Flame Unleashed (Hell to Pay)

by David, Jillian

  He almost tripped over the trail sign for the turnoff to the upper meadows as he stepped right on it. Kneeling in the snow, he dug it out to confirm, then punched in the coordinates on the GPS.

  Following the directions, he traveled past the first set of springs to the upper meadow and then deeper into the woods. Caved-in pockets of snow indicated the path of each flowing spring, burbling water muffled beneath the thick blanket of snow. He passed the main springs, looking for a smaller, hidden spring that marked his proximity to a particular opening in the Earth.

  Mount Shasta enticed numerous sorts of people to visit. Some folks loved the year-round adventures here, but others came for the vortex, the spiritual energy emanating from the mountain. Still others traveled to the mountain to discover the Lemurians, a mythical race who reportedly had hidden villages inside the mountain. According to legend, the Lemurians sometimes came down to the town below and swapped mortals for their kind, leading to the idea that these creatures walked among humans and influenced events on mortal Earth.

  If people only knew that these sightings and legends all had to do with Jerahmeel’s activities on this mountain. Over the years, the native peoples worshipped this site as the source of their spiritual power. Yet they—in fact, all humans—provided power to the corporeal form of Satan. But the legend grew and took on a life and mythology of its own. Thankfully at this time of year, Odie didn’t have to dodge tourists or spiritual wanderers to reach his destination.

  Hearing a new tinkle of water, he walked up a steep hillside. Here, the fir trees were twisted into unnatural, grotesque shapes. Again, it was said to be due to the vortex’s energy warping the life fields nearby. That much was absolutely true. The power of Jerahmeel’s travel would change the structure of any life form if exposed long enough.

  Digging in the snow, Odie saw the water coming out of a breach in the rock. Close. Very close. Mon dieu, please let this be the right vortex.

  Voila! There, a small slot in the side of the rock face, twenty feet away from the spring, exactly as his notes had described. There was barely enough space for one person to fit, so he stashed the pack under a nearby contorted spruce.

  He squeezed through the entrance and paused.

  There was little data as to how far into the mountain he would need to travel. No one had gone this far before and survived. But he could leave a trail. He tore off a piece of neon orange duct tape every ten feet or so and pressed it to the wall. As long as nothing else disturbed the tape, he would find his way out, hopefully with a light, but if need be, he could feel his way from piece to piece.

  The thin passage widened to the width of two people. Rocks littered the floor, some as big as a hope chest. The wall sparkled with water seeping through the rock. Shining his light upward, he couldn’t see a ceiling.

  At a rumble under his feet, he froze. The sound of rock fall in the distance had cold sweat stippling his neck. Despite wanting to check his escape route, he gritted his teeth and continued onward.

  After walking for an hour through the damp darkness, he heard a chuckle.

  Odie stopped dead in his tracks.

  Crouching down, he turned off his flashlight and let his vision adjust. A faint glow of light filtered back to him. He resisted the urge to sprint headlong toward the laughter. If Ruth was anywhere near, his rash actions could risk her life.

  But hope leapt in his heart, and he slunk toward the source of the evil laughter.

  Chapter 22

  Ruth had ended up in a red dress. Not just any red, but a fires-of-hell red.

  She hated red clothing. Never wore the color. Black, brown, maroon even, any pigment but red. But when Jerahmeel had invited her into the bedroom and insisted she pick out something more comfortable to wear, she couldn’t refuse the request. At least if she mooned over fashion selections, she could get away from Lord Slime for a few minutes.

  Damn, she had done everything imaginable to stall his disgusting advances.

  First, he gave her the grand tour of the cavern, hewn from within Mount Shasta’s volcanic rock itself. Mount Shasta. Upon hearing that tidbit of information, she almost cried.

  Odie’s guess had been accurate. Now if only she could buy him time. The storm outside had worsened, according to Jerahmeel, who used the weather forecast as an opportunity to emphasize how cozy he and Ruth would be, cuddled up here in the lair.

  How much longer would she have to put Jerahmeel off? How much longer could the other Indebted resist killing? And how quickly could Odie get here, with the worsening weather? He was unhuman but not magical. He still had to fight through the snow and terrain.

  It was bad timing and bad luck converging onto one place: here.

  Too many variables, which depended on too many uncontrollable factors.

  They’d created a house of cards. One whiff of a breeze, and it would all come down.

  At least she could play her part to the best of her ability and pray that she and Odie could do the impossible.

  She had to succeed. The lives of so many people now hung in the balance.

  To succeed, she had to win the Oscar for best actress in a romantic drama/horror film. Easy enough.

  So, as Jerahmeel proudly escorted her around the extensive cavern, she oohed and aahed appropriately. Truthfully, she didn’t have to playact; the catacombs in this place amazed her. The interior walls of the living space were polished and cool like glass. Even the floors were smooth and perfectly flat. Something powerful had created this unnatural structure out of solid rock.

  According to Jerahmeel, this site had been in use long before he had manifested into Satan in the twelfth century. What kind of man was he before the creature that stood before her now? Who came before him?

  At the center of the structure was an unnaturally fueled fire that glowed with a sick, melon-colored light. No wood touched the fireplace, no coal. As he explained, the energy from the humans whose lives bled into the cursed knives provided the fuel.

  The slight whine she heard from the flame? Voices screaming in eternal torment.

  The flames were living souls incinerating.

  Nausea stopped her cold. She’d helped to put souls into the fire.

  She couldn’t stop staring at the jumping flames, imagining desperate, reaching hands in each flicker of light.

  Arranged around the hellish fireplace were cozy chaise longues with burgundy velvet upholstery and ornate wooden detailing. As though Jerahmeel expected guests, maybe to chat together around the soul-fed fireside. Bizarre.

  Another large room held a pool of boiling water that the mountain itself heated—oh yes, the lair sat on a volcano, albeit a supposedly dormant one. It was in this steamy bathing room that Jerahmeel had begun his advances, which became more overt as they stepped into the bedroom. Or what passed as a bedroom. The giant cavern with glassy walls reflected the glow of flames in recessed sconces. In the exact middle of the large room sat a round, red velvet–covered bed.

  Disgusting.

  Unfortunately, at this point, he dropped all decorum. Although she demurred, citing tradition and modesty, her mistake had been continuing the ruse and asking if he had warmer clothes for her to wear.

  Licking his lips, his ember-red eyes glowed as he opened a giant wardrobe where every manner of sexy, seductive, and slinky clothing—all red—hung, ready for her.

  They were all in her size, too.

  Not only did Jerahmeel have a hang up about the color red, but he clearly possessed even more of a fixation on her than she’d originally believed. So, much to his glee, she made a great show of examining several different outfits to determine which one would be perfect for him.

  As he left the bedroom, she caught how he briefly staggered against the doorway. Good. Now, to run down his hellish batteries even more.

  Unfortunately, that meant modeling the least racy of the ready-for-sex-with-the-devil collection of clothing available in the wardrobe. She rejected the majority of the outfits due to the fact that they
were little more than tiny strips of crimson cloth. Finally settling on a floor-length scarlet satin number with cap sleeves, she sighed as she studied herself in the mirror. The neckline on this outfit plunged, drawing too much attention to her ample bosom.

  Too bad he hadn’t stocked the wardrobe with coats. Damn, in the cool air, the shape of her nipples showed through the silky fabric. Her comfort was not the priority—only the display of her assets.

  Holy hell, Odie needed to get here soon. How long could she carry out this farce to convince Jerahmeel of her interest?

  As long as it took.

  Odie and Hannah and Allie and their families’ lives all hung in the balance, depending on how well she played her role. All right. What was one more pretense?

  Peeking out to the—what? the living room, the den, the conversation pit of hell?—she spied Jerahmeel resting on a couch nearby. Maybe she could wait until he woke up and burn more time.

  “Mademoiselle, are you dressed yet?” He called to her from the couch, waving his thin fingers in the air.

  Her stomach sank.

  “Of course I am, my lord,” she cooed in what she hoped was a winning manner.

  “Come out and model for me which garment you selected.”

  She shuffled in her ballet slippers to the center of the room. Judging by his avid leer and red tongue darting over his thin lips, he approved of her selection. He sat bolt upright and stared at her until she squirmed.

  “Does this please you, my lord?”

  “I’ve never seen a more tasty morsel.”

  “Thank you.” It was all she could do to keep a smile pasted on her face. Stay professional and pleasant.

  He patted the padded velvet next to him on the lounge. She rejoiced a little bit that he did not get up and approach her. Hopefully his energy waned even further.

  “Come closer so I can look upon you.”

  “Of course.”

  Instead of walking the few feet directly, she strolled around the far side of the room, circling all of the furniture first. She kept her gaze downcast, watching him beneath her lashes as she trailed her hands over the furniture. With the fire directly between them, obscuring his view, she chanced a glance around the room, studying the opening in the rock he said led to the outside world.

  At first, shadows flickered over the passage. Looking again, she spied a figure hidden within the darkness of the opening—Odie. Her heart beat a staccato. She’d recognize his broad shoulders, even in a crouched position. Her knees wobbled and she grabbed the edge of the chair in front of her.

  He’d come for her as promised.

  Her heart leapt, and it took all of her strength to maintain an impassive expression.

  For the first time in 150 years, her trust had been rewarded.

  Don’t look at Odie. Give nothing away.

  Holy hell, they still had a chance.

  Stay calm, stick to the plan.

  Hopefully Odie could strike before Jerahmeel’s power returned.

  Another glance into the corner, where Odie’s face glowed in the eerie firelight, and a terrible realization hit her like a bucket of ice water: if Jerahmeel looked in the right place, he’d see Odie.

  “Well, what do you think, my lord?” She purred and stopped just beyond his reach, drawing his attention away from Odie’s hiding place.

  “You are a delicacy, to be sure. Sit.”

  “Don’t you want to stand?” she ventured.

  “May I tell you a secret?” At her nod, he said, “I’m feeling a bit ... depleted ... this evening.”

  “Like, unable to perform?” she blurted out.

  “Very tired, through and through. I’m waiting for my employees to provide some fresh souls to replace my energy stores.”

  “If you need me to leave and go kill someone, say the word.”

  “No, mademoiselle, I want you right here so I may feast my eyes ... and more ... on you. As soon as someone provides me with a soul, my stamina will quickly return.” He licked a thin fingertip.

  Hiding a grimace, she perched on the edge of the lounge. He reclined against the cushioned back, his oiled black hair framed by the intricate carved wood framing the chair.

  “Better. I can see you properly now.”

  Judging by the direction of his leer, it was obvious which parts of her body he could see properly. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied movement in the shadows, and her heart pounded.

  Forcing herself to stay calm, she cleared her throat. “My lord, you mentioned the twelfth century. Would you tell me how you came to power?” She prayed this was an acceptable topic. If not, his rage could be considerable.

  “Certainly, anything for you, my lovely. I’ll regale you with many tales of my life. If we have an eternity together, you will hear all of my stories.”

  Sounded like the opposite of heaven to Ruth.

  He lifted a manicured finger to slide down her bare arm. The contact felt like hot slime on her skin. Thankfully, he dropped his hand to his lap, as if it took too much energy to raise. This could be the time to act.

  If her own hunger to kill was blinding her, then it was only a matter of time before another Indebted caved in and acted on their all-consuming knife lust.

  “Let’s see. I was born just before 1200 anno domini in Narbonne, in the southern part of France, very near the sea. Beautiful town, God-fearing citizens, as people were meant to be. Until the holocaust.”

  “Like in World War II?”

  “The world had two horrible holocausts, the first of which occurred from around 1200 until 1240 or so.”

  “I don’t understand.” Why was he discussing God? Jerahmeel was the manifestation of Satan.

  “I grew up devout in the true Christian faith. Catharism.”

  “You mean Catholicism?”

  “No!” he roared. “That is precisely what it is not.” Steam trailed from his fingertips.

  Misstep. She gulped and remained perfectly motionless.

  Odie’s shadow appeared on the wall behind Jerahmeel. It took all of her concentration not to glance over her shoulder.

  “We believed in the true faith. Catharism. Two Gods. The good God of the New Testament and the evil God, Satan. Both are real. This is the divine truth, and no torture could drive that from me.” His thin fingers fluttered over his arms and neck.

  “All right,” she said carefully. He might be weakened, but he could still inflict great pain.

  “Yes, so when Pope Innocent, that blasphemous heretic, sent his inquisitors to Narbonne, we tried to hide, all of us, my entire family, other families. But our evil neighbors paid their way to false absolution by witnessing against us. Although they brought my family in to the inquisitor with the false charges they laid against us, our faith remained strong.

  “To try to get us to confess and declare our conversion to Catholicism, the inquisitors used torture. My younger sister, aged fifteen, went to be a seraglio, a sex slave, for an inquisitor. Each evening, the unbeliever would describe in detail to my brother, youngest sister, and parents what lechery he forced upon her and what evil was yet to be done to her.” Spittle formed at the corner of his blood-red mouth, his glowing eyes focused on the ceiling.

  “That sounds awful.”

  “Worse. They then racked my father. He was the strongest man I’d ever known, but he screamed like a suffering animal as his shoulders dislocated. I can recall the cracks of the sinews releasing his bones from the joints and finally how his skin tore open.”

  “Oh my God. How old were you?”

  Was that a tiny bit of sympathy seeping into her mind? Impossible, considering the heinous acts Jerahmeel had committed, the threats to her family. But what person wouldn’t change after witnessing the torture of their family members? Wasn’t that exactly what she feared for her own family?

  “I was twenty. The inquisitors made me watch everything, hoping to get a confession out of me. They burned my older sister alive at the stake, scourged my brother, and mother receive
d the iron slipper.”

  “What in heaven’s name is that?”

  Contorted features creased his face.

  “They tied my mother to a metal chair and encased her foot in a red-hot iron shoe. The flesh burned away to bone. She passed out before they applied the second shoe.”

  “What did they do to you?”

  Even though her job was to keep him talking and distract Jerahmeel, his story, whether true or not, had her riveted.

  Another glance confirmed that Odie inched along the wall. If Jerahmeel looked in the right place, he would see him. She had to keep her erstwhile suitor occupied a little longer.

  She brushed her fingertips over Jerahmeel’s dry hand. His reptilian stare locked on to her.

  “What did they do to me? Nothing.” He laughed mirthlessly. “They did nothing. Except continue to demand my confession while my family suffered. So I called out to the two Gods I’d dedicated my life to worship. Called out for help and salvation from this hell on Earth. The second God answered.”

  “Which one?”

  “Satan. It so happened that he needed a new human to take over his worldly affairs. His only desire was to consume energy from human souls. Satan employed an immortal human to collect the criminal souls to feed his hunger. After he made me his pawn, my only job was to use wiles and trickery to recruit humans to keep me supplied with power. As I thrived, then Satan, who possessed my soul, would thrive and carry on the Cathar traditions.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Aside from Hitler’s brief interest in Catharism during the Jewish extermination, no. The religion faded into obscurity. No one worships the two true Gods anymore. I was betrayed. But I toil alone in my mission.”

  “Mission?”

  “To revive the true religion, of course.”

  “By tricking people to become immortal killers?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he growled.

  He straightened up and flicked a glance around the room.

  Keep him distracted.

  “So, how will you bring about the revival of Catharism?”