"Lost in thought?" he asked.
I couldn't find words. My mind drew blank. Damien was right. The knowledge may not help me get out of the situation I was in, but I needed to know. I had to understand that everything which was going on was a direct result of what I had done to Kyle.
Everything comes back times three.
But I still couldn't figure out how Aaron fit into the picture. Aaron. I wished I could have held him one last time and told him how sorry I was about everything that had happened. I didn't want any of this. I didn't even know what I was doing when I put that hex on Kyle, but ignorance was no excuse when dealing with Magick.
"Now," said the man, "It's time for you."
"Time for what?" I asked.
"Lay on the slab."
"And if I don't?"
The man produced his gun from the seat of his pants, held it to the side of my head, and pulled back the hammer. "Do we understand each other?"
I nodded and complied. The men were rough with me, but it was better than being beaten. I guess they wanted me in pristine condition seeing as I hadn't been hurt by anyone. Good. Being hurt would only make my escape more complicated. And I would escape. I only had to figure out how.
A hooded figure had me lay down on the slab and bound my hands in leather straps. The rest of them formed a circle around me while the leading man—the priest—crossed the room toward an altar covered in demonic paraphernalia and began to collect the objects he would need for the ritual that was about to take place.
I watched him gather a large book, kiss it, and pick up a silver and black chalice from the altar. I saw candles sitting atop the marble surface, a ram's head skull looking down upon a five-point star where the book was being kept, and a tall with an ornate gold frame and black glass. I noted how the book gave off a heat haze that disturbed the air around it; a haze that reflected in the black mirror as a strange purple glow.
The mirror didn't seem to reflect any people in it, though; only the haze coming off the book.
"Before we commence the ritual of the nuptis profanum upon this vessel," said the priest, "We deliver ourselves to the blood of our holy lady, Linezka."
Linezka?
The priest raised the silver chalice with one hand, swirled it around as if it were a glass of wine, and passed it to one of the men. He drank, passed it to his left, and once everyone had imbibed, the chalice was returned to the priest, who then finished the contents of the cup and placed it back on the altar.
"Without she," said the priest, "We are nothing but mortal flesh and bones, but by the power of her blood we are transformed. Empowered. Blessed."
"Who is the holy one?" I asked. "Is that the demon?"
The priest hovered over me. Now that he was close to me I could discern his features; his harsh eyebrows, his wide—madman—eyes, and his purple lips. Only his lips weren’t quite so purple anymore. They seemed, somehow, warmer and less… dead.
"There are more pieces in this game than those you can see with your own eyes, little witch," said the priest.
"What pieces?"
"You may have dispatched the pawn," he said, "But he served a purpose sure enough. We needed to know."
I almost dreaded to ask. "Know what?"
"If you were the one spoken of in the sacred texts."
"What are you talking about?"
"So powerful, and yet so blind. How could a witch have such power and not know anything about the world? Haven't you wondered why you are so capable? Why your power is as strong as it is?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"Soon enough, little witch, you will know all there is to know. Past, present and future—yours will be the knowledge of the universe; the power of the witch, the demon, and the wolf. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Demon and wolf? What does that mean?"
"That’s enough out of you. There will be plenty to discuss when this is over, when your indoctrination begins."
I spat in the priest's face. He wiped the spittle off his cheek and stood upright again.
"Let us begin," he said, and an icy wind came rushing in to the building at the gesture of his hand.
CHAPTER 30
"The time has come," said the priest, "To unite you in an unholy wedding with the hand of our lord, the Incubus."
"No," I said, "I won't allow this. Demons need consent! I. Will. Not. Allow this!"
"Oh but you will, because you have no choice."
He was right. My choice was consent or die, and I wasn’t ready to die. I needed a plan, but I had no Power, no strength and no options. I let my head rest on the slab and caught, in the black mirror, something descending upon my body. A mist, purple and thick. Slow. Writhing. Dirty.
The priest reached into his black robe and produced a crucifix. He then held to the center of the room, upside down, and said "He is here! Our Lord's Hand is here."
"Fuck you!" I yelled, struggling with my binds, but it was useless. The leather was too tight.
Cautious, as if he were about to pet a lion, he put his hand to one of my breasts and began to narrate a passage from the book in his hand. I couldn't speak Latin, but I didn't have to in order to understand what was being said. He was edging the demon on, empowering it with language and intent. And in that moment, the only thing I could think to do was pray.
I closed my eyes and cleared my head. "Horned God of the Sun," I said, aloud, "I call unto you to vanquish those who would wish your child to come to harm." I wanted to drown out the priest's words, but it was of no use. With every syllable he spoke his words became louder and deeper in my ears, it was like listening to a video of someone speaking with the bass turned all the way up.
“Hail unto you,” I said, “O’ Guardian of the Watchtower of the South, powers of fire and inspiration,” but my prayer was going unanswered. The invisible tether connecting me to my own Power wasn't there, and as the entity crawled closer to my skin I learned the reason why.
All this time the demon had been there, following me, manipulating me, and stifling my ability to use Magick. I wish I had known it sooner, but I was too close to my own problems to believe they were being caused by some kind of external force; by a wicked, malevolent intelligence.
Demons destroy a person's life. They damage minds, bodies and souls, sever social ties, and do whatever they can to isolate their intended host. I had said similar words to Aaron, and I was blind to the fact that the Demon was after me and not him. I wasn’t receiving phone calls or letters, I wasn’t sleeping well, and I had let myself fall behind on my studies to the point of expulsion. How could I have been so wrong?
I was wrong about everything!
Chaos erupted beneath my ribcage as a cold snake forged of purple mist slithered up my legs and thighs toward my belly and chest. I couldn't move, couldn't work Magick, and couldn't flee. The demon writhed and seethed pure evil, its foul touch leaving me sullied and dirty as it crawled across my flesh. I wanted to scream, but I held on to my composure. I would not give these people the satisfaction of hearing me scream.
Inky tendrils crossed the length of my chest, slithered along the line of my jaw, and inched toward my mouth. I could feel the coldness, the foulness, at the edge of my lips, which weren't staying shut despite my best efforts. I shook my head to keep the misty tentacles—now visible even to my eyes— from my face, but they followed my lips wherever I went and forced their way into my mouth. Inch by inch, the thick purple tendrils pushed their way into my throat causing me to gag, triggering my reflex to retch and blocking my airways.
I could feel the creature's foulness, wrongness, infecting me now. It was like a snake trying to get back into the skin it had just shed. Somehow, the creature was almost too big for my body to contain and caused my throat to swell as it climbed into me. Entered me. I could feel it searching for my soul, turning over every nook and cranny as it went. My inner light began to dim, and with it so too did my vision blur into a peaceful black. It was like being pushed beneath a calm body
of water. Down, down, down into the deep I went, and the world receded away from me.
But at the edge of my perceptions, I heard something—a shout—and the hand released me! I was free, and I could breathe! So I broke for the surface and, gasping, I clutched my aching throat and coughed through the sudden release. My insides were mush, my throat and ability to speak pulverized. The entity had almost taken me and its passage had left my entire body feeling like it had been dragged across a pit of filth. It was in my mouth, ears, and nose. Every breath, every heave of my chest, was pain and dirt and filth.
Around me, something was happening.
A gunshot rang out, then another and another. The hooded men scrambled out of sight, some faster than others. Was it a battle? I could hear grunting, growling, and cracking. But I couldn't see what was going on because, towering over my chest, the black and purple mass was reeling and writhing; its features warping and changing, clouds of black and purple ink morphing into a face, hands, claws.
I watched, desperately trying to slip my dainty wrists out of the leather straps, as the creature folded into and out of itself, as if it was unsure of what form to take. Was it stunned? I couldn’t hear the priest’s voice—couldn’t see him in whatever commotion was taking place—but then again I didn’t stop to look for him.
Then my fingers started to tingle. A familiar vibration settled into the palms of my hands, and while my wrists were still bound I could still flex my hands and clench them into fists, welcoming the return of my Power. It was back, and outside the clouds were starting to churn. The Guardian had heard my prayer after all.
I narrowed my eyes, stared the devil in the face, and said "Burn in the Goddess' fire."
The entity screeched and the windows burst into fragments. Inside its ethereal form, motes of silver light were manifesting and growing into burning embers. I watched the creature flail and whine as, in an instant, its shadow body burst into a pillar of pale fire bright enough to sear the eyes of anyone looking at it; anyone but me.
Several cultists staggered back and shielded their eyes. The demon's wail continued until, in a brilliant explosion, its manifestation came apart in thousands of fiery silver fragments that caused everything they touched to combust. Silent, silver flames were starting to climb along the sides of the ruined building now, up walls and toward the ceiling. This was the Goddess' fury, her outrage, working through me. Her vessel.
Her child of light.
A set of heavy, thumping footsteps caught my attention and I turned my head in time to catch a huge, towering creature—a beast?—charging through the wooden door and into the room I was in. I had to look away to shield my face from the explosion of splinters following its bull-rush into the building, but I heard the struggle and the pained cry of a man impaled by something sharp and large. And then came the gargling of a man choking on his own blood and the thud of a body hitting the wooden floor.
I wriggled and struggled to get out of the binds but movements caught the beast's attention and when it stalked around the stone slab, crossing by my legs, I could see it for what it was. It was standing on two legs; a body roughly human in shape covered in rippling muscles and fur which shimmered under the brilliant light of the silent flames consuming the room. But that's where the resemblance to a human ceased, for in place of a human head was the snarling snout of a wolf with glowing blue eyes—and it looked damn pissed.
Werewolf, I thought without thinking.
Was I dreaming? No. I wasn't dreaming. And the werewolf was advancing on me! But something was happening to it. The muscles and bones in its body began to twist and contort, shrinking somehow. Its gray fur was shedding and dropping off in huge clumps until all that was left was Aaron. Aaron! Covered in blood and breathing deep, with three circular scars on his bare chest where once there were three bullet wounds.
He rushed at the stone slab and untied my restraints, freeing me to sit upright and level my head with his. For a few seconds, seconds which seemed like hours, I didn't move or speak. Our bodies were glowing under the light of the cold, silent fire—a fire so powerful it was causing the wooden ceiling to disintegrate and fall lazily on us in ashy flakes.
But the space between us wasn't cold.
I could feel the heat between us and see it rising like a haze. If he had words, he didn't use them. Maybe we were just happy to see each other alive. But I wasn't sure what he would do. He was a werewolf. Or at least, he had been a moment ago. And now he wasn't. I could hear the conveyor belt of questions in my mind begin to fire up. Bags would come soon. Question bags. But before my mouth could move he plunged his blood-soaked hands into my hair as if it were a pool of water, tipped my neck toward his, and closed the gap between our lips.
We locked, electric. Carnal. Raw.
The moment stood still, hanging in time like the high point in a demolition as the explosion sends ripples through a building but the structure doesn't topple. In that instant I felt what he was feeling. I drank his aura and tasted it on my lips and tongue. Primal. Glad. Hungry. The moment was like a deep inhalation and only when the kiss broke could we breathe.
Aaron.
I was caught in a spell. Emotions fluttered around the cavern of my chest like birds trying to find a way out into the sunlight, trying to find a clear path through the darkness. Knees trembling. Lips quivering. I thought this man was dead!
"We have to get out of here," he said.
I snapped back into the moment like a dislocated limb; that is to say, painfully. Aaron grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit.
"No!" I said.
"No? Amber, we have to get out of here. Now!" His voice was like a wolf's growl.
But I couldn't leave.
The priest had said something to me which I couldn't get out of my head. The witch, the demon and the wolf. What did he mean? Was Aaron the wolf? I needed answers. A quick scan around the altar allowed me to find the book the priest had been reading from; sitting pretty next to priest's burning corpse. Though the floorboards around the book were ablaze with holy fire, the book itself was unscathed amidst the flames. In fact, the flames seemed to be avoiding it altogether.
I threw my hand out and the book flew at me from across the room, propelled by telekinetic Magick.
"C'mon!" Aaron said, tugging again.
We made for the exit, pushing through the cold flames and avoiding falling beams of wood as the building collapsed around us. Outside was all blood and snow and corpses—a real gory mess, a mess that Aaron had caused—but he was alive.
We both were.
CHAPTER 31
Two days later.
Frank and I were back in my attic, sitting on bean bags and drinking cider. Not home-made this time, but regular berry cider from the store down the street, chilled to perfection. In his hands was the book I had stolen from the burning building. He had asked me if he could leaf through it and I couldn't find a reason to say no.
So there he was, lost in the page.
I was sitting opposite from him in the lotus position with my can of cider between my legs and the iron cauldron we had hauled up here the other night still between us. Getting it into the attic had been a great feat, so we were in no rush to take it back down. Where would it go, in any case? The cauldron was ours, and I guessed it made more sense for the piece to become a permanent part of the scenery up in the attic than for it to gather dust in the garage.
"I don't know," I said, continuing an earlier thread of conversation, "I could go back to University and keep studying, I guess."
"You know me,” Frank said, “I don't believe in formalized education being a measure of your intellectual power. You can and will learn way more out in the real world. But it doesn't hurt to at least be prepared."
"So you think I should go back?"
"If it makes you happy, go back. If it's a burden, don't."
I couldn't say class had been a burden. I enjoyed learning, and I loved the subject matter. Going back to class meant having to
prove myself to the professor, though. It meant long hours of learning and working and little free time. And then there was the matter of Eliza’s baby. What then? She wouldn't be able to work at the store so I would have to pick up more hours.
"Speaking of happy and burdens," Frank said, "Where do we stand on Damien?"
Damien.
My feelings were mixed when it came to him. Whatever anger I felt toward him had been placated by the immensity of what happened to me the other night, but I still couldn't trust him. Not in a romantic way.
"We'll find out in a little while, won't we?" I said.
Frank dipped the book below his eye-line. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he's coming here, and we're going to talk."
"What? When?"
I checked. "Soon."
"And are you going to be civil?"
"No. I'm going to scream and holler at him for being such a giant tool-bag."
"Oh good! I'm glad I'll be here for that."
"Actually, you won't be. You're going to sit up here and keep reading that book while I go downstairs and talk to him. Understood?"
"Yes,” he said and after a moment’s pause he added, under his breath, “Witch."
I threw him a smirk and stood, stretched, and crossed over to my shrine. Earlier I had filled a bowl with holly leaves and planted three candles into it; one white, one black, and one green. Behind the candles was a picture—the only picture I had—of Kyle wearing a blue baseball cap and jersey. This arrangement of herbs and candles was part of a spell I had cast to send goodwill and protection to the man whom I had hurt so long ago.
"Be safe, Kyle," I said, "If I ever see you again I’ll tell you how sorry I am."
"That's a good little white witch," Frank said.
I turned to look at him and smiled. "It's about time I started taking this seriously,” I said.
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