Sacrifice (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult)

by Gilmore, RM

  “Thank you for joining us in the logical party. I’ve been pondering this exact question for the better part of five months.”

  A thought popped into my head, a devious and rotten thought. “Do you think Malcolm knew? I mean, do you think he brought them all together on purpose?”

  “That I don’t know. I started questioning the situation when poor Regina appeared at the entrance of Embrace, missing her lovely head.” He’d been present for that, in secret of course, but Cyrus had seen the officers hauling away the lifeless, and headless, body of Regina. The first decapitated naked bitch I’d seen in my life. I thought then perhaps Cyrus was her murderer, but I was quickly proven wrong. Now, with his obviously long-considered theories, I could pretty well bet he wasn’t even in on the cover up. He was a true patsy. His face shifted, an outward expression of concern not meant for anyone in particular. “Why her?” he asked, never really acknowledging that he was speaking to me.

  “Why Sam? I liked him.” I pouted for a second at the memory of sweet Sam. He was so big and fluffy, and fucking heavy when lying on top of me. I thought it back then too, why Sam?

  “In my humble opinion, I believe Regina snowed that poor man.” This was an absolutely correct and obvious explanation for Sam, the now dead vampire boy.

  “I bet I know a few fuckers who can answer all these questions for us. Wrangling them down for questioning might be similar to giving a cheetah a bubble bath though.”

  I considered for a moment Malcolm’s involvement. I recalled his face, covered in light scarring, his cross tattoo that took up the better part of his chest, his accent, which was probably the only cool thing about him, his long, wavy, red hair that made me want to punch babies, and his skin, similar to a loaf of white bread, seemed so frail. He seemed too fragile to be an impervious vampire king.

  “About vampires…” I started.

  “Yes?” Cyrus’s face twisted up into a squint. As though, perhaps, just maybe, he didn’t want to talk about vampires. It wasn’t out of the norm, but too damn bad.

  “I need some clarification. You know, before I can accept this new concept. It just might save my life.” That could very well be true to fact.

  “How can you still not believe there are things, beings, outside your realm of normal? They’ve been there longer than you have. You, I mean society, is just too blinded by blinking, shining, flashing things to notice, to be bothered with ancient things long forgotten, unless of course, it’s wrapped in a sexy, sparkling, harmless package.”

  “Okay, then explain it to me please. I’ve been dying to know. Literally.” Almost.

  “What do you want to know?” he offered, as if he actually planned on answering every question I had built up in my noggin.

  “I think I deserve to know everything. When I say everything, I damn well mean it. Honestly, I’m pretty pissed you didn’t bother to tell me all of this, oh, I don’t know, yesterday. Friday. Shit, I’d have accepted an email mid-July if it meant saving my ass from all this mess.”

  “Would you have believed me?” He took his eyes off the road and looked at me.

  “Would I have had another choice?” I quickly turned my head away, vampire trance protection and all. All right, I was still a little too skippy in the panties to make eye contact.

  “There’s always a choice. I told you, at Midnight’s Dream, I told you to take the head and kill the heart. You listened. You may not have believed, but you certainly heeded my advice.”

  “What else was I supposed to do? Leave them there and find out the hard way? I actually trusted you, for some stupid reason.” It was stupid sure, but it seemed so far my life depended on trusting Cyrus, the hunky shit brick.

  “You wouldn’t have found anything out. Those boys were no more vampire than I am.” He shook his head; a sense of sadness flittered over his expression.

  “What kind of bullshit is tha-“

  He cut me off. “They deserved it.” His shrug knocked away any sense of sorrow over the deaths of the two boys. “Besides, the nation needed a scapegoat, a perfect vampire scapegoat.”

  “That’s your excuse for dragging me through a month of nightmares about heads floating around the room with huge fangs?” That was a fun filled time of beer and sleepless nights.

  “You’re better for it today.” He spoke as though these events hadn’t completely turned my life on its ass.

  “Really? You call this better?” I pointed to my general disheveled appearance.

  “Your book surely needed a death defying ending, don’t you think?” He didn’t smile. He didn’t change his flat expression one iota. “You’re ready. More ready than you were,” he said flatly, as if I should understand his meaning.

  The idea that he’d convinced me to lop the heads off two would-be vampire boys, as some sort of morbid grand finale to a shitastic expedition of naked bloodless hookers seemed ludicrous. And was obviously Cyrus being facetious. His secretive preparation for my future with the bloodsucking bastards, well, that seemed far more plausible. How easily he’d begun my descent into the occult. A mere suggestion was all it took. He suggested I visit Embrace. He suggested I meet with Malcolm. Well, after Tatum’s violent beating. He suggested I chop off a few heads. He suggested it, and I went right along with it like the sad little puppy I was. Fuck that puppy.

  “Ready for what?” I asked, hoping he’d actually say something that made sense. My voice sounded squeaky and a tad too pitiful for my tastes.

  “For everything that is coming your way,” he explained ever so ambiguously. “The second you interfered with Azelie, she knew. She knows everything. She lives a hundred lives through her minions. Everything you’ve encountered thus far, has prepared you for what is to come. In theory.”

  “How do you know this? What are you some kind of Voodoo Whisperer?” I slapped my hands against my thighs in frustration. “And why didn’t she recognize me right away when we first met? If she knew I had thwarted her master plans, why didn’t she stop me?” I sat forward in my seat, my body turned in his direction.

  “Didn’t she?” Another indefinite, dismissive statement. Purposely blowing me off. He was cruising for a bruising.

  “Well…” I stopped and actually thought about it. She had accused me of taking blood, or something like that, when I was in her shop, but she never actually exclaimed, ah ha! I know who you are. “Not really.”

  “And if she had? If she had said, ‘Oh, child, you stole my blood, now feel my wrath’, what then? Would you have stayed? Would you have spent one more minute in that town? With me?” He cleared his throat as if to strike that last comment from the record. “Azelie d’Entremonte is a vengeful thing, and she leaves nothing to chance. From the moment you stepped into her shop, you were hers. She needed you to trust, not just believe, to have faith in her ability, to infiltrate your mind. Perhaps she was the reason you entered her little hovel to begin with. And what of Diego? And Regina? Did they not try to stop you?” To the teeth, as it were.

  I hadn’t put any of this to thought. When would I have had time to have done that? Time to think and put things together? Yeah, right. I’d been running for my life from the moment I met that bitch. I might not have known it at the forefront of my mind, but somewhere back there, I was waiting for her to come for me. Still was if I was being honest.

  “Let’s say, yes, she knew. Azelie, queen cunt monkey, knew from the second I stepped off the plane in New Orleans, who I was. Let’s say, she orchestrated it all, my stepping into her shop, my believing in her abilities, my curses. Fine, I’ll take that. There are two questions left, well, two big questions anyway. Why did she have gallons of blood in the basement of a shitty vampire club in Los Angeles in the first place? And how the fuck do you know Azelie d’Entremonte so intimately?”

  “Nicolas Sandorus.”

  “Who the fuck is Nicolas Sandorus?” The name was familiar, but God help me if I could dredge up a connection.

  “Primus, House of Cailleadh, ages ago. Malcolm
’s predecessor and a very old friend of mine.” His tone shifted, just for a moment, and he sounded sad. Cyrus, in the short time I’d known him, hadn’t expressed an emotion that caused him to seem so human. His usual superficial energy had faded over the months, and more so over the hours we’d been stuck together trying to save my head, but he’d yet to express sadness. He took a breath and continued without my prompting; we were getting somewhere. “Sandorus was a good leader.”

  A conversation between Cyrus and I was flittering through my mushy brain. Food and a nap were in order as soon as fucking possible. “You were his Secondus, right?” He nodded. “How did he end up entangled with the little bitch? Spill her latte?”

  A miniscule smile tickled the edges of his mouth. “No. I met Azelie quite a few years ago. Nicolas came to the aid of another in a situation similar to yours. She and I crossed paths.”

  “Do you have any real thoughts, or are they all preprogrammed propaganda? I’m calling bullshit on this one.”

  “Nico cared for his people. Unlike Malcolm, he wanted to ensure the world we live in was free of oppression and scrutiny. He never flaunted what he was. Azelie brought attention to herself with her antics even then.”

  “But she’s in New Orleans. Isn’t that Marienne’s territory? Her shit to deal with.”

  “It was in our cabal the issues arose. Sandorus did what he could to protect his House and those involved, but House of Porte was not so forthcoming. I know what Azelie is capable of because I’ve seen it once before.”

  “Why have you not mentioned this before now?” I’d been kept in the dark, lied to, bullshitted, and fucked around for too damn long. Malcolm, Tatum, Reggie, and the lot of them were deceitful, scheming shit bags. It takes a fucking voodoo cocksucker to knock loose pertinent information. Shit, Cyrus could be throwing me for a loop too and I’d be none the wiser. My head was beginning to stop functioning. Bullshit overload.

  “I will tell you this only once, and I ask that you listen. There are things, events, beings, worlds that, like Azelie, require your faith to exist in your world. Your quest for knowledge nearly got you killed once. Trust me when I tell you, ignorance is truly bliss.”

  “Why wait? Why?” My tired body was beginning to give up. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours since I’d slept, but it might as well have been forty-eight. There was too much new shit coming to light for one brain to compartmentalize.

  “Dylan, I want you. I want to be in your presence. You are like no woman I’ve met in a century of years, and that has intrigued me to the point of insanity. In my time with Nicolas, and with Malcolm, I have learned it is always best to err on the side of caution. Knowledge truly is power, but it can also be detrimental. It can be altering, demoralizing even. In some, it can be met with demise. Why would I choose to do that to you?”

  I was speechless. Ask anyone, that never happened. I wasn’t a romantic. I blushed and felt awkward when someone happened to pay me a compliment. His words were intense; I had no choice but to believe him. I’d force him to write it all down for me once all this curse type stuff was over, but for now, I would accept that as a valid answer. “Where did you come from?” I mumbled, not really thinking beforehand. I knew he’d told me he was Persian. I knew he had a name other than Cyrus, a name from his country I assumed. I knew, so my asking made little sense. It seemed the old grey matter was shutting down for a long winter’s nap.

  “Why don’t you try to sleep a little? You’re going to need it. You need rest now more than ever. You have a fight ahead of you and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” Apparently, my exhaustion was a public affair.

  “Thanks for the words of encouragement.” Asshat. “Can you answer one more question?”

  “Will you sleep if I do?” At that point, I didn’t have much of a choice; my eyes were fluttering, threatening to close up shop.

  “Fine, but you better not fuck with me while I’m sleeping. And please make sure no one sneaks in and takes my soul while I’m out.” I wasn’t shitting him. I meant it.

  “Agreed,” he said with a nod.

  I took a breath and gathered the tiny, jumbled thoughts mingling in my head. “If you’re not a vampire, that is if there are vampires, what the shit are you?” My eyes felt heavy, even with the idea of sleep skipping through my thoughts.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” A tiny smile hit his face but quickly dissipated.

  “Try me.” As if the idea of vampires and witches wasn’t enough to handle, there was a chance he was something else entirely.

  Fuckoolacka.

  “Trust me, I’d like nothing more than that.” My dreary eyes caught the motion of his wiggling brows.

  “Don’t try to sway me with promises of sex. What are you?” I was beginning to sound drunk.

  “I am…something I shouldn’t be, something that should have never been.”

  “And that is?” My head felt heavy.

  “A story for another day.” He’d promised this so often, I questioned whether or not he knew for a fact I wouldn’t have another day.

  “Fuck another day. I might not even be in this body in another day.”

  “I am Cyrus Atossa, Secondus House of Cailleadh,” he spouted out information I already knew.

  “I’m going to stab you in the eye with my keys.” My eyes were literally closed when I said this. I felt like a lush on the long cab ride home. Been there.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  “What?” I hissed, refusing his demand.

  “Just, please, close your eyes and lay your head back. You need sleep.” His urging just pissed me off.

  “Fuck off.” I crossed my arms across my chest and looked away from him out my window. “You promised.”

  His warm hand touched my fingertips jutting out from under my folded arm. It felt nice, comforting, but didn’t stop me from behaving like a child.

  “Dylan, there is so much more you will learn in your time on this earth. I promise you. Please, just sleep. I will be here when you wake up and we, together, will ensure your future.”

  Bastard. How dare he be logical and caring? Outwardly, he was being the cryptic weirdo I’d always known him to be. Blowing me off, promising to divulge everything on another day, it had been this way since the moment I met him. I had no idea why I thought he’d change now. He’d sooner jiggle my tits in his face than explain to me why and who and how.

  Maybe his particular brand of monster was something really awful or embarrassing and he didn’t want me to know. Like maybe, he was some kind of shit demon, or a hermaphrodite or something. Don’t be a dick, Dylan. Yet. You can always beat it out of him later. Heeheehee.

  Sometimes my mind even bothers me.

  I hid the smirk I’d created in my own thoughts, let my arms loose and lay them in my lap. His hand was quick to follow mine and scoop it up. He held my hand gently while I finally gave over to sleep.

  Zeph was quiet in his place in the back seat, so Cyrus kindly turned the radio down. I sank deeper into the leather seats and relaxed my head against the rest. Since I was a child, a ride in the car was a sure fire way to put me to sleep. This ride was no exception.

  My breathing slowed. Sleep was coming and I couldn’t stop it. Really, I didn’t want it to stop. For some stupid reason, I actually trust Cyrus to not let me die if he could help it. Unless of course Mike, or Tatum, or I, were his opponent. Then he was a huge pussy. For the most part, he was an ally, and I was proud to have him on my team.

  I heard my heart beat in my ears – thump-bump-thump – a steady soothing sound. As long as that sound didn’t stop, I was in a good place.

  Here’s hoping.

  Chapter Seven

  Drums beat rhythmically in the background. Singing in a language I’d never heard, echoed through the vast canyon of amber-colored rock. The light of a fire danced across never ending walls of rock and dirt that surrounded us.

  Through the flames, a man knelt on both knees. Three ot
hers surrounded him, cloaked in muslin from head to toe – only faces peering out from beneath a drape of fabric over their heads. Thick black beards filled the negative space below their noses, leaving only eyes to be seen clearly.

  None of them acknowledged me. Just an innocent bystander eavesdropping on something I’d probably regret later. I moved, slowly walking around the raging fire to see what lay on the other side.

  The man on his knees was bound by rope on his wrists, and tied around his waist like a prisoner. His head hung lackadaisically; long brown hair hung over his face. His broad, tan chest glistened with sweat in the light of the fire. Cream-colored fabric covered his bits and pieces, but left his legs bare. Shadows danced across the four men, seemingly ethereal, and harmless in their world of song and fire.

  One of the men cloaked in fabric, raised a wooden staff above his head. He sang louder and jumped up and down kicking up dust in his wake. Another poured liquid over the kneeling man, drenching his hair in thick greasy solution.

  I watched in wonder. Unassuming. Not one of them glanced in my direction. Each continuing whatever task they had before them.

  The third and most menacing looking man, snatched up the long hair of the man on the ground. He pulled his head back and held his hair tight above his head, finally revealing the perfectly shaped face of Cyrus Atossa.

  A gasped escaped my mouth. I clapped my hand over it quickly and stood as still as I could. I waited for the men to notice a woman standing just off stage, but they didn’t. It was as if they really couldn’t see me.

  The man who held Cyrus by the hair spat in his face. Cyrus closed his eyes and whispered something over and over again. The man with the staff danced about erratically, spinning and jumping and shaking the big wooden stick in the air. The guy with the greasy liquid lifted a bowl to the sky and spoke, not sang, something in whatever language they were speaking.