Though the athame was still in the forefront of Silas’ mind, he managed to ask, “Focus on what?”

The shopkeeper steered him toward a shelf full of books, running his fingers over the spines and muttering to himself. When he touched a thin book with a black cover and gold lettering, his eyes lit up.

“Here we are.” He turned the book over in his hands before passing it to Silas. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

“What’s this for?”

“This will teach you the basics of meditation.”

“Why would I need that?”

The shopkeeper squatted so they were eyelevel. “Son, I see the fire in your eyes. Those kids out there aren’t your friends, are they?”

Feeling oddly trusting of the man, Silas shook his head.

“They don’t treat you well, do they?” he asked, fingering Silas’ bloody sleeve.

Another shake.

The man nodded. He set the boxes of lavender and lemongrass on top of the book in Silas’ hands, then he pointed towards the back of the store. “See that door? It’ll take you out the back into an alley. Go two blocks and turn left. You’ll be on the main road.”

Something finally clicked. Silas started pushing the items back at the man. “I can’t afford any of this. I have to go. I have to-”

“Son,” the shopkeeper cut him off. “That fire used to burn in me too. When I was your age, I made a lot of bad decisions. And I kept making them, until I found a place a lot like this.” He gestured to his store. “Incense and meditation helped me learn how to calm down. Some of these very books got me through the dark times. Take them. Go through that door.”

Silas didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention. He started to follow the man’s directions, shuffling toward the back door without a word, careful not to drop anything. He looked back over his shoulder, at the hyenas pacing outside. Bobby was staring right at him, hatred gleaming in his eyes. With a flash of daring, he snatched the athame from the shelf and dashed out into the alley. The shopkeeper’s shout of, “Son!” was cut off by the closing door and his feet pounding on the pavement.

After school that day, he burned the incense, sitting cross-legged in the living room with his eyes closed. The book said to clear his mind, focus on his breathing, discard stray thoughts when they bubbled up. But he mostly just sat there feeling like an idiot. Surprisingly, it helped. That night, he got his first real sleep since... well, best not to think of that.

Over the next few weeks, he burned incense and meditated every night, feeling a little calmer each time. And the athame sat in the corner, hidden in a hole in the back of Dad’s reclining chair, forgotten.

Until today.

That morning, he cleaned himself up from the dumpster and trudged back into school, dreading seeing Bobby. It was one of those rare days where the girls and boys shared the gym in preparation for the annual phys-ed competition. The girls were practicing a dance routine while the boys did tug-of-war and relay races. The whole time, both sides were sneaking glances at the other, each pretending not to notice.

One girl in particular, Olivia Hudson, had the eye of every guy in school. She was smart, popular, beautiful. She grew up down the street from Silas, and though they weren’t necessarily friends, they smiled and waved when they passed each other in the halls. She was one of the few people that didn’t sneer when he walked by.

Olivia was at the front and center of their formation, twisting and spinning with the music. Silas became lost in the way her hips moved, how her long hair fell in waves, the way her-

“Look what we found!”

The obnoxious voice made him jump. Bobby Taylor came strutting out of the boys’ locker room with his hyenas in tow. When Silas saw the pair of white underwear in his hands, his stomach dropped.

“Guess who still wears tighty whities!”

Bobby looked at him with that demented smile. Before he could react, the psycho stretched the underwear between his hands and flung it at Silas. It landed directly on his head.

“Wittle boy Silas still wears baby underwear!” Bobby jeered. “What a freak!”

The music stopped playing. Everyone’s face, including the girls’ on the other side of the gym, turned toward him. Silas snatched the underwear off his head and threw it on the floor, starting to say something in his defense. But Bobby cut him off, pointing at the ground.

“Look! He shit himself!”

The words cut through whatever Silas was about to say. He looked down to see a brown stain on the inside of the white cotton. That wasn’t right. He didn’t do that. He wasn’t an animal.

“I didn’t…” Silas mumbled. “You must have…”

“He made a shit stain!”

While Silas could only focus on the underwear and how it came to look like that, voices began to bubble up on the periphery.

“Oh my god…”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I can smell it from here…”

Bobby’s voice finally cut through. He shouted, “Shit-stain Silas!” He pointed and shouted again. “Shit-stain Silas!” The hyenas joined in. “Shit-stain Silas!” Soon, the whole gym had either joined the chant or were gossiping with fervor. Even Olivia was covering her mouth to hide her own laughter.

Another piece of chalk snapped in Silas’ hands as he fled from the memory. Through blurry vision, he looked at the loose sheet of paper lying on the floor. The day he brought the book home from the shop, the page had fallen out of the book. It was covered in scrawling handwriting and used words like revenge and hatred, which fit his mood perfectly. It went forgotten until this evening, when Silas came home from school in a fit of rage.

He finally set the chalk down. The pentagram was finished. Three objects were in the center. A dead mouse from the back yard, a lock of Bobby Taylor’s hair, the ends still wet with blood, and a stick of lavender. Luckily, the directions on the page called for one of the two incenses Silas had access to.

The ritual was ready.

He focused first on the dead mouse, wondering how it came to be that way. Its little mouth was hanging open and its eyes were glassy. Then he turned to the lock of Bobby’s hair. An echo of his former rage began bubbling up. He was going to be known as Shit-Stain Silas for the rest of his life. It wasn’t fair that the asshole came from a rich family. It wasn’t fair that all the girls liked him. It wasn’t fair that his life had been so easy while Silas’ had been so hard. None of it was fair.

He read the last step, pulled the athame out from behind Dad’s chair, and held the blade up to his palm. Before he could lose his nerve, he made a quick cut. The pain was sharp and hot, but it didn’t bite too deep. Blood trickled into the pentagram.

Silas watched and waited. Nothing happened. He waited some more, letting go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The clock on the wall ticked away while wind howled outside, and he started feeling foolish. Did he really think something magical was going to happen? Just as he was thinking about cleaning up and wondering what to do with the mouse, the lavender stick caught fire. Its tip glowed red as smoke uncurled in lazy wisps. An instant later, the lock of hair caught fire too. Then the mouse’s tail.

He just stared, transfixed, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. When all three finished burning, a weird, heady scent filled the room. The light suddenly dimmed, like a storm was rolling through town. At the same time, the chalk lines lit up. The room continued fading until it was completely black while the pentagram glowed all the brighter.

There was a sudden pop of displacing pressure. He blinked, and the room was back to normal. Afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the window. The chalk lines on the floor were wobbly and dull, just like before. It was all the same.

Except now there was someone standing in the middle of the pentagram.

Silas jumped a foot in the air. His heart was pounding a drumbeat in his chest. He could feel his eyes getting wider with each passing second. The figure had dark skin, like navy blue ink, and its eyes were closed. Little horns sprouted from its forehead, and bat-like wings shot from its back. It took a sudden breath, like it was trying to suck in all the air in the room in one go. The exhale was as slow and measured as the inhale was abrupt and violent. Finally, its eyes opened.

Red pin pricks were staring right at Silas, who just stood there, frozen in the center of the living room. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. It felt like his shoes were glued to the floor.

The… demon tilted its head to the side, watching him like a hawk watched a rabbit. Even thinking the word made Silas want to laugh out loud, but that’s what the ritual called it.

“Where… am I?” Its voice was a low, guttural rumble.

Silas just stared.

“Where… am I?” it repeated. This time, the rumble had an edge.

“Baltimore.” Silas didn’t know why he answered that way.

To his surprise, the demon nodded and looked around, doing a slow circuit of the room. Then it closed its eyes again and took another deep, shuddering breath.

“There are so many. I can feel them all. A horde. An ocean. It is… intoxicating.”

Silas gathered his courage and cleared his throat. “An ocean of what?”

The demon answered with one word. “Souls.” Its gaze grew longer, seeming to look through the walls. A string of saliva dripped from its lower lip, stretching almost to the ground, before it fell and landed with a bubbling hiss. Then its eyes snapped open and its head jerked to the side. A sneer pulled at the corner of its mouth.

“The Host is here. This is Elijah’s domain, the preening fool.” Red pinpricks turned back to Silas. “Baltimore, you say?”

He didn’t know what it was talking about, but nodded at the question while its eyes bored into him.

“You are Silas.” It looked down at the pentagram. Then at its hands. “Why have you summoned me?”

Words escaped him. The whole thing was too surreal. There was a demon in his living room. But it wasn’t wrong. He did summon it.

“I want revenge.” His voice was a low growl.

The demon tilted its head again. “Yes. I can taste it. You have been wronged by a… child?” It reared its head back like it had smelled something rotten. “You are a child as well.”

Silas snapped, “So what? I summoned you, didn’t I?”

The demon paused. “Yes. So I ask again. Why?”

This was it. This was his chance at revenge. But could he do it? Bobby was an asshole, but did he really deserve to die? He remembered the night in the dumpster, lying in garbage. The smell would stay with him for a week. Then gym class. The chanting. The look on Olivia’s face. The words came out on their own. “I want you to kill Bobby Taylor.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, exactly. Maybe a thunderclap and a cloud of smoke. Maybe the room would darken again and when he opened his eyes, the demon would be gone. Or maybe just a slow nod of understanding. Instead, it started to laugh. It was a low chuckle, deep in its throat.

“Don’t laugh!” Silas snapped. “I summoned you, so you have to do what I say! Kill Bobby Taylor!”

The chuckling slowed but continued for a few more seconds. “I owe you nothing, mortal.” It flexed its hands, and Silas noticed razor-sharp claws for the first time. It tilted its head again, resuming its studying gaze. “The punishment you desire does not fit the offense. But…” It closed its eyes and breathed deeply again. “It has been so long since my kin have walked freely in this realm. The Host is… formidable.” An idea seemed to blossom in its eyes. “The boy’s death is not written. Not this night. But I am open to a… bargain.”

This couldn’t be happening. He’d done what the page said! “No bargaining.” He was so close! Bobby had to die. He had to! “I brought you here. If you don’t do what I say, I’ll send you back!”

The demon stared at him, and then calmly stepped out of the pentagram.

Silas almost jumped out of his shoes. Then he started backing away from the murder in the demon’s eyes. “Okay,” he said, patting the air. “I’ll bargain.”

When the demon was close enough to make out each individual fanged tooth and its mass was blocking out the window, it finally stopped and growled, “Very well.”

Silas asked, “What do I have to do for you to kill him?” His voice suddenly sounded small.

The demon shook its head. “The child will not die by my hand.”

Silas’ heart sank.

“But I can give you something else. Knowledge. Fortune. Power.”

He considered. If this thing wouldn’t kill Bobby, he would just have to do it himself.

“Fine. What do you want?”

A slow smile spread over the demon’s face. “I want more. Summon more of my kin to this realm and we will honor you with glory, Silas.”

The way it said his name, with an air of reverence, flooded him with something he’d never felt before. Respect. “Okay. I can do that.”

The demon nodded. “The bargain is struck.”