by Renea Mason
“We’re not even sure it’s a coffin, but I have something that will do the trick.” He bent over and opened drawer after drawer in the large toolbox. Finally, he retrieved a crowbar. “Step aside, love, just to be safe.”
My heart raced with expectation. Why would anyone need this much shifting residue? Why would anyone need shifting residue, period?
The metal creaked and popped as Overton moved an inch at a time around the capsule, prying the lid loose. With each pull, the pit in my stomach grew heavier. “Maybe, I should call Cyril, just in case.”
“Brilliant idea,” Overton said, not looking up from his task.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and clicked on Cyril’s number. It rang once.
Cyril’s voice interrupted the shrill ringing. His words filled with urgency. “Light, if you’re calling me to pick you up because things aren’t easy with Overton, keep trying. Remember what I said—fuck him first, sort out your difference later. He’ll be much more agreeable.”
“You are unbelievable. Can we be serious for a moment?”
“Of course, Light. I’m sorry, what’s wrong?” Concern laced each word.
I didn’t want him to worry, so I kept my tone light and sweet. This was no time to play games. “There is something wrong, but I’m fine.”
“Overton? How is he?”
“He’s fine, but I need you to come here.”
“OK. What is it?”
I tried to hide the tension in my voice, but a glance in Overton’s direction made it more difficult. “Just get here as soon as you can.”
“Are you in danger?”
I swallowed hard. “No.” At least, I didn’t think so. Telling him about the incident outside would just enrage him, and most likely earn me a lecture I would much rather avoid.
“OK. I’ll be right there.” He cleared his throat. “Hmm… you didn’t fuck Overton into a coma, did you?” His playful snicker vibrated through the earpiece of the phone.
“Not funny. Just get here as soon as you can.”
“OK, Light. Until then.”
I hit the end button and walked to Overton’s side.
He looked up at me. “You ready to do this? I’m going to need your help. The lid is heavy.” He hooked his fingers under the lip on one side.
I rounded the container and mirrored his actions. “Which direction are we sliding it?”
“Toward me. On the count of three. One…two…three.” The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the cavernous space.
I gasped. Fascination and horror waged war in my mind. Suspended in the fluid was a human nervous system. A brain, eyes and the tendrils of cascading nerves floated in the thick residue.
Overton lifted his gaze to mine. “Vidius has to be behind this. This must be how they are making the Marys and the Josephs. They start with this.”
“You’re probably right. But why? How, even?” Disgust was evident in my every word. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the flickering security screen with the most welcome image filling the monitor—Cyril. “Hold that thought, Cyril’s here. I’ll go let him in.” I ran to the front door. My footsteps echoed through the hallway as my shadow danced in the glow of the fluorescent lights.
I lifted the cold, steel handle that secured the door. “Cyril, you won’t believe what…”
The words caught in my throat as I stared up to read the expression on his face. He smiled back, but something was wrong. Seriously wrong. The hairs on my arms raised, and even though I had seen and felt Cyril at his most powerful, the magic emanating from him was overwhelming. My senses buzzed and sparked my nerves, sending pins and needles through my body.
“Cyril… what did you do?” I said his name, but my gut knew the moment he reached out and fisted my hair that this was not my lover.
I screamed. “Run…Overton… Get out of here. He’s not Cyril.” I prayed the echo would carry the words to his ears.
With one sudden thrust of his hand, my head crashed into the door. I blinked hard, trying to lessen the blurred vision and searing pain inside my skull. He jerked my head back, causing me to lose my footing. Impostor Cyril used this distraction to force me further into the hall while he slammed the door closed, sliding the bar into place.
I tried to focus, but my vision swirled every time I moved my head. The magic radiating from him was my only hope.
He dragged me by the hair, forcing me to stumble toward the large central chamber.
“Who the fuck are you? You better let me go.” Focus… I needed to focus. My head throbbed.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he swung his fist forward, propelling me into the middle of the room. My skull slammed against the coffin, causing my cell phone to eject from my pocket and skitter across the floor. I slumped to the ground, dazed worse than before, and searched my spinning surroundings. Thank God, Overton was nowhere to be found. At least that was one answered prayer.
Son of a bitch. The chant. I squinted, holding my palm over the lump forming on my forehead, and willed the words to form in my mind. Reaching for the magic coursing from the nearby rivers, I focused my second sight—my way of seeing magical currents—and attempted to pull the energy to me. I couldn’t rival the impostor’s power, but perhaps the rivers would afford me enough strength to escape.
The first word fell from my lips. “Nium…” But the sight before me stole all my concentration.
The impostor had removed his clothes. Standing naked, his physique was as perfect as Cyril, but the green ornate studs and rods embedded in and piercing his skin betrayed his ruse.
I squinted, focusing through the haze of head trauma.
A pained expression crossed his features. A growl rumbled through his chest as his body contorted.
This had to be Vidius. Which meant one thing—we were fucked. I had never seen so much power.
“Cyril will be here soon, you son of a bitch.” I wasn’t sure if he could hear me, but I used the moment of distraction to my advantage. When his body shifted, I grabbed the crowbar Overton had used to pry open the lid of the container.
When he took his original form, cracked his neck to one side and then the other while flinging thick shifting residue from his fingertips.
After focusing my second sight, it was apparent the man was not the source of the power, but rather the green fragments peppering his skin. The objects were the same shade as the gems lodged in the eye sockets of young, comatose woman Cyril called Celestine.
He bent, picked up his jacket, and strode toward me, not bothering to redress. His large muscled frame and long black hair were coated in shifting sludge, along with his cock that bobbed between his thighs as he stalked toward me.
I tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness washed over me. Fuck, a concussion.
He spoke, his voice low and rough, with an accent as ancient as Cyril’s. “You can tell Cyril, it’s tit for tat. He took what’s mine, so I take what’s his.” His wicked, eerie grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You can keep your weapon.” He glanced at the crowbar. “I like it when women put up a fight. Makes for a much sweeter prize.”
I swiped away the blood streaming down my brow from the gash at my hairline. Closing my eyes, I willed him to disappear, hoping he was just a manifestation of the head trauma. Why did magic require so much focus? A fucking wand or fairy dust would have been real handy.
His hot breath assaulted my cheek, sending a wave of nausea straight to my stomach. “Your little friend thinks he’s clever, hiding behind the door over there, but I’m not fooled. Little does he know how useful he’ll be.” He reached into the pocket of the jacket and extracted a small cylindrical container. After removing the lid, he dipped two residue-covered fingers into the vessel and coated them in a fine white powder. “You should actually be thanking me for this.” He slammed his forehead against mine.
Searing pain shot from my eyes to the base of my skull. “Motherfuck—” Before I could finish the word, he rammed h
is powdered covered fingers into my mouth. I coughed and sputtered as he pushed them to the back of my throat.
“Suck it off. All of it,” his rough voice demanded.
Gagging around his digits, I clasped my hands around his wrist, struggling to remove him from my mouth.
“I said finish it. Lick it from my fingers. The sooner you do, the faster I’ll stop gagging you.”
The bitter taste of the residue mixed with something sweet coated my tongue. I bit down hard on his fingers as two thoughts hit me at once. The first was Lance’s voice, ringing in my ears. “Michael makes me eat the shifting residue, that’s how he controls me.” But the second was even more horrifying, the realization of where I had encountered the sweet taste before—Cyril’s semen.
Vidius bellowed, “Fuck! You’ll pay for that.” Another bash of his forehead against mine and the room faded as the blackness engulfed me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fire
Chilled, musty air rushed in and out of my lungs, stirring me, yet my eyelids felt too heavy to open. A damp, musty smell surrounded me. I focused on the distant, rhythmic sound of footsteps. Where the hell was I? I pushed myself into a sitting position, squeezing my eyes shut tighter and clutching my head. I licked my dry lips, and the memories rushed back. Cyril, not Cyril, Vidius, the coffin, the taste in my mouth. Bile burned a path up my chest and soured my throat at the thought of what Vidius may have force-fed me.
The steps drew closer, and I repositioned myself, groaning from the ache in my bones. Peering out beyond bars of the cage I’d awoken in, I gasped. Never had I experienced the relief and horror mixed in one terrifying package as I did now. Vidius, clothed once again, dragged Overton toward me, bloodied and broken. I had hoped he had gotten away and made his way to Cyril.
Vidius yanked open the door of my holding cell—the ones used to contain the Marys. But this cell was not in the rotunda. The musty odor and lack of light, except for the staggered industrial sconces lining the hall, meant we were in the cellar of the compound.
Vidius laughed. “I didn’t think this would be so easy, like rats in a maze. All here for the taking.” He shoved Overton’s limp form into the cell and slammed the door closed.
I scampered toward him, wrapping him in my arms. Beyond the pain, beyond the haze, was a bubbling rage. This would be my focus. I needed to heal. I needed time to gather the magic. I couldn’t take on Vidius, but perhaps I could muster enough energy to allow us to escape.
I stared up at the man, who was now nothing more than a tall, dark, mysteriously handsome stranger. But my second sight could see the truth embedded in his skin, and in his aura. “What do you want from us? Cyril will be here any minute.”
“Perfect. This all has worked out better than I planned.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and retrieved a flask. He unscrewed the cap and tossed his head back, allowing the contents to flow into his mouth. After recapping the container, his penetrating gaze fixed on me, while allowing a trickle of the thick red liquid to stream down his chin.
Was that blood?
His taunting smile chilled my bones. “Would you like a taste, Linden? This year is a special vintage. His blood mellows with age. You know, each harvest we took from him, in those fifteen years we held Cyril, has a different flavor.”
“Harvest? You sick bastard.” My eyes fixed on his chest, praying he had a soul I could rip from his body, but he was not of this world.
He winked. “Enterprising is how I see myself.” He lowered, resting on one knee, so we were eye to eye, only the bars separating us.
I stroked Overton’s hair and rested my other hand on his heart, finding reassurance in its pulse.
Vidius pressed his face against the bars. “Michael thought you were the key, dear Linden. In many ways he was right, but his theory was wrong.”
“You know it’s all nonsense, right? You can’t get your goddess back.” Michael had claimed he could use me to bring the goddess who created Cyril, Vidius and the others back to life on Earth.
Vidius’ all-knowing smirk unnerved me. “Oh, I know. Bringing her back as she was is of no interest to me. I have no desire to be subjugated by her again, but imagine the possibilities if one could control a goddess on Earth? She will be mine, and with her power, all will bow at my feet. First, this world, and then…” His thoughts seemed to drift off with his words, but his eyes refocused on me. “Well…I have things to attend to.” He rose and turned with his back facing me. “Oh, but before I leave…” His movement was so quick I barely registered his entry in the cell. Once more he shoved his powder-coated fingers into my mouth, depositing a sizable amount of the substance reminiscent of Cyril’s seed.
I choked on the dry particles and scrubbed my forearm over my mouth feverishly.
He grabbed an unconscious Overton by the throat in a crushing grip. “Uh-uh-uh, you don’t want to do that. Your companion might be long-lived, but I’m powerful enough to guarantee he won’t survive. Now, lick your lips clean.”
I narrowed my eyes, glaring at him. “What the fuck is it?”
He tilted his head toward me. “Oh, my dear, I think you know.”
I did, but I couldn’t say it out loud. “Then how? Why?”
“Blood wasn’t the only donation Cyril made during his stay with me. And as for why…” He hovered his lips at my ear. “What better way to neutralize a magic user than to take away her focus? You could never best me, but you could make things…inconvenient. Consider this my precaution. And my insurance. Now lick, or you’ll be rooming with his rotting corpse, and in the state you’re about to be in, that would be most inconvenient. Unless, of course, necrophilia is your thing.” His hand closed tighter around Overton’s throat, causing his breath to wheeze. “So, what’s it going to be?”
I darted my tongue across my bottom lips and sealed my silent pledge. I would kill this motherfucker if it was the last thing I did, but I needed to buy time. As the granules lingered, I remembered Cyril’s words describing the effect his semen had on me—analgesic and aphrodisiac.
With pain, I’d never be able to focus. Dreams I endured from Cyril’s men left me in a constant state of arousal. Perhaps it was my time to be enterprising.
I licked the sweetness from my lips and puckered them to show him I had complied. “Now, let him go.”
“You’re fond of him?”
“That’s none of your business.” I reached over and pulled Overton into my arms once more.
He laughed, amusement in the cadence. “This couldn’t be more perfect.” He stood, walked through the doorway, slammed the gate closed, and locked it in place. “Till later.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Blood
How much time had passed? I stared down at a still unconscious Overton. Examining his battered face—bruises under his eyes, blood seeping from the corner of his lip—I realized his recovery could take time. He was practically immortal, so he would recover. But how long would it take?
With a finger, I brushed away a bloodied lock of hair matted to his forehead. What the hell was I going to do? We couldn’t stay here long—no food, no water. Would Cyril even think to look for us down here? What would Vidius do to him when he arrived?
Anxiety tightened my chest, and pain impeded my thinking, but it was the disturbing course of need from between my legs that was most unwelcome. Distracted magic user. Fucking Vidius.
I needed Overton alert and coherent. We had to get out of here soon. Being a friend and companion of Cyril’s for so long, he had to have answers. His information was vital to formulating a plan.
I cupped his cheek and whispered, “Come on. I need you to wake up.” I closed my eyes attempted to focus my will through the pain and clouding lust. Impossible.
More blood trickled down his chin. Blood. That was the answer. If I couldn’t focus enough to pull the magic to me, I’d use my blood to heal him. Plus, I wasn’t even sure if I could get the magic to work. It wasn’t the best choice, but it seemed to be my on
ly one, and it had worked in the past.
Glancing around the cell, I searched for something to help with the bloodletting. Nothing. I would have to get creative. Overton still wore his lab coat, now stained with blood and dirt. I slid my hand down his chest, patting his clothing in search for anything that might help. I rifled through the contents of one pocket, finding only a few small slips of paper. I examined the first, which seemed to be a receipt of some sort. The next was a retail label from a beaker he most likely used to conduct his experiments. The third drew me up short. I felt my breath catch as recognition overcame me.
It was a photo…of me. I didn’t remember having it taken, but I stood outside the concert hall, my hair soaked with rain. It wasn’t the most attractive photo. Why did he have it? When had it been taken? I glanced back at his face, and it didn’t matter. I had assumed that he wanted to forget me, that his distance was a message, but he had never let go.
I stuffed the photo and the contents back into his pocket and then continued my examination. His pants pockets were empty, but in the other lab coat pocket, jackpot. The glass microscope slide nearly slipped from my fingers as a corner caught on the fabric.
After examining the thin piece of glass for the sharpest edge, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. With the small pane pinched between my thumb and forefinger, I drew the cutting edge along my left wrist. Closing my eyes tight to endure the sting, my will compelled me forward. I exhaled through the jolt of intense pain and laid the slide on my knee. Pinching either side of the gash, I urged the blood to flow.
On the one hand, Overton being conscious would have made my task so much easier. But even in a moment of selfish convenience, I couldn’t wish him the pain being awake would cause. In his current state, it was best he remained unaware. I pulled back his lips and gave myself to him. My life. My essence. My commitment. Always. Forcing more blood to the surface of the wound, I coaxed forth as much as I could.
