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Monettello
Teenagers shuffled into Saint Michael’s church by twos and threes and fours, their loud talk and laughter turning to whispers and straight faces as they stepped through the vestibule. The majority of them belonged to the parish youth group, the Fire Starters.
Monettello and Cyabrial waited near the vestibule, greeting guardian angels.
“Blessed be God,” Monettello said, bowing his head to Peter’s guardian.
“Blessed be God forever.” Peter’s guardian had his sword drawn and only sheathed it once well within the church.
Dominic strode through the doors next, a Bible tucked under his arm. His guardian had been whispering intently to him but stopped to exchange a greeting. “Praised be Jesus Christ.”
“Now and forevermore,” Monettello and Cyabrial said together.
Monettello turned his gaze to Keefe. Keefe knelt in the third row, his head bowed with the intensity of his prayer, hopefully discerning his vocation.
“Has he received his calling, then?” Cyabrial said.
“He has. But he has yet to accept it. Worry over his twin keeps him from responding to the call. He wants to do the right thing. Either Jarret converts and supports Keefe’s calling, or Keefe must come to realize that answering God’s call will do more good for everyone. Yes, I am concerned for him. Many have let the affairs of the world keep them from their vocation. I do not want to see this happen to Keefe.”
Monettello and Cyabrial neared their charges, who sat on either side of Peter.
“I’m so excited the Franciscans agreed to join us,” Caitlyn whispered to Peter as she made a sweeping scan of the church. “When will they get here? Why didn’t they come with you?”
“Six friars? In our little car?” Peter said, forehead wrinkling. “They have to wait for a ride. Do you know they don’t even own a car? They have a car they use back in Minnesota, but ‘they’re traveling on the generosity of others.’” He used air quotes as he repeated something his father had said. “Can you imagine that?”
“Sure. We’re supposed to trust the Lord in all things.”
“People were made to work, take care of themselves.” Phoebe dropped into the pew behind Caitlyn, Keefe, and Peter. She slumped back and folded her arms. The blue streaks in her hair appeared green under the yellow light streaming in through a stained glass window. “I don’t believe in relying on others for your daily needs. Emergencies, sure. What else can you do? But not your daily things.”
Keefe rose from his knees and glanced at Phoebe as he sat back.
Caitlyn faced her. “Well, it gives them the opportunity to actively trust in God’s providence, and it gives others the opportunity for charity. So everyone gets the chance to glorify God.”
Phoebe smirked. “God made us to work. It’s right there in the Bible. Don’t ask me where.”
“They do work.” Caitlyn sounded defensive. “They do God’s work. How can they go around preaching the Good News and helping people if they have nine-to-five jobs, too?”
Kiara slid into the pew with Phoebe. “What’re you guys talking about?”
“The monks,” Peter said.
“They’re brothers,” Phoebe and Caitlyn said together.
“Oh yeah, cool,” Kiara said, her voice soft and eyes round. “I can’t wait to meet them. Can you imagine giving up everything to serve God? It sounds adventurous.”
Caitlyn nodded in agreement. Peter rolled his eyes. Then they both turned to face the altar.
Keefe had heard her too, judging by the flicker of his gaze, but he made no other show of it. Perhaps the very idea tumbled around his mind at that moment: giving up all to serve God.
“I could never give up my freedom,” Phoebe whispered to Kiara, “. . . give up having a husband.”
“You don’t even have a boyfriend,” Kiara whispered back.
“So. I will when I’m ready. The way I see it, why should I shop when I’m not ready to buy?”
“Don’t you want to get some experience?” Kiara asked. “Then you have a better idea what kind of guy you want to marry.”
“Oh, I already know that. I don’t need to date to figure that out. Don’t you know what you want?”
“Well, I . . . I . . . sort of.”
“I think you should have that in mind, at least, before you jump into dating. It’s flattering, having a guy like you and all. But a girl might be tempted to compromise on what she really wants. Not me. I don’t play that game.” Phoebe slumped down farther in the pew and turned her face to the altar, but she had the unfocused gaze of one deep in personal thought.
Caitlyn leaned back and, looking over Keefe’s bowed head, caught Peter’s eye. “Have you heard from Roland?” she whispered.
Keefe glanced without making eye contact.
“Nah.” Peter whispered, too, but his voice carried. “He called once when they first got there. Jarret’s probably got him tied up in some secret room. Did you know they were staying in a mansion out there?”
“Really? I wonder if it’s bigger than their castle,” she said. “And I wonder what they do every day.”
“Probably the same things they do here. Roland slinks through the shadows, if he can find any in Arizona, and Jarret finds ways to hurt and humiliate him.”
Caitlyn glared. “You’re terrible.”
In an instant, Hursk came from out of nowhere and leapt onto Keefe’s shoulder. He had become somewhat bat-like in appearance. His wings had grown thin and bony, his teeth sharp like spears, and his nose smashed-looking.
Monettello took a stern posture and flicked him away, but not before Hursk had whispered poison to Keefe.
Keefe nudged Peter with his knee. “Isn’t Roland your friend?”
Hursk peered at Monettello through beady black eyes then laughed behind a clawed hand. Though he had weakened since Keefe’s conversion, he still managed to rile Keefe with justifiable anger.
Peter faced Keefe and grinned when he saw the hard look in his eyes. “Well, sure, he’s my friend. But Jarret’s not. And they’re about as different as day and night, black and white, fire and ice, peanut butter and—no, that one won’t work, because those go together.”
“Roland cares about Jarret.”
“So? I don’t have to like him. He’s . . . evil.”
Armed with a three-inch shiv, Hursk swooped to Keefe.
Monettello lifted his wings and stepped toward the demon.
Hursk perched, digging claws into Keefe’s shoulder. He bared his spiky teeth and hissed at Monettello.
Monettello lifted a hand to flick him away again, but then—
Grudge, a stocky greenish demon, appeared and gimped up to Peter, a dozen demons in his wake. The demons, small but lightning-quick, raced to and fro, whispering lies and tempting the teens to boredom, apathy, vanity, presumption, despair . . . They had a habit of showing up when a great good was about to be accomplished.
Monettello and the other guardian angels drew swords.
Chaos ensued. Angels beat back demons only to find them leaping up again, pouncing on a victim, and turning quickly for the fight.
Keefe’s jaw tensed. “Jarret is not evil. He’s . . . Well, he needs help, some direction, prayers. Haven’t you heard of loving your enemies?”
Unbeknownst to them, a sword clashed over their heads.
“Mmm.” Peter rubbed his chin. “I have a hard time with that one. What exactly does it mean? Love your enemies? Besides, there’s nothing I can do to help him. You’re his brother. Maybe that’s your job.”
Grudge had managed to plant a seed in Peter, which, at present, his guardian could do nothing to uproot, due to Peter’s stubbornness.
“You can still pray for him and not bad-mouth him,” Keefe said, his voice rising, “especially not in front of me.”
Peter leaned toward Keefe, a sneer on his face. “Oh, I’ll pray for him alright. But haven’t you heard, some demons only come out of a person with prayer and fasting?”
A demon gasped. A few jerked their faces to Peter, slowing in battle.
How did he know?
Did he believe it?
Don’t tell the others.
No. They didn’t like people to know about that method, seeing as how it had always been quite effective.
Keefe shot a wicked glare. “He’s not possessed.”
“You sure about that?”
“You guys!” Caitlyn reached past Keefe and smacked Peter’s arm. “We’re here to pray. You can argue later.” She shouted the last two words as the others in the church grew silent. Her face reddened, but no one paid her any attention.
The Franciscan friars had finally arrived. Sandals shuffling softly, they processed down the main aisle. One by one, they genuflected and filed into an empty pew near the front. They knelt at once to pray.
A demon shrieked, “He comes!”
The battle paused. A few demons fled without waiting for confirmation. Others lost their edge in fighting, and every one of those that remained came under the control of an angel.
The teens knelt. Angels fell prostrate. As Father Carston stepped into the sanctuary, demons begged for freedom, making promises they would never keep in strangled voices too hideous for a human to endure. “Please, please, let me go. I will never torment another soul. Only do not make me look upon . . . Him.” A few demons gained permission to flee but others were forced to remain, to kneel, to watch, to confess, “Jesus Christ is Lord.”
With great reverence, Father Carston brought out the Blessed Sacrament for adoration.
CHAPTER TWENTY