The Brethren would no longer rule their lives.
The Fallen were brothers reborn. Baptized anew.
Gabriel reached for an empty journal he had found in his grandfather’s hidden drawer. He opened the first page, a blank space, waiting to be filled. He took a pen and started to write.
In the beginning . . .
*****
Father Quinn opened the door to the Brethren’s hold; Fathers McCarthy and Brady followed behind. Mass had ended later than expected. Father Quinn was tired, but more than that, anger spiked the blood in his veins. Gabriel had vanished. No trace of the demon they needed to exorcise. A demon that was now free in the world, somehow protected by someone powerful. He didn’t understand who it could be. But he would find out. In time.
The minute the lights came on, he knew something was wrong. Holding up his hand, a signal to his brothers to be on guard, he made his way slowly down the hallway. It took only the first right turn to see one of his men sprawled on the ground. Blood seeped from his chest, and his eyes were open in death. On closer inspection, Father Quinn noted stab marks on the priest’s chest.
The three priests traveled the hallways toward the dorm room. Their footsteps got quicker the closer they got. Priest after slain priest littered the floor. But Father Quinn had no time or regard for the fallen men. He had to get to the dorm. When they rounded the corner and threw open the door, seven empty beds stared back at them. “No,” he spat and ran to every other room in the building. “No!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “How did this happen?” Father Quinn turned to his brothers. “We need to go. Now.”
Thirty minutes later, the priests walked into the meeting room of the Brethren Hall, the Brethren’s stronghold far from Holy Innocents and out of the watchful eye of the higher church. Father Brady had called ahead for their local brothers to be present. Father Quinn walked to the front of the room. “Tonight, we have been violated. Seven demon-possessed boys are now out in the world. No trace, no clue as to their whereabouts. But they are dangerous boys. And if they are not found, they will unleash evil on the world.” Father Quinn looked out over his brotherhood. Hundreds of eyes stared back at him. The sight always filled him with such joy. The main church may not recognize the need for exorcisms anymore, but the men in the room did. They were true warriors of the Inquisition; they understood how evil worked. But more than that, they understood how important it was to retrieve the boys who housed such wickedness.
“Brothers, we will not stop until we have them in our custody. And we will not rest until their souls are purified and their evil is vanquished.” Father Quinn let the sense of purpose he was created for pulse through his every cell. “We will bring the Fallen Angels to heel. We will have their confession. And brothers . . . we will redeem their souls.”
Epilogue
Ten years later . . .
Eden Manor, Massachusetts
Gabriel straightened his clerical collar. He flattened the white card against his black shirt and ran his hand through his ear-length blond curls. The bell for dinner rang, and Gabriel took a deep breath. His back ached in pain, and the metal cilices around his thighs dug into his flesh as he walked. But Gabriel clenched his jaw and endured the walk from his room and downstairs into the Nave—the Fallen’s dining hall. When he entered the room, his brothers were already seated.
Gabriel took his place at the head of the table. Gabriel cast a glance around his brothers. Bara sat opposite him at the other end. Like all of the Fallen, he had grown his hair longer than they were ever allowed to in Purgatory—a rebellion against the beaten boys they were made to be. Bara’s red hair fell to his shoulders. His haunting green eyes roved over the brothers, and the smirk that seemed permanently etched on his lips was firmly in place.
Uriel sat to Bara’s left, his blond hair a similar length to Bara’s. Uriel was broader in the shoulders than the rest of the brothers. The tallest too. Sela sat to Bara’s right. Sela’s brown hair fell down his back. His dark eyes were fixed on Gabriel. All of his brothers waited each night for a Revelation to be delivered. For the order to go to the Tomb after dinner . . . for a kill to be given out, for a desire to be fulfilled. They hungered for it. Thirsted for it.
It was the lifeblood of their existence. Little else mattered.
Diel sat beside Sela. His shoulders were relaxed, his messy black hair falling over his blue eyes. He wore a metal collar that never came off. A collar Gabriel had had crafted specifically for him. A collar made with electric currents running through it. One that, with a press of a button, would incapacitate Diel the minute he lost his grip on himself—Gabriel held the only control to administer the blow.