Rebecca’s Author Services announces the promotion of The Unholy, a paranormal thriller, by author Paul DeBlassie. The Unholy will be on book tour from September to December, 2014. Join us for a whirlwind tour!
About The Unholy
“A young curandera, a medicine woman, intent on uncovering the secrets of her past is forced into a life-and-death battle against an evil Archbishop. Set in the mystic land of Aztlan, the Unholy is a novel of destiny as healer and slayer. native lore of dreams and visions, shape changing, and natural magic work to spin a neo-gothic web in which sadness and mystery lure the unsuspecting into a twilight realm of discovery and decision.”
Name: Paul DeBlassie III
Book Title: The Unholy
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
“Hush now, child,” said a voice she recognized as that of her mother’s closest friend. “The man cannot harm you, mijita, as long as you are with us. We will make him think you are dead. But you must be very quiet. “Ya no llores,” the woman warned, raising a finger to her lips.
The woman then carried her into a dark cave illuminated by the light of a single candle. The cave was frightening, with shadows of what appeared to be goblins and demons dancing on the red sandstone walls. “I will return for you soon. You will be safe here,” the woman said. The girl watched the woman walk away, shivering as a breeze blew through the cave’s narrow passages.
Closing her eyes, she rocked back and forth—imagining herself safe in her mother’s arms—then opened her eyes to the light of the full moon shining through the mouth of the cave. The shadows on the walls were just shadows now, no longer goblins and demons. As she slipped into a trance, images flickered in her mind. She saw the woman who had brought her to this place scattering pieces of raw meat around the open mesa where her mother had struggled, helped by two other women the girl could not identify.
Suddenly, the scene shifted to a stone ledge jutting over the mesa, and she heard the pounding footsteps of a man running toward the women. The girl felt her heart race and her breathing quicken, afraid that the bad man would spot them and kill them. Then the image shifted again, and she now saw on the mesa three gray wolves circling the raw meat and the man walking away from the granite ledge. As he left, she heard his thought: The child is dead.
Claire took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and quieted her mind so she could focus on the day’s work ahead. She noticed the unease that came with anticipating Elizabeth’s grating voice and demanding presence, knowing it was a signal that the work with Elizabeth would be demanding. Soon, a mild sense of heat went up her spine to the center of her forehead, the place of the mystic
third eye, and into her hands and fingertips. Claire meditated on this feeling, which gradually became stronger, softer, and kindled empathy, an ability to feel what her patients felt, to understand their pain, to help them to heal. She had learned about the mystic third eye as a young child when her mother had taught her to respect the world of invisible realities. After her mother’s death, Claire had continued to learn from the medicine women who had been friends
of her mother, one in particular who had assumed responsibility for her care and instructed her well in the art of healing and natural magic.
For many years now, the Montoyas had been privileged with access to the quarters of Archbishop Anarch, whom they considered a veritable Christ on earth. To be granted a private audience was a privilege afforded few, and those so privileged showed their gratitude and from then on never ceased behaving in the expected manner lest they lose favor and have to endure the consequences. For instance, the Vigils, a family of fine repute, politically well-connected and above reproach in matters of social standing and financial stature, had dared question the need for their annual gifts to the Ecclesia Dei, some saying an amount typically exceeding six figures.
Mr. Vigil had raised an eyebrow when the archbishop, behind the very doors the Montoyas were soon to enter, had gently, in his godlike manner, stated that the amount of years past was no longer sufficient and had to be increased to a flat 10 percent of the family corporation’s annual profit. It was well known throughout Aztlan that the Vigils were one of the wealthiest families in the area, scuttlebutt having it that their worth exceeded that of the entire Ecclesia Dei of the Southwest, perhaps nearing $1 billion.
After Mr. Vigil’s casual reaction betrayed resistance to the archbishop’s demand, a succession of bad things happened to the Vigils, beginning with the unfortunate death of their first grandchild before the infant could be baptized and continuing with the death of Mr. Vigil’s mother without a priest arriving in sufficient time to provide the last sacraments to ensure that she avoid eternal hell fire, as well as numerous other spiritual tragedies. It was only with restitution to the Almighty that the terrible occurrences ceased.
The Montoyas knew why they had initially been summoned over seven years ago. It was because of their love of the Almighty and the Ecclesia Dei and their devotion to each other. The archbishop noticed such things and rewarded those of extraordinary virtue with a special apostolic blessing. The rest, the financial proceedings, were just a routine matter.
Benito Montoya lightly stroked the back of his wife Isabel’s hand and smiled tenderly. He felt badly about his behavior the previous night. It rarely ever happened anymore, in spite of what she said. Once or twice a month was not bad. Only a year ago it had been more frequent. Besides, the bruises on her arms and back didn’t last that long and usually nobody noticed. Any Sunday parishioners who raised an eyebrow were quick to look away for fear of displeasing
two of the highest-ranking lay leaders in the Ecclesia Dei.
Father Gall had taught Archbishop Anarch about the dark side of spiritual powers, to be used only for the highest purposes, a foul magic ignited when hatred burned from the core of the soul. Then and only then would the sordid wizardry accomplish the nefarious deed required for the most godly purpose.
Archbishop Anarch took the lock of the child’s hair and curled it around the top of the crook. Stroking the head of the serpent, he repeatedly whispered, “Curl and coil, tease and frighten, strike and bite till her blood begins to boil.” The crook became white hot, aglow with his hate. The viper writhed in his hand, its eyes fixated on him. Soon the crook was no longer a crook, and the snake slithered away.
As she ran forward, out of nowhere the two crows flew at her, scraping the air near her face with their sharp talons. Fists clenched, she struck out at one and grabbed at the other. They flew up, circled overhead, then dove, talons flaring. Unmoving, Claire placed her hands by her side and held their gaze. They fluttered above her head for a minute, then left. Claire turned and saw an eagle soaring—a healer’s spirit manifestation. Medicine women said it came only when needed, when danger lurked.
Frantically tugging away bush, bramble, and cacti, she uncovered the mouth of the seventh cave and stepped in. She had the feeling somebody was watching.
Her eyes adjusted and she made out the contour of something. Squinting, she stooped and touched what seemed to be a circle of stones and charred, cold logs. She stood up and pulled back. A bat flew at her. She waved it away.
She stopped, waited for her breathing to slow, and, stepping sideways, touched the walls of the cave. They were damp and the stink of blood and guts was everywhere. Using the hard surfaces as a guide, her fingertips suddenly brushed through a hollow space roughly the size of a human body.
PAUL DeBLASSIE III, PhD, is a psychologist and writer living in his native New Mexico. A member of the Depth Psychology Alliance, the Transpersonal Psychology Association, and the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, he has for over thirty years treated survivors of the dark side of religion.
September 2, 2014
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