Sugar and Spice

by Temple Madison

  “No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You must be mistaken. I didn’t summon anyone.”

  “Sugar, don’t you remember?”

  “The night Cristo died? Of course, I remember. My God, how could I forget? But why your world? What did my actions have to do with you and your world?”

  “Because the beast who cast this spell upon you and those you love are part of our world.”

  Sugar’s head jerked up and her eyes widened. “You! You’re the one!” As the pain of that night raced through her, she could still hear the words she shouted at the moon—

  “I dare you to come out of your hiding place! I dare you to show yourself to me, to face me, to look me in the eye. You’re nothing! A stupid race of gods that hide behind curses. Go ahead, you bastards, send me your worst! Do you hear? Anyone! Your highest, most powerful—”

  “So you’re the dirty, filthy slime that killed my sons!” she hissed as she jumped up from the table, almost knocking it over. Moving quickly, she lunged forward, grabbed a knife, and wielded it toward Judas.

  Judas jumped up, defensively lifting his hands in the air against her. “No…I mean, yes. I’m the one they sent, but only to help you fight this thing. I didn’t put the curse on you, or the others.”

  “You sick bastard! Do you know what you and those who call themselves gods have caused me? I’ve wept blood over this! I was ready to kill myself, to seek you out myself through death. I was ready to find you even if it meant a trek through Hell! You and your world are nothing but despicable filth! Taking lives and playing with them! You’re lower than dirt, you’re slime…you’re…I can’t think of anything as low as what you are!”

  “Sugar, I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Then why you? Why didn’t they send the one who did it?”

  “He is here, Sugar, but we didn’t send him. Your challenge angered him, and now his mission on earth is to destroy me and keep you under his spell.”

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is another one of your lies.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “All right. If it’s true, then where is he? Who is he?”

  “His name is Lupercus,” Judas said. “I don’t know where he is right at this second, but he’s here. Somewhere. His was the other voice you heard at the club. Remember?”

  Sugar hesitated for a moment. She did remember the other voice, the one this bastard said didn’t exist. Now he’s saying it does exist. “Lies!” she shouted. “Nothing but lies! You said there wasn’t anyone else there, and now you say there was. Is this another convenient lie to make me believe? You know there’s no such person! You’re the one! Get out! Get out now before I kill you!”

  * * * *

  Judas felt a sharp pang of fear dance along his spine when she began advancing on him with the knife in her hand. He knew it would be easy to take her, but he didn’t want to hurt her, so he tried to talk her out of it. “Sugar, you don’t want to do this.”

  Her eyes glittered with anger, and a sinister smile stretched her lips. “Oh, yes I do.”

  “Sugar, all I want to do is help you. Why won’t you let me?”

  “You want to help? Be still so I can bury this blade right in the middle of your heart…if you’ve got one.”

  “Sugar, he’ll come to you when you least expect it. He’ll sneak inside your head, make you do things. Damn it, Sugar, I know him! Please, Sugar, don’t push me out! Let me stay so I can be with you when he—” A whiz of the blade flashed across his eyes, and his words faded.

  Determination to kill etched her face, causing him to back away slowly, his hands pushing chairs in front of him to slow her down. Every one he pushed in her path she quickly threw aside, causing them to tumble to the floor. His eyes narrowed on the knife. It reminded him of the one that had cut his face, and the memory was so vivid he could almost feel it again.

  He couldn’t believe what he was feeling, he thought, when was the last time he’d been afraid?

  He didn’t remember because he never had. But now, when he knew he was mortal and could die, fear was one of the emotions he was becoming familiar with. He watched her, his eyes jumping from her to the blade and back again. It pointed dangerously toward his heart. When the last chair went tumbling down, he found himself vulnerable, no other recourse but to whirl around and run through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Once he was a safe distance away, he stopped and looked back. The house looked drab and bulky, slumbering in the early morning mist. Moisture stained the rough gray stones. Judas hugged himself, feeling the chill as it penetrated his clothes. The air felt dead and still, like a crypt.

  She was in there alone and Lupercus would find her.

  He had to find somewhere to stay, so his eyes shifted, looking down the path. Nothing moved in the early morning mist, and then he remembered the cellar. Judas quickly discounted it, knowing it was the place where Cristo had been killed.

  Having no other option, he crept around the house, finding a basement window. Lying down on the ground, he looked in, the darkness so heavy and black he could hardly see. His eyes finally adjusted, and he saw the cavernous room of rough-hewn rock. The shackles that Cristo had managed to wedge from the walls were still lying on the floor. Rats scuttled over them, the only sign of life in this dungeon of horrors. His eyes raked over every inch, wondering how he could get in when he saw the wooden stairs…and the blood.

  Cristo’s blood.

  Turning away, he thought of the ghosts Dirk had mentioned and was certain Cristo’s ghost would fill the cellar with smells and sounds that would make it impossible to stay there. Great. Now he was afraid of ghosts. Being mortal was no fun. Judas pushed himself away from the window and made his way up the path to the church.

  Little did he realize what he would find there.

  * * * *

  “You’re going away for a while, Father, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of your parish.”

  Pulled from his prayer by a sinister voice, the priest looked up. He immediately sensed a presence of evil and called out, “Is someone here?” When there was no answer, he gave the sign of the cross and struggled up from his painful position on the floor. He turned to leave, but instead found himself looking into a black void that stretched into infinity. This wasn’t his chapel, but some hellish cave-like structure with vaulted ceilings and granite floors.

  The feeling of absolute evil washed over him.

  A deep hush hung low as he began to walk, his clipped steps echoing across the cavernous space that seemed to go on and on, until he saw a darkened dais on which a bloody sacrificial stone table sat. Flames licked the edges of his vision, where strange shapes and writhing forms blended with shadows in an indistinct and undulating union that was vaguely obscene. The beings were like fallen angels large and small, dark angels with black, glossy wings. Ugly, evil things. He watched them until he finally approached the table, and out of the darkness a man emerged.

  “Father Becker, I’ve been waiting for you.” An evil smile stretched the creature’s lips. “Thank you for coming.”

  “The strangest thing. I was in my chapel, and—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Father. You’ll understand everything in due time.”

  “May I ask who you are?”

  “My name is Lupercus.”

  “Lupercus?” he said thoughtfully. “I’m sorry, the name means nothing to me. Do I know you? Are you a member of my parish?”

  “No, you don’t know me, Father, but you know about me, my kind. You see, I am a deity of the underworld. I am a god, Father Becker, a devil, a fiend, an evil spirit such as those that you warn your parish about in those long, boring, dry sermons on Sunday morning. The wicked of this world follow me and are rewarded with the fleshly delights that I provide them. I encourage them to go out and kill, maim, destroy, and fuck each other at every opportunity.” One eye quirked up at the father. “I have many followers. You see me now as a man much like t
hose of your world, but look closely, Father, and you will see me as I really am.”

  Father Becker watched closely as the man before him changed. It was subtle at first, and then terror engulfed him when he saw his body convulse, being ripped apart to allow the wolfish face, red-rimmed, elongated eyes, mountainous humps, and taloned fingers push through.

  “Oh my God!” he gasped, and from his throat erupted a terrified scream. He turned to run but had only gained a few steps when the grotesque things with wings forced him back to the pulpit and held him there. The beast lunged forward and grabbed his priestly collar, cutting off his wind.

  “Don’t try that again, Father,” the raspy voice growled, “or I’ll rip your balls off!”

  With a strong thrust, Father Becker was brutally pushed backward on the hard floor, his breath returning, rushing forth like a bubbling, gushing spring. He reached up and rubbed his neck while he stared up at the beast, at the evil glare that leapt from his eyes. They were like two daggers pointing at his heart.

  “Get your fucking clothes off,” the beast commanded.

  He moved slowly, carefully hiding his trembling hands as they pulled at his collar, his coat, and at last his pants. As he stripped, he heard what sounded like suppressed laughter and looked toward a shadow full of glowing eyes in the darkness. His dim view told him they were small gargoyle-type creatures that gathered together in a group, waiting for a command from their leader.

  “Take him to the Chamber of Lust,” the loud voice echoed through the vast chamber.

  The gargoyles, quick to obey, immediately emerged from their shadow and forcibly seized him and dragged him away. The scene around him became illusory, heaving and undulating fiercely as it slowly transformed into a crude cavern of red rock with fissures spewing red gases and smelling of sulfur. He struggled, but his hands were held tight. When the gargoyles finally threw him down, a jolt of fear hit him in the stomach at what he saw around him.

  Everywhere he looked were garishly painted women crawling on the floor like lustful beasts of prey. Tongues extended from each tinted mouth, flicking at the smell of sex in the air. They reveled in each other’s bodies, fucking, eating pussies and breasts. The room was filled with moans of delight from the insatiable creatures. All were naked as they rolled on the floor satisfying themselves, while filling the room with chilling screams of sexual gratification. The women lifted their breasts, offering them to those nearby. Others reared their bottoms high in the air like bitches in heat.

  He heard something close by and jerked his head around. Crawling toward him like a slithering snake was a whore. She watched him with her painted eyes and then reached down and began fondling herself. Her eyes closed in passion, a gurgling moan gushing from her throat.

  “Oh, God,” Father Becker sobbed. “What is this? Where am I?”

  “My name is Liliana,” the woman whispered, “and you’re in Hell.”

  “No!” Father Becker yelled. He tried to get up but felt himself pushed backward by the whore’s long-nailed hands, her many rings flashing like neon blood in the firelight. He couldn’t take his eyes off them as they began a bold caress of his thighs while working up slowly to his crotch.

  She squeezed and rubbed, her breath becoming labored as her hands crept up, getting closer and closer, stoking the erotic fire that leapt sinfully within his groin. No matter what he did, he couldn’t keep his traitorous body from thrashing beneath her hands, his hips from pushing upward, wanting more, or his cock from growing beneath the whore’s expert touch.

  With a lascivious smile, the whore placed herself between his legs, dug out his stiffened cock, and began to eat it. Against his will, his hips gyrated wildly, giving way to the fire burning inside him as the whore sucked him, and then drank his traitorous juices as they fell wantonly into her mouth. After only moments, or was it hours, his passion was at its height, and his cock erupted, emptying the creamy liquid into the whore’s mouth. With a hungry look in her eyes, she lifted her gaze and met his while it dripped over her lips and down her chin.

  All at once, there was a crowd around him. Drooling whores with painted eyes, some crawling over the others to get to him. He cried out when at last he was covered with them, their hands doing ungodly things to him, their legs clenching him, while his cock plunged over and over in one and then the other. He became wild with desire as they licked him, ate his cock, his nipples, and his toes. One delicious-looking whore offered him her butt. Unable to refuse, he willingly sodomized her over and over again until he was at last exhausted. In his drowsy state, they sucked his flesh and scratched at his body until, once again, his cock burst in their hands and their mouths.

  Now he lay quietly while the sinful picture faded from his mind.

  His eyes fluttered open as if waking from a dream. He looked around. The women were gone, and he was chained to a large cement block in the church cellar. He looked down and saw himself dressed in nothing but his underwear, and the horrible truth dawned upon him.

  No. It couldn’t be. That beast of the underworld, with his elongated eyes and his wide, fanged smile wasn’t wearing his holy vestments. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. It was only a dream. It must be.

  Even though he kept denying it, he knew the truth.

  That thing was parading himself as a God-ordained minister, a holy priest of the church.

  Chapter 15

  The old church that sat at one end of the Gypsy Reef promenade was little more than a pile of old stones. The setting was quaint, an antithesis to its surroundings, and yet it seemed to blend into the natural setting, almost as if it had been there first and nature had molded the seashore around it. The bell tower rose high in the sky, and on a windy night the distant toll could be heard for miles. It was a hollow, lonely sound that unleashed the graveyard ghosts on a chilly night.

  While the bell played its haunting lullaby, a lone figure darted across the deserted graveyard, getting lost in the early morning shadows that stretched long and wide over the worn paths between the graves. He might have been mistaken for a graveyard ghost except for the breath of life that escaped from his lungs. It was quick and short, the vaporous mist the color of white ash. It vanished as quickly as it came. With one more mad dash, he slipped into an open door and lost himself in the deep darkness of the church.

  * * * *

  Lost in thought, Father Jon was eating when a sound stilled his hands and his head turned quickly. His suspicious gaze scanned the dark cellar, darting from one pool of darkness to another. Suddenly his searching gaze stopped at two feral green eyes glowing from within a shadow. His nervous hands dropped the silverware onto his plate, and he quickly scooted behind the cement block to peer out fearfully. “Who are you?” he whispered, his soft, gravelly voice rumbling through the cavernous old chamber.

  “I’m hungry,” the stranger said, “do you have enough for two?”

  Father Jon looked down at his plate and pushed it forward. “Yes, there’s plenty here. Come out of the shadows and eat.” He waited and watched as the intruder carefully inched his way toward him while staying close to the floor. Father Jon’s breath caught in his lungs. The stranger was large and formidable-looking. His clothes were too small on his muscled body. His shirt had only one button fastened, and his thighs strained against his khaki pant legs. He had on a pair of black sandals that wrapped snugly around his feet. His thick hair was long and unkempt, and his face was hidden behind strands of blond hair. “Tell me who I am sharing my breakfast with.”

  “My name is Judas.”

  An icy chill danced down Father Jon’s spine when he heard the name. Slowly, he pushed the plate a few more inches forward. “You’re welcome to anything I have, Judas. Come. Eat.”

  While still a safe distance away, Judas leaned forward and grabbed a handful of bacon and biscuits and began eating greedily. He couldn’t seem to get used to being hungry. Where he came from, the food and drink were bountiful. But here, in this world, you had to scratch for what yo
u got.

  No one treated him special here. Here he was an intruder, a stranger, another face in the crowd. In his world evil reigned, not like here where both good and evil existed. Here you chose which you wanted to follow and learned to watch and judge, and sometimes you were wrong.

  With his mouth full, he eyed the old man cautiously. He had a kind look. Even his voice had a soothing, peaceful quality to it. With the hand holding a biscuit, he indicated toward the large object that held the man prisoner. “Who are you, and what are you doing chained to that thing?”

  Father Jon looked down at the metal chains and then back to Judas. “I’m the minister here, but I’m being held captive. Jonathan Becker is my name. My parishioners call me Father Jon.” He breathed deeply, remembering. “I was partaking of Christ’s sacrament, and…well, the wine must have been drugged. It’s rather hard to explain except to say I had…I don’t know, a vision, a dream…at least I thought it was a dream. The next thing I knew I was robbed of my clothes and chained to this cement block.”

  “Your clothes? Is that all he took?”

  “I don’t know, actually. After that it got rather,” he gave Judas an embarrassed look, “well, only parts of the dream were real. Some…well…couldn’t have been.”

  “Why do you think you were dreaming?”

  “What would you think if you saw someone turn into…” Father Jon shivered at the memory, “some kind of horrible creature before your very eyes?” Father Jon scowled. “The worst part is I seem to remember seeing him dressed in my holy vestments. It’s simply too fantastic to be real.”

  Judas stopped eating, his attention taken by what Father Jon was saying. “Was it a wolf-like creature?”

  Father Jon looked up at him. “How did you know?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “The whole thing seems rather foolish now. Like some kind of hallucination.”

  “Hallucinations don’t chain men to cement blocks.”