The High Priestess (The Darkest Desires Series Book 1)

by N. M. Brown

  Like most nights, people lounged comfortably; making double deals, sealing pacts or just having pleasant conversation. No slander, or sin. All very dull though there was a buzz in the air that could be seen effecting people, even if they weren’t aware of it.

  Very rarely did the whole family come together as one, so when they did, it was quite a sensation. Already, four of seven and the House buzzed. Sydney was even feeling it; swaying on her feet and working in a flurry of action. Customers where more liberal with their wallets and danced with complete strangers. Anyone who felt a rush of heat shared it with another: lips locking together, hips grinding as one. It was all still very tame, but it was something at least.

  Ignoring the curious glance from Sydney, Echo didn’t continue to her kitchenette, but stood behind a small bar and began topping up boring, alcohol-only drinks for the servers to take out. One girl however, didn’t seemed to know the procedure and can up to her demanding a drink.

  “An Eden Serpent with fruit-… banana maybe or was it passion fruit” The drunk woman babbled at her. Hands spread wide on the counter top, she was barely holding herself up right and if Echo had been a responsible server, she would have cut her off. More than that, she had a glaze in her eyes that Echo had seen many a time. Her lips parted in a half pant as she mumbled the word ‘passion’ again with a lazy smile. Samantha was really expanding her reach tonight.

  “Eden Serpent with an apple blossom twist coming up.” Echo corrected. Grabbing the gin and a curved glass, Echo lined the rim first with sugar syrup, then dipped it in a shallow bowl of Apple Blossom petals creating a fluffy pink trim. In the bottom Echo poured ice and Gin, apple juice and a hefty drizzle of absinth. She topped it off with lemonade, an apple spiral and a black bendy straw shaped like a snake. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Echo but that was showmanship. On her list of creations, this one was perfectly safe. Sighing, Echo gave it a quick stir before passing it over the bar.

  “Um… Thanks!” The drunk perked, stepping away with her drink, sloshing it over the edge.

  “Can I have one?” A rugged voice spoke up as Echo wiped down the spillage.

  “Go find a fucking server!” Echo snapped, remembering why she’d quickly handed over the responsibilities of the bar years ago. “This isn’t a back-alley club.”

  “Echo!” Sydney reprimanded.

  Hair whipping round, Echo looked at Sydney who was closer than she liked. “What?” Echo sneered.

  “I think she’s defending my honour lass.” The thick Irish voice spoke from the bar again. Looking up, Echo took in the devilish smile of Detective McQueen.

  “Can I get you something?” Echo’s voice was flat. She didn’t need him here. The police had breathed down her neck all of the other night and then she’d almost frozen her tits off. She didn’t feel like anymore aggravation. Besides, she hadn’t quite perfected how she was going to break him yet, beyond the fact it was going to be him.

  “A drink please.” McQueen asked with honey dripping from his voice. “Sydney and I were chatting, and she said your skills were quite excellent.”

  “A drink?” Echo didn’t quite believe her ears… or her luck. “Which one, Detective?” Echo’s mind ran over every bottle that lay resting in the kitchen: mandrake for madness, Hemlock for paralysis, Devils Eyes for insanity and restlessness. Of course, each one deadly in too much quantity. But a slip of her wrist could never be proven…

  “I’ll have what you think is best.” Was his answer. A wicked smile curled onto Echo’s lips and she knew her eyes flashed.

  “Dangerous words Detective.” But Echo didn’t wait for him to change his mind. Collecting the necessary ingredients Echo, got to work. Two shots of vodka, one shot of triple distilled Gin, one shot of Blue Curacao all poured over crushed ice and Echo slid forwards a Witches Brew. The cobalt blue liquid sloshed in the martini glass as the dry ice - dropped in at the last minute - spooled over the edges. McQueen didn’t look impressed.

  “Not got any good larger behind their love?” He asked, eyeing the frothing drink, literally stepping away from it as if the mist might fall on his shoes.

  “Not for you.” She smiled. “What are you doing here anyway? Do you think if you camp here, you’ll trip over the killer? Is that how you work Detective?”

  “You laugh, but we have a suspect in custody and it’s going to stick.” McQueen toasted, taking a sip of her creation, “Hay, this isn’t bad.” Echo almost laughed. The Detective was slightly drunk and was very different from his sombre interview act. She was about to ask more about the case, as Archer asked her to, but was rudely interrupted.

  A woman; no, a girl under all that make-up, slinked her way over to McQueen like a drunk cat. Her stiletto heels slid and stuck to the glossy wooden floor and she’d lost half her drink down her top. “Hay babe,” She smiled, white teeth flashing and flicking her golden hair over one shoulder. Some was caught in her dress which then ruined the effect, but Echo didn’t think McQueen minded. “Buy a pretty girl a drink?” She fluttered her eye-lashes and puffed out her chest.

  Echo thought she looked like she was having a stroke but wasn’t surprised when McQueen smiled back with a cocky wink. “Buy the lady whatever she’d like.” He said.

  Plastering a smile on her face, Echo scooped up some ice before she poured in some water. Sliding it across the bar, the cold glass surface bumped into skin making the little girly jump. “We don’t sell to minor’s sweetie.”

  The girl laughed in good nature, pushing the drink back. “I’m of age. I’ll have a Lover’s Rose.” She battered her eyes at McQueen some more.

  Echo push the water back. “Like I said, we don’t sell to minors.” It was a lie of course. Echo and the staff sold to minor’s all the time. Archer encouraged it. Get them while they’re young was easier than when they were old and stuck in their ways. Archer would always talk about how it had been so much easier all those years ago. Then the laws came in and protective services. Echo didn’t care who she sold too, as long as they were buying. But this skank wasn’t buying, and Echo needed McQueen’s attention tonight.

  “Bitch. I am of age. I turned eighteen last year. I want my drink.” The girl snarled.

  “I don’t like you bitch, so you aren’t getting a drink.” Echo smiled patronizingly. The entire time, McQueen enjoyed the confrontation, eyes flicking back and forth like ping-pong. He’d been sipping at his drink, the dark liquid flowing down swimmingly. The girl kept looking at him, as if expecting some moral support, but all the Detective did was examine his now empty glass.

  Echo was preparing for a short, sweet, but entirely fun cat fight, when the unexpected happened. “Trust me my dear. You cannot win.” A smooth, low voice spoke surprising Echo.

  Like an unwanted cold, the illusive Nic had appeared which was un-heard of in the common area of the House. Echo wouldn’t have even bet on whether he knew where it was. The King of Sloth didn’t journey down more than a single flight of stairs unless it was desperately urgent… which it never was. He’d even changed into a shirt, though his jeans were still baggy and feet still bare, but he was presentable.

  Softly, like an old friend, he placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and pushed her away back towards the main floor. She seemed quite taken by him because she moved off without so much a peep. Lack of fire, that was what Nic was good at. Something you once really wanted, that drive you had in your gut to power through, he could take that away with the flick of a finger.

  Lazy smile on his lips, the Sin of Sloth turned to the Detective, out stretching his hand to shake. “These murders,” He spoke. “Such a dismal affair.”

  “Um, yes. Quiet.” McQueen stuttered, taken aback. He managed to shake Nic’s hand though without wobbling on his feet too much

  “Those poor dead people. All strung up, their genitals gone, flesh and bone ripped to shreds…” His voice trailed off, like he was lost in the horror of it, but his eyes gleamed with fervour and desire. He, like his siblings treasured pain a
nd suffering.

  When designing the House, Archer had wanted each and every person who entered those doors to find themselves lost in something, someone or some fantasy. He wanted them to feel comfort, or joy or justice or even peace, because it was all an illusion, as Sin was. People believed they came here for release and to a safe haven, when in actual fact it really, really wasn’t. Of course, the ultimate goal was a way for each of the Sins to feed themselves through little to no effort, or travel.

  “It’s a wonder that poor women survived…” Nic mumbled. “What do you think Detective? Serial Killer or fanatic occultist?”

  McQueen blinked heavily, “I think – I mean, I can’t comment on such matters.” Shaking his head McQueen placed down his empty glass. “Did you say…” But he trailed off as Nic rested a hand on his. Echo could taste thesluggishness in the air as McQueen looked on, wide awake and just smiled at Nic, whatever he was about to say, forgotten.

  “Don’t you worry about it Detective.” Nic smiled, giving McQueen a slight pat, “You rest tonight. Enjoy yourself. Forget about work and relax. Let your inhibitions fly.” And with a wink at her, Nic walked away.

  Looking at Echo, McQueen smiled, blinking heavily. “You know, I think she was right. You’re rather gorgeous when you’re not snarling or sneering at me.”

  “Well, that’s so kind of you to say.” She rolled her eyes, just so he could see her do it. “Another drink?”

  “No.” McQueen slumped slightly, “I think… I think I can’t think…” He slurred, “…maybe it’s time I should get home…?”

  An idea, devilish in nature came to Echo as she moved away his empty glass. Nic, it seemed, might just have done her a favour. “No, no Queenie. You’re not done here. You are a VIP. You’re getting the VIP tour.” Echo jumped to the other side of the bar and dragged him to his feet. She hissed silently as the skin of her arms were stretched, her wounds pulling as McQueen tried to tug away.

  “No… I don’t… I don’t think…” He protested, though his feet seemed to follow her nonetheless.

  “That’s right Queenie. Don’t think. Follow.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The Summer Annex was busy tonight, and it was a time before Echo stole away a single, purple love seat in a corner. It had a full view of the room while also being in a dark shadow. Echo had seen many couples stealing private moments in this dark recess.

  “I-… I don’t think I want to be here.” McQueen swallowed, his face flushed. He had however, slumped on the love seat without resistance. Echo even had to pull him across the room with some force when a curvy dancer or two caught his eye.

  She laughed at his weak proclamation and didn’t bother hiding her gaze as she checked out his crotch. “I think some part of you know that’s a lie, Queenie.”

  He frowned. “Don’t call me that.” But still he didn’t rise to leave, just bent forward. Echo reached for his buttons. Sat on the edge of his seat, there was plenty of room for Echo to curl her body around him, straddling him from behind. It also made her the perfect height to whisper sweet nothings in his ear. Shirt coming undone, the smooth tan of his chest could be seen in the soft lights.

  Though it had pockets of shadow, the Summer Annex wasn’t dark and dingy like other strip clubs. The lights were brighter and softer; focused on the small stages that were dotted across the room. Dancers strutted their stuff on top of each one, keeping the customers entertained until the main act arrived.

  The strippers here were chosen for their looks but not that alone. Be they: men, woman, transgender, no gender, both genders, Sam made sure that they were unique and so every libido had a fire under it. She made sure to cater to all tastes and styles and requests. There would normally be several dancers around the room in various fetish forms; be that dominant, puppy love, pony, masochistic or even feederisum depending on the flavour of the night. However, tonight it was vanilla night. Some dancers were in bikini’s, some naked, some in dresses, men and women alike. On the central bed were two men and two women moving against each other, working via requested called from around the room.

  Watching, McQueen lick his lips again and adjust his crotch making Echo think vanilla night might just have been a good choice. Simple and underrated. Something that wouldn’t freak the holy Detective out. Something that just might make the divine fall. “So…” McQueen slurred, eyes drifting round the room while his mind demanded some kind of conversation as a distraction, “Why all the sex?”

  Echo smiled at his innocence. Running her fingers over his shoulders she started to rub them, grinding deep into the tense muscle. Getting him to relax was key. “Why not? Sex is natural. Its pleasurable. Why wouldn’t you have sex, watch sex, experience it in all its glory?” She asked. “It’s a part of life isn’t it?”

  “Well, because you just-, you know,” he gestured wildly with his hands, “Getting second helpings.”

  “…Second … helpings?” Echo didn’t know whether to laugh or check how much alcohol she’d actually given the Detective.

  “Like… It’s a big thing, sex and people should, you know- save themselves…” He preached. “If everyone didn’t, you’d get-… sloppy seconds.”

  That made Echo laugh. High and loud her laugh drew the attention of the whole room. Her abs ached slightly by the time she managed to stop. McQueen was just looking at her in amazement. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She chuckled, drawing a lazy finger along his chiselled chin. “My, my. I’ve forgotten what fun it is to have a holy man around.” Leaning in, she brought her face just centimetres away from his and whispered so low only he could hear. Just her and him, in their own world. Alone. Intimate. “Sex isn’t sloppy seconds. Its raw instinct. It’s a drive to recreate; to populate, for the fittest and the strongest to survive. It’s to be as one with another… or more if that’s what you fancy.” But McQueen was already shaking his head.

  “No, God wants the best for each of us; for us to be truly happy.” Echo had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing at him, “He made us in his image, and we are his spirit. We must-… um, we must treat ourselves as though we are his, and commit to one an-other as we would commit to… to him… we must treat ourselves as-… as-,” McQueen's tongue lolled out of his mouth. Following his gaze, Echo saw what had so spectacularly caught his attention.

  A heavy, round table had been brought out and Samantha had entered the room perched on top of it in nothing but a strip of white see-through wrap that was draped over each elbow. Her hair was in a high up do, soft curls falling around her, and no makeup was on her face. Why would the embodiment of Lust need anything to perfect perfection? Hips swaying, body rolling, Sam swept her curves left then right, and dancing to a tune no one could hear. Looking back at McQueen, Echo scooted closer, leaning in so her breath tickled his ear.

  “Did you say treat Queenie? Would you like to treat yourself tonight?” A strangled gurgle collected in his throat and he shivered against her. She watched his hand clench and unclench on his thigh, yet he didn’t take his eyes away. Echo wondered who he saw on the table. A high-school crush? His Sunday school teacher? She’d heard men ask why Sam looked so similar to their mother, or why was there a dude up there dancing? It always intrigued Echo to what the mind’s eye truly desired. Echo didn’t flatter herself thinking McQueen might see her. He was too refined for a sudden lustful crush. Following his gaze, Echo instead enjoyed the show as well, taking it in like it was the first time, just as it was for McQueen.

  Unlike some dirty dance routines: one woman, shake-it-at-a-sixpence act, Sam didn’t perform a routine. She didn’t dance for an audience or for the money. She danced like you were the only person in the room and you were everything she ever wanted. Curling her arms above her head, dragging her hair with it, Sam scanned the crowd and expertly didn’t pause when she saw Echo and the Detective.

  Slowly, like a deadly sphinx, she picked her victor of the night and slunk from where she’d been dancing. A man who stood proud and tight against h
is jeans hissed in anticipation but was deeply disappointed when Sam continued onto a woman behind him. The woman with delicate features and all her clothes still on, stood out like a saw thumb. A prude. A puritan. A pray.

  “Would you like a treat like her Queenie?” Echo breathed in his ear, her hand just drifting over the surface of his skin, not touching but making his tiny hairs stand on end. “She’s going to be rewarded.”

  Sam glistened in the lights, a glow like no mortal could create. Sliding to her knees in front of the woman, she crawled up her body, fingers trailing up her legs and under the short skirt. The woman’s eyes widened, and she went deathly pale. She’d even stood up to try and leave before Sam got to her, but her ‘friends’ dragged her back down. Rooted to the couch with cunning fingers wrapped around her arms, the woman looked petrified, but offered no protest: Sam was good at her job. She purred at the woman, speaking words Echo was too far away to hear. Sam washed the woman with lust, flooding her system. Echo could taste it in the air and dragged the smell deep into her lungs. It was intoxicating.