into deep water. Seven young witches clawing at him for mercy, the devil spitting false truths from their heathen mouths. He could feel them under his hands, sweating and crying and screaming as he drew the demons from their souls, as he worked with God to cleanse the sin from their darkened hearts.
He could still feel the wetness on his finger as he drew an “H” on their foreheads in their own spilled blood. A purging of evil, and a benediction of the one true faith. Yet the witches would thrash as the mark spiritually burned into their bodies, the demons within trying to battle against the healing power of that “Heretic” mark.
The Coven. The seven witches that had escaped his capture. They were never found after they fled. The Brethren had many enemies. The non-deadly attacks reeked of the Coven.
But this most recent hit was a new beast entirely, a sharp and accelerated change in modus operandi. The priests had not just been tied up by hooded assailants. They were gone, their homes cleansed of any evidence. And now … “Father McConnell’s ledger was also gone,” Father Auguste said, and he saw Father Quinn’s nostrils flare.
“Them,” Father Quinn said, his scarred skin reddening.
Auguste felt the impact of that accusation sinking into his skin. “They’ve made their next move,” he said, and felt his warrior senses rising in him like ash from a fire.
Auguste thought of Selaphiel’s face, one eerily similar to his own. He remembered his brother’s screams and the way his back would arch as the demon within him fought harder to hold on to his soul. Auguste’s little brother was lost to Satan, along with the other heathens that made up their sorry group, and therefore was no brother of his. The Brethren was his true family. Selaphiel was just a blight on the goodness of the world.
And now the time had come to cleanse the world of the Fallen’s stain.
Father Auguste reached forward and took Father Quinn’s hand. “They may have taken the ledger, but that can now be to our advantage.” Father Quinn’s fingers wrapped around his. “I won’t fail you, Your Excellency. Trust me on this. I will bring them to justice.”
“I know you will, child,” Father Quinn said. “You have never failed me. You were always the brightest star to me.”
“Thank you, Father,” Father Auguste whispered. Those words filled his heart with deep love and purpose. But he thought back to a blond boy with soft curls that framed his face like a true, living angel. Joseph, or, as he was now known, Gabriel. Gabriel had always been the one to win Father Quinn’s favor, until he’d opened his heart to evil and tried to kill their leader in cold blood. Father Quinn’s attention had then fallen onto Auguste, where it should have been all along. And Auguste would not fail his mentor. He would bring home a victory for the Brethren over the Fallen. He wouldn’t stop until they all perished.
“God brought you to the Brethren for a reason. You are the best at what you do. A true warrior of the faith, like the Finder Generals of old, our forefathers who lit the way for us to follow. He placed their talents in you. A celestial gift for your unwavering devotion.”
“Thank you,” Father Auguste said, radiating happiness. He kissed Father Quinn’s burned hand one more time before he got to his feet. “I will get to work straight away.”
Father Auguste left the Brethren headquarters and sat back in his town car. The twins waited silently for his instruction. As they made their way back to the Witch Finders’ base, plans circled Auguste’s mind.
If the Fallen thought that they had the upper hand, that they could seriously take on the might that was the Brethren brotherhood, they had sorely misjudged their enemy. Because Auguste was ready to load an army of holy angels onto their sinful ways and crush them where they stood.
So, Auguste told the twins of his plan, a smile breaking out on his mouth at the thought of watching all the sinners die beneath their holy swords. Judgment Day was coming for the Fallen angels who had gotten away, and Auguste’s eyes would be the last thing they saw as he sent them back to hell.
Chapter 9
The water pelted Diel’s head as he stood under the scalding spray of the shower. It ran under the metal of his collar—he didn’t even feel the sting of the freshly fried skin