v2 CHAPTER ELEVEN: In which a hunter brings down prey and a priest intercedes.

Every muscle in John’s body tensed as the manticore’s stinger darted towards him. His feet were stuck in five inches of mud; he’d already tried to throw himself to the side, out of the beast’s path, but couldn’t wrench his right foot free.

The blow he expected never came. John looked up, startled.

Coils of a heavy whip wrapped around the shaft of the manticore’s tail, restraining it. The beast bellowed and turned to face Cassandra, who was backing onto dry land, the handle of the leather whip braced against her sinewy biceps.

“You need some help, priest.” Coming from the stony-faced demon hunter, it was a statement, not a question. John shoved hard with his boots, finally sucking both feet free of the mud, and scrambled towards where the young red-headed girl lay.

The manticore was already moving towards Cassandra, but she gave no ground. Instead, the hunter changed her grip on the whip, yanked it hard as she stepped to the side and swung her blade towards the creature’s neck.

The monster roared and twisted its head violently—but rather than avoiding the strike, it met the attack with its horns, parrying the blow. This thing had fought humans before, perhaps in whatever world it called home.

Cassandra raced around the creature, which spun to keep her in its sight. She lashed out again and again with her sword, each blow met by a sharp snort or growl from the manticore. When the swift-striking hunter landed a cut, she left shallow grooves in the beast’s thick hide, wounds that seeped a slow-moving black ichor.

The manticore charged forward with a sudden lunge, so Cassandra leaped backwards over the water, one leg extended like a dancer performing a jeté. Both feet landed on solid ground; she curved her weapon upwards at the beast’s belly. As it stumbled toward her, she dropped into a low stance and brought the butt end of her blade back towards her ear in a smooth slice.

The manticore grunted but managed to twist its body. Cassandra’s sword left a gaping wound across its ribs, penetrating the hide without sinking deep. The creature’s movement caused it to misstep, sinking into deep, liquid mud with one foot. Taking advantage of her enemy’s momentary loss of balance, Cassandra ran at the manticore like a gymnast towards a pommel horse. She gripped its fur with her free hand and launched herself high into the air, twisting around the monster’s thrashing, horned skull to land on its back.

As the beast bucked under her weight, she dug her heels into its sides and drove her blade downward like an oversized dagger. The blade sank between the thing’s massive shoulders. The responding roar sounded more pained than angry now. Still, the blade once again failed to run deep into the monster’s flesh, glancing off the thing’s bony spine.

By the time the demon hunter had mounted the otherworldly beast, John had pulled the young girl from the mud. He leaned forward, handing her to the old man who stood in the shadow of the rock face, then let out a gasp of relief.

Startled by a sudden movement, John turned and saw a deer charging across the clearing. A large, antlered buck rushed at the unnatural monster. As Cassandra struggled to keep her grip on the manticore, the buck lowered his head and crashed into the creature’s side. The battering-ram impact of ten-pointed antlers sent the beast sprawling to the earth. Cassandra leaped nimbly from its back, dropping into the water and raising her sword once more.

The manticore rolled onto its stomach and tried to rise. It was still struggling when John heard hooves behind him again: another buck was rushing toward them from the rear. This time it was an older male, with an even larger rack of antlers. Both animals slammed into the manticore simultaneously. The smaller buck rammed its antlers into the monster’s side, while the larger crashed with immense force into its gut.

Looking past the deer in the direction the animals had charged in from, John saw the two teenagers he’d seen earlier. The lanky young man walked a pace behind the scowling, dark-skinned girl—the one whose hands had glowed, John remembered. Wisps of steam wafted up from her shoulders. The boy was tan-skinned with an unruly shock of brown hair divided by a blue streak. He pointed towards the manticore and whistled.

It was as if the forest rebelled against an unwanted guest. Birds flew from the trees, small rodents of every variety scurried from roots and undergrowth, spilling directly into the bog. They streamed towards the manticore, their tiny jaws gaping open in varied snarls.

Dozens of animals, perhaps a hundred or more, surged towards the beast in a wave of hair and flesh. Their claws scratched at its fur as they clung to its body, biting deep holes into its flesh as it thrashed helplessly in the water. The monstrous beast struggled to fend off a swarm of tiny attackers, from air and land, leaping out of the water.

Cassandra took a few steps back and raised her sword, her breath hissing heavily through clenched teeth. With the creatures swarming all over it, unable to turn its body to defend itself or escape the water, the manticore’s struggles became less frantic.

The demon hunter chose her moment and rushed in. Swinging her sword in a blur of reflected light, she slashed the beast’s throat. Its roar turned to gurgling moans as it sank into the water; black blood mingled with muddy water and churned leaves.

Something strange happened to the manticore as it spasmed in death throes. The translucent shimmer that John had noticed when the manticore first charged him was spreading. Now it wrapped the creature like a tight shroud or a second skin. Through the manticore’s shimmering covering, he saw nothing but the wet ground, as if through a pane of glass.

“What is that?” asked Cassandra. “Never seen anything like—” Before she could finish her thought, the manticore was gone. Only a faint ripple in the slowly draining water remained, as if the whole beast had vanished into another world.

“Hey!” someone yelled. When John turned around, he found the four strangers approaching. The old man, wincing, laid the young girl gently onto a patch of dry grass at the end of the bog. The girl coughed, awake but clearly bleary. A metal plate bisected her flame-red hair; it curved from her right eyebrow, across her temple and above her ear. She was alert now, her green eyes wide and startled.

“Who the fuck are you guys?” asked the tall young man. He looked to be in his late teens, with a trace of dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw. Suspicion and relief battled in his voice. The girl behind him was patting her still-smoking arms as if trying to put out a fire, but with little luck. She took a deep breath as the old man rose to his feet with a stiff motion.

“Aidan!” he barked, with a gruff note of command. “That is no way to greet those who have just saved your life—and mine! Thank them first; suspicion always comes after we offer gratitude.” He extended a hand, broad but weathered. He looked to have been a big man once, before being diminished by age; an oak become a gnarled, lone veteran tree. “I am Yevgeny.”

John accepted Yevgeny’s handshake and was about to introduce himself, but Aidan broke in. “He’s a priest! Look at him! And that other one,” he gestured to Cassandra, who was quietly cleaning gore off her sword, “moves of demon hunter. I’ve run into his kind before.”

“Her kind,” corrected John. “And you’re right, I am a priest. The collar probably makes that obvious,” said John. “But I’m not with Thomas Spencer or his people. I’m just a parish priest from Manhattan, here to help. Not as a monster fighter, clearly… just however I can.”

“If you’re not with Spencer and his Curia, who are you with, then?” asked the girl behind Aidan. “Some other part of the Vatican?” Her voice rose and fell in a melodic, rhythmic pattern—a West African accent, John thought. She adjusted a dark green scarf around her head, her caramel-colored skin no longer letting off steam.

A shadow passed overhead, and John heard a now-familiar sound: great wings beating at the air. He glanced upwards. “Who am I with? I guess you could say… I’m with her.”

As he’d expected, the sound of wings heralded Una’s arrival. The succubus soared down towards them and landed near the group—but then stumbled slightly with the weight of what she carried. In her arms she held a tall, broad-shouldered woman draped in white robes… Susan?

John blinked. The woman Una carried looked like Susan, but Susan was small, willowy, and soft. This woman was taller and larger than Una, her barely clothed form rippling with muscle and curves. He couldn’t help but stare. Yevgeny, Aidan, and the teenage girl seemed more astonished by Una herself. Aidan had an unmistakable expression on his face that John recognized all too well. Down, boy, he thought. A succubus is too much for you… especially that one.

Yevgeny’s eyes widened in realization. “You are the succubus! The demon! There were rumors, but they said you looked like an ordinary woman. Just with, you know… strange eyes.”

Una smiled gently. “I’ve remodeled a bit.” The woman who looked like Susan shifted, and Una carefully set her down. She seemed unsteady on her feet, so John came to her side to take her arm. He realized with continued shock that she was Susan—the woman’s mannerisms and features were unmistakable. She was just a larger, voluptuous, more muscular version of the person he knew.

“There are more prisoners in the sub-basement,” Una was saying. “We’ve got to help them, but there’s some kind of barrier in the way.”

The teenage girl nodded with an urgent expression. “Yes… Yes! I couldn’t break it open.” She looked at her hands. “My flames weren’t working right.”

“But Reem,” Aidan said, addressing the girl. “They literally never work right.” The girl scowled at him, lifting her hand.

Yevgeny was already moving between them, heading off their confrontation with practiced ease. He helped the smaller, red-headed girl to her feet. “We can try again. There are more of us. And I assume we should be leaving.”

Cassandra held her hand up, palm out. “Wait. First, tell me where that manticore came from. The way it disappeared… disturbing.”

The girl called Reem shook her head. “I don’t think it will happen again. That monster… was one of my friend Caleb’s summonings. He brought it here through a portal.”

“Someone who can… create portals?” Susan was hardly her talkative self, but she could stand on her own now. Saints, thought John, I’m 6’1” and she’s got at least an inch on me now. She looked around blearily, pulling her flimsy, toga-like robe around her.

The youngest girl frowned. “He could… he was trying to help us escape. Until the last portal swallowed him.” She looked as if she might burst into tears.

Suddenly, everyone was talking at once in a cacophony of conversation. John tried to ask Susan what had happened, but the newly statuesque scholar had kneeled to ask the redhead something in soft tones.

Yevgeny was similarly questioning Una in an animated tone. John couldn’t make out what he’d asked, but Una shook her head and shrugged. The girl called Reem had a hand on Aidan’s shoulder and looked like she wanted to deliver a tongue-lashing. But Aidan had turned towards Cassandra, asking his own questions.

“—never seen anyone cut through a monster hide like that. Is it your sword?” The young man’s animosity seemed to have quickly shifted into curiosity.

The demon hunter grunted, and the corner of her mouth quirked into a faint smile. “Sword’s sharp, but spirit’s sharper. Have to cut a beast with both.”

A few details emerged quickly from the hubbub. The four people fleeing from the manticore were, as John had surmised, survivors of Thomas Spencer’s experiments. Each had some kind of supernatural heritage and enough power that Spencer had classified them as dangerous.

Yevgeny wasn’t even from this world—he and the small girl, who introduced herself as Niamh, were accidental tourists from elsewhere. They’d arrived through portals before being offered “shelter and assistance” by members of the clergy and ending up… here. Damn it, thought John. Of course, it would be easy for Spencer and his crew to prey on people with no records, no legal identity here.

Reem and Aidan, however, were both from Earth, though from vastly different places and circumstances. They’d each discovered their own heritage not long after Portal Day, a dozen years back. Aidan, who manifested the ability to communicate with animals, had trained under his grandmother, who he called a “mida of the Mille Lacs.” Reem, growing up in Lagos, had apparently fended for herself and seemed reticent about her fiery powers.

The four of them had set out with a fifth prisoner: Caleb, a boy whose power involved portals. They’d hoped to use that power to break into the other room full of prisoners and escape, but something had gone wrong. Caleb had vanished, and then the manticore had burst into this reality.

Susan shook her head. “Portals are unpredictable at best. I don’t know about the world where some of you are from, but nobody’s managed to control where they lead, at least in living memory.” Even her voice is different, thought John. Like it has more… resonance, is that the word?

He coughed, shaking off the distracting thought. “It’d be great to get to know all of you, but this isn’t the safest place to do that. Maybe we’d better figure out how to get your friends out and leave as quickly as we can… somehow.” Assuming we can even fit everyone in the van, he thought.

It wasn’t difficult to get everyone to agree, and they were soon heading back towards the main compound, with Niamh riding on Yevgeny’s shoulders. Suddenly, the little girl stiffened, putting a hand to the metal plate on her forehead.

“Oh, no… we’re too late! They’re coming, Yev. They’re coming!” Niamh spoke in a thick Irish accent, and trembled as she pointed to the north, back the way they came, then lifted her finger to point higher, up in the air. Her eyes looked strange and milky for a moment.

“Who is it that comes, child?” The old man’s tone was gentle but insistent. He swung the girl off his back and held her in front of him, clearly trying not to shake the girl despite his worried curiosity.

Cassandra, bringing up the rear, cupped an ear. “Helicopters. Quiet, and maybe you’ll hear.” John couldn’t hear a thing, even in the ensuing silence that fell across the group, but he couldn’t help notice the movement of the demon hunter’s eyes. She kept glancing at Susan—the woman she’d become enamored with, now half a foot taller than Cassandra.

Una broke the hush. “I’ll take your word for it, Cassandra. And I can confirm by sight when I fly up.” She stepped a few paces away. “We’ve done this before; I’ll see you all later. If it really is the Vatican, they won’t be able to resist following a demoness—”

“No!” Susan, John, and Cassandra all said the word in near unison, although plainly for different reasons. Susan’s voice strained with need and anxiety, but Cassandra’s tone was flat and businesslike.

“You’re wrong, succubus.” Cassandra was scowling. “Primary goal will be to secure the site. They might send one helicopter to chase you. Not a good bargain for us.”

It was John’s objection that held a note of firmness. “… and flying takes a lot out of you, Una. We can handle this another way.” Una put her hands on her hips and regarded him levelly, then nodded, listening.

“The rest of you should get back to that office building, rescue whoever you can, and leave. They’re likely to land on the training field, or maybe in that parking area near the dorms. Head around the other way, behind the building, while I—I’ll head directly for wherever they land.”

Una hissed. “Are you crazy? We’re not sacrificing you to the Vatican.”

John shook his head, staring directly into her yellow, goat-like eyes. “Unlike you, I’m still a priest, remember? I work for the Vatican.” He folded his arms. “Besides, I’m not vulnerable like the rest of you… not a supernatural entity they have to neutralize, or an unauthorized freelancer.” His gaze darted to meet Cassandra’s.

“I can come up with a reason I came here,” John continued. “And though I’m sure they’ll take me in for questioning… I doubt they have enough evidence to do anything more than censure me. If you can, get word to Monsignor Albert… hopefully he’ll have my back.”

He found he was speaking in a rush, as if trying to press his argument while there was still time. But the seven people gathered around simply looked at him silently.

Then Una nodded. “Okay,” she said.

He blinked, surprised. “Okay? You just said…”

Una gave him a small, worried smile. “Sometimes you’re just right, Father. I’ve relied on your judgment for years, and I’m not about to stop now.”

They moved more quickly after that, with fewer words. John found his thoughts racing, and when the trail divided, he stood by the path as the others passed, nodding their thanks. Una lingered for a moment, stepping closer.

There was too much to say and too little time. “I’ll get in touch if I can—when I can. Take care of yourself, okay? And take care of Susan. If you pull the seats out of the back of the van, you can fit more—”

Una shut him up with her lips, kissing John in a nearly violent press. She pushed her body into his, as if she could merge them into one. Their lips and tongues still twined together when John felt her tail snake around his waist. It tugged him closer, and John felt the soft, insistent pressure of Una’s pubic bone against his thigh. His eyes opened wide, and she smiled.

“I love you, John Hayes.” she whispered.

“I… I love you too,” he replied, his voice trembling.

As she pulled away towards the retreating group, Una spoke in a loud whisper. “You better make it out of this a free man… because you still owe me dinner.” Her smile was radiant, with sharp white teeth flashing in the darkness.

He released her hand. “Go catch up, woman.” Then John turned and broke into a jog, out of the tree cover again.

Una sighed heavily as she ran after the others. He was still the same reliable Father John Hayes. Her right-hand man… her man, period.