The Priestess pulled the poker from the fire. The end was not red-hot yet, but smoke waved off the gray dust at the point. “Kiss my stomach with this. Even if I tell you to stop, even if it burns down to my vitals—this is your gift to me.”
Paul shook his head. “I was thinking a necklace or something...”
“It’s not the pain,” she answered quickly, reading his thoughts. “It’s the absence. Agony clears the mind. It’s a sacrifice that can almost outmatch death itself.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Coat the burn in your seed.” Her mouth pulled back into a shark’s smile. “Soothe and cleanse me. Maybe my sight will strengthen from the offer of torment.”
Paul didn’t care much for it termed as seed anymore, not with the tangled jungle cultivating in his chest. He laughed her concept away but she placed the poker’s handle in his palm and aimed the point at her abdomen. “I don’t really—”
Her stomach drew closer. Paul could imagine the poker first creating a red blister that popped and blackened and then the iron sinking through soft muscle tissue. He was too selfish; there could be no ugly terrain in his wonderland.
The Priestess jumped to her feet and Paul thankfully dropped the poker on the tile before the fireplace. At first he thought he’d made her upset and that she’d press the issue, as she had with the balcony, but that wasn’t it. There was something else.
“Priestess?”
She ran out of the retreat area, a naked blur through the living room. Paul vaulted after her, but remained distant once he saw her near the balcony; he’d had enough of that location. She put her hands on the glass and began heaving. Sunlight sliced through the sky and the living room filled with color and dissolving shadows. Her amazing lips parted for something sweet.
“Are you okay?”
Something was discovered in those wild amber eyes. She was breathless. “Oh I’m splendid!”
TWENTY-SIX
It felt easier on his soul to be released from the Hearts. Not that Martin wouldn’t miss them. Uncontrolled love and devotion for the little ones would be dialed up until November. There was no getting around that, like it or not.
He shut the Quadravan for the last time. “Bye, old girl.”
The only thing left inside was the passenger door. He’d miss the crackling speakers and the faint mildew and clove scent: they were the van’s signs of life. Maybe he was getting softer as he approached his middle years, but he couldn’t see the point in switching for a newer vehicle.
Teresa and Enrique were loading the shiny black JK Wrangler Unlimited with supplies. All and all this new vehicle would be a faster, more streamlined transport with less room than the Quadravan. Had to be dealt with. The wooden crates of dry goods and bottled water had to be cut down to a week’s supply. The assorted ammunition, concussion and incendiary grenades had to be reduced to a fourth. They only retained their M-16 rifles and their personal handguns. The Messenger had freshened their plastics and detonator kits—couldn’t have enough of that stuff in Martin’s opinion.
The leftover freight would be left with Enrique. Teresa hefted one last crate on top of another and a cough echoed through his dusty garage. After the coughing passed, her shot, watering eyes found Martin. “Everything out?”
He lifted up his toy aquarium and shook it before reaching through the passenger window and sticking it on the Wrangler’s dash. “The important stuff, yeah.”
There was no real amusement in her smile; all of her energy had been spent and left her despondent. Resting at the motel would be good for her. She looked like she needed some uninterrupted sleep.
Enrique jimmied a case of flares inside to fit. Several packages of formula and baby food had been set in plain sight among the crates of weapons. They were pretty much set, except for the two rear-facing car seats. Bases for the seats had been tied in the back of the Wrangler for an easier transition when he dropped the babies off at the motel. Martin shook his head at the thought. Babies—we don’t know a damn thing about them. They were so fragile. The idea terrified him.
Enrique ducked out from the back and closed the hatch wearily. His head craned to the sky. The Bearer put his palm up. Martin noticed his hand was shaking. Wide bands of light cut through the clouds and crept over the distant homes, slowly at first, and then began to build momentum like a radiant fungus spreading down the hill.
“In the car!” Enrique shouted. “They’re trying to see you again. Stay under the clouds! Go to the motel. Go now!”
The Nomads yanked open the doors and jumped into their seats. Martin fumbled with the keys and the new configuration.
“Hurry!” Enrique’s yell was dull outside the jeep. As fast as his stumpy legs could take him, the Bearer made for the house. Yes, get to the babies, thought Martin frantically.
The Wrangler rolled into the street, bottoming out with a metallic crunch. Martin threw it in first gear and they lurched forward. He had to get used to this new clutch. Teresa held her breath. Warmth from the sunlight touched his neck and the rearview mirror dazzled with golden beams. It felt like someone with burning eyes stared through his back.
Martin crammed the accelerator against the floor.
The Wrangler’s wheels squealed as he brought the jeep around to the main thoroughfare. Industrial buildings flew past. The stone giants leered as they plunged through withdrawing shadows.
“There,” Teresa said.
He saw. Fifty feet ahead the sunlight swept out between two steel plants. The light dripped over the buildings’ surfaces and colored every drab square foot. The light was searching, stretching, licking the world for a taste of them. Martin cranked the wheel left and sent them into another sparkling pool. Teresa cried out in surprise as the jeep squealed the opposite way.
“We’re all right,” he said through teeth.
A T-intersection; a stoplight. Martin’s heart machine-gunned. A veritable parade drove past: truck, 4-door, truck, truck, 2-door, truck, truck. Everything that crossed was painfully long and lumbering, and the drivers oblivious. The signal was clearly on a sensor system.
“Where do they all come from?” he asked. “Doesn’t anybody work anymore?”
Sunlight filled the east and seemed to catch sight of them and charged forward.
“Martin—we have to go!”
“It’s a red light.”
“Go!”
“Hang on!” He took off, switching from first to third in only moments.
A Buick swerved with a snarl of its horn. In rearview a bald man stuck his head out and cried something that sounded like, “You shit-ass!”
Their tires hummed up a handicap ramp into a park and took them onto the grass. Martin went diagonal across the field. A Frisbee flew surreally over the hood. Teresa turned, her eyes hard. “Where are you going?”
“Like I know!”
Two boys walking a gray terrier were suddenly in front of the hood. They’d come out of nowhere. They didn’t see the jeep. And why would they be looking for one driving across the park? thought Martin in terror. Two boys. One dog. He was going to slam right through them. He aimed left and closed his eyes.
A mantle flung out and Teresa gasped. The boys and dog were sent sideways. Martin watched them twist like paper dolls down the grassy slope. The dog started barking and the boys picked themselves up, hollering.
“Get us on the road!” Teresa pointed.
He went off the curb into the street again. In the rearview he could see two rotund men in baseball jerseys and a few other adults leading a futile chase after them.
The light closed around the jeep in bursting honeycombs. Every time they built speed, he had to slow down to turn away from it. Stay under the clouds, he reminded himself.
Right.
Left.
Engine purring and shifting.
Another right. He turned down an alley behind a strip mall. Sunbeams macheteed through the side alleys. Burnt rubber lifted through the vents. He went sharp into another
alley. Another orange ray clawed its way out.
Right-Left.
They hit another wave of traffic with a stoplight. He jammed on the brakes and their bodies punched forward, he against the wheel and Teresa against the dash. Not speaking, they both pulled on their seatbelts now.
“Martin?”
He watched for an opening. Down the street, light filtered through the gloom. Just after a few more cars. Then he would take the red light. He counted and at the same time looked sideways at the brilliant wash headed their way. An opening formed and they rolled out.
Teresa put her hand out. “Don’t go.”
“Are you crazy?”
On the other side a train rumbled across the street.
The streetlight lingered red. Lazy eastern clouds moved. The train slowed. A rail change? Martin edged the Wrangler out. From the right, the sunlight gained a striking distance of twenty feet, and from the left, maybe ten. The train rolled on, no end of the boxcars in sight. Sweat bowled down his ears. Teresa watched like an eagle ready to take wing. Light jabbed from both sides, five feet away. And three.
A big rig pulled up with a hiss and pushed a looming shadow over them. The streetlight blinked green and they pulled out with the truck. The train had made its way through. They bounced over the tracks, keeping with the bar of cloud cover narrowing on the street. Once they were around the corner on Mount Vernon, he drove the accelerator down again and shifted up to fifth. They were only a couple blocks from the Happy Moon Travel Lodge.
Teresa’s eyes stretched above. “The rain’s starting up again.”
The covered sky glowed from the light beyond. They pulled into the motel parking lot and rain began drumming nosily overhead. Thunderheads hugged the sky again.
Maybe the Messenger had taken back control.
After he killed the engine and pulled the parking brake, Martin leaned over to Teresa. She was trembling, but he could not muster a single consolation. He’d never seen her frightened in a chase. Her trembling worsened. She never liked being doted over. She wanted to be stronger than steel most times. But still I should hold her, or at least ask if she’s all right. But before he could open his mouth, she took out her cloves and patted her pocket for a lighter.
~ * ~
The Priestess pressed her head against the slider. She was still naked, still beautiful, didn’t even leave a greasy forehead print on the glass, but the sound of disgust that came from her throat was ugly. Paul cringed and stepped away.
“You saw them though. Didn’t you?” he asked.
“Not long enough.” Her eyes smoldered with tears, her face was filled with self betrayal. An image came to Paul’s mind: his mother, when she turned on the bedroom light and found him beside her in bed; not her boyfriend, but her son. He smiled in that time of triumph but Paul couldn’t smile about it now. It was hideous memory, yet strangely a perfect moment.
Paul had dressed once the Priestess began having visions. The warmth of his suit felt nice after a night of stinging gooseflesh. He had a mission now. The Priestess wasn’t happy and that had to be remedied right away. He felt he’d bitched-out for the balcony and almost with that poker—but he would not bitch-out again. She could only have what he decided to give, even if he decided to give everything.
He took out his cell phone and dialed. The practice stone still rested in his pocket. In a way he looked forward to getting back to work. The shutter to the Old Domain had been closed too long and once the Priestess started using her sight again Cloth’s children had writhed with energy, a dark hum from beyond the surface.
The other side picked up suddenly. Cole’s voice was flaked in ice. “Where have you been? You were supposed to call.”
“And just what am I doing right now?”
“It’s already noon, jackass. I wanted to go over your exercises. The Heralding is tonight.”
“Tonight?”
That must have been why the children were pulsing like they were. Paul sucked in through his nostrils and blew out through his mouth. This made him feel slightly less soul-fucked. “You could have called me too, you know.”
“I did. More than once.”
“Stop being grumpy,” Paul said. “I have good news.”
“Can’t wait,” mumbled Cole.
“The Priestess regained the Nomads.”
“What?”
“It was real quick,” said Paul, “but she saw them again.”
“Where were they? Where did they go?”
“She has an idea of where they were.” Paul picked up the old champagne bottle from last night. He casually sniffed its interior and winced, unsure why he’d done so.
“Are you going to tell me?” Cole almost shouted.
“At the Bearer’s house.”
“How could she tell it was the Bearer?”
“She’s from the Old Domain. The Priestess felt the Hearts’ influence, said the whole area in her vision was nearly on fire with their energy.”
“Their?”
“Yeah Cole, she tells me there are four Hearts this time.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“They’re babies, Cole. No more than five months old.” Paul sat on the cushy divan and regarded the Priestess’s rump. Raindrop shadows rolled down the milky slopes like dark static. He smiled a little at the dried streak of brown blood on her thigh. He’d done that. Wasn’t proud of it at the time, but he was proud now. Would he have put the poker on her? Hell no was what he wanted to believe.
Cole’s giddiness was too apparent. “Are you sure the Priestess knew what she was seeing?”
“It’s what she says. I don’t know, damn.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“You’re the first, papa bear.”
“Well don’t drop this on anyone else, understand? Not even trusted acolytes. I’d prefer to relay the information to the Archbishop, if you take my meaning.”
“I might have shit for brains,” Paul replied, “but I know how a politician’s filter works.”
“Is the Priestess ready to talk details?”
“Priestess,” Paul called. “Bishop Szerszen wants to talk about what you saw.”
She nodded but held at the darkening window. Lightning made a brief radioactive glow around her figure. Paul’s gaze went top to bottom, bottom to top, and made for another trip when Cole Szerszen grumbled, “Paul?”
“She just needs to powder up a bit, but she’ll be ready by the time you get up here.”
Paul dropped the phone back in his pocket and jumped up. He cupped his hands around the Priestess’s warm breasts.
“Why don’t you want Archbishop Pager to know?” she asked.
He thought she’d ignored his conversation. “You uh—”
“So why don’t you?”
He cleared his throat and took his hands off her. “I think that’s a private matter... for the Church of Midnight.”
She twisted around and a bleak smile cut her pretty face. “I don’t care for how Sandeus Pager looks at me.”
“How does he look at you?”
“As if he wants to jump inside my skin.”
“Can’t blame him there.” Paul slid his finger down her belly and through the coiled butterscotch hair below. “You better get ready. Cole will be here soon. He’s anxious to know what you saw.”
“I saw little. I am not worthy.”
“You are.” Paul nodded. “The worlds can come together, stay apart, or end altogether and it doesn’t matter, just as long as I’m yours.”
Her arms locked around his neck and she kissed him, until his mouth bled.
~ * ~
On the way to the restaurant, Cole struggled to recall the exact words of the passage about the folly of personal pursuits. It wasn’t even found in the main body of the Tomes of Eternal Harvest—the Mizon’s Fall appendix (section Q&z:II or R&a:i). All of this vainglorious running around in the past year had taken Cole from his studies. He was to blame. There was no excuse. Never put off ti
me for enlightenment.
This was the first lesson he’d learned in prison. His cellmate Rufus had pulled out a Tome from under his mattress one day and changed everything. Had Cole never been caught and sentenced, he may have never joined the Church of Midnight. He supposed he owed much to Vehicular Manslaughter without drugs or alcohol but with gross negligence and he owed much to Rufus, his first real teacher, who unfortunately had his skull split with a Nomad’s mantle the October after his prison release.
Cole jaywalked across an empty intersection toward the restaurant, Rufus’s craggy voice still clear as a bell in his mind: “Every October Szerszen, you put your ugly head down and fuck the consequences. You show ‘em you’re worthy and you’ll last forever in this outfit. You buddy up with a Bishop or get on the Archbishop’s good side—secure a spot in the Inner Circle. Fuck, if you got worth, you got it made. And how’s that done? Easy. Stay clear of the man with one black and one orange eye—don’t even talk with that one if you don’t have to. Just put your soul into nabbing just one sonuvabitch a year and the rest is cake. Prove your worth, shit, it’s good then.”
According to the Priestess there were four sonuvabitches now. Her clues were more confounding than anything else. North side of Colton. A duck painted on the mailbox, the street name had something to do with a lock..? What the hell could it mean?
Cole’s best people had already set out to scout and Paul had donated twelve of his own acolytes, two of which Cole recognized from Melissa’s stead—that was something he’d like to know a lot more about. Something was off there. Instruction, thought Cole, rubbing the raw patch on his jaw. He had to pry Paul away from the Priestess and continue a crash course in marrow blossoming. The Heralding had to go off without a hitch. He certainly couldn’t assassinate the Archbishop if Cole himself had to participate in the Heralding; it had to be Paul, all the way.
Deep in thought, Cole hadn’t realized he’d walked into Marcos’s Italian restaurant, and joined Melissa at a booth. He picked up the red leather menu and opened it.
“Well hello to you,” she said. It had been her idea to forego the hotel bistro and come here, for a change. It was her idea of being romantic and Cole had obviously punched a hole through it.
Black & Orange Page 18