by Deena Remiel
“Derek, do what you have to do.” She put the book down, rubbed her nose, and straightened her blouse. “Get the bad guys. But I’m not gonna be around. I’ve decided to leave this place as soon as possible. Too many bizarre happenings for my liking. I like my life organized and quiet, with an occasional bit of excitement. This kind of thrill isn’t what I had in mind. I simply miscalculated.”
“I get it. I really do. And I don’t blame you one bit. Thanks for all your help so far. If you still have work to do, I’d like to stay until you’re done and head back downstairs.”
“I do. I have about another half hour to go before I’m finished. Have at it.” She smiled weakly and returned to her books, dismissing him.
Without another word, he turned and left her. The first guy to actually be interested in her and she just gave him the shove-off. She sighed and went back to work. Socially awkward didn’t even begin to describe her. Socially inept with the members of the opposite sex would be more like it.
Oh, those poor children! Her mind kept returning to the scene downstairs. Who on this island could be running a satanic cult? She wouldn’t be surprised if it was Nancy, evil woman. It’d be easy enough to get information on the internet about the cult that shut down years ago. Great at making connections and linking facts together, for a moment, she contemplated doing the research. “No! I am not getting involved. This is too much for me. Dealing with mean bosses and ghosts is about all I can handle. Who am I, anyway? I’m just a book waitress. I need a bathroom break. Carry on without me.”
As she headed to the lady’s room, she half expected to hear the books flying from the cart to the shelves or the floor, but they didn’t. When she returned, however, there was a new book on one of the tables. She walked over and found it to be one of the volumes of the Devil’s Handbook. Now what?
It had been laid open to a particular page describing a ritual sacrifice. Curiosity getting the better of her, she sat down and began reading the passage. It described the ritualized sacrifice to Satan on specific days of the year and specific years in the millennia. Some were to be of animals, others were to be only blood. “On every sixth year of our Master’s sovereignty, a human boy child shall be sacrificed to honor His reign. It shall be six years of age and bear the Mark of the Damned. Its blood shall be drained from its body using Satan’s Saber and collected in the Demon’s Chalice. The Overlord or High Priestess shall use the blood to draw Satan’s symbol on the arms of the sacrifice. They will drink from the chalice and pour the remaining blood into the sanctified pyre….”
She hissed and slammed the book shut. It didn’t escape her notice that the book referred to the boy as “it,” and she wondered what kind of mark could be construed as the Mark of the Damned. Reluctantly, she followed the subtle nudging need to know and reopened the book to where she’d stopped. At the bottom of the page was a chart of symbols and objects to help identify the sacrificial child and carry out the ritual.
Satan’s Saber had a leather-wrapped hilt and a silver, curved blade about eight inches long. The Demon’s Chalice appeared to stand about a foot tall and had encrusted jewels around the goblet and stem. And then she glanced at the Mark of the Damned.
Her blood ran cold.
Chapter Six
Derek returned to the leather bench and stared, imagining the worst and knew it could have been beyond that. Camille had every right to be freaked out. Evil existed in the world, and here sat a prime example of how inhumane a person or people could be.
Deciding to explore the basement in an organized fashion, he started at one wall and methodically examined everything until reaching the other, snaking his way back again. No more blood was found on the floor underneath or around the seat, so it must have been used elsewhere and stored here. Nothing else of interest lay hidden anywhere, and the black light didn’t reveal anything more either.
“Time to close up shop.” It was well past midnight and Camille hadn’t come down to ask him to leave yet. The treatment she’d been getting by her co-workers perplexed him, just as his feelings for her did, too. She moved him beyond distraction, but obviously, she had no interest in him. She’d given him the royal brush off upstairs. But maybe that was just her defense system at work. Maybe she liked him but didn’t know how to show it.
He knew they were both misfits in a plastic society. She hid behind her books, like he hid behind his reporting. He somehow needed to create a strong connection between them so he could ask to see her again. Even if she left the island. He wouldn’t be on it forever. He had a real home, with land. He didn’t roam through his life like other investigative reporters. He liked his roots planted firmly in the ground.
Putting his equipment away, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He peered up and saw Camille, ghostly white, holding a book close to her chest. He immediately stood up and hurried over to her.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked at him, shock in her gaze, and offered the book to him with trembling hands. “Turn to page 336.”
“Okay, but maybe we should go back upstairs first.”
“Turn to the page!” He flinched as her words set off tiny pin pricks along his arms. Something had definitely pushed her over the edge. He countered her manic mood with calm.
“Okay, Camille, I’ll do it.” He looked at the cover first- The Devil’s Handbook. This can’t be good, he thought ominously. He turned to the requested page and found a table of photographs and descriptions of each item photographed.
“These are all items to be used in a sacrifice. This is great! Camille, thank you. This will really help me narrow down what I’m looking for.”
“L…look at how a person is identified as a sacrificial lamb.”
He did. “The person has to have something called a Mark of the Damned. Awesome! So, now I can interview the parents of the missing and ask if their kids had a mark like this. You’re amazing. This is a huge lead for me. I can’t begin to tell you.”
“Derek, look.” She unbuttoned the top of her blouse.
“Whoa! What are you doing?”
“Look!” She unbuttoned one more and spread her collar wide.
Just below her collarbone and above the swell of her left breast, was a birthmark. Pale brown in color, its shape stunned him.
“Camille….”
“I know.”
“It looks just like—”
“I know, damn it!” She grabbed the book away from him and tossed it to the floor. “I’m sorry.” She placed both hands on her mouth as if to quiet herself.
He picked up the book and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come back upstairs with me. We’ll talk. We’ll sort it all out. Okay?”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t fight him either when he gently turned her to go. Not a word did she utter as they took each step up the stairs and toward the sofa and chairs in the reading lounge. He sat her down next to him.
“First, tell me where this book came from.”
“Betina or John put it in on a table for me to find. It’s one of a set.”
“The ghosts?”
“Yes, one of them put it on the table opened to page 335. You should read that page, too. It talks about ritual sacrifice. It’s rather interesting and horrific at the same time. Your suspicions about a pattern are right. This particular cult is looking for a male child of six years every six years to sacrifice. He must have the Mark of the Damned to be considered.”
“Have you always had that mark by your, uh…?” He pointed to her breast.
“Yes, and I never gave it a second thought until now. Should I be glad I’m not a boy?” She threw that needling question out into the ethos, her color returning to her face.
“I’m a bit concerned, I don’t mind saying.”
“I am, too, a little. The likeness shocked me, but my fear is most likely paranoia. On its own, it doesn’t look like much to me. I mean I always thought it looked somewhat like an eye, but after seeing it in the Devil’s Handbook, of course
it now looks just like it. All these years I’d thought it to be a simple birthmark. Now, this picture tells me I’m not the only one to have it, and that I’m one of the Marked Ones. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?”
“How old are you? Please don’t be offended. It’s for professional reasons only.”
“Twenty-four. Why?”
“Hmm. This year is a multiple of six for you. And you have the mark.”
“But I’m a girl, Derek. Do you really think I somehow factor into this craziness?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’m not liking the coincidence. And you, being fresh on the island. I need to know more about you and about this cult. Maybe I should start with this book. If one of your ghost friends thought it was important enough to show you, there may be more inside that I should be reading.”
“Good point. But I’m still gone as soon as possible. This island creeped me out before I even stepped onto the ferry. Next time, I should trust my gut. Seems pretty damn accurate.”
“What does your gut tell you about me?” He raised a brow.
She blushed, bit her bottom lip, and turned away. “My gut tells me you’re a very nice guy who does interesting work and champions the downtrodden.”
“Well, it should also be telling you that I’ll do what I have to in order to keep you safe and out of harm’s way.”
She gasped, raised her hand to her mouth as she held her breath, and then blurted out, “Did you know that pupils dilate the closer your face is to another’s?”
“No, I didn’t. Fascinating.” He cupped her chin and turned her to face him. “Let me see.” He inched his way closer and closer still, peering steadily into Camille’s eyes. Ever so slowly he moved toward her to catch the change in pupil size. “Well, I’ll be. They do. Wonder what happens to them when I kiss you.” With his heart pounding in his chest, he didn’t stop to think, he just acted on the impulse that had plagued him since he’d seen her. Leaning in the rest of the way, he placed a whisper of a kiss on her quivering lips.
They were supple and tasted of berries, and their vulnerability nurtured an eagerness in him that wouldn’t be denied. How long had it been since he felt compelled to kiss a girl? Long enough not to remember. And when had he ever found anyone as intriguing as she? Never. Wanting to taste more of her sweetness, he deepened the kiss, and feeling the need to protect, enclosed her in his arms. Her body tensed, but turned pliant and needful as she shifted impossibly closer to him. Her delicate hands slid about his waist and up his back, sending streaks of chills racing across his skin.
Opening his eyes, he released her lips and leaned his forehead against hers. "Darn. My eyes closed.”
“Mine, too. Maybe we should try again, then, huh?” A sheepish grin crawled across her face.
“Most definitely, but not here. Let’s wrap things up. I’ll take you home and we can try this experiment again.” She leaned into his palm as he caressed her cheek.
“What a great idea. I’ve had enough of this place for today. You know, I don’t have to be here tomorrow because my moving boxes are arriving. Rather silly now isn’t it? But at least I get to sleep in.” She paused, and then continued. “Gotta get my backpack, lock the back door, and then we can go.”
The invite didn’t go unnoticed. She cloaked it well enough, but he’d gotten the message. Stay over. As she went about her business, he ran his fingers through his hair and spritzed some breath spray in his mouth. Had he thought about it a little more, he would have done that before he kissed her. But that would have required him to be something he couldn’t be—a player.
“I’m so ready,” she said as she returned and sighed. He grabbed her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.
“Your chariot awaits, mademoiselle.” She smiled and curtseyed.
“Merci, monsieur.”
***
The phone rang so shrilly as to shake the toupee nearly off his head. Darting up in his bed, he grabbed the receiver next to him on the nightstand. Squinting at the alarm clock, he cursed.
“This had better be good.”
“Victor. Victor!” A hushed, frantic voice greeted him over the phone. “It’s me, Susan Northrop.”
“Susan? Why on earth are you calling me at this hour of the night?”
“It’s the only way I can reach you without her listening in.”
“What’s the matter, Susan?”
“It’s regarding Library Board matters.”
She had emphasized Library Board, which indicated a cult issue. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“It seems we have an issue of differing philosophies with an individual. This person is poised to undermine your authority and objectives for our next meeting.”
“Go on.”
“This person has already made it so inhospitable that I doubt our new librarian will stay much longer. We’ll have to alter our plans from a welcome party to a farewell party.”
“I see. Yes, there does seem to be a difference of opinion as to what we do to benefit the library. But as you know, I’m the president of the board. I make the final call on everything. I’ll take care of it. Thank you so much, Susan, for your loyalty to our library and always looking out for its best interests. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, Victor. Sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know. Good night.”
He hung up the phone and got out of bed. There’d be no more sleeping for him tonight. Susan had indicated Nancy Westin as a traitor to the cult and Satan. Tomorrow would be a busy day. He’d have to kill Nancy and kidnap Camille Dutton. Nancy would be easy. A breakfast meeting with her should do the trick. Camille posed a bit more of a challenge. But a plan percolated in his mind that had strong possibilities.
He stalked over to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet which had a hidden compartment built in behind the shelving. It hid his poisons and other concoctions. “Hmm, which one for Nancy, which one? Fast but painful or slow and agonizing? Well, she likes her screwing long and slow, so I’ll just give her what she likes.” Chuckling, he took out the tiny bottle with the lethal liquid and put it on the bathroom counter. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a photograph. He caressed the face smiling back at him. “And as for you, my dear Marked One, you don’t have to worry about leaving the island ever again.”
***
Camille didn’t expect Derek to accept her offer. She couldn’t believe she asked him in the first place. It was quite impulsive on her part. A quality she usually never entertained. But now she was stuck. Well into the wee small hours of the morning, she first thought to say goodnight at the door after some luscious mouth munching. But with everything that occurred earlier, and what she learned about herself, reasoning decided to take a holiday and fear swooped in fast, giving her no choice but to cave to her inner damsel in distress and not want to enter an empty house alone.
“Of course I’d love to stay.” He sounded so happy, so pleased to have been asked. But stay? She didn’t ask him to stay. Why would he want to stay over with her?
“Really?” The first and last time a guy stayed over, he promised her the world, and then took it back in the morning, along with her virginity. Refusing to make the same mistake again, she clarified what “stay” meant to her. “Just for a little bit, then.”
“Oh, okay. No problem. Camille, you’re a living ice cube that’s about to shatter from all the trembling. Let’s get you inside and warmed up.”
“You’re right. I am.” She tried in vain to unlock her door and gave up, passing him the keys instead. “Would you please?”
“Sure.” He smiled easily and opened the door.
She scooted past him, tossed her backpack on the floor, and turned on the foyer light. “It’s mostly your fault that I’m a blithering mess, you know.”
He blanched and shut the door behind him. “Yes, I know. Does this make up for it?”
Stepping toward her with apology and desire warring in his eyes, he s
lid his fingers from her jaw line around to the base of her neck, tugging her close for a soul-searing kiss. Drawn in like a dust bunny to a vacuum, she fell into his embrace, and let him soothe away the uncertainty with his tender lips. A moan rattled low in her throat. My God, but he’s a great kisser!
“This is part of the reason why I’m a mess,” she spoke while her lips sought the corners of his mouth and back again. Her hands betrayed her mind and wound their way through his silky hair. His rumpled look had been one of the reasons she’d taken a further glance at him at the library. That and his mesmerizing eyes. Her mind fought back against the growing heat emanating from the core of her and pulled away, absently touching her fingers to her lips. “I think you should go. It’s late. I’ll be fine now.” No way could she take this any further. Making out by the front door spoke volumes to her growth in the romance department. But she feared if anything more were to develop she’d lose herself again. Walking over to the door, she thought of the very last time she’d been kissed so thoroughly. Robert, the virginity stealer. Damn him!
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No, you haven’t. You’ve done something right. But it can’t go any further than this right now. It’s been quite a tumultuous day. Be safe driving home.” She smiled and gently prodded the perplexed schoolboy out the door. “I’ll see you in a couple days, I suppose. Thanks for the drive.”
She smiled as she calmly shut the door behind him, and when it closed, she leaned against it shaking her head. Boy, he could do some real damage to this heart if I’m not careful. Moving boxes were arriving in a few hours. She needed to go to bed and not think about anything for a while. Especially kisses that curled her toes and straightened her hair.
***
A low rumbling roused her from a restless sleep. Obnoxious raps on her door told her the movers were here with her belongings. Yawning, she threw the covers back and raced downstairs, still in her clothes from yesterday. Too tired to care, she opened the door without even looking first in the foyer mirror. A burley, sweaty man stood before her, dressed in jeans and a Motorhead t-shirt. He tried hiding a grin, but failed miserably. Irritated, she ran her fingers through her hair and found much of it had been behaving badly. No wonder the smile.