Los Angeles - 1844

Beads of sweat dripped down his shirtless body. It was another sweltering evening in Los Angeles as the Sun sank lower into the horizon. Salvatore Black was still a young boy, and already he'd been tasked with burying bodies in the cemetery behind the church. Bodies that didn't belong there. However, he was the oldest of the alter boys at La Iglesia de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles, and as such it was his duty.

Standing and looking into the Sun, Salvatore took a deep breath and reached up to grip the crucifix that hung from his neck. Squeezing it tightly, he said a small prayer for the body wrapped in robes and cloths beside him... Another young child dead.

"What do you think it is, my son?" the disembodied voice of his father called to him. Opening his eyes quickly Salvatore looked around, immediately on edge. Seeing no one as always, he shivered and returned to his work.

A few more swings of the shovel and he heard the tell-tale sound of the casket beneath. He was deep enough now. Setting his shovel aside, he rolled the body into the pit and shirked at the resounding thud as it landed on the casket. Something about this always felt...wrong. Burying a body where no one but he and the clergy would know? But it was for the better. They were fighting a war and no one knew about it but the gifted. And Sal was certainly one of the gifted.

It was dark by the time Salvatore finished filling the hole, the fifth one this week alone. Stretching, he cracked the bones in his body and headed for the church. One by one, he passed by the rows of graves he'd dug up and covered in the past months. This time, though... Something made the hair on the back of his neck rise. The breeze floated lightly from the nearby river and carried with it the sense of being watched. Then he heard it... It sounded like, crying? That was to be expected, there was a vigil for the boy he'd just dropped in the hole tonight. They'd found him near the river's edge, bloodied and drowned. There was an innate urge to rush to the feeling of hopelessness and loss... He could feel their pain.

Something about the sound was terrifying, though, and told him he needed to get inside. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but something felt unnatural about the energy... And Salvatore, of anyone, understood the unnatural. Pausing at the door to the shed where he would drop off his tools, he looked toward the sound. The stare of glowing blue eyes in the distance both worried and eased him at the same time. They were familiar, and that helped... But they were also a warning.

Nodding to the pair of eyes that watched over him ever so vigilantly, he hurried and put away his things before rushing for the church doors to redress in his robes and meet his brother out front. Something had certainly been attempting to lure the young, empath. However, he knew it was his brother Hiram that had been keeping watch as he always did. Showing himself, had been the warning signs. There was something else out there. Something not of his kind... Something that wanted him along with many others.

Gathering his personal items: rosary, bible, flask of holy water, flask of fire-water, silver edged blade, and gun, Salvatore took a deep breath and headed for the door to the church.

"Are you off for the evening, my child?" a voice called from behind the alter as he passed through the sanctuary.

"Yes, Father," Sal called back as he turned to face the priest. "My brother and I are going to hunt the creature again."

"You know I don't like you wandering around with your brothers or the rest of your family, yes my son?"

"Yes Father, I know. Lesser of evils though. At least my brothers do not kill the innocent, what we hunt, does."

Salvatore turned for the door just as it opened and a family ran inside, their youngest ghost white and scratched.

"HELP US! HELP US! SHE'S AFTER US! THE WAILING WOMAN IS AFTER US!" they screamed, and Salvatore looked to the priest before bolting for the door. They needed to track her while she was still near, and he knew he was the best bait for Hiram to use.

The priest offered a prayer of protection to his young protege before turning his attention to the family as the church doors slammed shut...

Outside, Salvatore looked around for his brother. He was not there, but as a soft breeze hit his neck, he could smell and taste the fear of the family that had just run inside. Closing his eyes for but a split second, he inhaled. As he opened them, Hiram stood before him. The glowing blue eyes of his undead brother met his own similarly blue, yet not glowing, eyes. Hiram was taller, but not by much.

"They called her the wailing woman, Hiram... Is La Llarona real?"

"We're real, are we not? So why not her?"

Sal nodded then looked at Hiram, "How do we destroy a spirit?"

"We don't, you do..." a voice from behind spoke out.

Turning slowly, Salvatore stared into the blue eyes of his brother Christian. "You're here too?" Nodding, Christian smiled at his youngest brother. "Yes, I couldn't let you fight this alone. Besides, there's a chance Carlisle is behind this disturbed spirit. We will need your faith to banish it, so be strong, little brother. Have faith in us to keep you safe, and your God to help you dismiss the conjuration's presence. Hiram and I will search for hints of Carlisle's hand... If he's made a move to the west coast, we need to know."

"So an exorcism?"

Christian nodded. "That would be the best course of action. Send the apparition away. Hiram and I will handle the rest."

The three nodded, then just as quickly as his brothers had joined his side, they were gone. He was alone again. The wailing in the distance caused the hair to stand on his body again, and he shivered. He knew he was a target. Especially if Carlisle was involved.

The cemetery was just barely visible from the edge of the river, the silhouette of tombstones fading quickly into the rich twilight as a lone gravedigger stood powering through his secretive task before a marked grave. It was the sixth such grave this month alone. Meanwhile, the village gathered at the river's edge for yet another waterfront vigil. 

Save for the flickering candles that now floated the water's edge, surrounded by gently bobbing marigold petals, no other lights were visible in town. For weeks now the city had been under self-imposed curfew. Only those who were entirely faithless, desperate, or bereft were bold enough to brave the night anymore. And who could blame them? As the weeks stretched into months and the town's youth slowly dwindled, it was only a matter of time before another young boy went missing.

The vacancy of the city streets only intensified the eerie keening wails and echoing prayers of the vigil as the small group turned away from the river. Even a mother's mourning surrendering to the smothering fear of the unknowable as the young altar boy in the graveyard completed his grim task. 

He was such a pretty thing, all softness and curls. Faithful to a fault. And so sensitive. 

She'd watched him for weeks now, lamenting the horror of his assigned duties. He was too good for the world. They were all too good for this world. But this one, he was special. She could feel it in the hollow ache of her soul when she watched him... always at a distance as she haunted the edge of the river, bound to her grief and despair. She was sure that if she could only touch the smallest sliver of that goodness, her soul could finally know peace. 

She was so tired. So weary. So lonely. The raw, maddening emptiness in the center of her being gnawing away at her like an all-devouring hunger, deeper than her bones and more intimately familiar than her own identity. Her heartache, her outrage, the cold injustice of the world, the eternal decimation of innocence and goodness... it wrenched a weeping wail form her heart as she watched the young man turn away.

And it seemed, as he paused and surveyed the landscape, that he felt it, too. Maybe he was the one, who would finally end this hell. 

She was so tired. So weary. She needed to end this. 

Forcing herself to tear herself away from the cold sanctuary of the water, she wailed and raged as the iron gates of the cemetery held her at bay. The metal bit like freezing rain against her skin as she shook the bars to no avail. Pacing, she stalked the wooded perimeter... weeping in her anguish and frustration. She'd have to find another way in. It was the only way. And she was so tired. So weary. So... hungry. 

Her white eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she searched. Her feet carrying her, instinctively back to the water to which she was bound. She flowed downstream like the river itself... meandering, forever bereft and searching. She twisted her way through the trees, skirted the banks of the town, babbled over the rocks and falls like a bubbling brook until she reached the footbridge. 

It passed low over the water, and to her surprise, a beautiful family was just crossing over... returning late from the vigil, no doubt. She paused as she watched them from below, transfixed by the beautiful amber eyes of their son who stared at her as if she were an angel. Frozen on the spot, he smiled sweetly, waving with a bashful wave that brought a sparkle to his tiny face. His mother, numb and unseeing, followed along under her husband's arm; the collar of her white dress pulled high in a feeble attempt to hide the garish bruises that coloured the skin beneath. The man, frustrated at the child's lollygagging, gripped him tightly by the arm; inpatience and rage flowing in loud curses from his snarling lips as he drug the child forward. The frail woman beneath his arm gave a small whimper of protest, her practiced mask of anesthetized indifference melting for a split second before falling immediately back into glazed submission. 

Gripping his wife by the jaw, the man screamed at her... forcing her to watch as he kicked the child from the bridge. The boy, hurt and shocked, flailed in the water, not quite swimming but not quite drowning as his mother looked on helplessly... either unable or unwilling to help. Wailing at the injustice of the world, the woman who'd been following Sal scooped the child up into her arms. Hold him close, she rocked and shooshed him, a soft lullaby to the goodness of the world as she cradled him in the water. 

Screaming hysterically, his mother clawed her way away from her husband and dove in after the child... the man not far behind. Reluctant to relase the child back into such cruelty, the woman fought hard to keep him. He was too good for this world. Too good for this family. Through pleading and begging, she held him still. Only relinquishing her stranglehold grip when the mother - in her fear and desperation - vowed to protect him better. The man, however, was given no chance to make such promises. ONce she released the child 'La Llorona' (as they screamed at her) turned on him with all the fury of a Grecian goddess. Pale white hands with nails like claws latched around his throat, holding him beneath the water. 

She watched as his face changed colours, squeezing his throat relentlessly as he stared up at her through the clear water of the river. If she couldn't have peace, she would settle for this monster's soul. She hated this world... this terrible, horrible, unjust world that turned innocent children into... THIS. Weeping for the innocent child he had once been, straddled his chest, resolving to return him to that innocence and free his family of his terror. But a tiny hand clasped around her wrist, drug her eyes away from the watery scene below. 

The child who had once looked at her like an angel now stared horrified at a monster. And the realization tore through her like a knife. Stumbling away, she looked on in dazed amusement as the family picked themselves up and ran for the church. Ripping herself away from the water in a pained daze, she followed their frantic footsteps with a slow, inevitable acceptance. If nothing else... they were the perfect lure. 

The family's sudden entrance brought her pretty little thing outside right on cue... accompanied by two others whose eyes reminded her of an aching fear she couldn't quite remember. The scent of bourbon and vanilla wafted gently on the cool night breeze. And with it her heart lurched uncontrollably... like prey in the snares of a hunter. 

The brother's heard it before they saw her. Hiram's expression turning shocked and confused. Spirits don't have a heart. 

So what, then, were they facing exactly? Where did it come from? And what did their deplorable demon of a father have to do with it? 

That old familiar voice echoed in Sal's head as his brothers shared a look of confused concern over his head, "Behold my beautiful creation, my son. Behold the power and fear of God." 

And as she stepped from the water's edge, Sal did, indeed, feel the fear that his father had caused. Fear and pain and anguish and grief... misery so complete that it swallowed you whole. As she stared at him... white gown fluttering, pale eyes reflecting the bright moon, a trail of shining wet footprints and droplets behind her... he suddenly felt as if all the light had been utterly snuffed out of the world. There was no god, no right, no goodness left to fight for. No reason for anything other than tired surrender. Drowning in a sea of empty all-consuming hopelessness, he sank to his knees. 

Responding to their brother's distress, Hiram and Christian sprang into action. With a murmured word and wave of his hand, Christian sent a wave of intense energy at the woman. Blinking as it's effect fizzled and failed. A different gesture aimed a different intent... but with the same result. His efforts seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever. What was she?

Corporeal but etheric. A heartbeat, but no blood. 

As she rushed them, they both heard Carlisle's voice in their heads, "Finish this." 

Hiram was fast... much faster than Christian as he careened into her. Shrieking she clawed and struggled, but was no match for the iron grasp the clamped around her torso. They were strong... much stronger than any of the others. Grunting, Hiram drug the woman forward, forcing her to her knees before the church. 

Sal began to cough and choke as the drowning emotion rolled off of her in waves... fearing he might actually drown from the inside out if they did not end things quickly. She was his expression shift as the voice echoed in her mind. A soft, shocked gasp resonating across the distance between them. "You hear him, too," her voice was like a whispering waterfall. Her words lilting like the tongues of oceans and tides, heavy with all the sadness and longing of sailors and widows. "You sense him. I know you do. You can feel it," she wailed. 

Lifting her moonlight coloured eyes to meet his blue gaze, he gagged as she begged, "Finish it. Please... finish it. Release me. So I don't hurt anymore." 

She meant her own pain... but the pleading look in her eyes spoke volumes about the bodies he'd secretly buried. 

They had their culprit, and their suspicions... but the questioned remained... mercy or answers?

here was only one thing Salvatore believed in more than his brothers. If his family did not already have the answers they sought, in his mind there was only one place to find them. Struggling through the overwhelming deluge of emotion and energy that threatened to engulf him, Sal stood, shakily, and turned toward the cathedral... Christian and Hiram following, with their trophy in tow.  

The family still huddled near the altar, flinching with fear as Sal unceremoniously kicked open the doors as he helped his brother drag the struggling woman over the threshold. "Padre," he called to the priest who prayed with the family, "Take them somewhere safe. Out of view and out of earshot. We have work to do." Sputtering in shocked protest, the man motioned for the family to follow. Leading them out a side door and into another area of the church. 

"Stay here," he commanded with shaking hands, "Ignore all you here. Do not leave this room until I or a member of the clergy fetch you. Do you understand?" As the family nodded, he retreated, closing and securely locking the door behind him. Work to do indeed.

Storming back into the Nave, he confronted the brothers with all the faithful fervour he could muster. "WHAT do you think you are doing. You cannot do this here. YOU cannot even BE here," he spat, directing an unjustifiable amount of fury at Christian. 

"Father, they come with me. We must...." Sal started, quickly cut short by a hard backhand. 

"YOU MUST BE SILENT!" the man raised his voice as easily as he'd raised his fist... earning a low and threatening growl from both Hiram and the woman he held captive. "Unclean spirits of the demonic realms," he canted in his most believable 'priest voice', "you have not right and no place within these hallowed walls. I cast you OUT in the name of..." 

Christian growing tired of the man's charade stepped forward, "My good sir, we simply nee..."  

"THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU," He was quickly cut short by the screaming clergyman... met with a faceful of holy water that filled his open mouth. Blinking, he spat the water onto the floor like a fine Romanian fountain. 

"That really isn't necessa...." he tried again, only to be met with a second aspersion... and a third. 

"THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS..." It was the priests turn to be cut short as unexpected laughter filtered down from one of the high, open windows. 

"The power of Christ compels you to shut the fuck up!" a thick Welsh accent descended from the window; the sound of soft footfalls making land with hushed ease and agility as a familiar face stepped into the paling moonlight that twinkled through the window. 

A tall, agile male sauntered to the front of the church... yellow eyes flashing as he snatched the priest's aspergillum, booping him on the nose with it before unceremoniously tossing it over his shoulder. "L... loup garou..." the man stuttered... somehow more off-put by Elyan's yellow eyes than the brother's glowing blue. Chuckling, Ely shook his head. "No, Padre. Lupus Dei," the man grinned, flashing a dangerous smile as he pat the priest condescendingly. 

Blinking and stuttering the priest backed away, with an expression somewhere between reverent and horrified... crossing himself before kissing his rosary. 

Elyan, chuckling, greeted the boys with a cheery smile and 'greetings, nephews' before assuring the priest, "That will do little good here." 

With the priest looking on, greetings were shared, tactics debated and agreed upon, as the woman was lashed to the altar. 

Minutes stretched into hours as the brothers went about their violent work. Voices shrieked and wailed, windows shook, dust rained from the trembling cross beams, as the woman's tortured soul agonized within the confines of her tortured body. It was no use... she was like nothing they had confronted before. Corporeal, but unliving. Not fully human, not fully inhuman. She did not bleed but spilled water from wounds that flowed closed like the placid surface of a lake. 

For a long while, the Father looked on... silently detesting the acts witnessed, and loathing the endorsements his silence gave. Finally overwhelmed with the suffering of a sentient soul upon the altar of HIS holy church, the man stood from the pews calmly, and like Christ calming the stormy seas called out, "ENOUGH!"

For a single moment it felt as if the whole world had gone frozen, all of the men - Ely included - freezing on the spot. "I'll have no more of this heartless carnage inflicted upon this pitiful soul in my church," the man said with unarguable finality. Sal... already overwhelmed by the pain and anguish flowing off the woman, bowed his head and backed away. Christian, however, was having none of it. 

"No more carnage? NO MORE CARNAGE?" he raged at the man, "What about the CARNAGE buried in your cemetery? What about the souls of all those children MY BROTHER had to bury in unmarked graves? What of the countless other souls she will claim if we release her? Or the innumerable souls and unimaginable carnage HER creator will release upon this pitiful world if left unchecked?! NO," he shook his head, gesturing dangerously toward the man with his dagger. "I will run her DRY before I allow this MADNESS to continue ANY LONGER!" 

Lunging at the woman, she violently sliced across her throat, more water spilling from the wound and pooling on the floor before it closed once again. "I will carve the currents from her bones if it means no other soul meets her watery grave." 

Sal, stepping forward, whispered softly to Christian, "Then how are we any different than him? There has to be another way." 

For a moment, all eyes remained on the two brothers as they warred in a silent staring match with all the seriousness of death. Ely, however, knelt to run his fingers through the deep puddles that littered the floor. Laughing softly, he turned on the priest, "How did we not see it," he asked, chuckling, "You gave us the answer right at the outset." 

"UNTIE HER," he barked at Christian. Holding his damp fingers out to the priest, "You know what to do with water, yes? For the Aspersion?" 

A glimmer of understanding flickered across his features... and Sals, who smiled. "Fucking genius," Sal chirped. Kneeling to untie the woman's bonds. Christian, lunged forward with a snarl but was caught short by Ely's firm grasp. "Trust us, nephew." Glaring, Christian huffed softly, lip twitching as he backed away. 

"If this fails..." Christian growled dangerously.

"Then you will finally have an excuse to kill me," Ely quipped, slapping him playfully on the back. "Now... sit back and watch your little brother work." 

Gently, Sal lifted the woman from the floor. A soft whimpering moan escaping her lips as he scooped her up and carried her to the large basin that dominated the churches interest. Laying her across the basin, Sal removed his rosary and pressed it to her chest, praying softly, "Creature of Water, child of God, I bless you and cleanse you in the name of our benevolent Holy Father that all evil be cast out from you and by you in the name of Christ, Living Water and Water of Life." 

Hiram and Christian looked on... caught somewhere between disbelief and impressed. The Priest, catching on quickly, rushed to Sal's side as the woman began to wail and writhe. Looking into the woman's eyes as he held her down, Sal continued, "May God, who had enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust his Mercy." 

The priest was quick on the uptake, chanting softly, "Heavenly Father, Creator of all things, by water and the Holy Spirit you have given the universe its beauty and fashioned us in your own image." Holding his rosary to her chest with one hand, he pressed her head beneath the water with the other... dunking her quickly as he replied, "Bless and purify this child, your vessel."

"Christ the Lord, from your pierced side... where blood and water have mixed... you gave us your sacraments as fountains of salvation," The priest continued as the woman screeched and wept. Dunking her again, Sal replied, "Bless and purify this child, your vessel."

The woman began to convulse... her skin beneath Sal's gentle hands feeling as if her very body was boiling. Sensing her distress, the priest rushed through his next and final verse, "Holy Spirit, giver of life, counselor, comforter, and advocate of the faithful,  from the baptismal font of Creation, you have inspired us and formed us into a new creation in the waters of rebirth." Holding her beneath the water this time, tears slipped down Sal's young face as he whispered one final time, ​​​"Bless and purify this child, your vessel."

For a moment, it seemed as if time stood still. The priest, transfixed, looked on in wonder as all the water in the church slowly raised... hovering in the air in small droplets like reversed raindrops that glimmered in the moonlight like a thousand tiny prisms. Smiling at the beauty of it, Sal whispered softly, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." For the briefest second, it seemed all the cathedral was bathed in the glowing-white rainbow light of the Spirit before... with a soft and unexpected susserance, the water came cascading down again, drenching everyone and everything in the church. 

When they looked back, the woman was gone. All signs of her evaporated into the glistening night, save for Sal's rosary which now rested, submerged, in the bottom of the basin. Chuckling softly, he shook his head at the befuddled and dumbfounded expressions around him as he retrieved it from the shallow depths. Playfully flinging it in his brother's directions he teased, "In nomine patri et fili spiritus sancti." 

​​​​​​Slowly, a stifled chuckle worked it's way up from Ely's throat, growing and growing until it erupted into an all-out belly laugh that quickly circled the church with contagious fervour. Even the priest chuckled as he ran a hand over his drenched robes... the light on his face glowing with renewed faith and purpose. Sal, slapping the old man on the back, insisted gently. "See them out. I will handle this mess and have the church ready by morning." 

"Nonsense," Christian smiled, suddenly far more cheery than was normal, "We will see ourselves out." Stepping forward, he hugged Sal tightly, whisper softly into his ear, "I'm proud of you." Silently, they each passed, giving him a pat or hug or ruffle, before passing through the open doors of the church. With one last look over their shoulders, each smirked wickedly at their youngest relation before... in a flash so fast it was missed in a blink they were gone, leaving behind only the stirring of dirt to belie and attest their presence. 

Croaking softly, the priest turned to look at Sal... who simply chuckled and shook his head. "You get used to it," the young boy shrugged, wrapping and arm around his mentor as he led the man inside once more. 

"I certainly hope not," was all the priest said as the doors echoed closed behind them.

Salvatore helped the Priest all the way to the altar where they both said a prayer, and the man looked at his young apprentice... "Boy, go see to the family and get yourself home. You've had a long day. I'll have the others clean up."

Nodding, Sal helped him onto the front pew and turned back, kneeling to Mother Mary. As he offered one more small prayer, he crossed himself and kissed his crucifix, then stood. Inside the locked room he found the family huddled in a corner.

"Is that thing gone?" the man asked, and Salvatore nodded. But as he helped the family up, he noticed the bruising on the wife. Giving her a look, she shook her head... But it didn't matter, Salvatore could feel the scared emotions inside. He led them dawn the small hall and back to the sanctuary where two of the younger altar boys were already cleaning. They nodded to Salvatore who offered a nod back.

As they passed by the basin of water where the woman in white had been released, he stopped the man... "Wait. Allow me to bless you." He waved the mother and child along. "We will meet you outside."

Once they'd left, he took the water and smiled to the man. "Please, drink. Take it into your body. Feel the Holy Lord bless you from within. Purge the demon that made you what you've become. Be a loving father, and mate. Not abusive."

"Abusive?" the man got angry as soon as the accusatory statement had been made. "Boy, I'm not abusive to my family, they just don't know how to act sometimes. Like you, not knowing where your place is. Leave me and my family be before I report you to the Father for harassment."

Gripping the man's arm, Salvatore spun him and planted him on the ground with force, straddling and kneeling on his chest before pressing his rosary to the man's face. "Bless and purify this child, your vessel..."

"What is wrong with you boy?"

Sal smirked as he looked at the man. "Well the spirit was made of water, and you just drank the water she became. She's a part of you, and will follow you forever, haunting you if you do anything she disapproves of. She's a holy vestige now, and she will take you home for being an abusive, or unfaithful hand in the life of your family. So, should God bless and purify you now? Or will you change your ways and become a man of God yourself?"

Salvatore stood from him, the other boys looking on. "Go, be with your family, but make no mistake... The church will know... I will know. I will pay you a visit if I ever hear anything, and I'm not as forgiving as Our Father who art in Heaven. Now, BEGONE from this Holiest of Holy places."

The man scurried backward until his head hit the wall and he cringed, standing upright and exiting the church in a hurry. Salvatore gave them plenty of time before he slouched and shook his head. "Fucking people..." Sighing, he made his way through the church doors just as the Sun peeked over the horizon. Smiling at it's warmth, he grinned. "Thank you for this blessing, Father. Shine on me." Clutching his rosary, he made his way down the path well worn that would take him to his quarters where he would find much needed rest.

As the Sun crawled ever higher into the sky Salvatore slept. Through noon. Through the evening. Not until the Sun began to fall beneath the horizon did his eyes open.

His body was covered in a cold sweat and he sat up abruptly, turning to the window as the sounds of a woman's lament called to him from the direction of the river...