by Sandy Wright
No, it was something else, something more insidious. If only he'd had the presence of mind to touch her last night. Then he would know her true intent, or at least more than he knew now. He felt her presence even now, plucking at the threads of his concentration. A subtle tug here, a twist of manipulation there. The timing couldn't be worse, now when he needed to focus on the task at hand; finding and eliminating Nuin and his gang.
Nicholas squatted in front of the fireplace and stirred the embers, staring sightlessly into the dying fire. He could feel the darkness spreading in him like a virus. For so many years he had defended the use of dark magic by his family and their closest allies. It was simply the price Orendas paid for doing what must be done. However, when he shone the light of awareness into the dark of his psyche—as one must in magic—the shadows were ever darker. This darkness could not be let alone or it would fester. It must be questioned, and the questions must be answered. He knew his deeds, and why he'd committed them. Still. So much death, so much violence in the trappings of defense.
His soul felt brittle.
He stood and glanced at the mantle clock. Nearly ten, he would have to hurry. An hour wasted on self-pity. You pathetic sot.
He whirled around and hurled his leaded glass snifter at the fireplace, shattering the mirror above the mantle into a spider's web of cracks. He stared bleakly at his fractured reflection in the surface.
I hate you.
* * * * *
Nicholas pulled the severed hand from the oven where it had been baking for the last hour. While it cooled, he flipped the grimoire open to the page titled "Hand of Glory," and used the recipe there to make oil and anoint the candle he'd made from the poor girl's fat.
He curled the dried fingers into a gruesome candlestick, and slipped the candle into the slot, squeezing the fingers tight around the wax. Catch me if you can. He pocketed the matches and headed out to meet Lilith.
The back door to the chapel was along a high stone wall over which Nicholas could hear the rustling of shadowy pine trees. A little door, pierced by iron grating, had been cut into the thickness of the unlighted wall. This was where Lilith had told him to wait.
He rang, and the trap behind the grating pulled back. He kept a firm hand on the wretched candlestick and hunched further into his hood. A lantern shone in front of him.
"Hello?" a voice whispered. "What is that smell?"
"Glad you like my cologne. Eau de Carcass," Nicholas whispered.
Someone retched and coughed, muffling the sound. "Quickly! Follow me."
The door opened and he stepped into a small courtyard.
Lilith turned silently and disappeared down a dark pathway with Nicholas close behind. The low ceiling of the chapel was crossed by dark wooden beams. The windows were hidden behind heavy velvet curtains, and the walls were cracked and discolored.
Nicholas willed himself not to recoil as an amalgam of unpleasant odors assaulted his nostrils: Mold, sweat, and noxious burning herbs. The room was thick with the mist of incense. His throat felt constricted and soon his temples began to throb. At least no one would detect the added stench of his own candle, he thought.
His stinging eyes swept the chapel by the dim light of sanctuary lamps of blood-red glass. Lilith gestured for him to sit down as she moved away to a group of people in a shadowy corner.
He set the flickering hand of glory on the pew and slouched down in the seat.
A red-robed choirboy advanced to the upper end of the chapel and lit a row of tall black wax candles, adding to the unpleasant stuffiness of the chapel. The candle light cut through the gray gloom like a hazy sinister sun. In its light, the altar became visible; an ordinary church altar covered with a black cloth stitched with an inverted pentagram. A chalice, covered by a napkin, sat in front of the tabernacle.
A young woman with long black hair and black-rimmed eyes stood by the altar holding a bottle of wine. Next to her stood a nervous young boy, about ten, holding a second bottle.
Directly over the altar hung an upside down crucifix, next to the sigil of Baphomet he had seen on his earlier reconnaissance. Above the crucifix, a huge woven tapestry of Satan towered over the congregation.
While he waited for Lilith to return, Nicholas inhaled carefully, trying to decipher the components of the unholy incense. Myrrh and the cloyingly sweet scent of hashish. Also datura, he thought, and nightshade, probably the cause of the headache throbbing behind his eye sockets. Such are the perfumes dear to your Master, he thought grimly.
Lilith crept into the pew beside him. She released the clasp of her black cloak and let the material puddle around her hips in a dark pool. Beneath she wore a spotted leopard hide tied over one shoulder, nothing else.
He eyed her skeptically, but she pointed to the front of the room, where the young woman had also removed her robe and climbed, naked, onto the altar top. She lay down on her back and the altar boy picked up two of the candles and placed one in each of her outstretched hands. A third white candle he placed in the V of her spread legs.
The chapel bell chimed nine peals. "Here he comes!" Lilith's words were nearly a pant, breathless and thin. She pulled Nicholas down to kneel with her in front of the pew. He dabbed a dot of wax from the hand of glory candle onto Lilith, and whispered the spell of invisibility for himself, pulling the hood of his cloak further over his head, in case the spell didn't mask him completely.
The Priest emerged from the vestry. He wore a black robe covered by a red velvet cape. As he strode down the aisle toward the congregation, dark energy flooded onto Nicholas, pushing him back into the pew. Embroidered on the back of his robe, a black goat stared at Nicholas as the Priest swept past, its long horns sewn of glowing thread. Nicholas caught only a glimpse of the man's appearance: Tall and broad-shouldered, high cheekbones, the remainder of his face hidden beneath his hood. Nuin? He couldn't be sure. The walk seemed different. Confident. Regal.
Kneeling at the foot of the altar, the Priest began his version of prayer.
"Oh Master of slanders, Emperor of lechery, dispenser of the benefits of crime, sins and vices. Yes, you Satan, not the other fellow. It is you we adore."
Climbing the altar stairs with his head bowed, the Priest filled the chalice partly with wine, filling it the rest of the way from a smaller bottle in his other hand. He then placed the cup on the bare belly of the woman acting as altar. He picked up the host, a wafer stolen by a parishioner earlier from a Catholic church in town, and showed it to the congregation to the sound of catcalls from those in the front pews. He raised the host to Satan, chanted an invocation and placed the wafer on the woman's prone body.
"Oh mighty and terrible Lord of Darkness, accept our sacrifice, which we offer to you on behalf of this congregation."
"Hosanna," murmured the crowd.
When he turned toward the pews, the Priest's face flushed and his pupils glowed a dull red. Nuin's features had been transformed. He'd lost weight, gaunt to the point of emaciation, the skin of his face pulled tightly over the bones. His skin, an ashen gray of death, looked like a skeleton recently dug up from the grave. A solid wall of dark energy flowed from him across the congregation.
"We are moving ever closer to our goal of manifesting our Dark One on this plane," he began. "In recognition of your help, I invite you, my most faithful servants, to participate in our rites tonight."
He paused to be sure all eyes were on him. "Thomas Aquinas and Aristotle said a witch's powers reside in the blood, and we know it's true."
Sounds of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"In a few short days we will be welcoming a new witch into our fold. She holds the key to our success." He unstopped a small vial of red liquid and poured it into the altar wine. "Tonight, let us bind her to us by invoking Nukpana with lewd acts and lust!" Nuin kissed the altar woman on her genitals and lit the white candle between her legs. "When we meet next we will dine on her flesh!"
Music began to play f
rom the organ at full volume, discordant and chaotic.
Nuin shouted over the music: "Oh Master, angel of the bottomless pit, see thy faithful servants? Deliver them from virtue and goodness. In thee we pray, amen."
"Hail our Dark Lord," replied the people around Nicholas in the pews.
"With our next sacrifice, this corporal flesh will be strong enough to house the demon!"
"Seal the coming sacrifice!" the congregation screamed.
The altar boy passed little plastic cups of drink down the rows of pews. Lilith accepted two cups and handed one to Nicholas.
Nicholas was consumed with sudden thirst. His lips were cracked. When he tried to move his tongue around in his mouth for moisture, it stuck to the back of his throat. Strangling, he accepted a cup and drank.
Instantly, he felt a strange bewildering excitement. Images of Samantha, lying naked on the altar, sprang unbidden to his mind. He felt as if he were floating beside her, enveloped in a dense, sensual vapor, shrouded from the view of the other worshipers. The noxious incense billowed about him in great wafts, the chapel filled almost to the point of suffocation. He held his hand outstretched in front of his eyes and could barely see his fingers.
Everyone swayed and danced in a circle around the pews, their responses more excited now.
"Cursed are our eternal enemies. May they die in misery!" The Priest bellowed.
"Let them die in misery."
"By the dark power of Nukpana, I curse them!"
"Destroy them!" screamed the chorus.
The participants in the rite began to wail, and Nicholas could just make out their ghostly forms, jerking in spasmodic moves to the pounding rhythm of the blaring organ. The entire room filled with violent energy and unearthly laughter, cackles and shrieks.
He had to get outside, into the fresh air. Away from the pull of Samantha's blood. If he could just stand up, walk to the door. Open it.
Beside him, Lilith had the fingers of one hand tangled in his hair, the other rubbing his crotch, screaming over and over, almost hoarse now; one more voice in the demonic wall of sound pounding upon him.
"Samantha, how could you do this? How could you choose him? How could you desert me?" he moaned.
With a violent shudder, Nicholas gave himself up to the moment. Closing his eyes, he lay back on the wooden pew. Feeling the light in his soul flicker and dim, he became one with the summoned energy in the room, and let the deep, pulsating darkness consume him.
The wailing developed a chanting cadence now. He was dimly aware of his thirst, and someone dribbling another swallow of the blood wine into his mouth. His body was moving also, as Lilith had mounted him and was thrusting him into herself in time to the chants filling the room.
He visualized the spot where their bodies met as the central point of a raging black star. The darkness of his inner self became one with the energy of the crowd, uncontrolled and building chaos, as his desire built to its erupting point. He felt the bile rise in his throat, and turned his head to retch onto the floor just as his body emptied into hers.
Chapter 50: Wicked Wine
I spent Christmas Eve alone.
Rumor was staying with me for the holidays, but she had a date. So she left Gypsy Rose with me for the night.
My foot was too sore to walk, so I'd been here for the last two days, paying bills and searching websites for new inventory, as the sales would begin in January.
During the day I stared at the expanse of bushes and the desert willow tree at the end of a small flagstone courtyard, and fed a family of nearly tame ground squirrels who visited the patio for daily treats. But at night there was only blackness.
I worked past midnight Christmas morning but it didn't matter. I had no reason to get up early and didn't feel like going to bed. So I turned out the lights and sat in the dark with just the Christmas tree sparkling behind me.
Suddenly, a man passed across the courtyard. It all happened so quickly I scarcely had time to see him.
I half rose to my feet, thinking someone was searching outside, trying to find the back door. I looked down at my nightgown and robe. Could he see me in the dim light? I dropped to my knees and crawled over to the tree, yanking the light plug out of the wall, and cautiously checked the back door to be sure it was locked.
There'd been no sound of a car. I sat on the floor for a moment to gather my thoughts, and then scooted back across the room to the kitchen counter, feeling around in the dark for my phone. My skin crawled. Someone was watching the house.
Gypsy growled and gave one sharp bark as she trotted into the room, her claws clicking on the tile floor. She headed straight for the kitchen window, where she hunkered down and began to whine, her ears flattened against her head. This was unusual. She was a remarkably brave dog, with strength to back up her bravery, and would normally stand her ground against anything, human or animal, which she believed might endanger her extended pack family.
I was dialing 9-1-1 when a car door slammed in front of the house. Gypsy didn't run to greet them as usual, but kept her post at the window.
Duncan was kissing Rumor goodnight when I yanked the front door open. "I think someone's in the back yard," I whispered. Duncan and Gypsy were out the back door by the time the operator answered.
"We are sending an officer to your house," the emergency operator said.
"Tell them it's Samantha Danroe. I filed an assault report two days ago, so they should know the name." At this rate, I'm going to be too well known. I'm sure the police love calls in the wee hours of Christmas morning.
Duncan stuck his head in the door and reported the back patio was clear. He circled the house to check the front and meet the patrol car.
"Can you give us a description of the man?" the officer asked.
I couldn't, of course. "My roommate and her boyfriend are home now. I'm sorry to call you out on Christmas morning with so little information."
He nodded, looking weary. "We'll do a drive through the neighborhood anyway. Let us know if you have any more problems."
"He's probably long gone, but we're spending the night anyway, just to be sure," Duncan said. He gave Rumor a shy smile. She put her arm through his and led him upstairs.
And to all a good night. I checked the locks one last time.
* * * * *
I dreamed I was flying, a dark form speeding on broad black wings over the red hills. I looked down on my house and gave a wild croak of excitement.
Then I forgot home and my new corvid brain took over. The wind flattened my feathers and I circled in a smooth glide, enjoying the stretch of my shoulders attached to the long wings.
I felt the invisible magnetic ley lines of the earth extending in all directions. Picking the track heading toward the mountains to the northeast, I beat my wings harder to gain altitude.
How long I flew I couldn't say. The land below me now was no longer red stones, but more mountainous and covered in dense pine.
A familiar scent caught my attention, and I banked downward toward the spire of an old church, landing with a ruffle of feathers on the crumbled tile roof. A delicious scent that attracted me to the river of red blood flowing in a vast circle around the building. I dropped down from the roof and hopped to the edge of the liquid, cocking my head to watch the flow from one eye. It rippled and bubbled, edging its way between my clawed feet. I raised one foot and shook it, splattering sticky blobs of blood on my breast feathers.
The people in the building were chanting. One voice stood out against the rest, insidious and taunting. It spoke directly to me. "You're alone now. Soon you'll have a new family. I'm going to see to it. It's what I've come here to do."
I flapped my wings and pulled myself out of the red river and up toward the unholy red moon hanging overhead in the dark sky. "Caw caw," I answered. Not true. "Caw, caw caw!" Ravens mate for life.
* * * * *
Rumor greeted me Christmas morning in red flannel pajamas and
a Santa hat. She carried a cup of hot coffee and a homemade cinnamon roll, which she waved under my nose and then devoured, before jumping onto the bed and sticking her cold feet against mine under the covers.
"Brrr, get 'em off!" I squealed, pushing her feet away.
Hearing my cries, Gypsy bounded onto the bed to join us, jumping in excited circles, knocking the covers onto the floor.
I reached for the blanket but Rumor was faster. She snatched it off the floor, threw it in the corner, and handed me my robe instead. "There's one roll left in the oven. Merry Christmas!"
Rumor grew up in a large family with a military dad. She knew how to get a person out of bed.
When I shuffled into the kitchen, Rumor and Duncan had set the kitchen table with red plates and cups, and put a wrapped gift at each seat. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for such friends. I'd been feeling alienated and more than a tad sorry for myself after last night's dream.
"Oh, you have an extra gift!" Rumor exclaimed, putting a card and a bottle of wine at my spot. "I found it on the front porch this morning when I took Gypsy out for the newspaper."
I opened the card. "It's an invitation," I told them. "Rod Standing Bear is having a gallery show of his paintings." I handed the card to Rumor.
"Nice place too," she commented. "It's New Year's Eve." She picked up the envelope. "It's addressed to you and guest. Call Nicholas, wish him a Merry Christmas."
I made a face at her.
"No one can be mad on Christmas," she reasoned. "Call him. Wish him Merry Christmas and invite him out for New Year's."
* * * * *
"I don't celebrate Christmas," Nicholas told me when I called.
I was undeterred. "I'd like to see you. I never gave you your Yule gift." I hesitated. "We really never had a chance to talk at the party, and I think we should. I have a lot to tell you." More than you could possibly imagine. I couldn't wait to show him the anagram napkin tucked into the pocket of my purse. "Or we could resume my lessons." It seemed less taxing than the discussion I had planned. "I have my herbal studies finished."