The Sign of Raphael (Rough Draft Novella)

Chapter 3

With the decline of America, the Raphaelites had major issues on their hands. FEMA had taken control of the United States after the devastation of the Tigris virus, and power had never returned to its people, instead staying in the hands of a military dictatorship that expanded over most of the continent. This government ruled through the puppet International Freedom Party, which was itself a front for the World League, a successor to the United Nations.

When the last remnants of Israel as a nation was destroyed a few years after the Tigris virus had struck, the Jerusalem Wards fell, breaking the near-perfect barrier between Earth and Hell. The event was simultaneous with the California Cataclysm, in which territory from Mexico to Oregon was torn from the continental united states, forming the anarchic regions of New California, officially South Pacifica, and the corporate enclaves of North Pacifica.

The Raphaelites had most of their presence in England and the United States, and as a consequence of the California Cataclysm, the Tigris virus, and the new International Freedom regime they were forced to take new actions, their previous cells had been wiped out so they relied upon men like Anthony, veterans of the Europe Wars, recruited and trained in England before being sent back to America to establish new cells and bring old ones back from the brink of death.

And now Anthony was to begin recruiting the next wave of Raphaelites to protect America. He looked at the man he had exorcised, a hulk about half his size, and hoped that he would join them. He remembered having to kill too many people who had refused.

"You were possessed. The truth about the supernatural world will be difficult at first, I am sure, but you'll get used to it eventually. Your new-found sense of the supernatural will never go away, even if you want it to. Once you get pulled into this war you can never leave it, even if you want to." "But who are you, and how do you know this?" Anthony sighed. This was the third time he had explained the Raphaelites to the man he had rescued. "Look, we don't have much time right now. I'll get you to Peter and he can explain, but for now we have to go to my safe-house. It's not far from here, and I've got gear and equipment there that will help us get out of Seattle." "Leave Seattle? Why?" Anthony sighed. "It's not safe here any more, once the cultists, potentially the same people who put the demon in you, find out that we broke one of their inscriptions, they'll be looking for the people who did it. And it's better if we're not around when they start sniffing for us, since with our wards we'll stand out to them like flares." His pupil still had no idea of the world he had been plunged into, but he nodded his affirmation and followed Anthony, wordlessly accepting his initiation to the order.

The Raphaelites had always taught that the problem of demons attacking an established population was a modern phenomena, brought on by the increasing secularization of society. In old times, when peasants in northern Europe worried about witchcraft they were concerned primarily with a false spectacle of the occult. The fall of faith in society led to the creation of the Jerusalem Wards in 1952, which remained, until their destruction in 2018, the world's largest and most effective collection of anti-demonic materials, capable of protecting the whole world with almost perfect barriers from infernal invasion. In 2021, the Paris Wards were installed, meant to perform the same as their recently destroyed brethren, but the cathedrals in France were no match for the ancient holy sites of Palestine, and the resulting barrier only served to protect the city of Paris and its suburbs, not the whole world like its creators had hoped. The Raphaelites, according to their own history, were a secret society that had separated from the Roman Catholic tradition with Henry VIII's creation of the Anglican Church, and remained the only defense against the ensuing onslaught, as their secret identities and practical military training allowed them to go places where priests could not, and infiltrate the increasingly dangerous American region.

Anthony's safe-house was an odd contradiction; it maintained the squalor and grime of its neighboring low-rent apartments on the outside. The paint on its walls peeled in rebellion against its lack of maintenance, and one of the windows had a board placed over it after a vandal had shattered its glass. The inside, however, was meticulously clean, looking almost uninhabited other than a couple articles of furniture that looked like they had been made no later than the 1980's. "So now that we're safe, what is your name?"

"Todd. What is this place?"

"This is one of my safe-houses. As you may remember, practicing religious exercises without a permit is illegal now, so since I'm technically a member of a religious organization I have to stay underground."

"What's in the footlocker."

"Oh, the guns. That's another reason I can't just announce myself to the authorities. They come in handy sometimes, since it's hard to fight a demon with your bare hands. Grab whatever you can carry that you think we'll need; we will want some food, any clothing or blankets you can find in the closet, and a few weapons."

Todd stood dumbfounded, astonished at his rescuer's nonchalant handling of the situation. "You're mighty calm for someone fleeing the government."

"The government's not what I'm afraid of, it's what even they can't fight that I worry about. You'll want to drink some water, demons are bad about doing that and you're probably dehydrated. The stuff in the blue bottles is consecrated, you'll want to drink from the clear ones or the tap."

"Really? Holy water?"

"There's a reason for a lot of the tradition—anointment in holy water is known to protect from a variety of infernal opponents, now go pack up some stuff. We've got fifteen minutes until bad things come knocking."

Anthony had never felt comfortable with the creation of holy water, but kept his concerns to himself. It felt to him not unlike the metousiosic heresy that he had always abhored courtesy of his staunchly evangelical upbringing. He had never really trusted the Raphaelites; some things they did were unnervingly similar to the witchcraft they stood against. His doubts, however, would have to be kept to himself for as long as he was a member, and since he was bound to Peter he would likely be in the order until his death. That was another thing he was suspicious about. He asked himself, frequently, what Peter was, but never found an answer. He had asked an elder Raphaelite once, and he got the reply that Peter was an angel. This answer frustrated him a little, but he let it slide. Angels were never written about as needing a human host, and it seemed something that was too important to know. His doubt, however, was always assuaged by the efficacy of the Raphaelite methods, the fact that he was performing miracles could only have been proof of God's blessing. Only in his darkest hours did he question whether or not the things he practiced were sorcery. Was Bethany a sorceror? He had always felt a bond to her, more than the ritual that bound him to Peter's being, some feeling of purpose and connection he never pinned down. Back in the days before his wanderings, people might have said he had fallen in love, but he doubted it. Anthony had never felt able to connect to people, and his years of addiction had only hurt that, stripping away the vestiges of his spirit.