by Sandy Wright
He leaned back and studied me for a moment. Then he brought his other hand to my face, his fingers gently urging my chin upward.
I licked my lips. They tasted of peppermint and nervousness.
His thumbs gently traced the route my tongue had followed on my lips. Suddenly he brought his mouth down on mine, hard and insisting. He wrapped his arm around my waist and allowed his other hand to travel intimately down the side of my body, stopping to caress my bare arm before moving down to my hip.
I stiffened and pushed away from him. "No." I was short of breath and it came out as a gasp.
"No?" He looked hurt. "Don't you want to stay with me?"
"I'm not sure what I want. I'm hurt and angry. It has nothing to do with you." I gave him a weak smile and put a hand to my forehead. So damn dizzy. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend for you to think…If we did this now, it wouldn't be fair to you. Slow…I need to take things slow…." I trailed off and began to take a step back, but his arm tightened around my waist, keeping me against him.
He raised his other hand and gently placed his fingers to my mouth to silence me. "Oh, it has more to do with me than you might think. Sorry, but I don't do slow. But if it's Nicholas you're worried about, don't." He laughed, a mean, bitter sound, not at all seductive. "Dear naïve Samantha, you made the fatal female mistake. You fell in love with a man's potential. And now he's disappointed you. So you came here to me. You need to take a good, long look at Nicholas, at what he really is." He grabbed my arm as he spoke and shook me roughly.
He kept ahold of my arm and torqued my body like a cork-screw, forcing me to my knees in front of the sofa.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I gasped. My eyes watered from the pain, but it brought me out of my stupor.
He shoved his knee into my back, holding me down, and pushed his hand down on my cheek, smashing my face into the cushion.
"That's exactly what I'm doing. Fucking you. Getting ready to, anyway. And you will like it."
His voice rasped in my ear so close I could smell the spicy chocolate on his breath. "I'll tell you a little secret, sweetheart. People are willing to lie, and to hurt each other in any way necessary to help themselves. To further their own causes. We've got the selfish part down pat, your boyfriend Nicholas and I." He pushed his knee further into my back.
I closed my eyes and took a shaky inhale, willing my body to go completely limp. Then I opened them and looked directly at him. "He told you, didn't he? How else would you know I like it rough?" I gave a strangled cough, my face half in the cushions. "But ease up, not this rough. I can't breathe."
My body stayed limp and relaxed. Wait…wait…will he believe me?
Nuin gave a deep growl of desire. He nuzzled my ear and eased the pressure of his hand just slightly.
I turned my head under his palm enough to open my mouth, find his thumb and bite down. My teeth made contact with bone. He jerked his hand away with a snarl, throwing me across the coffee table, and sending our glasses flying to the floor where they shattered. I lost my balance, skidding across the polished floorboards and losing one shoe.
He advanced on me, forcing me to take a step back as I scrambled to my feet. The table edge pressed against the back of my calf. A sharp pain shot through my bare foot. Broken glass crunched under my heel. Trapped. He slid his body up against mine and pressed his moist lips against my mouth.
I stood my ground, still as a statue. "Don't touch me."
"You mean like this?" he whispered against my lips, his voice clogged with menace and desire. He grabbed my hand and cupped it around his rock-hard erection. "Or like this?" He wrenched my skirt up with his other hand, enough for his palm to connect with my bare thigh. "You conceited little bitch. You won't dare tell me no." His eyes slitted, watching me, his teeth clenched together so tight the muscles of his neck stood out in cords. The rictus grimace stretched even tighter as he rubbed himself against my palm trapped between our bodies. His breath huffed between his teeth in short, raspy, gasps.
I slammed the heel of my free hand upward into his nose. At the same time, I grabbed his balls and squeezed as hard as I could, with a grinding crunch.
He released my wrist with a grunt and covered his wounded parts, dropping halfway to his knees. As he did, I rammed my knee into his chin, snapping his teeth together with an audible crack.
He toppled over backwards silently. I hobbled away, grabbing my purse and coat—and a large goddess statue from the entry table, in case I needed a weapon. I didn't care if I was leaving bloody stains all over his floor. I did not pause to see if he stayed down. I kept on moving. It seemed to take forever to reach the door.
Nuin rolled himself over, pushed to his knees, and then stood, swaying slightly, as my hand curled around the doorknob.
I yanked the door open and stumbled outside in only one shoe. I limped across the street to my truck, leaving a trail of blood drops, scrabbling in my bag for the keys as I ran.
As I rammed the truck into drive, Nuin appeared in the front door. I floored the accelerator and the truck fishtailed on the snowy road for a terrifying instant.
Nuin stood in the doorway while the trusty all-wheel tires caught and the truck shot forward. He held his groin with one hand. In the other he held up a glint of red, a bloody shard of glass.
He was smiling.
Chapter 47: Flight
Can't go home. Can't go home. It's the first place he'll look.
I followed Highland Road back to the main highway and stopped to look around. There was nothing but art galleries on each side, and all the parking lots were dark and empty. I turned left and drove away from downtown and my house, taking deep breaths to counteract the adrenaline racing through my system.
My right hand throbbed and had begun to swell. I moved each finger gingerly to be sure nothing was broken. My bare foot looked in worse shape, but at least it was numb from running through the snow.
Just ahead I saw the red lights of a restaurant, situated above a hotel. I slowed down and turned into the parking lot. A cluster of vehicles were parked at one end. It looked like the restaurant was still open.
I slid my vehicle between two similar SUVs and parked, turning on the dome light to look at my foot. There was a good-sized gash on the heel, still embedded with a sliver of glass. Gritting my teeth, I pulled it out, holding my foot out the truck door and rinsing the wound with a half-full water bottle. I packed a paper towel with snow and wrapped it around my foot to staunch the bleeding. Slipping my other shoe onto my bad foot, I hobbled up the stairs and into the building.
The restaurant was decorated in bright Mexican colors and about a third full, enough of a crowd to feel safe. The smell of tortilla chips, grilled meat and cilantro made my mouth water, reminding me I hadn't eaten dinner.
The young hostess greeted me. "We stop serving in thirty minutes, but there's no rush."
I followed her to a table along the wall. She placed the menu on the table and turned, smiling. Then she saw my bare foot. Her smile faded. "Uhm, I'm sorry, ma'am, but our health code requires shoes…." She trailed off uncertainly.
"You can't be serious." To my dismay, tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I sank slowly to the chair, realizing how many places on my body hurt. I buried my face in my hands.
I felt a hand pat my shoulder, and I jerked away violently.
Startled, the hostess looked at me uncertainly. Then she looked into my tear-stained face and sat down beside me, wrapping both arms around my shoulders and holding me silently as I shuddered and sobbed. Finally she asked, "Are you okay? Would you like me to call someone for you?"
I pulled my head from her shoulder, wiped my eyes and blew my nose on the dinner napkin. Who indeed? I began to laugh, the emotion bubbling up and out of me like bile. The thought registered somewhere in the back recesses of my mind: I'm going into shock.
I handed the girl my cell phone. "Rumor. Call Rumor." I put my face back in my
hands.
"No, I am not going to the hospital," I told Rumor for the third time. It was past midnight. The paramedics had cleaned my foot, bandaged it and given me antibiotics. The police had taken my statement and left to search for Nuin, after promising a patrol car would check my house periodically until he was found.
I had also had time to calm down and think. The police were not going to find Nuin. He'd go to ground, but I didn't think he would come after me. Rumor was going to round up people first thing in the morning, to rotate staying with me for the holidays. Nuin was a coward. He wouldn't threaten me with someone else around.
"I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed." I kissed Rumor, hugged Duncan, and tried to send them out to their car.
"No way." Rumor exchanged a glance with her boyfriend, who nodded. "We're going by my house for a change of clothes. We'll meet you at your house within the hour to spend the night.
As I forced my bruised body out of the truck in my driveway, a figure stepped away from the light post and walked toward the house. Even before he spoke, I recognized Nicholas's long black coat.
"It must have been quite a party," came the low voice I knew so well. "Whatever would keep you away so late I wonder? The ritual ended hours ago." He cast a withering glance over me, sweeping his gaze from my disheveled hair to my rumpled clothes with a disdainful sneer, and ending at the snow boots I'd borrowed from the waitress to cover my bandaged foot. "A late-night tryst, perhaps a bit of a tumble?" His lip curled in disgust. "Too bad your date wasn't gentleman enough to see you home."
In the driveway behind us, Duncan flashed his lights and stepped out of the car. "Are you all right?"
"It's okay, I know him," I called.
A bit of a tumble. If he only knew how close he came to the truth. "You certainly have everything figured out," I said, too exhausted to argue.
A police car turned the corner and cruised by the house slowly. I waved and nodded to them.
Nicholas narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. "What's going on, Samantha? Has something happened I should know about?"
"No, it's none of your business. My friends are spending the night here. If you're going to accuse me of anything else, you'll have to wait until morning. Now just go away. "
I limped up the front steps and inside, thinking it interesting how the belief something–or someone—belonged to someone else made others determined to steal it.
Chapter 48: Demonology
I spent the next hour in the shower, scrubbing my skin raw trying to get of the feel of Nuin's hands off my body. Finally Rumor knocked on the bathroom door. She came in when I didn't answer. I couldn't. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. She turned off the water, wrapped a towel around my reddened skin, and held me, crooning and rocking me until I quit blubbering.
A few short hours later, I woke with my head throbbing. When I threw off the covers and tried to sit up, my stiff legs protested. I couldn't lift the arm Nuin had wrenched behind my back. Stabbing pain still shot through my foot. I felt raw and feverish, and violated as though someone had rubbed sewage all over my body. My throat blazed with thirst. A pitcher of water sweated on the night table, an empty glass beside it. I poured a large drink and downed the cold liquid in three gulps.
Rumor appeared in the doorway. "I thought I heard you."
I took one look at her and collapsed back into the bed, bawling like an infant, long keening wails. The sound embarrassed the hell out of me, but I couldn't stop.
She came and put her arms around me again, tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry you're hurting. What can I do to help?"
"My foot hurts like hell. Would you look at it?"
"Of course."
I stood up and groaned. My legs felt as if I'd run a marathon, and my lower back ached.
Rumor slid her arm gently under my shoulder, and we hobbled into the bathroom. I sank onto the toilet seat, and she propped my foot on her knee, examining it with a penlight. A lingering glass shard had worked its way to the surface overnight. Rumor teased it out with the tweezers while I gritted my teeth. Then she applied antiseptic and bandages, and helped me back to bed.
"Sleep," she instructed as I sank back into the pillows. "Duncan and I had to bring the dog over with us last night. I'll let her out and be right back."
I think I shook my head. "Love your dog," I murmured.
I felt the bed shift as Rumor stood up. "Are you going to tell Nicholas?"
"No. Not yet." I opened my eyes long enough to plead, "Promise me. Promise me you won't say anything until I've had a chance to talk to him."
She kissed my forehead. "Scout's honor."
"You got something on the fax too," she said as I drifted off. "You can look at it later."
* * * * *
"Come today. We need to talk!"
Ravenscroft's cramped handwriting was scrawled across the top of the fax Rumor gave me the next morning. I reread his translation of the grimoire page for the third time to her.
"From ancient times this power came,
For all to fear but non to reign.
Seize it now, show no mercy,
Drive it deep into the earth.
Born of greed, and power driven
Bind for all time to its Underworld prison."
"It's obviously a binding spell. But what are we to bind?" I read the lines again. "And how do I drive it into the earth?" I put on my coat, hefted my backpack, with The Sinister Tradition and gloves already stuffed inside, and picked up my truck keys. "I don't know how long I'll be in Flagstaff."
"Do you think it's safe to go alone?" Rumor asked, looking worried.
"I'll call you when I get to Ravenscroft's, and again when I leave," I said. "Anyway, I don't think Nuin would assault me in a public place."
* * * * *
"How much has Nicholas Orenda filled you in about what's happening in this town?" Noah Ravenscroft asked, as we hunched over his desk, his high-powered reading lamp directed onto the crumpled grimoire page. More to the point, I thought, what does he know and not told me? I'd keep that question to myself for the time being. Instead, I began ticking items off on my fingers.
"One, I know there is an ancient cabal who guards one of the vor-texes here, because it's a portal to the Underworld."
Ravenscroft raised one eyebrow in mild surprise.
"Two, I know if three of them are killed in succession, it's a sign the dark times have arrived." I paused. "Although I don't know what the dark times are exactly. Three, I believe there is someone here, in this realm, who is trying to open the vortex to let a demon into our world." I ticked off a fourth finger.
"Whoever it is, he's going to attempt it before New Year's Eve. No, wait. New Year's Eve is a full moon and a blood moon eclipse. He's going to try and raise the demon that exact night." I snickered. "Come to think of it, Nicholas told me very little. Good thing I have my own sources."
Both of Ravenscroft's eyebrows raised so high they disappeared in his hairline. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, gathering himself to speak, but I put up a hand to stop him.
"There's one other thing," I said, pressing my pinky for number five. "It appears I'm the prophesized Caller, the one drawn to Sedona—without my knowledge or permission I might add—to stop this apocalypse." I twirled my finger in the air. "Whoopee."
Ravenscroft had regained his composure. He cocked his head to the side and looked up at me with those bright, intelligent eyes. "Sounds like you could use my help."
He pushed the grimoire sheet aside and offered me a pair of gloves. I retrieved Nicholas's book and placed it on the table in front of us. "An interesting fact about demons," he began, "is they can't live in our world on their own. They must have a host. They live on the life force of their host, until eventually the host is but a hollow shell and dies. Then the demon must find another human."
"Why would anyone want to be the host, it sounds awful."
"Men seek
power in all sorts of awful ways," Ravenscroft said. "This dark magician may think he will be able to control the entity, force it to do his bidding. It won't work. The demon dead are deceivers. They take sport in betraying living men who think to use them as servants."
"How could I kill a demon?"
"You can't," he said. "You can kill the host, of course but the demon simply discards the remains and moves on." He pointed to the grimoire sheet. "But you can bind it to the Underworld. If…." He stopped. "It's a big if. You must find a way to lure it back into the Underworld first. Then apply the binding and seal the portal."
"How?" I asked.
"I'm not sure. Unless," Ravenscroft said slowly, "you had a cooperating vessel."
"So let's say I can find a vessel with a death wish. How do I seal the portal?"
Ravenscroft shook his head sadly.
"I have no idea."
Chapter 49: Black Mass
Nicholas stalked back and forth across the hearth rug, sloshing his brandy over the lip of his glass with every agitated turn as he struggled with a multitude of conflicting emotions.
I hate you.
A log exploded in the hearth, sending a fountain of glowing red embers onto the rug. He ground them out viciously with his boot and continued pacing.
He was jealous, no sense denying it. But something else was wrong. He could feel the premonition creeping up his spine like icy skeleton fingertips.
What am I missing?
He ran through the known events in his head. His mother's death, grandmother's death, aunt's disappearance, discovering Samantha...her apprenticeship. It all fell together like an intricate puzzle, advancing the notion of the prophecy.
Then things got murky.
He knew someone wanted Samantha out of the way. Nuin and his crew were the logical answer. But why would she cooperate with them? Were they using death threats to force her to help them? Surely, she would have told him immediately, knowing he could help her.