The Blood of Seven

by Claire L. Fishback

  “Yes, please.”

  Louise prepared tea for two and set the cups on the table.

  “I believe we can help each other,” Louise said. “I work for an organization called Messengers of the Light.” Louise shooed a calico cat off the chair across from Teresa and sat. “It is our goal to find Yaldabaoth and bring him back.”

  “But you said I would destroy thirty-some years of work. Besides, aren’t I already sort of helping you?”

  Louise shook her head. “You have no idea what the procedure is. A process must be followed.”

  “What have I done wrong?”

  Louise tossed her head back and cackled. “You are more deluded than I thought asking that, dear doctor.”

  Teresa sat back, confused. “But I haven’t—Oh.” She looked at her cup.

  “There’s more to bringing Yaldabaoth back to power than murdering people.” Louise leaned back in her chair and leveled her eyes on Teresa, scrutinizing her.

  “I wouldn’t call it murder,” Teresa said in a small voice. She twisted the tea cup in its saucer.

  Louise cackled again. Teresa frowned.

  “What do you call it then?”

  “Tiffany calls it ‘taking their zoe.’” She lifted her cup and sipped.

  “Zoe means life, Doctor Hart.”

  Teresa inhaled a drop of tea and coughed. Louise filled a glass from the tap and passed it across the table.

  “I didn’t know that,” Teresa said through her coughs.

  Louise’s eyebrow lifted.

  “Fine. I knew. He called them souls. Seven bloods, seven souls—I think that’s what he said.”

  Louise nodded in what looked like approval.

  “What needs to be done once the seven zoes are collected?” Teresa asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Louise lifted a fat Siamese-looking cat onto her lap. “You see, for the past thirty years or so I’ve been looking for an artifact that will tell us what to do. It was inside the vessel containing the Nag Hammadi codices.”

  “Nag Hamma—”

  “Gnostic texts,” Louise said. “That’s all you need to know.” She lifted her cup but put it back down.

  “Among these texts was a book called the Origin Codex. It was an expansion of the scripture titled, “On the Origin of the World.” We had it in our possession for many years, waiting for any sign of Yaldabaoth. The book contains the instructions to harness him once he regains his strength. But, someone stole it. Took it right out of the vault we kept it in. None of us had taken the time to memorize it. We were complacent in our power.” She smirked as if this were some inside joke and shook her head.

  “Without this harness, Yaldabaoth will destroy the entire world out of hatred and revenge. The End of Days shall truly be upon us.”

  “What? Like the Rapture?” Teresa asked.

  “Sort of, but only if he is harnessed. Then he will spare all those who serve him. Those who do not shall be smote from the earth.” Louise’s part-dreamy-part-adoring smile gave Teresa a chill.

  “Have you ever met him?” she asked.

  Louise shook her head. The dreamy look melted away. “I have not had the honor.”

  Something in Teresa’s stomach fluttered. Yaldabaoth came to her, someone who believed in a different God. Not his loyal follower.

  “Tell me more about this book,” Teresa said.

  “It’s old. Papyrus pages bound in leather.”

  Teresa gasped.

  Maggie’s old, dirty book.

  “I know where it is.”

  Louise straightened in her chair. “You do?” A horrendous grin spread across her face, then slid away. “That’s rather unfortunate.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “All this time I’ve been torturing Bram Logan for information I could have easily gotten from you. Huh.”

  She cleared her throat and shrugged with one bony shoulder.

  “Well, there are other reasons I’ve been torturing him.” Her wicked smile returned.

  Chapter 38

  Teresa caught herself scowling again. She worked to relax her face while standing at Louise’s kitchen counter with two aluminum dog bowls.

  One for vegetables, one for meat.

  She opened a can with a dog on it. Beef Tips and Gravy. It didn’t smell like beef or gravy. She dumped the contents into the bowl.

  Louise didn’t tell her the other reasons behind keeping Bram Logan prisoner in her basement. The old crone told Teresa she’d find out in due time. Teresa asked if she could stay the night, and Louise had agreed, as long as Teresa took Bram his dinner.

  The frown returned. She briefly wondered what Derrick made Maggie for dinner.

  Pancakes, no doubt.

  She filled the other bowl with scraps from a metal canister labeled compost. The vegetables inside were slimy and rotten. She picked out a few larger pieces. Her mouth filled with saliva, and she gagged.

  “It’s not all that bad,” Louise said behind her. “At least I’m feeding him. If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve even that dog food.”

  Teresa picked up the bowls and went to the bolted door. Louise opened it for her, and Teresa descended into the basement.

  The old television was still on a channel full of static with the volume turned up full blast. The flickering screen gave a strobe light effect that made Teresa dizzy. She put the bowls down and crossed the space, reaching her hand out to find the light switch.

  “Who is that?” Bram’s rough voice called through the noise. “You’re not Louise. You smell different. Tell me who you are.”

  Teresa sniffed her shirt where the sharp scent of stress sweat clung. She moved to the television and turned it down just enough to make it more bearable. She couldn’t imagine having to endure that noise for so long. And virtual blindness on top of it?

  “I brought your dinner,” she said.

  Bram coughed, deep and lung rattling, and spit out a glob of sputum. “Who are you?”

  “I don’t think I should tell you who I am.”

  “Fine.” He spit again. This time more out of anger than to clear his throat. “Did she tell you to untie my hands, or are you going to hold the bowl by my face so I can eat like a fucking dog?”

  In response, Teresa shoved the protein toward him, and he gobbled the chunks of meat product and sauce. She gagged. When he finished, she grimaced at the rotten vegetables.

  “I don’t think you want to eat these,” she said.

  “Give ’em.”

  Once again, she held the bowl near his face. Every last slimy, partially decomposed vegetable disappeared. He sat back, out of breath.

  “Water,” he said. Teresa glanced around, spotted a case of bottled water on a work bench, and grabbed one. She unscrewed the cap and tilted it toward his lips. He drank the whole thing. Teresa moved toward the TV to turn it back up but hesitated.

  Whatever he had done to Louise must have been horrid for her to torture him like this, but he hadn’t done anything to Teresa. Unless fathering Ann counted. She touched the knob but dropped her hand and went to the stairs.

  “Why are you helping that monster?” Bram’s words came out as a croak.

  Teresa stopped and looked at him. Thin and dirty and pathetic. If he was part of this, he would know who Yaldabaoth was, but Teresa figured he was likely referring to Louise.

  “I have no other choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  Teresa flicked the light off and went up the stairs.

  Louise had set the table with plates of salad. Teresa joined her.

  “What did he do to deserve this inhumane treatment?” A scowl worked its way onto her face, causing wrinkles like Louise’s. She relaxed her features.

  “He killed my husband.” Louise took a bite. “Along with many others in the organization.” Her gray eyes met Teresa’s. “He was a skilled assassin. He took out more of my operatives than anyone else like him.”

  “Operatives?”

  “The Messengers of the Light. A cent
uries-old organization. Smaller than the CIA or FBI, sure, but we compare ourselves to them. Our methods, our technology—we even had people on the inside who could use the CIA’s computers to hunt people down. Then Bram Logan came along. He worked for the Protectorate. A much smaller group than the Messengers but more skilled in the field. In war. In protection. Far more skilled than my group of intelligence agents and doomsdayers.”

  “They are your enemy.”

  Louise nodded. “They were. Bram and Ann are the only ones left. He never told her about them.”

  Teresa lifted her fork, but after watching Bram wolf down rotten lettuce a few minutes ago, her stomach turned at the thought of eating salad.

  Louise swallowed and continued. “Several years ago, Bram started taking trips to Nag Hammadi. On one of his trips abroad, I sent several operatives to find out what he was doing.” She took a swallow of tea to wash her food down. “I had him followed.” Her eyes grew misty as if the memory pained her. “They discovered he was assassinating the local Messengers, working with a traitor named Raghib. Word got back to me Raghib had the book. That’s why I thought Bram would know where it was. He must have told Raghib to give it to someone else and keep the location secret.”

  “He must have given it to Maggie, if it’s the same book,” Teresa said. “But, why?”

  Louise looked at Teresa. No, not at her, through her.

  When she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, almost like she was thinking out loud.

  “To protect it. Why her, indeed?” Louise stood and unbolted the basement door. Teresa followed. Louise dragged a table near Bram and set a gooseneck lamp on it. She tore the goggles from his head and shined the light in his eyes.

  Bram cried out and tossed his head back and forth with his eyes closed.

  “Why did Raghib give the book to Maggie?” Louise asked.

  “I don’t know!” Bram cried. Louise picked up a riding crop and smacked him in the face. Teresa flinched.

  Louise switched him again. “Tell me or you will die down here. Right now. You’ll never see your precious Ann ever again.” A low chuckle vibrated up her throat. “Did I mention she’s in town?”

  “Fuck. You.” He attempted to spit, but saliva swung from his lips and hit his chin. It dribbled onto his filthy shirt.

  Louise leaned in close, her body blocking the light. Bram opened his eyes. The pupils remained dilated from prolonged exposure to darkness. Louise grabbed the arms of his chair.

  “Did I tell you she’s learned about the Protectorate? She knows she’s the one, Brammy.” She said his name in a sing-song voice.

  His eyes widened.

  “I’ve earned her trust. She’ll lead me straight to the book. Straight to Sophia.” Louise pointed over her shoulder in Teresa’s direction. “Teresa Hart’s daughter has the book. How did she get it?”

  Teresa backed up several paces at the mention of her name. She swallowed hard. Now he knew who she was.

  I have to kill him.

  The thought surprised her.

  Bram tucked his lips inside his mouth and shook his head. Louise swung her arm and backhanded him. Blood splattered from between his lips, speckling the concrete floor.

  “Please, stop,” Teresa said. “I can’t watch this.”

  “Then go upstairs.” Louise raised her hand again. Teresa lunged forward and caught Louise’s arm.

  “Stop. Please. He doesn’t know.”

  The old woman’s eyes were wide and crazy. Spittle collected in the corners of her trembling mouth.

  “Like hell he doesn’t.” She jerked out of Teresa’s grasp.

  Instead of carrying through with another backhand, she reached for a toolbox and pulled out a pair of pruning shears. She went behind Bram, allowing the light to blind him again. “Tell me. Now.”

  Teresa backed away until she was at the bottom of the stairs. She didn’t know what Louise was doing, but she could wager a good guess.

  “No.” He spat the word.

  Louise’s face contorted, and her body moved like she was applying pressure on something. The shears snipped. Bram screamed. Blood streamed onto the floor.

  “That’s two. Eight more to go.” She tossed Bram’s pinky aside.

  Teresa winced and covered her eyes. “Louise! This is barbaric!”

  “This is the way of the Messengers, Teresa. At least I haven’t killed him. Yet.” She gritted her teeth.

  Teresa peeked through her fingers. “Death would be better than this!”

  Bram let out an anguished cry. More blood dripped.

  “No! Okay. Stop. Stop!” he shouted.

  Louise relaxed.

  “Raghib . . .” Bram panted. “Raghib is Maggie’s grandfather.” Sweat dripped down his face and neck, drawing lines in the grime caked on his skin. “I told him . . . I told him to give her the book.”

  “Why?” Louise asked. When he didn’t answer right away, her jaw tensed again.

  “Wait, please. Stop.” He let out a sob, splattering sweat and spit toward the lamp. “No more, please. No more.” He groaned. “I need water.”

  Louise nodded at Teresa. She grabbed a bottle off the counter and helped him drink, and while she blocked the light, he met her eyes.

  “Doctor, please,” he whispered.

  “I can’t help you,” she said and moved out of the light. He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut against his tears.

  “Why did you tell Raghib to give the book to Maggie?” Louise asked.

  “We sent Maggie to the States. The Protectorate had everything necessary to hide her—new identity, travel papers, everything. They gave Maggie to the Harts, even though Teresa, here, didn’t pass the necessary evaluations.”

  Teresa dropped the bottle of water and covered her mouth.

  “We needed to get Maggie to Harmony. For it to look real, she had to be in the system for at least a few months. Kids don’t typically enter the system and get adopted right away. It takes time.” His face contorted with pain or something else.

  “She stayed in a foster home in Denver. From there, the Protectorate forged the documents, and the Harts were approved.” He took gasping breaths.

  “Why did Maggie need to be in Harmony?”

  “To give the book to Ann.” Bram’s face contorted. His body shook with sobs.

  “Maggie only arrived three months ago,” Teresa said. Louise glanced at her, then back to her hands.

  “Your story makes no sense, Bram.” Louise jerked, and another finger fell into the puddle of blood pooling around Louise’s feet.

  He cried out again. A long, low wail that ended with gasping sobs. His body trembled.

  Teresa tried to keep her eyes from drifting to the newly severed finger lying on the floor and the pinky that had rolled into the corner.

  “Please—It’s true.”

  “Louise,” Teresa said, her voice breathless. “Let him explain.”

  “Ann left fifteen years ago. Maggie didn’t arrive until three months ago. Explain yourself or lose another finger.”

  He took in several gasping, shuddery breaths.

  “How did you know Ann would come back?” Louise shouted.

  “I just knew, okay? I knew she would.” Spittle flew from his lips, snot from his nose. Sweat beaded and dripped down his colorless face.

  “For all that work, it seems rather risky to place all your bets on your daughter returning to a place she loathes.” Louise tensed. Bram screeched a high wail.

  “Stop!” Teresa said with force. He was right. It all made sense. “I believe him. At least about Maggie and her adoption.”

  Louise peered at her with narrowed, questioning eyes. “How so?”

  The best way to say it was to just say it. “I don’t think I could have ever passed a psychological evaluation.”

  She lifted her chin and came to terms with what she was about to say.

  “I don’t think the state would have awarded a child to a woman who had killed her baby.”

  Chapter 3
9

  Maggie pointed at the other drawing she had pushed toward Ann. This one showed Yaldabaoth in the same powerful pose— arms spread wide, lightning bolts shooting down at him—along with a figure that appeared to be the Michelin Man drawn in the same red-brown as Ruthie.

  “Who’s this?”

  “That’s Mr. Sheriff,” Maggie whispered.

  Ann swore her heart was going to burst out of her eye sockets. She swallowed the pound of sand in her throat.

  “Is Yaldabaoth being struck by lightning?” she asked.

  Maggie shook her head. “He’s . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Try. Maybe I can help.”

  She looked into Ann’s face, her gaze shifting back and forth from eye to eye, then back at the drawing.

  “He’s using their zoe,” Maggie said with a shrug. “Sometimes my brain tells me things, but I don’t know what they mean.” A tear trembled on her lower lashes and spilled down her cheek. She rubbed both eyes with her fists.

  Ann patted her back.

  “They’re both gone, aren’t they?” Maggie asked.

  A cold prickle ran over Ann’s scalp, and heat dampened her armpits. “What do you mean?”

  “Ruthie and Mr. Sheriff,” Maggie said, wiping again at her cheeks. “They’re gone, right?”

  “They’re just out of town right now,” Ann said through the dryness in her throat and mouth. “When you saw them in your dreams, were they okay?”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “They were scary,” she said with a whimper. “They were okay at first, but when Yaldabaoth used their zoe, they changed and looked funny.” She pulled Ruthie’s illustration back out. “Ruthie was really skinny, and Mr. Sheriff was puffy.”

  They were fine until he used the zoe. Ann knew the name Zoe, but not the thing zoe. Louise had mentioned the name the first time Ann went to see her.

  “There’s a story you might know—it’s about the origin of the world?” Ann hoped Maggie was familiar with the story.

  Maggie nodded slowly. Her eyes glistened with residual tears. “I think so. My baba used to tell me stories all the time.” She sniffled. “That’s the one with Yaldabaoth and Pistis Sophia, right?”