Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  "Come," she said, and beckoned us forward, with a sweep of her thin hand.

  I glared at Mira, and I was sure she knew what I was thinking. Who had a name like Diva?

  Mira shot me a wry grin, and slipped in front of me and into the cabin. As if on cue, thin drizzle started to pour from the heavens, as we passed over the threshold.

  The air inside was stifling hot, and scented with melting wax, and a feeling of foreboding converged on me. When I locked on the group of people crammed in the room, lined shoulder to shoulder like a human wall, I drew in a surprised gasp.

  As Diva had, the group eyed me with interest, I fidgeted beneath their stares. Trying to calm my frayed nerves, I counted the people, all women, and noticed that they were all wearing the same garb and mindless smiles as Diva. There were eleven in total, and they varied in ages, the youngest being in her early twenties and the oldest near fifty. It was clear that Mira and I were the youngest two in the group. When I looked back at Mira, she had disappeared from view, and my initial uneasiness bloomed to panic.

  "Mira?" I said, my voice trembling.

  "She'll be back soon," Diva said in a breathy voice, that only served to make me even more uncomfortable.

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot, and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jean shorts, silently chastising myself for ever agreeing to come. After what seemed like an excruciatingly long period of time, but was probably only a few minutes, Mira resurfaced.

  She had donned the same type of cloak as the others, and had somehow slipped into a space in the line. Right after I noticed her, everyone, as if they shared the same brain, spread out and formed a circle around me. When they moved, the candles that were splayed on a heavy dark wooden table came into view. Most of the tapers were black with a few red candles intermixed. Crimson wax dripped down the sides of the red candles like thick blood. I drew in a stilted breath.

  It was then that I noticed the windows were covered in black paper, with white hand drawn pentagrams painted on the surface, so that even if it had been day, no light would penetrate the place. I took a tentative step back, and rather than look directly at the room full of strangers, I dropped my gaze to the floor and saw that I was practically standing on a black pentagram painted on the floorboards. I jumped back, not wanting to be near the symbol, and opened my mouth to speak. Before I could say anything, a man emerged from the shadows, and his appearance locked my words in my throat.

  He wore a headdress made of molded black leather, with a polished white skull of what might have been a goat or deer on top. Knobby Buck antlers jutted out from either side of the helmet. A piece of black fabric, with eyeholes cut out, obscured the man's face so just his mouth was visible. His lips were full and pulled taut over his teeth, in what I assumed was supposed to be a smile.

  From the waist up he was naked. His upper body was muscled, with well-developed pecs and a six-pack stomach, that showed he had spent hours at the gym achieving the look. His skin was milk white, and appeared even lighter against his black leather pants, that hugged all his man parts like a second skin. All I could do was gawk with teenage awe. He glided toward me. Every fiber in my body told me that he was dangerous, yet I was too entranced to move. But when he brandished an athame, my legs cooperated, and I tried to run, yet before I moved an inch there were hands on my wrists and every part of my slender frame. I was like a rabbit in a snare.

  "Let me go," I pleaded, searching the faces for Mira. I was sure that any second she would tell me it was all a hoax, but she had vanished amongst the sea of strangers.

  What had at first been mild interest in the women's eyes, had changed to hawk-eyed stares, that only made me feel more petrified. I struggled to break free, all the while hollering Mira's name, but with the crush of bodies around me, I didn't know if they had her too.

  The women began chanting in a language I didn't know. Their words swelled to a crescendo and left me feeling even more panicked to escape. My throat burned from the incense that clouded the air, and my muscles ached from trying to break free. Soon I was too weak to fight, and I went limp. They pushed me down. I fought them with energy from reserves I didn't know I had, but it was a waste of time, I was helpless against so many.

  The floor was rock hard, and chaffed my exposed skin. Even when they'd pinned me down on the ground, I snapped my head back and forth, trying to bite my way out, but they easily tied ropes around my wrists and ankles. When I was spread eagle in the center of the pentagram, everyone stepped away from me, and the man strode forward. Directly behind him was Mira. She was naked except for the six-foot long creamy white and yellow python, wrapped around her torso. She grinned down at me, her eyes alive with enthusiasm, and I was even more baffled by it all.

  "Mira help me up," I yelled, trying to be heard over the chanting that had grown to a frenzy.

  She ignored me, brought her face up to the ceiling, swaying to the rhythm of the chants. The snake writhed on her body as if it were part of the dance. She circled the man, all the while, moving to the throb of the voices. The snake curled, and uncurled around her, gliding around her sweat-slicked body like she was a tree.

  Without warning, the man spun around, snatched the head of the snake, and in one smooth stroke, decapitated it. He tossed the head against the wall, where it bounced and landed with a wet thump, its forked tongue frozen halfway out of its jaws. Mira's eyes grew wide, showing that she was just as stunned as I was. She grasped the body of the snake, as though she was holding on to it for balance. Her mouth opened and closed a few times.

  The masked man reached for Mira, and jerked her forward, until she was directly above me. The snake's blood sprayed my face and chest. I screamed and thrashed, as the hot sticky ooze seeped into my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I blinked furiously, but it did little good, because there was always more blood to replace what I managed to clear. Finally, I squeezed my eyes closed, but as soon as I did, I felt something sharp prick my right palm, then my left. I snapped my eyes wide, trying to see through the threads of congealing blood clinging to my eyelashes. The man was leaning over me, his face was just inches from mine, and his breath was unnaturally hot against my skin.

  "Please let me go," I said, but he gave no indication that I had even spoken.

  I turned my head enough to see that my right palm had a dark red slash across it, and there was an identical cut on my opposite hand.

  "You cut me," I hissed, and he smirked showing perfect white teeth, then he leaned down and closed his mouth over mine.

  I tried to turn away, but his rough kiss pinned me in place. The taste of snake blood that had managed to slip into my mouth, gagged me. I gnashed my teeth, trying to bite the tongue that was exploring my mouth, but he only thrust it deeper. A moment later, he caught my tongue between his teeth and bit down, my muffled scream was lost in his mouth. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth, and he sucked on my bleeding tongue, like a baby would its mother's milk. When he'd had his fill, he pulled away, got to his feet and paraded around the room to the excited wails of the group.

  "What are you a vampire?" I said, and a laugh bubbled from his lips.

  My eyes were practically sealed together from drying blood. I squinted trying to clear my vision. My tongue throbbed, and more blood pooled in my mouth until I was forced to swallow, and as I did I gave into the inevitable, I wasn't getting out of their alive.

  In a move that was too fast to see, he was on his knees at my side, his chest parallel with the floor. He began licking the blood from my wrist. At first his tongue burned against the wound, but then it tingled in a way that felt almost scintillating. As if gauging my reaction, he glanced up at me. I felt the weight of his light green eyes on my face, as his tongue continued working on my skin. After a few minutes, he sat back on his heels and I was repulsed to see that the part of his face that was exposed, was smeared with my blood.

  He sprang to his feet, and threw his arms into the air.

  "Already the blood of the virg
in has made me stronger," he yelled, in a strange accent that sounded a little British, but not quite.

  "Show us the way," Mira purred, throwing her naked body, now minus the snake, at his feet.

  She wrapped her arms around his leather-clad legs, and moved her breasts up and down his thighs. His lip curled into a snarl, and his gaze fell onto Mira, then he shoved her away with such force that she went tumbling halfway across the room, only stopping when she hit the legs of the women forming the tight circle around me. Mira leapt to her feet. The expression of malevolence that marred her features, made me wonder how I had never seen this side of her before.

  "Finish it Atticus," one woman said, and another repeated her words, until they were all chanting the same command.

  The man threw his head back, bowing his neck until it looked like it might break, and it was at that moment that I saw a ghost materialize beside him. The spirit, was that of a man who must have stood at least seven feet tall. He looked to be not much older than I was, maybe eighteen or so. His dark shaggy hair fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were pale blue. He was dressed in a white shroud that covered him from neck to toe. His smile was kindly, and put me at ease despite all that was going on around me. He reached toward me, and when he did I wanted to clasp his large hand in mine, even though I knew I couldn't touch a ghost.

  "Don't be scared little one you, have the power to fight this," he said, and ran a wispy hand through Atticus.

  Atticus went stiff, his eyes raking the room then a flicker of fear crossed his face. The ghost drifted toward me and passed a hand across my forehead, in what seemed a loving gesture. Oddly, the sensation of his specter touch didn't feel like the icy cold that I normally felt when a spirit crossed my path, it instead felt like a soft current of electricity that made my body buzz, and with the foreign sensation, came the unexpected knowledge of knowing what I had to do.

  Suddenly, I was shuttled back to the present. Atticus was still suspended over me, and the enormity of the danger he posed was overwhelming. With unexpected clarity, I knew I had to get away as soon as possible. He had tried to kill me once, and there was no way he would fail a second time. Dread wrapped its spindly fingers around my neck, and I almost shut down, but then the ghost who had come to me that night all those years ago, spoke in my mind.

  Don't be scared little one, you have the power to fight this.

  Back then I hadn't believed him, but now, after everything that had happened, I instinctively knew he was right, I did have the power to save myself.

  I closed my eyes, and withdrew to a place deep within, and connected with the thrum of my heart, the flow of my life force that coursed through my veins, and the way my lungs expanded and contracted, with each breath.

  Atticus searched my face, as if he could sense something had changed, but he was already too late to stop me. I let out a long puff of breath, then slammed my hands against his chest. I didn't know how, or what, I had done, only that it immobilized him. We spun in the air until I was on top and he was below me, then he dropped down, the springs of the mattress shrieked loudly when he landed.

  I reached for the athame in his waistband, knowing that to save myself, I had to kill him. As he lay helpless on the bed, I poised the blade over his chest. But when our eyes met, I watched the evil drain away, and once again came face to face with the man I loved. I knew that no matter what Atticus had done, Dakota was still in there, somewhere. And for a glimmer of a moment, I wavered, and that was all it took for everything to go to hell.

  Atticus's face contorted, his eyes darkened, and his expression hinged on murderous. With an unmistakable clearness, I knew Dakota was gone, and I had made a horrible mistake, but it was too late, I was already flying through the air and Atticus's triumphant glare was the last thing I saw, before everything went black.

  19. ATTICUS

  One moment he had been caressing Elise's lustrous skin, and the next Atticus was back in the prison where he had spent the past three years, or so he had thought. And now with Elise unconscious in his arms, he didn't know what had really happened, only he had to somehow fix the mistake he had made.

  When he had picked Elise up off the floor, and seen the smear of blood where she had hit the back of her head, he'd known that he had hurt her badly. Now all he could do was pray that her injuries weren't life threatening. Atticus glanced down at her, limp as a rag doll. He shook his head, disgusted at what he had done, because if she died, all his carefully laid plans would be ruined.

  "Florence...Mira," Atticus yelled, racing down the hall. "Mira, get your fucking skinny arse in here now." His voice was so loud that the house seemed to reverberate with the sound.

  The old woman was the first to appear, meeting him just as he entered the softly lit living room. Though he was desperate for help, he was careful to keep it out of his voice. It wouldn't do for the old woman to know, that he cared as much as he did about Elise's welfare.

  "What have you done?" Nanny Flo said, dry irritation in her tone.

  She glanced down at Elise, then laid her twisted fingers on Elise's wrist. After a second she nodded and withdrew her hand.

  "Her pulse is strong."

  She tilted her head forward, then touched the patch of blood that had crept over Atticus's arm. She turned Elise's head to the side, and probed the back of her skull, her fingers came back red. She shrugged.

  "Seems like it's superficial..." she started to say, but paused when Elise groaned. Elise's eyes eyes fluttered open.

  "What...what happened?" Elise stammered. When she glanced up at Atticus, terror filled her eyes.

  "Put me down," she demanded, slapping Atticus's cheek so swift and hard, that a hot imprint had already formed by the time he had realized he'd been hit. His initial thought, was to dump Elise face first on the hardwood floor, and if not for Florence's hand on his wrist, he would have done just that. For a change, he welcomed the old woman's level approach. He knew his knee jerk reaction was a double edge sword, because it never seemed to adjust to the level of danger posed, only gauging that it was present. It meant he was just as libel to kill someone who had cut him off on the highway, as he was, if they drew a gun on him.

  Atticus sucked in a sharp breath, then stalked to the sofa, depositing Elise on its floral surface, before she could protest. As soon as she was down, she bounced to her feet, but staggered, and almost collapsed. Atticus caught her, and roughly pushed her back down with the flat of his hand.

  "Stay the fuck down," he growled, through clenched teeth.

  He locked eyes with Elise, and though she leveled a defiant glare his way, she was the first to break the connection, letting her eyelids drop close. She massaged the back of her head, then quickly snapped her hand forward, staring down at her blood-covered fingers.

  "What did you do to me?" she shouted.

  Atticus shot her a cruel smile and narrowed his eyes. "The more apt question might be, what did you do to me?" He tried to keep a lid on his fury, but every time he remembered the illusion she had thrust into his mind, he raged.

  Nanny Flo sauntered into the room, her gnarled hands held a bowl of water, a white facecloth, an oversized Band-Aid and antiseptic.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked, worry spread across her wrinkled face.

  "She put me back in prison," Atticus said.

  His voice faltered, as he relived the moment. Nanny Flo threw a chilly glare at Elise, then fixed her gaze on Atticus.

  "I see," she said, in a low voice. Her frown added extra lines to her well-creased forehead. "She identified your worst fear and magnified it enough that you believed it was true," she said in a hushed voice.

  Atticus shrugged. He wasn't sure what Elise had done, only that he didn't want it to ever happen again.

  "But she couldn't have known what she was doing...I have spells in place, keeping her powers weak..." Nanny Flo shook her head again. "No, it's impossible."

  "She bloody well knew enough, that she neutralized me," Atticus said, ma
tching the woman's lower tone. He set his gaze on Elise, who still seemed dazed, then shifted back to Nanny Flo.

  "But how?" she said, shaking her head, as if she couldn't quite believe what he was telling her.

  "How would I know, you were supposed to be keeping her under control..." Atticus said, pinning the old woman with his glower. She peered back at him seemingly unaffected.

  "You must have been the catalyst for her sudden awareness. You have her blood and power running through your veins, it stands to reason that she connected to that instinctively."

  "If that's true why didn't she react to it when the other one was in control?" Atticus asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Nanny Flo gave an exasperated sigh.

  "Your soul is split, which means that Dakota isn't aligned with the craft as you are, there may have been residual flow-over, but it is nothing like you at full power." She set her jaw. "I knew there might be repercussions if you were released too soon. The stupidity of your past actions continue to haunt us, even now," she said, shooting him a withering glance.

  Atticus stiffened, but maintained his composure. "I will admit that trying to take her when she was a teenager might have been a mistake..." Atticus started, but Nanny Flo cut him off.

  "Might have been a mistake?" she roared, her body shaking with ferocity. "You cost us years of planning and preparation, you damn fool."

  "You dare call me a fool?" Atticus said, his temper flaring.

  Without thinking, he leapt forward and clamped his hands around the crone's skinny neck.

  "Insolent old bitch," he yelled.

  Her eyes popped wide, and tiny blood vessels burst scarlet against white, her face went ashen, and he could count every age spot on her flesh. Not long after, flecks of purple colored her lips, yet even so, she stared straight into his eyes with the bowl of water gathered tight to her chest.

  "Atticus no." Mira's voice was low and far away, and he felt a hand on his bicep. He blinked a few times.