Matt cocked his head, eyeing the door through the corner of his eye. A long-legged man with a pump shotgun stood outside the gate.
The man caught Matt’s gaze and stared back at him, his expression cold. Challenging.
No use hiding it. Matt turned and faced the door.
The man straightened, a little smile at the corners of his mouth.
Matt popped his hips forward, bouncing his dick a little. He puckered, giving the man a little kiss.
The guard snorted uncomfortably and looked away.
Matt checked the door. The iron hinge pins were bent on either side. No sliding those out. He stepped closer, trying to see more of the courtyard. Three workers moved lumber from a large stack into the back of a flat-bed truck. Nearby an older man, with hair the color and texture of steel wool, shoveled construction debris into a wheelbarrow. Metal pinged above as the two scaffolding workers broke down the pipe framework. A huge disk of polished copper adorned the wall above them, its face depicting the image of a winged serpent.
“You boys didn’t have to clean up on our account,” Matt said.
The guard twisted his hand around the shotgun’s wooden grip. “Step back from the door.”
Matt scanned the castle’s windows. Too dark to see anything, save wine-colored curtains.
The guard raised the gun. “I have orders to shoot you if I so much as think you’re trying to escape. Back up.”
“Orders from who?” Matt asked, meeting the man’s gaze.
“Agostino.”
Thank you. Smiling, he stepped away from the door.
#
Hours passed.
Shadow crept across the courtyard until finally sunlight faded from the sky. Matt sat, leaning awkwardly against the rough brick wall, allowing enough room for his cuffed hands at the base of his back. His stomach rumbled angrily. His last meal had been a hurried sandwich on the ride to Empoli. Had he known it was going to be his last meal for the day, he’d have had one of the fruit bars probably still in the car. Maybe even killed a couple of those water bottles Luc had brought along for compasses.
Allan rested beside him quietly humming some tune that, at best, Matt could figure was a random sampling of ten-year old pop songs. Luiza sat a few feet away, her knees up before her. Matt tried to keep eye contact whenever he looked at her, though their current situation left little room for modesty. Malcolm and Luc whispered between themselves in the corner. He had no clue what they were talking about. After three hours of huddled conversations everyone else had all come to the same conclusion: the cultists had all the cards. The next move was theirs.
Their long-legged guard had changed an hour before. The new one, a guy with hair slicked back so tight it looked like a helmet designed for speed, was even less talkative than his predecessor. Any attempts to approach or communicate quickly resulted in staring down the barrel of a loaded twelve-gauge.
Lights flicked on around the courtyard. A gray and black werewolf strode out the castle’s double-doors alongside a featureless, black rakshasa. A balding ghoul followed them. Earlier he’d seen a lamia slither out from a black sedan and into the house, her tail striped in bands of purple and black. The humans working the grounds, still cleaning the last of the construction, all stopped and bowed their heads respectfully as the monsters passed. It was like a scene from Hell.
A pair of figures approached the cell door. The first was a man, thin with a head of thick gray hair. The second—
“You fucking bitch!” Malcolm spat.
Anya smiled. “Eloquent as always, Doctor.”
“How?” Luiza asked. “We took you in. You lived with us. They trusted you.”
“Should a rancher feel guilt for his herd? No. They got what they deserved.”
Luiza’s lip quivered, rage boiling in her eyes. “Deserved? You killed them!”
Anya’s brows rose impassively.
“So you’re here to gloat?” Malcolm asked, forcing himself to his feet.
A grin crept along her lips. “I wanted to thank you for bringing your weapons. The Great Mother will appreciate your sacrifice.”
Malcolm sprung across the little room, ramming into the iron door. He pressed his face through the bars. “Fuck you!”
The guard raised his gun. “Back!”
Malcolm didn’t move.
“Back!” the guard repeated, his voice rising. “I’ll shoot.”
“He’s quite serious, Doctor Romero,” the gray-haired man said.
“Mal,” Allan pleaded.
Malcolm backed away from the door, his jaw clenched.
“Hello, Matt,” Anya said. She fingered a gold pendant at her neck. “I wanted to thank you for the necklace you gave me.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed, seeing the shard of sword blade trimmed with twisted gold.
“Do you like it, Luiza?” Anya asked.
Luiza glanced at the necklace, but didn’t respond.
Anya flipped it in her fingers to look at it. “I think it really captures Feinluna’s memory, don’t you?” She let it fall, settling between her breasts.
Luiza gave a puzzled expression, then her eyes widened in horror. She looked at Anya, then to Matt.
Matt bit his lip and looked away, unable to look at her. He felt ill, his guts boiling and churning.
“Thank you, Matt,” Anya said, her overly sweet voice tinged with razors. “I’ll cherish it.”
“Oh, Anya, stop it,” the man said. “You’re embarrassing him.”
“And who are you?” Matt asked, looking up. “Agostino, is it?”
The man smiled, displaying a mouth of very large, very white teeth. “Very good, Mister Hollis. Agostino Molinelli, High Priest of Tiamat, descendent of Marco Barugnani.”
“So, Agostino,” Matt said, “when can we have some water? Or even a toilet?”
Agostino regarded him. “And did any of the angels you slaughtered get a last request?”
“Angels? They’re monsters.”
“They are divine beings greater than ourselves. They are to be honored.”
“They kill people,” Matt said, his face growing hot. “They enslave them.”
“And you kill animals,” the Agostino said. “You wear them. Eat their flesh. Does that make you a monster?”
A hot spike of rage erupted in Matt’s throat. “That’s different,” he managed.
Agostino gave a slight shrug. “It is because, unlike the others, you, Mister Hollis, are a monster. You, who exploit the power of their blessing, and then destroy them so that no other can savor it.” He nodded to the others. “They are ignorant, afraid of what they can’t understand. You know that power and still you murder your kind.”
The spike grew. Matt clenched his fists, pulling against the cuffs until his wrists felt as if they might snap.
“Your death will be celebrated above all the others. Tomorrow night Anya, our most honored sister, shall become the vessel in which Tiamat reawakens, and once she has become flesh, we will offer her you, the murderers of her children.”
“And what about you?” Matt asked. “What do you think will happen to you when you unleash this monster?”
“I will serve her as she wishes,” he said proudly.
“She’ll kill you,” Matt said, meeting the zealot’s gaze. “And kill everyone you love.”
“If that is her wish,” Agostino said calmly. “Then who am I to question it?”
#
Matt’s stomach gurgled hungrily. He sat near the cell door, watching workers position a large metal fire pit. A trio of men armed with sledges pounded a black iron spike into the ground. A giant ring of spikes, their heads protruding about six inches high, dominated one half of the paved courtyard. After hours of lying uncomfortably on the stone floor, his hands behind him, Matt had finally managed to fall asleep until the clangs of hammers woke him. Now he sat as a condemned man in some Western movie, watching his gallows’ construction as the clock ticked away.
More followers appeared thr
oughout the day, talking and laughing as the workers finished setting up the courtyard. Many glanced at the prisoners, locked behind the iron cage, some pointed, joking and laughing with their compatriots, though none approached. Long burgundy banners, adorned with the winged serpent, hung from the walls, rippling in the breeze. The smell of food wafted down from the villa’s open doors. Matt’s stomach ached as he caught the aroma of grilled meat.
“Christ,” Allan groaned, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t want to smell that. It smells so damned good.”
Matt nodded, his dry mouth suddenly wet with hunger. “Probably tastes like crap. No garlic, salt, rosemary.” He grinned weakly. “Lot of food allergies with this crowd.”
“Quiet,” Luc growled. “Don’t talk about food.”
The others nodded in agreement, their pained expressions angry.
Matt swallowed, exchanging an apologetic look with Allan, then closed his eyes, trying to force away the hunger.
A soft shuffle and rattle of handcuffs behind him. Luiza scooted up to his side. His lips tightened. They hadn’t spoken since Anya’s gloating visit. He’d never wanted company less.
Clearing his throat, Allan made a sadly unsubtle exit as he inched to where Luc and Malcolm whispered just a few feet away.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
Matt suppressed a snort. How do you think I’m doing? He pushed it away. She didn’t deserve that. “I could really go for that hotel buffet right now.”
“Me, too. I wonder how the people in the bus are doing?”
“I saw them carrying food out for them this morning,” Matt said. “Big cooler of water. They probably have no idea what’s in store for them.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, “Matt...the necklace Anya had.”
Matt’s chest tightened. It was hard to breathe.
“What was that? Why did she thank you for it?”
He licked his dry lips, trying to find the words. “When we went back to the mine, and you were so broken up over losing her, I found a piece of Feinluna’s blade. I kept it. I don’t know why. I just wanted to do something with it to help you...honor her.” He stared out across the yard, not really watching as workers started another spike. “Our second day in Florence I found one of the goldsmiths on the Ponte Vecchio to make it into a pendant. That’s where I went yesterday morning, to pick it up. I planned to give it to you, but then we saw the news reports and Luc called about the symbol. I never got a chance.” He shook his head, then turned to her.
Tears framed Luiza’s dark eyes.
“It was still in my pocket when Mal and I got captured. They must have found it. I...” He drew a breath. “I just wanted to give you something. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
Matt watched horrified as a tear ran down Luiza cheek. He’d never wanted this. He’d hurt her. With everything they now faced, torture, execution, Dämoren’s destruction, in that moment, seeing that tear, the pain he had caused her, was the worst of them all.
“You made that?” She sniffed. “For me?”
Matt nodded shamefully. He was suddenly aware everyone was quietly watching him. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”
“Thank you.”
He froze. “What?”
Luiza swallowed. She tried to wipe her eye on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Matt smiled, his guilt melting away. “I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you in time.”
#
Night finally came, slow and inevitable. Scant clouds hurried across the starry skies. Matt couldn’t see the moon from the doorway, but its silvery light shined over the yard. The chattering crowd had all gone inside before dark, leaving only their guard outside. He sat in a folding chair several feet away watching them, his shotgun resting in his lap.
One of the far doors opened, spilling a wedge of light across the grounds. Five robed figures stepped out, their faces hidden under pointed hoods. They each turned toward the copper disk mounted high on the building’s wall and touched their foreheads. One of them broke off from the group and crossed the yard toward the cell.
The guard straightened as the figure approached.
“I’ll take over,” it said in a feminine voice. “Go get ready.”
The guard rose, handed the hooded woman his gun, and a small ring of keys, and then hurried away.
The woman slipped the keys into a slit-like pocket. She stood, ignoring the metal chair, her eyes hidden beneath the dark round holes in her hood. The brass pendant of Tiamat glinted on her chest.
Matt watched as the other cultists lit the four caged fire pits through the courtyard, casting long shadows across the ground. Once finished, the figures brought out a large bell suspended inside a metal frame and set it on the far side of the ring. More arrived, carrying a round-bottomed drum.
A growing dread spread amongst the hunters as they quietly watched the robed cultists prepare. Once finished, they each turned back to the great disk, now cast in the flickering orange glow, touched their foreheads and retreated back into the castle. Two remained. One beside the bell, the other behind the drum.
“If one of you has a plan,” Allan said, his voice low, “now’s the time.”
The cultist beside the bell raised a short mallet and struck it. The sharp tone echoed off the walls. Before it faded out, the other hooded cultist hit the drum.
The castle’s double doors opened and a line of robed and hooded people slowly walked out. The one in the front carried a metal censer, hanging by a long chain. Trails of gray smoke wafted out as it swung with each step. Burgundy fringe tinged with gold, trimmed the second figure. It carried a twisted staff.
Agostino, Matt guessed.
Slowly the procession descended the stone steps, the drum thumping every third second. Four of them carried poles supporting a stout pedestal topped with a v-shaped anvil. Behind them, two more robed cultists carried a long plank, wide as a door, and shrouded beneath a red cloth. After the line of nearly forty hooded figures, a procession of demons marched slowly out behind them.
“Jesus,” Matt muttered as eight werewolves strode out behind a rank of pale vampires. The dread only grew seeing two nude succubi, a muscled incubus, rakshasas, a lamia, two ifrit, a crimson strutter, a pack of ghouls, three wendigo, a horned frog-like beast with golden skin, a pair of giant black dogs with eyes glowing like embers and, finally, a pair of towering one-horned oni. The last one, a female with bulbous saggy tits, carried a wedge-shaped maul.
Nowhere in any of the histories Matt had read was there ever an army as this. Forty-one demons. What had they been thinking to even pretend they could actually fight that many?
The procession circled the ring of spikes twice until finally stopping around it. Matt squinted, straining to see through the ranks.
“Tonight,” Agostino’s voice boomed. “The Great Mother returns to us.”
“Hail the Great Mother,” the congregation said in unison. “Hail Tiamat.”
“What are they saying, Matt,” Allan whispered.
Matt hadn’t even noticed that he didn’t recognize the language.
“Long has she slumbered,” Agostino said, Matt translating it the best he could. “Fleshless, hungry, waiting for us, her devoted children, to awaken her and make her whole.”
“Hail the Great Mother. Hail Tiamat.”
“Tonight, beneath the blood moon, we call her forth by her true name, and offer her flesh worthy of her glory.”
“Hail the Great Mother. Hail Tiamat, Icthwyn the Undying Goddess.”
Icthwyn? Matt thought. The name was familiar somehow. A silhouette in the mist, like from a dream he couldn’t quite remember after waking.
The bell rang five times and the circle peeled back, opening at one side. Matt spied Agostino standing within the half ring, his scepter high.
Matt recognized the heavy creak of the courtyard’s outer door. The low sounds of whimpers and shuffling feet came through, growing steadily louder.
Som
eone screamed.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” a woman wailed.
A werewolf’s distinct, guttural snarl erupted and the woman went silent.
“What is it?” Luiza asked pushing her way up beside Matt to see.
“The prisoners,” Luc muttered.
Matt’s teeth clenched tighter as he watched a line of nude people, their faces contorted with fear as a gray, seven-foot werewolf led them into the ring of cultists and monsters. The youngest was a boy, maybe eleven, with matted curly hair. The eldest, a woman, probably in her late sixties, her plump legs purple with varicose veins.
The great doors groaned and thudded shut. The black-robed cultists closed in on the terrified mob.
Gritting his teeth, Matt forced himself to watch the hooded figures lash the weeping and pleading prisoners to the jutting spikes. The surrounding demons growled and laughed as they sobbed and pleaded for their lives.
We have got to get out of here! Their guard wasn’t watching them, distracted with the unfolding ceremony. But the shotgun in her hands was still ready. Maybe when they opened the door Matt could rush her, get her gun and the keys... And what? Fight off over forty demons and just as many cultists with one gun, his hands bound behind his back, and no clue where Dämoren was?
Or did he?
Matt eyed the strange anvil, barely visible behind the oni that had once been Selene. None of the other demons carried weapons. The hammer’s chisel-like head looked as though it might fit perfectly inside the anvil’s slot. Matt struggled to his feet, trying to get a better view.
His movement drew the guard’s attention. Her hand tightened around the gun.
Squinting, Matt peered at the cloth-covered plank a few feet beside the anvil. Several shapes bulged from beneath the crimson shroud.
“I know where the weapons are,” he whispered to Luiza.
Her head snapped up toward him. “Where?”
He nodded to the draped cloth. “Under there.”
“Are you sure?”
Luc leaned closer to the cage door, his eyes studying the cloth. “I recognize Velnepo’s shape. She’s there.”
“All right,” Allan whispered. “So what do we do?”
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