“I am Elizabeth, and you will address me as such, or, after I allow it, you may call me Mother.” She deposited a kiss on his mouth, and the spittle from his sobs clung to her for an inelegant second, until she casually flung the fluid away with a slim pinky. “I know you have an erection. Is it because I smell like your mother’s friend, the one you masturbated to so furiously all these months since she began visiting?”
Who was this woman? Tyler began to think that dying alone here in the easement was a better option than whatever Elizabeth had planned for him. Even he could tell she was dangerous in a new and terrible way.
“Sandra, yes? The one with the long legs, who played tennis with your mother? You know.” She placed her hands on her knees, lowering herself. “They like to have wine after tennis, and sometimes, when they tell themselves that they’re buzzed enough, they eat each other’s pussies like they’re going to China. It’s true! Your father would love to know that. He’s been after your mother to have a ménage for years, but she keeps it a little secret, and they wink and giggle like tavern whores every time they serve the ball, knowing that later on, they’ll have their tongues shoved up each other’s highly educated, well-bred asses.”
Tyler collapsed as his defeat became total. He’d seen them once, on the couch in the pool house, their hands and mouths on each other, laughing in low voices so close that he could smell them. He’d gone to his room and fought for hours not to get hard thinking about how Sandra looked with her hair all fucked up and eyes closed with passion. The guilt had almost been too much, but his hormones and a weak will had led to his hands finding himself under the covers, thinking all night about how Sandra’s ass looked with her legs in the air and his mom’s face buried under her skirt.
Elizabeth wavered and kissed him again, this time on his forehead. “I don’t want you to ever feel badly about such natural feelings, Tyler. You’ll come with me, of course, and we’ll not speak of such unpleasant things again. Forget Dara. Forget your parents. They forgot you years ago, and you’ve known it for some time. I am your home now, and I have a very important job for you.” She turned and walked away, her heels swinging in one hand with a jaunty rhythm.
Tyler followed, narrowed eyes downcast, but he stole one look at Elizabeth’s ass, rocking appetizingly in front of him as he stumbled behind. There was nothing else he could do but follow.
For now.
16
Florida: Ring
Father Kevin arrived ten minutes early for dinner, a sure sign that he had little or no understanding of women, at least in my estimation. He also brought an excellent bottle of South African red wine, a sign that he may, in fact, understand women, and he also most certainly understood me because he also gave us with a wedge of a raw goat milk cheese. While the girls finished their grooming, I opened the wine, and the good priest and I walked outside to sit by the water.
“This is stellar.” Kevin complimented our yard, the view, and the bounty of the evening in general, and he meant it, which made the statement even more welcome. The door opened, releasing Gyro, who was thrilled to have company, and Risa, followed by Wally. If she was fearful of being revealed as an inveterate sinner, Wally was holding up rather well. Risa wore a sundress suitable for the boat, in what I could only assume was a determined effort to remain casual. Wally wore a long skirt and shirt combo that announced her as practically virginal, although the outfit still, somehow, managed to make her legs look like a delivery system for vice. Father Kevin’s eyes widened slightly, not in lust but rather recognition. It seemed, as we began to make our introductions, he was not unaware of being ogled by the two so-called parishioners who stood before him, looking slightly sheepish.
I broke the ice. “Wine? Risa, Wally, this is Father Kevin, who has informed me that this evening he prefers no titles, since we’re having an informal dinner.”
Everyone shook hands and took a meditative sip of wine. Gyro lay in an unusually obedient pose, looking out over the water with eyes that often seemed too small for his massive head, ever on patrol for ducks violating his yard.
All was right with the world, for the moment, and then Kevin asked me, “I imagine that I’m not here for confession. We only have a few hours”—he looked meaningfully at the girls, discerning our family structure with ease—“and I do tend to blush easily after red wine.” He smiled broadly, enjoying his role as a guest in such unusual surroundings.
Risa smiled into her hand, Wally uttered a nervous laugh, managing not to snort for once, and I simply nodded, thinking that this man was part sleuth and part psychologist. He was as perceptive a person as I could remember meeting for quite some time, and more importantly, he was of a genuine and obvious intellect.
Before we could speak, Kevin asked, “When we met, Ring, you intimated that your questions were not necessarily hypothetical. Is that still true?”
“It is,” I answered.
“So, there is a woman who is capable of sowing fear in people of great flaws, who then enters her orbit and, presumably, are—consumed? Destroyed?” Kevin asked, recapping our discussion at the basketball court.
“To be honest, I don’t know exactly what she does to them,” I replied. “Or with them, for that matter.”
“Excellent clarification, Ring.” Kevin toasted me and tapped the edge of his glass with a finger as if deciphering a riddle through sound. “Not to be rude, but does this woman have a name?”
Wally said sourly, “Elizabeth. Too pretty for her.”
Risa and I nodded in agreement, a gesture that Kevin noticed.
“A regal name,” he began, “but not one that has been free of controversy by any means. So this Elizabeth takes joy in seeing the pain of others. And Ring was honest enough to answer my question, seriously it would seem when I inquired about her nature. Before I fail to ask this, Risa, Wally, do you both feel that this woman is possibly something unusual?”
Wally looked to Risa, who said, “We don’t think it. We know it.”
Kevin stood quietly, reading our faces for signs of sarcasm or laughter, but seeing none, he gathered himself and formulated a question I could tell he had never considered uttering aloud.
“We are taught in the Church that the presence of evil is no different than, say, a tumor or a lesion, something that has a form and is harmful and can, under proper care, be treated. The metaphysical nature of evil is one of the causes for the gulf between the faithful and the cynics because the entire basis of the Christian faith bridges what some people consider reality and the supernatural. For me, I do not question the viability of my faith; it is a simple article of fact that my savior is not visible, but ever present. Do you understand how I think, perhaps?”
“I am a Catholic,” Wally said, a touch defensively. Risa and I identified ourselves as Jewish and Lutheran respectively, but Kevin shook his head as we spoke.
“That is not what I asked you,” he said. “Do you understand clearly that I am a man who does not think that science and faith are separate, and that my soul is and at risk to evil beings? And do you understand also that my sacred vow as a priest dictates that I must do everything in my power to protect the innocent—and everyone deserves that title as no man can judge another? So, do you grasp that when you tell me there is a woman who is capable of corruption without mercy that I am compelled to demand that you tell me simply, how do I stop her, and more importantly, where is she located at this very second?”
I looked out over the water at the dying light as a single egret winged into an orange tree, perching for the night and settling with a ruffling of its long, white feathers. Kevin stood facing me, a question still on his face as Risa and Wally looked into their wine glasses as if the secrets of heaven were at the bottom of each. So much for teamwork.
“You mentioned you only have a few hours for a confession,” I began as Kevin smiled and cut his eyes at my now-silent partners. “Well, how do you feel about spending the night?”
Kevin only asked, “Do you have mor
e wine?”
I waved to the house, saying, “Of course, and something tells me we’ll need it.”
17
The Archangel Khalil
The early sun was a welcome break from winter, which had worn on only to relent after weeks of frigid rain and mud, and then blissful early summer. It seemed there was precious little spring, but today was as close to the definition as could be had. The city thrived as the sun and light clouds broke evenly, a soft announcement of better things to come. Khalil seethed on the park bench, surrounded by families enraptured with the flawless weather gracing Minneapolis. His face was a sour map of barely contained rage, and he kept his own company, poorly, allowing his wounded pride to fester unchecked.
How dare they fire me! God will take vengeance on them, as will I. I did not even touch the boy, and now I am branded by these pigs whom I allowed into my business for years, smiling like a fool as they gave me their money. I have suppressed those feelings for years, and I am my own master. I just looked at him. That is all, just looking.
Khalil’s face, dominated by a cruel mouth and a thin beard, softened as he took note of a boy and girl, laughing as they passed by, both of them oblivious with the shine of youth. They were clearly brother and sister, both tall for their age, confident, striding as if they owned the earth under their feet and all around them. He looked at the girl, and then felt his eyes pulled painfully to the beauty of the boy, who glanced at him without recognition and then turned to ask his sister a question. The molten heat of shame rose along his face, down to his groin, and finally came to rest at his fingers, quivering with the urge to touch that which he could not have.
God help me, it is not the fact that he is a boy. It is his perfection, his youth.
He sat rigidly still, as if he could fade into the background of the park, alone with his need and his shame. When his eyes could go no further, he turned his head slightly to steal one last glance at the pair, lingering for a lewd moment on the boy’s hair, wild and free. He began to rise from the bench, pulled by an inexorable desire that bathed him in hatred and then cooled him in the touch of remembrance at past deeds, so satisfying but so poisonous. Before he could stand, he sensed a presence watching him, and it reached to his hindbrain as both threat and reward.
“Such perfection, and yet they seem to be completely unaware of it. God does render such irresistible creations, don’t you think?” His visitor’s voice was like cool water over stones, conversational, flat, with a bubbling hint of humor somewhere beneath it.
Startled, Khalil realized that a woman, a very confident, beautiful woman with dark hair and gold-spangled eyes of caramel had somehow approached him, silently, and now sat so close to him that he could smell her perfume. He remained quietly wary, fearful, and unnerved by her approach, although the sentence she spoke was far more disturbing, because his instinct told him those few words were only the beginning. Khalil remained silent, thought about it, made as if to speak, and then found himself brushed with the first whisper of anger at her intrusion, and even more so, at her revelation of his secrets.
“Move along. I do not wish for you to speak to me, and if you do not leave, I will—” he began with as much steel as he could muster under her gaze, only to see the air quivering around her as it might on a roadway at the height of summer, and then the woman sitting next to him was no longer a woman at all, but the perfect image of the girl who had walked by moments earlier.
“Perhaps this will make me welcome in your presence, Khalil?” Her question was voiced innocently, in the cheery tone of a girl bridging the spaces between child and woman. Khalil gawked openly at her as she cocked her head at him with a gaze like a predatory bird, unblinking and totally focused. Another flash of heat and the girl was gone, replaced by her brother, who asked him, “Or maybe me? If that is more to your liking.” The boy raised a hand to his hair and flipped it from his eyes with practiced ease, letting his hand rest on Khalil’s leg in a touch that was toxic with possibility.
I must leave this place. This is not real. No one can know. I must leave. I must. Before Khalil could scramble away from demons that were far too close to his most closely guarded shame, another wave of heat disturbed the air, and then the brunette woman sat next to him again, placidly watching his face for something he could not fathom.
“Tell me, Khalil, how soon do you think you will take the final step here, indulging yourself in those delicious moments that fill your heart with dread?” Her eyes never left his as she spoke. “You can’t resist. You’re... powerless.”
He felt pinned, even in this open place. “I have never—I do not . . .” he began weakly, only to have her interrupt him with a short laugh as brittle as glass.
“Please, Khalil. You are here because of what you did there. Do not be patronizing to the one person who understands your desires—and can fulfill them, for a service.” She sat back on the bench.
“What, what service? Here?” he asked, beginning to assemble some thought of whether he could actually survive the granting of his dark wishes. He knew better than to hope. He felt like a monster. He was a monster. “What are you?” His voice cracked with each word.
“I am Elizabeth, and it is time, I think, for you to begin satisfying yourself after all these years of hiding.” She held a hand to him as she stood, which he took, and they began to move along the pathway filled with the crowds brought out by the weather. “I want you to think of me as someone who understands you and casts no stones, not ever, Khalil. My generosity is founded in my desire to see that you are rewarded in this life, not the next.”
Still confused, but fearful, he regarded her for a chilly moment as some of his arrogance returned. “I do not need reward. You are a demon to think that flesh can suffice as a payment for such sin.”
“So you admit the sin, but refuse the reward? Curiously sadistic on your part. I had not taken you as a stupid man, merely one who has slightly more exotic tastes.”
Where would I go next if I were caught? Canada? I do not have family there. His checklist of options was pitifully short, and her smirk told him she knew as much. He wavered, weak and full of a self-loathing that was as venomous as the bite of any creature from the depths of hell itself. Maybe I could see what she wants first. Just see.
“Yes, of course, Khalil, why don’t you come along, if for only a day?” Elizabeth stunned him further, reading his transparent thoughts with ease as he wriggled in the logic of her illicit proposal.
“Where will I go?”
They began walking in tandem again, and she linked her arm through his as warmth permeated his jacket, causing him to look down at her.
The girl, not Elizabeth, looked up at him, eyes rounded with innocence and a hint of fright that he found irresistible. She reached up, on tiptoes, to flick the tip of her small pink tongue across his earlobe. As her hot breath caressed his face, she whispered slowly, “Come to me first, and if you are of merit, then, and only then”—her hand brushed his groin softly, lingering for a scorching moment—“my brother can come visit you, at night. But only if you are obedient, Khalil.”
His breath became short, and he dared not look down, but a telling wash of hot air and the smell of Elizabeth’s perfume was enough for him to keep his eyes downcast, looking intently at the path they walked, fighting not to vomit at his own diseased soul that this stranger flayed bare with the lash of her truth.
18
Florida: Ring
Leaning back on the couch, Kevin said, “Let’s discuss something other than the symptoms of what Elizabeth is doing to spread such discord.”
“A medical approach?” Risa asked. She never failed to make superior logic leaps from the smallest statements.
“That’s one angle, yes, but I’m thinking about her nature. Consider some basic facts that are in evidence, regardless of your emotional reaction to her existence. Do you believe that Elizabeth is a woman? A human, that is?” Kevin looked around at us all for input.
“She is
not human now,” Wally said slowly. “She may have been, but not now because she has proven resistant to some . . .” she searched for a word that didn’t sound bat-shit crazy.
“Oh, hell, just tell him, Wally. Knives. She’s resistant to knives, and we should know because Ring buried one in her chest after she nearly killed the three of us in a brawl.” Risa delivered this revelation with a confessional sigh and a truly Jewish shrug after the fact, deciding to let the good priest decide if we were staging an elaborate hoax or revealing something new to him, something he had never seen in the walls of the Church.
Kevin sat his wine glass down with a definitive tock on the coffee table and looked as if he might leave. Then he shook his head as if to clear cobwebs and gazed at us, measuring once more whether or not we were worth another minute of his time.
He cleared his throat and asked with deadly seriousness, “Maybe I should have asked if you three are human, although to me, as a man of some education, you certainly seem to be. But I am firmly in the camp of believers who think that deception is the watermark of evil. I see a great deal more here than meets the surface, Ring. Somehow, you chose to insult me, albeit mildly, by thinking that I wouldn’t realize the nature of your relationship.” Wally blushed and Risa pulled at her hair in a gesture that would fit perfectly on a schoolgirl caught in a lie. I forced myself to focus on Kevin, Father Kevin who, no matter what my own beliefs were, had just confronted us with the fact that we had lied to him. Based on that, his question wasn’t only reasonable; we should have seen it coming from a distance if we’d been paying attention. It was obvious we weren’t.
Demon Master 2 (The Demon Master Series) Page 6
