House Infernal by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

  So plump now; so ready to give up the wares of their tainted wombs to the Living World ...

  "A most holy sight, my lord." Willirmoz appeared, also looking at the mirror. "And so soon now, the fruit that is most perfect will be in your hands, ready to deliver to our ultimate Master."

  Boniface's grub white finger pointed to the oculus. "And as you can see..."

  The High Priest gazed out from blackened eyes. "The darkest miracle yet, my lord. The troughs designed to mimic the most blessed and unholy configuration in existence ... is nearly complete."

  The deplorable face of salt jerked up, "Yes, but none of it will be any good if it's sabotaged by our adversaries."

  "It won't be, oh most detestable one."

  "And you, the most proficient diviner in the Mephistopolis, doesn't even know who these adversaries are yet. So don't patronize me. I'm expecting the Divinations from your own Guild. Do you have them?"

  The charred hand raised a scrolled stemma. "Of course, lord, as you so ordered."

  "And?"

  "The Rot-Port District is free of negative auric disturbances. The Vulgaressa reports that her forces have slaughtered several hundred Contumacy insurgents as well as dozens of suspicious stragglers."

  The obscene meat of Boniface's heart went lax in relief. Thank Satan....

  But then the Wizard's tone changed, to something hesitant. "However I must also report, my most wretched master, that the latest Extipicisms have hinted that the threat may have moved through the Waste District, and is now headed out, to parts south."

  South, Boniface thought, his dread hidden beneath the salt-mask. That's us....

  "And the Bloodmancers from Tepesville are inclined to divine that some counteroccult energy may be at work as well. Not necessarily in league with them, but ... we must be cautious."

  "Your honesty serves you well, Willirmoz," the Duke's voice fluttered. "Many he to me when they bear bad news."

  "But this isn't bad news, lord." The burned heretic leaned closer, with something like elation in his ruined voice. "My own private Divinations have divulged that these adversaries you so fear are but two pitiable members of the Human Damned-"

  "What? Not Hybrids? Not Demonic?"

  "No, Duke. And even more laughable, they are Newcomers."

  Boniface wanted to cry with joy.

  "Even with Contumacy support, it is statistically and metaphysically impossible for a mere pair of Newcomers to infiltrate your great endeavor."

  This welcome news refreshed the Exalted Duke; it made him feel five hundred years younger. "Your news makes me so joyous I could eat a newborn babe alive, and pick my teeth with his bones."

  Boniface, indeed, was overjoyed-by the abstraction and, moreover, by the following reality. When Willirmoz snapped his dead fingers, the Sergeant at Arms stepped in the chamber bearing a newborn Hybrid on a silver platter.

  Little chubby hands reached out, accompanied by a cheery whine. The infant blew happy spit bubbles from its tiny mouth, and in spite of skin like the rind of an avocado, the baby couldn't have been cuter.

  "What a thoughtful Lithomancer!" Boniface rejoiced. "Come, my friend, and share with me in this delectable feast."

  (II)

  Venetia felt encircled by a black cloud; it was something about the look of the slim, weather-worn woman named Sue Maitland: the cast of her eyes, her poise and liquorroughened voice. A murderess, Venetia thought, chilled. Was this really the Devil's manifestation of evil on earth? There was no relief from the feeling until Berns had exited the interview room. For a split second, the woman looked right at Venetia-even though she couldn't really see her-and smiled. Then the curtain was closed.

  "Well," Dan said, "that about pegs my creepometer."

  "Hard to believe," Venetia said. From the hall she heard Berns' voice addressing an unseen officer: "Call HQ and get a jail nurse. I want a suicide watch on her. If she offs herself while under county custody, my ass is grass."

  Cop talk, she presumed. Rough and detached. It's still a human life, Venetia thought. A child of God ruined by the various taints of an ungodly world.

  "That's one fully cooked psych-job in there," someone else said.

  It was sad.

  Berns returned to the observation room. "So much for that," he said addressing them both. Venetia doubted it was her imagination, but Berns kept taking quick glances at her. Just like Dan. I guess they both think I'm hot. The no tion flattered her but only in an amused way. Venetia felt anything but attractive now, still muggy and grass-flecked from mowing the yard.

  "That was very interesting," she told the brawny captain.

  "Not to mention disturbing," Dan added. "And I wish I could tell you I've seen her before but I'm sure I haven't. If you've got a picture, I could show it to Mrs. Newlwyn and her daughter back at the house. They're from the area."

  "And so is John," Venetia said.

  "I can do that. Thanks."

  Venetia pointed to the closed folder on the desk. "Captain, Dan and I were wondering-that folder says Stevenson and Jessel on it. Is that the case file?"

  Berns picked it up guardedly. "Damn, I didn't mean to leave that there. Did you ... look at it?"

  "Well, no, but we'd like to."

  "It's mostly autopsy photographs," the officer said. "Believe me, you don't want to see them. Especially you, Dan. You knew these women."

  "Well, we'd still like to see them, sir," Dan said, "unless it's confidential or something. It might help us understand more about the case, since we are working at the murder scene."

  Berns seemed flummoxed. "Well, since you asked..." He handed them the file.

  Venetia found the macabre photos much less disturbing than the interview. She watched over Dan's shoulder as he flipped through. First was Lottie Jessel, the church custodian, who lay skinny and withered, with flattened breasts centered by nipples that looked like dried prunes. She was in her sixties. The other one was Patricia Stevenson-the nun. The nude body on the slab could've been a Playboy centerfold gone to sleep; Venetia was startled by how attractive the woman was even in deathbuxom, curvaceous. The physique broke the stereotype that nuns weren't supposed to be attractive; then Venetia wondered how she herself might fare against the same prejudice.

  Photos deeper in the stack grew grim: their bodies Y -sectioned and yawning open, then two photos of the infamous incision rejoined by black staples. But on each photo the deep-almost black-gashes could be seen on the left side of either woman's throat.

  "It doesn't bother us like it would regular people," Venetia said with cheery lift in her tone.

  "Regular people?" Berns attention seemed to be alerted as Venetia let her hair down.

  "We're hard-core Catholics," Dan said.

  And Venetia: "To us these pictures are just dead meat. We celebrate Patricia and Lottie's ascendence into Paradise." She shrugged and smiled. "They're in a much better place."

  "I sure fuckin' hope so." Then Berns winced. "Sorry. Can't help it sometimes."

  "I suppose profanity is an occupational hazard for police." Dan laughed.

  "It's a profane world," Venetia added. She tried to sit in a way that would offer less temptation to his wandering eyes; however, she wasn't offended at all, for it was obvious how hard he was trying not to look. If anything, she found him interesting and attractive. "We're curious about the comments regarding the blood, Captain."

  "The official cause of death for both women was-and I hope you're ready for a mouthful-'multiple-organ system failure and cardiac/pulmonary arrest due to expeditious exsanguination.' It means their blood was drained, almost entirely. Strange part was there was no trace of blood in the rooms where the bodies were found."

  "So they were murdered elsewhere," Dan said.

  "Thought so until I read the follow-up conclusions from the state medical examiner. Something about the pericardial sack. I don't even know what that is, but the ME said there was still enough fluid in it to indicate that the women were murdered in the same
place they were found."

  Venetia's eyes narrowed. "And Sue Maitland said they saved the blood."

  "Sounds pretty lurid," Dan said.

  Berns led them back to the car. He seemed burdened but not necessarily by this. How curious, Venetia thought.

  "It's more than lurid, Dan. There's an underbelly in our society that's really hard to figure. It's almost like there's a system to people's mental problems, like it's contagious." He chuckled and oddly offered Venetia the backseat this time. "But you'd have to be a cop to get what I'm saying. But then again, I guess priests see more of that than we do."

  "I'm not quite a priest yet," Dan said, and got in the passenger seat. "But, yeah, I think I do know what you mean. People from bad environments tend to gravitate toward one another, and because they don't really have much hope for better things, they seize delusional solutions-"

  "And the occult is one of them," Venetia said. "The lesser minds are the followers and the strong mind is the leader."

  Berns looked over his shoulder with a surprised expression. "You know, that's exactly what the case is here. And we've got the leader is custody in Maine-that guy Freddie she was talking about. Between Freddie and Maitland, I think we'll get the rest of the answers we want."

  Venetia's hair fluffed up in the car's air-conditioning, and began to chill her chest. As Berns pulled out of the parking lot, her gaze latched onto a figure hunched over a garbage can near the docks. Another poor soul, she thought. Matted gray hair hung down in a mop as his crabbed hands rummaged for anything edible.

  Just as the car pulled away, the vagabond looked right at Venetia with yellowed eyes and snarled.

  When they pulled into the front of the prior house, Berns said, "What's this? A delivery?"

  Venetia leaned up between the seats and saw a large moving truck, with men taking boxes out of the back and rolling them into the house on dollies.

  "I can't imagine what Driscoll would be ordering," Dan said.

  "He didn't mention anything," " Venetia added.

  "Well, I better let you off here 'cos the truck is blocking the court." Berns shook hands with Dan, then turned toward Venetia. "Thank you both for your help. I'll be bringing that picture around soon, and I'd appreciate it if you could let Father Driscoll know that I'd like to talk to him as well."

  "Sure thing," Dan said, and got out.

  Berns' gaze loitered on Venetia's face.

  She smiled. "Nice meeting you, Captain."

  "Likewise. I hope to see you soon," but the reply sounded strained, until he grinned. "If you ever get a parking ticket, let me know. I'll fix it."

  Venetia laughed and waved good-bye.

  Dan was chuckling when the car was gone. "Looks like Deputy Dawg has a crush on Venetia."

  "It seems so," she said, and thought, But so do you.

  Driscoll came around the side of the house. "Where have you two been?"

  "The cops," Venetia told him. "So far they've caught two of the murderers."

  "What?"

  Dan stood with his arms crossed, sweating again in the heat. "Yeah, the captain wanted us to watch an interrogation to see if anything rang a bell." A sly smile. "And he wants to talk to you."

  Driscoll looked perplexed. "If that's not the nuttiest thing ...

  "And what's this delivery?"

  The priest's brow popped up. "The good news is they're portable air-conditioners-ten of them."

  "That's great!" Dan exclaimed.

  "And the bad news is I don't know where the heck they came from."

  "The diocese must've ordered them," Venetia said. "They don't want us dropping dead from heat stroke."

  Driscoll slowly shook his head. "That's what I thought until I called them. They don't know anything about it."

  "You're pulling our legs," Dan said.

  "Wish I was. So I gotta tell these guys to load it all back on the truck. It's a wrong address or something."

  "Who sent them?" Venetia asked.

  "R. B. Electronics, the invoice says. Never heard of them."

  "I have," Venetia said, and got out her cell phone. "It's my father's company."

  Dan and Driscoll gave her astonished looks. "What would-"

  "Hi, Mom," Venetia said into her phone. "Did Dad rent a bunch of air-conditioners and send them to the prior house?" She could see Dan and Driscoll standing frozen, listening. Even Driscoll had his fingers crossed.

  "Oh, honey," her mother's voice shrilled. "When you told me you didn't have any, I insisted. As hot as it is? And he didn't rent them, he bought them. Tell Father Driscoll it's a church donation."

  "I will, Mom. He'll really like that. We're all very grateful down here, because, you're right, it's real hot, and I just mowed half an acre in it."

  "Your poor thing! You're not supposed to be doing that kind of work!"

  "I actually love the exercise." Venetia didn't say anything about the apprehension of Sue Maitland. That would just bend her out of shape.

  "Just don't overdo it, dear."

  "I won't-"

  "Oh, and there's another delivery coming, too," Maxine Barlow added.

  "What is it?"

  "A surprise. Call me when you get it!"

  "Okay, Mom." But Venetia's thoughts fluttered back. "Oh, and did you-"

  "I'm just about to start that Web search you asked me to do, though I'm still a bit mystified about it."

  The voices in the dream, came the unpleasant recollection. But she was sure they were just figments of a stressed imagination. I just have to know, Venetia told herself. Then it wouldn't be able to bother her.

  She rang off with her mother. "Well, Father Driscoll. You're to consider the AC units a donation to the Church. And my mother mentioned something else to be delivered but didn't say what."

  "That's a big donation," " Dan pointed out. "Those units are pretty high-end."

  "I'm sure they are if my father ordered them."

  Driscoll smiled with satisfaction. "Charity comes from the heart of God ... and remind your father that every penny of his expenditure can be deducted as a charitable contribution."

  "I'm sure he's aware of that," she chuckled.

  The priest appeared to be musing now. "And it serves as a steady reminder to us, of the words of James: 'Every act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above."'

  Dan had a challenge in his eyes. "And I'll bet you can't name this verse, Father: 'Freely we have received, so freely we must give."'

  Driscoll frowned. "Gospel According to Matthew. Come on, Dan. You know better than to try and stump me."

  "But, Venetia, like I was saying," Dan went on, "every act of giving is terrific, but come on. These units must've cost a fortune."

  Venetia shielded her eyes in the sun. "Well, my father's a very generous man, and he's also very rich."

  Driscoll held up a finger. "'He who giveth in abundance, receiveth in abundance.' Name it, Dan."

  Dan rolled his eyes. "You would quote from noncanonical scripture, but of course it's Tobit, Chapter Four, I believe."

  "You guys sound like two jocks arguing baseball statistics." Venetia laughed. "But to answer the parts of your question that St. Matthew's Gospel didn't: My father patented some kind of computer processor and circuit board a long time ago."

  "So now he's rolling in the dough?" Dan asked.

  .Yep."

  "And it's our good fortune," Driscoll said. "Because last night I thought I was beginning to cook."

  Dan glanced over. "But didn't you say something about another delivery?"

  Just as Dan had spoken, another truck pulled into the court. The side panels read OMAHA srEAKS.

  Like little kids at Christmas, Venetia thought with a smile. Driscoll called the entire group together and led a prayer thanking God-and Venetia's father-for the much appreciated gifts. The portable air-conditioners were rolled to everyone's rooms and required nothing in the way of installation save for positioning a vent hose out each window. Then they all retreated to the ki
tchen to help put away the gourmet food: vacuum-sealed and flash-frozen T-bones, filet mignons, ground sirloin, and ribs, as well as pounds of jumbo shrimp, king crab, and stout South African lobster tails.

  "Well this most certainly is a surprise," Mrs. Newlwyn enthused. She and Betta scurried for place settings and broiler pans.

  "Yeah, the TV dinners weren't exactly cutting it for me," Dan added while he and Venetia arranged everything in the freezer.

  Driscoll smiled sarcastically. "Come on, Dan. A Catholic trooper like you?"

  "Let's just say that I dig the fact that Venetia's father isn't as tight as the New Hampshire Diocese."

  "I'm glad you dig that fact, Dan. And thank you for volunteering to dig the flower beds tomorrow."

  Dan glared over his shoulder. "When did I volunteer for that, Father?"

  "Why, just now, of course. You'll make a fine priest ... someday."

  Venetia smiled at their banter. But she also found herself wondering if she was getting paranoid, especially after noticing Captain Berns taking strained glances at her earlier. Maybe it was just incidental, she thought, and Dan, too. She thought she'd caught him taking similar glances several times, but now he didn't seem to. I'm either paranoid or just a little too high on myself.

  John was setting the table for everyone, and Venetia was sure he was eyeing Betta quite a bit more than incidentally.

  Or maybe I'm just jealous of Betta's body, she joked to herself. I wonder if she'll be making another rendezvous with John tonight....

  Venetia got her mind off these trivial things. "Dan, I was wondering-maybe we should've mentioned to Captain Berns about the names we found beneath the plaster today"

  Now Dan cast an awkward glance at Betta while she stooped to get a pan out of a lower cabinet.

  How do you like that guy! Venetia thought.

  "Yeah, that's a good point," he answered. "The murders took place here, and Berns is confident that the suspects are part of a Satanic cult."

  "Did he really say that?" Driscoll asked.