The Devil's Game

Facts

The game of roulette was invented by French mathematician Blaise Pascal in 1655. It is also called the Devil’s game. The sum of the numbers on a roulette wheel is 666, which is the number of the Beast (the Devil) in the Bible’s Book of Revelation.

OCCULTA is a small shop in Frankfurt, Germany. The building is the only one on Aldalbertstraße that was spared by the Allied bombing raids in World War II.

The Codex Gigas (also known as the Devil’s Bible) is a medieval, handwritten manuscript that is the only book known to dedicate an entire page to the Devil. The Codex Gigas is kept at the National Library in Stockholm.

The Ars Goetia is one of the five books of The Lesser Key of Solomon, also known as the Clavicula Salomonis Regis or Lemegeton. This book is an anonymous spell book on demonology from the mid-17th century, with material that dates back to the 15th century.

Hrad Houska (Houska Castle) is a Gothic castle built in the 13th century, forty-seven kilometers north of Prague, in the Czech Republic.

The Shell Grotto is an underground chamber in Margate, England. It was discovered by accident in 1835 by a local farmer. Its origin and meaning is still a mystery.

All descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents, and secret rituals in this novel are accurate.

Prologue

Paris - 1266

The sun shed no heat onto the narrow, tightly lined streets. The sky was cloudless. Residue of snow lay on the ground. The town was silent. People stayed indoors. The few that needed to be outside tried to keep themselves warm in any way they could.

A nobleman, dressed in a long coat, wrapped his large handkerchief around his ears. A woman crouched against the base of a tavern wall, staring at the small fire in front of her, her two little daughters next to her. She threw another log onto the dying flames.

The stillness suddenly broke. A man ran down the tight alleyways. He pushed people out of his way as he passed them, not slowing down, stumbling over his feet.

He was dressed in priest’s robes.

Sweat poured down his face, a cold sweat. A sweat out of sheer terror. He stopped at a corner to catch his breath, pressing his back against a wall. The woman and her two daughters watched him silently from the tavern. The man’s eyes bulged as he gasped for air. He squinted up toward the sun.

“Dear Father, please protect me,” he muttered between gasps. He then kissed a cross he pulled out of his pocket.

He carefully put it back and looked around. He began to run again.

Dear God, please forgive me, he silently implored and tried to pick up his pace. The weight of his legs was pushing him toward the ground. He did not dare to stop again.

They must not catch me.

He could only imagine what would happen to the fate of humanity if they did. He knew that only he could end what he had started. He turned into a small alley and stopped. Again, he looked around.

The priest fell onto his knees and reached once more for his cross. He dug his hand deeper and deeper into his pocket, but the symbol of his faith was gone. Despairing, he clasped his hands together and lowered his head.

“Dear God, please hear me. I have betrayed you. I have turned to evil. Please understand my reasoning. I admit my weakness. I confess my sin. Dear Father, please, I beg you—forgive me.”

His voice trailed away into an agonized whisper. His hands, still clasped tightly together, turned numb.

He crossed himself hastily, stood up, and brushed the snow off his knees.

The fear seemed to have passed. The prayer had given him peace. He turned toward the building next to him and opened a small, wooden door. The rusty hinges groaned loudly as he pushed it open. He ran across the empty nave of the church. Sunlight filtered lazily through the large, stained glass windows as the sound of his steps on the stone floor echoed through the nave. He hurried down a spiral staircase and entered the catacombs, hardly noticing the damp darkness as he continued down the passageway to enter a small room with a desk and a chair. On the desk was a quill, an ink pot, a candle, and a single large book. He lit the candle, sat down, and started to scribble into the book.

I have found a way to defeat Him. Because of what I am about to do, I can only pray and trust in God that it will work. If the Evil ever finds a way to begin again what I am about to end, read the following, and you will know how to defeat Him. Follow the instructions exactly or you will fail.

Voices echoing from above caught the priest’s attention.

“He must be here somewhere. This is his church,” a man’s voice sounded from above.

The priest hastily dropped the quill and grabbed the candle. The flickering light revealed a rope hanging from the ceiling. He moved the chair under the rope and put the candle on the floor. He stepped onto the chair and placed the rope around his neck.

He prayed again silently, crossing himself rapidly. He glanced one last time at the door. Now no one could stop him.

He moved his feet carefully to the edge of the chair. He folded his hands together for the last time. Eyes shut, breath calm. He kicked away the chair.

The rope dug into his throat. Despite knowing that this was his choice, his body desperately fought for air, fought to live. Images flashed through his head—his church, his congregants, the open fields surrounding the town—they calmed him in his last moments. His final act would protect them from the Evil.

A roulette wheel interrupted the peaceful images. An image of a baby followed. He realized his death would not change anything, that he had not won. He was unable to stop what he had set in motion. He wanted to fight to free himself from the rope, but it was too late. His life was already leaving his body. His feet twitched once, twice, and then stillness, his lifeless body swaying gently on the rope.

His hands still clenched together in prayer.

Chapter 1

Plainfield, Illinois - 1986

“How are we going to pay this bill?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Martha,” he responded, his forehead furrowing.

Five-year-old Michael stood silently at the door of the kitchen, concentrating on the ticking of the clock hanging above the refrigerator. He could feel that something was wrong—lately, a lot seemed wrong. His parents were fighting. They were fighting about money. He walked over to the table where they were talking. A loaf of bread in the middle of the table separated them. His mother had the habit of baking when she was worried. It calmed her. Michael climbed onto his mother’s lap. He didn’t say a word, but his mother knew that he was here to comfort her.

Billy ran his hands through his hair, “I’ll try to find a way to pay the debts.”

He was the breadwinner of the family, working as a day laborer, taking whatever job he could get, mostly at construction sites. He was never able to keep a job for long, but he dreamed of being able to provide more stability to his family.

“I could try gambling.”

“No.” Her reply was quick, sharp.

“We’ll lose the house otherwise,” he said, looking at her, then at Michael, “Hey, little soldier, why don’t ya go and watch some TV?”

“Go, Michael,” Martha said gently.

Michael slid off his mother’s lap.

Once he was out of earshot, Martha turned back to her husband. “You know exactly what can happen if you gamble.”

“I wouldn’t play roulette.”

“How can you be so sure? The temptation will be strong.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve resisted it before.” He shuffled his feet.

She was silent. Sighing, Billy pulled his chair next to her and laid his hands over hers.

“You know this is the only way for us to keep the house. I’m not doing it for me. I’m doing it for you and Michael.” He looked at his wife and tried again. “I promise I won’t play roulette.” His voice was soothing.

She closed her eyes and nodded reluctantly. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

Days passed, and it seemed as if they moved on from their fight that night. Life went back to normal, with Billy leaving for work and coming back at his usual time.

* * *

But tonight, something was different—Martha felt it. Billy did not come home at his usual time. Martha wasn’t concerned about whether her husband was safe. She knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. Her only worry was that he might not keep his promise, cursing them all with the pain generations of his family had suffered. For more than three decades now, Billy had been able to resist his gift, to resist causing pain to his loved ones, and to allow them to lead a mostly happy, normal life.

The hours passed. It was now past midnight. Martha was just about to doze off when a sound at the front door startled her. She jumped out of bed, slid her feet into her slippers, and rushed down the stairs, hastily wrapping a dressing gown over her body.

Billy was half way through the door.

“Did you?” She said looking down at him from the stairs.

He was pale. He looked at her, silently, but his face told her what she feared most. He turned away, avoiding her eyes, hung his jacket on the coat rack, and walked into the living room, leaving her standing alone in front of the open door.

* * *

A loud cry pulled Michael out of his deep slumber. His room was dark, but slivers of moonlight crept through the closed blinds. He looked up at the ceiling, wondering for a minute what woke him before remembering the scream. He listened carefully, but hearing nothing else, he relaxed again and closed his eyes.

Another cry suddenly pierced the night.

Michael quickly sat up in his bed, scared. He recognized that voice; it was his father. He had never heard him sound so anguished. His heart raced. He jumped out of bed and ran to the bedroom door. He opened it slowly and peeked through the crack, too scared to run outside.

Billy was kneeling on the floor. His back was to Michael.

“I should have never done it. Why did I do it?” Billy muttered, rocking back and forth.

Michael could see his mother’s legs, motionless on the floor.

Michael hesitantly stepped out of his bedroom. The door squeaked. Billy looked up, his eyes red and swollen. His father was cradling her head in his arms. Michael could see her face. She looked asleep.

“Michael, don’t look.”

Billy picked him up and tucked him back into bed.

“Go to sleep,” he said gently. “Everything will be fine.”

Billy straightened up and walked out of Michael’s bedroom, closing the door without another word.

Chapter 2

Margate, England - Today

A group of people stood next to each other, forming a circle.

They were all wearing matching black capes and hoods, their heads bowed toward the stone floor.

They did not dare look at each other. Anonymity was the pillar of this ancient occult group.

This is how we protect ourselves from the ones that want to find and destroy us.

Every member knew these words by heart. They were the words of their revered founders.

“It’s been too long. The Chosen One should appear soon,” a male voice said.

“We must start searching again,” a female voice said.

“Is Baal ready?” another asked.

“He completed his training.”

“But is he ready?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Good. We need to double our efforts. The time has come for the Lord to be released. And this time we will not fail. Many of our brothers and sisters tried and failed. This time it’s different. We have never had such a powerful force as Baal on our side.”

Chapter 3

Las Vegas

Emily walked up to Michael. “You look handsome,” she whispered into his ear.

Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his black dress shoes, which matched his black hair and black suit.

“Thanks. You look beautiful.” He kissed her gently on the lips.

She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“Are you ready?”

“Just have to go to the bathroom and put my makeup on. Be right back.”

Michael stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, admiring the dazzling lights of the iconic Las Vegas Strip.

The hotel rooms at the Bellagio were known for having some of the best views on the Strip. It was their first time in Vegas, and he wanted the best for this special trip. He had heard many tales about this city—stories about people losing everything or gaining a fortune. But Michael didn’t come here hoping to get lucky. He didn’t even like gambling that much—actually, he was afraid of it. Gambling was something that could bring a lot of pain to him and the people he loved. Most of all, it reminded him of a promise he once made.

The sea of lights from the Strip hypnotized him as he continued to gaze out the window. He looked down at the severely scarred palm of his hand. Images from the night his mother died suddenly flashed in front of him, clear as day.

* * *

Young Michael sat up, squinting his eyes against the bright bedroom light. His father sat on the edge of his bed and looked down at him with wet, dull eyes.

“Promise me something.”

“What happened to Mommy?”

“Mommy had to go away for a little while. But I need you to listen now very carefully. It’s very important. Do you understand?” Billy’s gaze was alert.

Michael nodded.

“You won’t know what I’m talking about, but please just remember this: whatever happens, never ever play roulette. Don’t go near it, don’t think about it. Got it?” Billy pressed his lips together.

Michael didn’t know exactly what roulette was, but the seriousness and sadness in his father’s voice scared him. He nodded again.

“No matter how badly you need money, stay away from roulette.”

Michael promised. His father exhaled heavily.

“Now try to sleep.”

Several hours later, Michael was awakened by his own violent coughing. He opened his eyes and could see the room was filled with smoke. His eyes burned. He stumbled over to the door and grabbed the door knob. The hot metal stuck to his hands. He grimaced but did not scream. Pain rushed through his body. He fell to his knees. He could smell burnt meat. And, just when the pain was at its worst, it dissipated. Forcefully, he pulled his hands from the knob. Pieces of flesh and skin were still stuck to the doorknob. Wide eyed he stared at his wounded hands.

* * *

“Michael. Michael!”

“What?”

Michael was startled out of his reverie.

“Are you okay?” Emily asked, standing at the bathroom door.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just checked out for a sec.”

He turned away from the window as she walked toward him.

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking of Mom.”

“Michael, you were a kid, and she died of a heart attack. Stop feeling guilty about it.”

“It’s just…”

“…Shhhh,” she said and put her finger on his lips.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She pushed him down onto an armchair before settling on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know it’s my birthday today, but I want to give you a gift as well.”

“A surprise?” Michael asked, tilting his head slightly back.

She leaned in closer. “We’re pregnant!”

“What?” Michael breathed deeply through his nose. “Pregnant? I…I don’t know…” He looked at her stomach, which was still perfectly flat.

“Don’t look so worried. We’ll be fine.” She smiled and placed his hands on her stomach.

“When did you find out?”

“Just now. I didn’t get my period two weeks ago, so I picked up a test at the airport this morning.”

She kissed his freshly shaved cheek and stood up. “And now I want to gamble. I turned twenty-one today. I want to make millions.”

Michael felt his nervousness slowly give way to excitement at the thought of being a father.

“Yes, you’re right, let’s go and make some money for little Patrick,” he said.

“Patrick? What if it’s a girl?”

“Patricia then.” He was becoming more talkative.

“We’ll talk about that later,” she said and walked back to the bathroom to finish getting ready.