Stalking Tender Prey

by Constantine, Storm

  The long black car pulled up onto the sloping drive of The White House. Aninka was the first to get out. The air smelled of cooking meat and smoke. Lahash helped Taziel out of the back seat. Aninka noticed Lahash was wearing black leather gloves. She shuddered, even though the air was steamy and hot.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ Lahash told her.

  At sundown, Lahash had coerced Taziel into investigating the village psychically. He had winced and shuddered as his inner senses glanced off the presence of Peverel Othman. ‘The place is pervaded by him,’ he’d said, shivering. ‘Everywhere... The old ones gather at The White House, they wait for their replenishment. It is there. There.’

  Using his binoculars, Lahash had picked out the three storey hotel, and had even read its name. The White House. ‘There is a fire built in the garden,’ he’d said, and turned to Aninka. ‘Something is going to happen there.’

  So The White House had drawn them. Now Aninka could feel something gathering in the air around her. It made her feel both nauseous and excited. Was Peverel Othman in the garden behind the hotel?

  ‘He might have left guardians,’ Lahash said. ‘Follow me, and be careful. Do not say anything to anybody.’

  We look so conspicuous, Aninka thought. Surely, the first person we meet is going to challenge us?

  Lahash led the way around the side of the building. Aninka saw a dark crowd milling around, barely illuminated by garden spotlights. Lahash drew them all against the hedge. It seemed no-one was paying much attention to anything that moved outside their immediate circle.

  ‘Taz,’ Lahash whispered. ‘Read these people.’

  Taziel looked ready to collapse. His skin was damp. ‘Dependants,’ he said, almost immediately. ‘Many of them. Waiting.’

  Lahash glanced at Aninka. ‘Murkaster dependants. They have been left here to rot.’

  ‘And now Peverel Othman has found them,’ Aninka concluded.

  Lahash shook his head. ‘They must be destroyed.’

  Aninka shuddered. ‘Why? What have they done?’ She had been taught to respect dependants.

  ‘They are Othman’s potential army,’ Lahash replied. ‘Also, I have my instructions.’ He threw back his head and pressed one hand against his eyes. Aninka saw his lips moving silently. She knew in her heart what he was doing. She could feel a surge of energy, a sense of movement and of summoning. On the hilltops around Little Moor, the Kerubim stirred, unfolded their wings, flexed their claws. They flowed towards The White House, came stamping like legions, floating softly like moths. Aninka thought of the gentle friends she had made in Cresterfield, their hideous end. Would this have been their fate too if the Parzupheim had deigned to interfere in Othman’s activities sooner? What about herself? Could Kerubim make distinctions once unleashed to destroy?

  A woman dressed in a pale coloured trouser suit with a long, flowing waistcoat had noticed them. She came towards them with enquiry written on her face. ‘Can I help you? I’m the proprietor of this establishment.’ Her voice reeked of exclusion. What she was really saying was ‘Get out!’

  ‘Good evening,’ Lahash said, suddenly suave and urbane. ‘We are looking for accommodation, actually.’

  The woman subjected them to a penetrating glance. ‘I see. Well, we are having a bit of a party this evening. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll find someone to book you in and show you to your rooms.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sorry, but the party is private.’

  Lahash raised his hands. ‘I quite understand. Before you go, could you tell me the best places to go sight-seeing around here?’

  Aninka was surprised by Lahash’s behaviour. What was he up to? The woman seemed not at all inclined to be drawn into conversation, and no wonder, if she was a part of whatever Othman was planning. Still, despite an expression of annoyance, she began to list a few places of interest. What she could not see was what was invading her garden. Perhaps only Grigori could see them. As the woman tried to satisfy Lahash’s request, to get rid of him, Aninka watched the Kerubim manifest as translucent creatures of light around them. They were enormous, hideous, beautiful. With their tongues of fire, they licked certain people in the crowd, breathed a kerubic breath upon them. These victims fell to the ground, crumbled away, as the false life they had been given was taken from them. No chance of replenishment. No more. Younger people, apparently oblivious of what was happening, stepped over the piles of dust and rag to reach the barbecue, paper plates held in their hands, completely oblivious of what was occurring. Only a couple of the children looked anxious, glancing around themselves as if something had whispered their names in an earthy voice.

  Taziel leaned against Aninka’s shoulder, shielding his eyes from what was happening. Perhaps his groaning sigh alerted the landlady, perhaps she was Grigori-touched enough to sense all was not well. She glanced behind herself nervously, then back at Lahash.

  ‘You are...’ she began, her face creasing in anxiety. ‘You are one of them!’

  ‘Where is Peverel Othman?’ Lahash suddenly demanded, aware his cover was blown.

  ‘What do you want with him?’ The woman’s voice was suddenly harsh. Aninka saw, in her mind, a vision of a cornered she-cat, all claws and defences.

  ‘We are colleagues of his,’ Lahash answered smoothly. ‘Please answer me... I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

  The woman took a step backwards. ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Then be so good as to tell me where I can find him.’

  Behind the landlady, the Kerubim had begun to rear up against the sky, roaring out their triumph in voices that could not be heard by human ears. Aninka put her hands over her ears, while Taziel cried out in pain. Lahash made a gesture, and the monstrous creatures fell silent, motionless sentinels around the garden. The woman had not answered Lahash.

  ‘If you will not tell me, I shall be forced to take the information from you by other means,’ he said in an affable voice. ‘Please don’t be difficult.’

  The woman threw back her head and flared her nostrils. When she spoke, it was with scorn. ‘He’s staying at a house called Low Mede further down the village. Try there. If he’s not in, well...’ She shrugged. ‘He could have gone anywhere. I hardly know him.’

  ‘You had better be telling the truth,’ Lahash said with a grin. ‘Otherwise, we shall be back to talk to you again. Now, where is this house you spoke of?’

  Barbara watched the three strangers walk away from The White House. She knew that they meant danger to Peverel Othman. She had no choice but to go to the High Place and warn him, even though he had instructed her to wait for him at the barbecue. As she hurried down the lane, she kept visualising an enormous hourglass in her head, the sands running quickly through its waist. For a moment, she paused, listened to the beat of her heart, the healthy sighs of her breath. The night was hot and still around her. I could go back, she thought, I could go back now and no-one would be any the wiser. It will be over soon.

  She even looked over her shoulder, where the ruddy light of the bonfire in her garden burned behind the hedges. Barney was there, she could go back to Barney. But Louis was waiting at the High Place, and perhaps in danger, as Peverel Othman was. Barney or Louis? After brief consideration, Barbara resumed her pace in the direction of the High Place. There was regret in her heart, but only a little.

  At the High Place, the preliminary invocations had been made, the correct atmosphere induced. An essence of incense mingled with the scent of ripening fruit and pine, underscored by a hint of sweet corruption. Ray Perks and his two friends still guarded the outer limits of the circle, their hands clasped in front of them, their heads bowed. They did not look at what was happening in front of them. Louis stood to one side of the bonfire, Othman to the other. At his feet, Daniel lay naked, his eyes focused on the stars. Owen knelt between Daniel’s legs, his body twitching as if being whipped by invisible flails. His fingers clawed the dirt, his lips drawn back into a snarl. Othman stared down at him from an expressionless mask. His eyes burned red
with the reflection of firelight. Slowly, he raised his arms and with a final glance at Owen, threw back his head. ‘Drauga! Druj! Renen! Drauga! Druj! Renen!’ The bonfire hissed and crackled, its red flames purple at their hearts. As Othman repeated the chant, Louis lips began to move silently. Owen’s back arched as if someone, or something, had grabbed hold of his hair. He cried out, a bleat of pain.

  Daniel closed his eyes. If he could only shut himself away from all this, hide his being deep within his mind, he might survive. He had never heard the words Othman was chanting before, but he knew their meaning: ‘Falsehood, lies, violence.’ Something hideous would come, something beyond human endurance. Daniel had realised that Owen was no longer the person he knew and loved, but a stranger, Othman’s cat’s paw. It would be useless to appeal to him for help. He had no will of his own any longer. As if sensing Daniel’s thoughts, Owen growled like a dog and lunged forward, curling his hands around Daniel’s throat. Daniel tried to struggle, to rip the constricting fingers away, but Owen was filled with unnatural strength. Daniel gasped for breath, his eyes filled with red light like a film of blood. Owen’s eyes glowed like neon violet through the darkness. His engorged cock slid inside Daniel’s oiled body like a blade or a tongue of flame.

  Othman could feel the presence forming around him. He had attracted the interest of the being he was trying to invoke. ‘Ahriman!’ he screamed in his mind. ‘Come to me. Take this offering!’ At his feet, Owen Winter made love to his lover, but it was a lie, a travesty of love. Around him in the air, Othman felt the imminence of the false one, the embodiment of falsehood, untruth and destructive love. If there were tears upon the face of the lamb, then it was only fitting. Everything was drawing to a close, a climax. When the Ahriman manifested and took the sacrifice, then the flame would be unleashed.

  Daniel felt as if he was nothing more than a column of pain. He could not hate Owen for his actions, but felt a crushing disappointment that his belief in Owen had been misguided. This clawing, grunting, thrusting creature, this beast, was not the person Daniel had known, and yet, maybe he was now experiencing the truth of the Grigori, what Owen really was. Only hope sustained him. Perhaps, if he kept quiet, and made no fuss, this grotesque parody of love would cease and whatever ends Othman hoped to achieve would be consummated. Then, it might be possible for Daniel to escape with his life. He sensed that if he fought against what was happening now, he would be killed outright.

  Opening his eyes, he looked past Owen’s moving silhouette and saw Othman leaning over them. To Daniel, it looked as if Othman was now over eight feet tall. His face was a leering mask, all vestige of beauty fled. That is the truth of you, Daniel thought, and gleaned a faint satisfaction from it. He was amazed at how clear his head felt. Whatever was being done to his body, his mind was free, serene. He could even scoff at Othman’s demonic ritual. What did he hope to achieve? Nothing lasting could ever come of this. If it succeeded, Othman would only destroy himself.

  Almost as if Othman could sense Daniel’s thoughts, he uttered a guttural snarl and sprang into a stooped position. Before Daniel’s eyes, his outline shimmered and distorted. Scoff at me now, pretty boy! He was a demon with goat’s legs, a lion’s head, and a serpent was wrapped around his body, breathing fire. Daniel forced himself not to look away from the hideous spectacle. I have been drugged, he told himself. I am hallucinating. But the demon looked too real to be an hallucination. From its mouth came abomination, lies and false prophecies.

  ‘Drauga, Druj, Renen, Aeshma, Degvant!’ I am the guardian of the abyss, too vile for your frail human senses to endure!

  The demon laughed, its grotesque face hanging inches above Daniel’s own. Its tongue lashed out like a thick, wet worm and licked Daniel’s face; its saliva stank of rotting flesh. Daniel cried out, felt his stomach tighten, then his consciousness tugged free of his body and soared up towards the treetops. Looking down, he could see the enormous demon crouched beside the fire, see himself beneath Owen, the shadowy figures of his father and the others standing nearby. Then the demon raised its arms and Owen was hurled, ejaculating, away from Daniel’s body.

  Daniel’s consciousness snapped back into his own flesh. He could feel the effects of the drug wearing off within his body and mind, yet still the image of the demon stayed clear in his eyes. Its fanged maw slavered viscous fluid, and its eyes leaked blood. It uttered a hungry, whimpering sound, reaching out with its greasy, black talons for Daniel’s white flesh.

  This is it, Daniel thought, quite coherently. This is my death. He wanted to close his eyes and pray, but could no longer control his body or his mind.. As he stared up at the demon, its countenance shimmered. For a moment, he saw Othman looking down at him, his expression confused, then the image flickered again, to become the most beautiful face Daniel had ever seen, its facial cast indescribably sad. Then the conflicting images were banished, and the demon held sway once more, preparing to strike and feed.

  In the chamber beneath the High Place, the guardians were awake, creatures of bone and tattered cloth, their faces like the skulls of reptiles or birds. As they stretched their withered spines erect, the flame changed colour to violet blue. Lily’s eyes ached from looking at it, yet it was too beautiful to turn away from. The guardians did not seem to notice her presence; their concentration was centred on the flame. Lily got to her feet, felt Raven’s clawed hand reach out briefly to steady her. She took a step towards the flame. As she stared into it, she could see a shape forming within it, a sinuous, female shape. Hands reached out to her: ‘Come to me, my darling. Come to me.’

  Lily blinked. ‘Mum?’

  The image shimmered and writhed within the flame, yet became more definite as Lily stared at it.

  ‘Come to me, my daughter.’ Slim, white arms extended from the flame, and there was Helen, dressed in a long, pleated skirt, her belly tattooed with an enormous eye, her breasts bared, her hair hanging down in coils.

  ‘Lily, my daughter...’

  Lily took a hesitant step forwards. Was this image real? Behind her, Raven made a soft, encouraging sound. Reassured, Lily went towards the flame.

  ‘Come now,’ said Helen. ‘This is your heritage, my child. Take it!’

  Gathering all her courage in her heart, Lily reached out to take the offered hands. Around them, the guardians had begun to chant monotonous notes, which sounded like the tones that had emanated from the pillars in the antechamber.

  Helen was so beautiful, an icon of love and benevolence. Her hands felt real and warm in Lily’s own. Her smile was just as Lily remembered it. She allowed her mother to draw her into the flame, and it did not burn her, or make her feel cold, as she’d feared. It was an energising warmth, nothing more. Helen held Lily close and as Lily curled her arms around the slim body to return the embrace, suddenly the flame burst through the ceiling of the chamber, scattering plaster and stone. Lily felt herself melt into her mother’s soul, become one with her as the flame roared upwards, tearing away earth and roots to reach the sky. And as their souls fused, combining the raw energy and light of their female power, another presence was evoked, greater than their sum, a goddess.

  The flame burst through the ground, exploding the bonfire in the middle of the High Place. Flames and burning embers, stones and soil flew everywhere. Daniel saw his father tossed sideways by the force, to land in a crumpled heap on the edge of the clearing. Owen and the other youths all fell to the ground and covered their heads. The demon hanging over Daniel roared out in anger, and rearing up, wheeled round to face the flame. For a second, its eyes blazed triumph, but then, to Daniel’s astonishment, it sank to its knees with a hollow, breathless moan. Daniel blinked, and the tiny action seemed to take an eternity. He saw Peverel Othman kneeling before the flame, with his arms over his eyes. The demon presence had vanished.

  The flame was incredible to behold, a vivid violet blue, soaring up into the sky. Daniel scrambled onto hands and knees. Was this evil? It didn’t feel like it to him. He shielded his eye
s from the light, but unable to look away. Something was rising up into the flame from below, a figure taking shape, as tall as Othman had appeared before. Slowly the rising form took on definition. Daniel realised it was the figure of a woman, wreathed in transparent peacock blue veils, which were like smoke, or part of the flame. Her arms were held out to either side of her body, the glowing flesh tattooed from wrist to shoulder with writhing serpent forms. Upon her belly, a tattooed eye stared out. Daniel saw horror and wisdom in its gaze, grief and understanding. The eye spoke to him, called him. He looked up to the woman’s face and recognised her, even though she appeared very different to the last time he had seen her, struggling and lamenting beside a pit of fire and sulphur. Ishtahar: the Master’s woman: he knew her. She returned his gaze, acknowledging the contact, but only briefly. She wore her beauty like a scent, like gold, like bells; it called to all the senses.

  Daniel glanced round at the Owen and the others, but they were still curled up on the ground. Couldn’t they feel the presence of this goddess? Didn’t they want to look at her? Daniel crawled over to Owen, shook him. He must see her. Owen groaned, a sound of despair and terror. Had had shut himself away, refusing to see.

  The voice of the goddess, when it came, filled the world, yet it was the most gentle, soothing sound. She said one word: ‘Shem.’

  As that sound touched his mind, Othman saw his own body fall away from him in black flakes. He stood up. Peverel Othman lay decomposed around him, no longer flesh, no longer relevant. What was this thing? he thought, looking down at the dismal remnants. His memory was cloudy. He remembered hot, feral thoughts, bitterness, frustration, yet surely he had been asleep for millennia, and the thoughts had been dreams, nightmares of revenge that had troubled his slumber. She was before him now, but her image and her presence were difficult to perceive. Some part of him had always hoped he would find her again, but he was afraid of believing his longing had been fulfilled. Doubt and resentment had tortured his hope, beat it down. His body ached, his soul was torn. She had murdered him, but it had been an act of love. He raised his face to her slowly. ‘Ishtahar.’