Seven Devils
Chapter 4 / False Prophets
"And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain."
— Book of Revelation 20:1
Marlene woke up extra early that day. Alright, she didn't exactly wake up since she hadn't really gone to sleep in the first place. No, the thoughts that terrorised her mind were too relentless to let Marley get even a wink of sleep. Instead, she'd spent the entire night looking through the notes she'd made from her father's journal, trying to memorise the diagram and the sigils that were needed to...summon an angel.
The fact that it was a spectacularly idiotic idea didn't escape her. Marlene acknowledged how poorly thought out it was and how it could potentially end very, very badly. For all she knew, Castiel could be a spawn of evil, the worst of the worst. He'd probably waist no time in alerting his buddies to her presence, and then all Heaven's wrath would be directed upon a small house in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Those thoughts were perfectly rational, but somehow, Marlene knew they were false. Somehow, she knew she could trust him.
Eyes puffy and dry from the lack of sleep, head heavy and pulsating with pain, Marley left her room with the first rays of sunshine to get a drop of coffee. She'd have an IV if that was an option, anything to get it into her system as fast as possible. Because she needed to be alert, sharp and present. Now...well, now Marlene was feeling like she was made of freaking cotton and it would take a single drop of water for her to melt.
Coffee did a tremendous job at boosting her system and making Marley's brain think that it was, in fact, doing great. Her pounding heart didn't get the memo, though, and she was getting kind of manic, now on her third cup. Even Arthur almost jumped from shock at seeing his daughter in the kitchen at such an early our.
"Coffee?" she offered with a disturbingly wide smile.
Arthur poured himself a cup, still eying her with suspicion. He made himself a cream cheese bagel to go, bid Marlene a great day and left for work as if the world wasn't coming to a freaking end.
"Have a great day, sweetheart," Marley mimicked and took another sip of coffee. God, it tasted awful. She missed "Sailor's" and her afternoon coconut lattes, and the way she didn't need to summon an angel to figure out what was going on and if her father was conspiring to sacrifice thousands of people. Yes, those were the good ol' days.
Mood significantly soured by nostalgia and driven by paranoia, Marlene set to work. She looked through the list of ingredients again — it was surprisingly normal, nothing that couldn't be found in the pantry, especially one in an Armenian household. She took one of her grandma's jars from the cabinet and filled it with an assortment of dried herbs — Marley hoped Arthur wouldn't notice that she'd taken some of his favourite jasmine. She felt like a preppy student bracing herself for a particularly nasty exam. Only in this case, it wouldn't be her GPA that suffered.
With the needed ingredients and a half-broken chalk in hand, she went down to the basement.
Snap.
The room was set alight, filled with boxes upon boxes upon boxes — it almost looked like an abandoned storage facility. It would probably take weeks to get through all the stuff in here, if not months. Marley would probably choke on dust if she opened one of the boxes.
Eyeing the whole mess with mild curiosity, she squeezed through her baby crib and an old fridge (Arthur didn't want to throw it away because Marlene had drawn a huge-ass flower on it with a permanent marker, which was, apparently, cute as hell).
There was a reasonably free corner, away from piles of garb — um, memories, and Marley began to draw the diagram. Her father's journal had said that it would serve to trap an angel. She hadn't trapped anything ever before, much less a celestial being, so that was a fun activity indeed.
The circle came out kind of wanky, but the ancient sigils turned out weirdly alright, almost perfect, even. Marlene took pride in that. Too bad there was no one around to give her the praise she needed.
"Okay," she breathed as she rose to her feet from the kneeling position and inspected the diagram. Not too shabby for the first ever angel-summoning.
Marley went on to draw a smaller circle, divided it into four quadrants and placed a set of candles on each corner, next to the sigils. The herbs were ready, the needed trinket by its side — the only thing left was to set the ingredients on fire. Marlene took out a match from the matchbox she'd brought with her and lit it. The match ignited with a sizzling hiss, the fire slowly dancing down the wood. Marlene quickly brought it to the candles. Her hand froze above the bowl. Was she really doing this? Whatever would happen, there was no going back.
And so she dropped the match.
A loud whoosh followed, smoke rising from the bowl, and through its thin veil Marley saw a man. He was slim, dressed in a beige trench coat, raven hair askew as though he'd just rolled out of bed. He looked around, confused and guarded, brows furrowed. Finally, his piercing blue eyes landed on Marlene.
She was gawking at him, shocked that the summoning had actually worked. That mere seconds ago the circle was empty, just a silly drawing with strange signs, and now there was a person. An angel. Who'd appeared out of thin air. Marlene had ordered an angel to be here. Holy shit. Literally.
The angel tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "You summoned me?"
"I, um...I suppose. Yeah."
"Who are you?"
Marlene was a little surprised by the question. From what Gabriel had said, all the winged menaces couldn't wait to get their hands on her family. Huh, so his cloaking spell was working, after all.
"Marlene," she told him hesitantly.
Castiel was quiet for some time. He stared at her, assessing her, trying to figure out why he was here. It was making her increasingly uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. "You're Castiel?"
He looked eternally confused. "Should you not have already known that?"
"I mean I...didn't know it would be...you, exactly."
"I do not understand what you mean," the angel frowned, "Who did you expect to see if not me — Castiel — whom you have summoned into the lower levels of this place of residence?"
"I...just heard them say your name."
Castiel visibly tensed, "Who?"
"Your buddies upstairs."
It seemed to only deepen his confusion, "I have no...friends or acquaintances in this abode."
"What? No, I meant, like, other angels. Up there?" Marlene gestured to the ceiling, but it didn't seem to work.
He looked even more troubled, sharply alert, "Where did you hear it?"
Marlene didn't really know how to answer that question. If she told him about the angel radio, she'd risk Gabriel's cover and compromise all the years he had been hiding her family from the very creature standing before her. And so she opted for half that.
"I heard an angel mention it."
"But you used a plural form of the word which is supposed to mean there were multiple...buddies speaking my name."
The way he talked made her head hurt, "Yeah, I'm not big on grammar."
Castiel stayed silent, in deep contemplation over her words. "Who was that...one angel?"
"I don't know. You don't really wear name tags, do you?"
"Would that really make things easier?" the angel asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Marlene sighed, completely on edge, anxiety making her heart run a mile a second. This one must've hit his head when he came down to earth, "He was bald, wearing a suit. Seemed kind of shady. And to answer your question — yes, that would make things loads easier."
Marley noticed Castiel's eyes shift with recognition. He set his jaw, face pensive, perturbed.
"You know him?"
He gave a measured nod, "The one you speak of is named Zachariah. I do, however, find it very strange."
"Why?"
"It is very unlike him to have dealings with humans. And you say he spoke with you?"
"N-not me. My dad..."
"And he still lives?"
Marlene made a face at him, eyes wide, "Jesus, what kind of question is this? Yes, he still lives."
"What did Zachariah discuss with your father?" Castiel was all business now.
"I only got to hear little bits, but...they were talking about Lilith," she watched his face for a reaction. And it didn't disappoint — he seemed completely taken aback. Marlene had shocked an angel. Wow.
"Who are you?" he asked again, more on guard now, stance visibly confrontational. His deep blue eyes studied Marley, then flickered up. The angel narrowed them, a realisation slowly washing over his features, "You're not human."
"Okay, chill out, Inspector Gadget — "
"What else do you know?" Castiel asked with growing suspicion.
Marley heaved a heavy sigh of annoyance, "Ridiculously little. And unfortunately enough. But...that — Zachariah — said that you'd make sure she's dead. That Lilith is dead."
Castiel seemed to be slowly processing the information, disturbingly quiet, "To what end did you summon me here, Marlene?" he said her name like he was tasting it, not quite used to the sound and probably thinking what it is that she was.
"Look," Marlene breathed out, running a hand through her main of dark hair, "I'm not completely sure I can trust you, Castiel. Angels are not awfully honourable in my, um, limited experience. But there's very little time left and I don't have much to go on here so this is the only option I've got. So I'm just gonna say it," she probably sounded like a woman mad, but in her defence she had spent weeks hauled up in the house reading books about angels and demons and all things unholy, "I...I think that you shouldn't kill Lilith," she blurted out.
Castiel's face hardened, "Lilith must die. If we don't vanquish her, she'll break the last seal and set Lucifer free."
"Just hear me out, alright? I may not know much about angels and demons and how you guys work; in real live, anyway," Marley told him frantically, "But I know a bad guy when I see one, blame it on my Dateline obsession if you will. And that Zachariah dude? Wannabe Charles Manson."
All references had obviously gone over Castiel's head. His brows twitched together, "What makes you think that Zachariah is a...bad guy?" the words sounded foreign coming out of his mouth; awkward.
"He said something to my father that day. The day I saw him. I didn't understand it at first, but with everything..." she tapered off and took a deep breath, "I...I don't want to think that my dad...that he — he's not a bad man," Marley told the angel but felt like she was trying to reassure herself, "Zachariah spoke of some God's plan," she said more forcefully now, "He...he said that thousands of lives lost over millions saved was a fair price to pay for...for," Marlene gulped, remembering the exact way Zachariah had put it, "Heaven on Earth".
Castiel's face grew dark, no longer thoughtful, but almost enraged. The change in the angel's entire demeanour didn't escape Marlene's attention. Suddenly, he seemed too big for the measly room, locked inside the small circle like a wild animal in a cage.
"What's wrong?" Marley asked, worried. Could he get out of the trap? Should she be afraid? She didn't feel afraid, though.
"You need to free me, immediately."
Her brows shot up, "So you really can't leave?" Thank G — no, that didn't seem appropriate anymore.
"No," Castiel replied with a face that said that she really should've known that before summoning an angel, "The sigils you have drawn are a trap." Marlene made an impressed face, proud of herself. She had captured an angel. Castiel looked at her with thoughtful curiosity, "You truly are ignorant."
"Excuse me?" Marley stuttered, too stunned to be properly offended.
"You must break the circle, Marlene," Castiel implored, ignoring her question. His face was rigid, stance anxious.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Marley's voice was laced with resignation. She was happy to have figured it out and yet absolutely terrified at the prospect of absolute Devine annihilation. And disappointed. That, she was most of all. "That ma — angel — wants to bring on the Apocalypse?"
And my father...wants to help him?
"Yes, I believe he does," Castiel said grimly, "I must go now before they do something that cannot be undone," he muttered to himself.
"You mean you must warn the Winchesters?" Marley wagered.
The angel shot her a look of surprise, "You know them?"
"More like of them. I tried calling, whichever one of them answered wasn't in a very cooperative mood. He hung up on me."
Castiel nodded, almost in understanding, "It must've been Dean. He can be rather unpleasant," he told her, probably having experienced the "unpleasantness" first hand. And those were the people who would save the world from its impending doom?
How did a man even kill a demon? Marlene had met Lilith, and the sheer darkness that came off that monster in waves felt poisonous. She was wicked, she was strong, she was Lucifer's firstborn. But if angels themselves bet on the Winchesters to kill Lilith...well, they must've been up for the job. Being FBI's most wanted came with the territory, Marley supposed.
And then it hit her.
"Oh my God," she whispered, unbothered by the weirdness of saying it in front of an angel. Castiel regarded her with concern, brows furrowed. Marlene looked up at him, "If Zachariah and my father want them to kill Lilith..."
The angel exhaled a laboured breath, lips pursed, "Her demise could be the last seal."
Before she could change her mind, Marlene rushed to the circle and used the sole of her sneakers to erase the meticulously drown chalk. She looked up at the angel, who appeared mildly taken aback by her sudden decision, eyes burning with determination, "Go stop them."
A flash of gratitude passed over Castiel's kind eyes. And then he vanished.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Marlene wanted to confront him. She was sitting in the living room, Arthur's journal by her side, thinking of all the ways she could throw everything she knew right into his face. Yes, Marley'd say, she knew all about his deal with Zachariah. Was Tessa just one of the thousands to die in order for the world to be remade in that egomaniac's image? What else was he hiding from her?
Oh, how she wanted to see the look on Arthur's face when all his lies were finally unraveled. He'd likely try to justify his actions, but Marlene didn't care — nothing was worth the death of a single life, let alone thousands of them.
She'd waited for hours, hidden in the shadows in anticipation of her father's arrival, like a mysterious detective from those noir movies he liked so much. Arthur had that silly hat that made him think he was Al Capone, an old cigar given to him by a fellow professor to boot. He never lit it though — her father condoned smoking with a passion. He'd show her his favourite movies and would comment on every important scene, unable to curb his excitement. It was in those moments that Arthur seemed to forget about all their troubles. I was in those moment that he would tell Marlene about her mother. He had taken Sophia to see "Hilda" on their first date, after all.
As hours went by, Marley didn't ravel in exposing her father anymore. If anything, she felt disgusted. And sad. Marlene mourned the man he had been, the man she thought he was and didn't know if she was ready to see the face of the one he had become.
She zipped the beg with some clothes in it — the few items she still had at home — and sat down on her bed, head raised towards the ceiling, "Hey, Gabriel," Marley said with a resigned sigh, "You're probably not listening, but I'm just gonna talk and hope it ends up in your voicemail."
She swept her childhood bedroom with a long, melancholic look, "I'm going to try and fix whatever my dad's got him himself into. You're free to pop up and stop me." Nothing happened. Marlene pursed her lips — figures — and went on, "You...you've already done so much for us, but, um, there's one more favour I'd like to ask," she played nervously with the strap of the bag, "Please, please look after my father. And me...well, I'm gonna figure something out. Over."
Shaking her head at her own antics, Marlene stood up, threw the strap of the bag over her shoulder and went downstairs. Wallet, ID, car keys, phone — everything was in perfect order. There was only one thing left to do.
When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. [Revelation 6:9]
Marley stuck the note to the living room mirror and caught her reflection staring back. She looked tired, with prominent dark circles against her pale skin, eyes red-rimmed and puffy from the lack of sleep and the spilt tears. But there was something steely in their depths, a glimmering determination. With a little nod to herself, she walked out the door.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Marlene blamed movies for her high expectations for nearly everything. Highschool was nothing like Breakfast Club, her first relationship was less exciting than a Jeopardy episode, and the only party she'd been to in college was thrown by the Dean.
Now she could add "living on the road" to the long list of disappointments. She was hoping to be a classy fugitive, like modern Bonny Clyde, have a cigarette or two and then rob a bank and move to Bermuda with her boy-toy lover. Instead, she had five Reese's, a pack of Funyuns, and a nice nap in a Walmart parking lot somewhere in Cleveland.
She tried calling John Winchester's number again to get in contact with his wayward sons, but it was still dead. Had Castiel found them? Did they know the truth?
"Another cup, honey?" a middle-aged waitress with bleached blonde hair asked, "Looks like you need it."
Marley tore her eyes away from the screen of her laptop, "Yes, thank you," she told the woman with a tired smile. Of course, she needed it. And a back massage, too. Also, a meal that didn't include waffles, pancakes or a egg'n'bacon bagel.
Marlene tried not to stay in one place for too long. The day before, she had been in Ohio where she'd withdrawn all money from her credit card. — she'd had no cash left. Marley set off right after that and drove all the way to Illinois without a single stop. Okay, she had made one stop to pee and buy some junk fuel to last her the rest of the way.
She'd decided to stay in Chicago — it was much easier to disappear in a big city rather than an endearing provincial town. Marlene'd got a room in a reasonably cheap motel and had decided to stay there for at least two days to get her wits together and come up with some kind of a plan. Most importantly, though, she needed to protect herself.
Her father often spoke about "dusts" in his journal. Every page was filled with scribbles about their attributes and how they could be modified with more basic ingredients. There were many recipes and incantations in different languages, instructions on how to crush the leaves and burn the bones. Each dust had its particular qualities and limited usage, but the one her father was working on was an amalgamation of many. The dust that was used against demons.
... The ingredients are hard to come by. Regular occult shops don't sell them. But of course, that would be too obvious. There are hidden sigils on doors. Witches don't sell to hunters...
Marlene wrote down a few places worth checking out in Chicago, finished the coffee and began her search for the strange ingredients. The journal said to look for secret sigils on doors — apparently, that was a sign for those who knew where to look. Attracting the right clientele and all that. Since Marlene had spotted the sigils on their house back in Cambridge, she supposed she knew what to look for. As expected, almost all the shops on her list turned out to be nothing but tourist attractions. Almost. Except for an apothecary in Westloop, where the door was adorned with a shining circle filled with ancient writings.
"Abandone all hope," Marley muttered and pushed it open.
The musky smell of frankincense hit her nostrils — she instantly recognised it from church services in her Armenian Sunday school. It sat heavily in the air, mixed with woody aromas tinged with smoke. The shop was unlike the others Marlene had visited that day — there were no sculls, chicken feet and other cheap trinkets hanging around. No burgundy velvets, crystal balls or taro cards. The place looked strikingly normal, very minimalistic, clean.
"Need help?"
An old woman appeared at the counter. Marlene smiled, albeit rather hesitantly, and walked further into the store.
"I saw...the sign on your door."
"Did you?" the woman bore a heavy slavic accent, "What you want?"
Marley reached into her bag, "I have a list — "
"No. What do you want here?"
"I need ingredients," Marlene replied unsurely.
The woman stared at her in silence, her wrinkled blue eyes assessing, "You a witch?"
"N-no."
"A hunter?"
"No," Marley all but yelled. The woman frowned. Marlene cleared her throat, "No, I'm not a...a hunter. I just need these ingredients," she put the list on the glass surface of the counter and looked straight at the old lady, "Please."
The woman gave Marley a haughty look and picked up the piece of paper. Crimson lips pursed, she 'hmmed' and 'uh-huhed' while scanning the items. And then she left to the backroom. Marlene just stood there, confused — was that a way to tell her to get lost or?...
"Here," the woman put a plastic bag on the counter with unceremonious brashness. It was filled with all sorts of dried herbs, powders and...God, were those actual bones? "Holy water helps, too," she told her knowingly. How?..."Don't do crazy, girl."
Marlene looked up from the bag and met the Slavic woman's heavily kohled eyes. She gulped, Lilith's milky white eyes burning in the back of her mind. "I won't."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
The motel Marlene was staying at had a strong policy against pets, which she, personally, found quite ridiculous seeing as there was an entirely knew species developing from the well-aged mold in the bathroom of her room.
There was, however, no such policy against satanic rituals, which would've made much more sense considering who was staying in this fine establishment. They should've thanked Marlene for not burning it to the ground in the process of making five measly pouches of the "dusts". If you'd ever wondered what would fifteen random ingredients from an obscure Ukranian apothecary look like mixed together, you could rest easy now — what you got was a greenish powder. Marley had distributed it evenly among five small plastic pouches. Good thing it wasn't white.
Next on the menu was holy water. Marlene filled up the bathroom sink and put her golden crucifix pendant inside before saying a prayer a total of three times. According to google, that should've done the trick. The holy goodness then went into two water bottles, divinity incapsulated. How quaint.
"Making potions in a motel room in Chicago," Marley said, observing her handiwork, "Nice."
She was in the middle of cleaning the crime scene when a knock thundered through the room. Was that how drug dealers felt when DEA were about to raid their ass?
Wide-eyed, Marlene quickly stuffed everything under the bed, wiped her hands on her, thankfully, dark blue jeans, and opened the door.
On second thought, she should've definitely checked the peephole first.