Scott Nicholson Library, Vol. 4 (Boxed Set)

by Scott Nicholson

  At the upper end of the commons was a slight rise of stacked stone, like an outdoor stage. A few tall trees hovered over, but the dominant feature was a hulking stone statue that was chiseled from volcanic stone. It looked simultaneously primitive and hideous, with a blunt and vaguely feminine face, rounded stone boobs, and a grass skirt.

  If that’s the “feminine divine” old Erasmus keeps raving about, give me an eighteen-year-old any day.

  But the statue appeared to be pretty important, because laid out before it was a huge slab of stone that looked like a table...or altar. A rock wall marked the back of the stage, with a couple of openings made with stacked pillars that had a Stonehenge vibe.

  Mount Shasta was prominent in the background, catching the thick slice of moon and sparkling with a soft glow. I had to hand it to Erasmus, if he was trying to wow some kids into drinking his special brand of Kool-Aid, he couldn’t have picked better scenery. The night was clear and cool, and the backdrop was mystical.

  The crowd was sedate, whether from special substances or just mellowing out because of the meadow, but there was a faint buzz of expectation. I walked around with my hood pulled low, eavesdropping for clues, but most of the conversation was of bands, movies, boyfriends, and the same kind of stuff you’d overhear at a university student union.

  After about ten minutes, Erasmus emerged from somewhere off to the left, probably from a luxury bungalow. He wore the same robe we did, except his was long and flowing, sweeping the ground behind him. He looked a little different than when I’d encountered him in his Volvo a week before. He looked calm and paternal, as if he’d been rehearsing.

  Or maybe he really believed in his own brand of Nirvana.

  I clung to the back edge of the crowd, keeping a broad view of the events. Everyone fell silent as Erasmus sat cross-legged on a boulder. He spread his arms, palms open. “Hello, my children,” he said, his voice carrying all across the commons.

  What kind of guru-godly-goop was this? Was he being serious? I swear this was like a bad episode of Punk’d.

  “During this week you will constantly be facing your demons. Through a series of exercises we are going to peel back your inner core and find out why you all have chosen the paths you follow. I know some of you are runaways. I know some of you are prostitutes. I know some of you are recovering drug addicts. I know some of you have done heinous things that you can’t even bear the thought of re-remembering. This week is about forgiveness. This week is about finding yourself and making sure you’re whole.”

  Wait a second! Who does he market this to? Runaways? Prostitutes? The worst of the worst, as long as they had barrels of cash to offer?

  The security guy out front had really thought I was gay, perhaps even a gay prostitute. This place was delving in the bottom of our society. But not the very, very bottom. The Answer made sure that only the attractive could be salvaged and redeemed.

  I looked around the crowd, and many had their hoods down, revealing comely, rapt faces and shining eyes. Everyone was gorgeous. Why had they let me in, aside from the fact that I’d laid out a stack of money? There would be only one reason to let me in. They’d assumed I was a minor and there was a huge perv here who liked teenage boys.

  Maybe even Erasmus Cole himself.

  Well, if he wanted a kiss, he might get a little more than he bargained for.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I had a bad feeling, and when I have a bad feeling, that’s saying something.

  No surprise there. It didn’t take a psychic to get a bad feeling about this place. Sure, it was cheery enough. The commons were brightly lit, with old-fashioned carriage lamps set on posts to augment the moonlight. There was a snack table off to the side, which hadn’t appealed to me because my hunger was of a different kind. There was even a big crystal bowl of punch. Blood red.

  Focus, Spider.

  Everyone seemed in a state of bliss as Erasmus droned on about how together they were all brothers and sisters, all part of the same world, all children of the clouds. But something was clearly off. I glanced around the perimeter, and now there were big, stocky guys in uniforms circling around like wolves herding sheep. While I didn’t see any of the young disciples making a break for it, or even appearing uneasy, the atmosphere changed slightly, as if Erasmus was about to deliver the real sales pitch.

  I realized how vulnerable the group was, softened with promises, removed from their loved ones, isolated from the past they had known. How he had lured these folks up here, I haven’t a clue. Maybe this was a legitimate retreat...for some. Maybe a handful of folks really did leave this place feeling enlightened and alive.

  Maybe.

  Others, I suspected, were not so lucky. Others, like Parker’s friend, Cindy, in his trunk drained of all blood, never left here again. Alive, that is.

  And then I saw something that would have caused my breath to catch in my throat, if I had breath. A prominent politician, a Democratic senator, in fact, had just entered the stage from behind the stone statue. He nodded to a burly security guard, who nodded back. The senator was followed by a celebrity. A very wealthy celebrity famous for his action movies. He, too, stepped in, nodding to the security guard. And it continued like this for the next few minutes. Politicians, prominent business leaders, heads of state, more celebrities, all issuing from behind the little stone wall.

  And all of them were looking upon the participants, me included, with only one thing:

  Hunger in their eyes.

  Yeah, I had a very bad feeling about this place, indeed.

  * * *

  Erasmus droned on with his message of hope and deliverance, expounding on “The Answer,” which involved surrendering to the larger mysteries of life while following a path of simplicity. It sounded a little contradictory to me, but in a way, it was sort of like what I’d done when I finally accepted I was a vampire. After all, I didn’t ask to be the way I was, but didn’t I have a right to survive just like everything else on the planet?

  The big wigs gathered around Erasmus, but they didn’t kneel or anything. I suspected they were the kind of folks who didn’t kowtow to anyone, and probably saw Erasmus as just another service worker or deliveryman—he set up the butcher shop and the wolves swooped in for pork chops.

  Erasmus raised his arms, and the wide sleeves of his robe slid down to his elbows. Stage lights, probably strung along the back of the stage, lit up brilliantly behind him, revealing the giant statue in better detail. It was twenty-five feet in height, grainy, and grotesque-looking. Her crude nose and lips were broad, and deep crevices of eyes were set in a face that was like a hammer. Her limbs were thick and sinewy, and I had the distinct feeling that I had just entered the first circle of hell.

  Now that she was illuminated, there was no denying that the statue represented a demon of some sort.

  Those in the crowd oohed and aahed, but they should have gasped. Something freaky was going on, and I had a feeling things were only going to get worse.

  I was right.

  After more introductions and more proclamations of purifying, a drink was passed around. The same red punch I had seen earlier—and it most certainly wasn’t Kool-Aid; at least, not the kind sold at Wal-Mart. Others in attendance downed it willingly. I don’t down anything other than blood and so I pretended to take a drink but let a little dribble down my chin so it looked like I’d had some.

  A few minutes later, while those in attendance around me seemed to be feeling the effects of a drug...and by my estimate, ecstasy— the inner circle made their moves.

  They gathered closer to Erasmus, who was loving the attention and the power, and he proceeded to lead the assembly in a strange chant.

  I thought I made out the words “oysters in your laundry hamper,” but I believe the chants were Latin, a subject I’d studied a few times in school but rarely had the chance to speak. If you don’t practice a new language—even very old languages—you tend to lose it.

  And old Erasmus started to lo
se it, ranting and gibbering, waving toward the giant stone figure. I looked around at the crowd of mostly young and nubile women, who were swaying and joining in like it was Beatlemania on heavy sedatives.

  It didn’t look any more harmful than your average Catholic mass or high-school dance, so I figured maybe tonight was nothing special after all. I relaxed a little, feeling I wouldn’t have to blow my cover yet and swing into action.

  I had a little more time to get the lay of the land and learn about the place.

  But first I had to find Parker’s sister.

  Chapter Fifteen

  From the photograph Parker had shown me, her sister Lilith was sort of like a miniature Parker, fresh-faced, girlish figure, cute as a ladybug on a daisy.

  The problem was that so many of these girls were cute, and a surprisingly large proportion of them were also blonde. In the chaos, I couldn’t tell which ones were gleefully going all cult-zombie and which ones were just going along with the crowd because it was trendy.

  The inner circle gathered closer around Erasmus, and somebody somewhere started beating a tom-tom drum. Its deep bass thudded across the night like a pulse. I pulled my robe over my face a little, making it like a hood, and swayed into the crowd as if I were dancing. The moans grew louder, and I realized they’d risen to a rhythmic chant.

  It still seemed kind of mild for a supposedly killer cult. Maybe this was Brainwash 101 for initiates like me, and we were expected to just keep our mouths shut and learn. It looked like Erasmus was after numbers here, trying to impress his acolytes with the sea of swaying beauties.

  So I kept my mouth shut, especially since I didn’t want to show my fangs. Yet.

  Erasmus Cole stood on the platform, his hands raised as if he were a conductor about to launch a symphony. He gazed up into the night, where a sallow wedge of moon slid toward Mount Shasta. I understand a little about the heavens and physics, since I’ve been around so long, and I knew the Earth was spinning and thereby creating the illusion of the moon’s slow movement.

  But still it looked as if the moon was sinking into the glistening, icy top of Mount Shasta, an impending collision of glowing forces only moments away.

  “Excuse me,” I said to one young blonde girl who looked about sixteen. From behind, I’d taken her for Parker’s sister. I wasn’t sure I’d have time to check the robes of every adolescent-looking female, and a couple of males were androgynous enough that I wasn’t quite sure of the gender until I was close enough to see their necks.

  I’m a big observer of necks, and I can spot an Adam’s apple at twenty paces. But I try to keep my distance, because necks start looking yummy if I stare at them too long.

  The chant started to sound like real words, English words, and at first I thought it was “Ray” something, like an ode to a sun goddess. The great stone beastess towering over Erasmus didn’t look very sunny, though, and I was pretty sure all of this was in tribute to her.

  As the acolytes broke away from mashing with the masses and headed for the platform, the three-syllable chant grew louder. And I made out the words, “Raise her up. Raise her up. Raise her up....”

  My God, they’re trying to summon the demon.

  If that stone monster so much as moved a muscle, I was grabbing Parker and we were out of there, immortal hero or not. Rational minds tell you that demons didn’t exist, but in the rational world, vampires didn’t exist, either. Yet here I was. We don’t live in a rational world.

  Then the acolytes were gathering around Erasmus, and the moon was sliding closer to the peak of Mount Shasta. There came a mild commotion from behind the stone wall and a couple of big goons in robes half-carried a slumping, lithe figure through the pillars.

  She lifted her drowsy head and I saw immediately that it was Parker’s sister.

  I began moving to the front of the crowd, working slowly so as not to draw attention, mumbling and moaning in unison with the others. The cult’s acolytes had their eyes on the young girl, and their depraved lust pushed my generally sluggish heart rate to nine or ten beats per minute. I figured it was just another initiation, and that Erasmus just wanted to present her to the cult as a new member.

  Every cult needed fresh blood, even ones where the members didn’t seem to live long enough to age out.

  Most disturbing was the face of Erasmus Cole. He beamed with pride as her limp form was brought to the platform before him. When the goons released her, she swayed and almost collapsed, but Erasmus caught her in a gesture that might have passed for paternal tenderness elsewhere.

  Instead, he laid her on her back, her pert breasts straining against the thin robe as she panted and gasped. By now, I was about two or three rows of brainwashed, drugged-out zombies away from the main event. The statue still hadn’t moved, so I figured if there was a demon on the premises, it probably didn’t reside in the stone monolith.

  And as the crowd chanted “Raise her up,” Erasmus pulled a gleaming object from the folds of his robe. The moon was nearly touching the tip of Mount Shasta now, white melding with white.

  Erasmus flipped open the object in his hand.

  The wicked, silver blade gleamed in the night.

  And then I realized the chant was actually “Razor up.” as he lifted it high into the air.

  And I had a bad feeling the chant was about to shift to “Razor down.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Just as the moon settled into the notch of Mount Shasta like an egg settling in a nest, Erasmus reached gently down and stroked his daughter’s hair. I tensed and pushed through the last of the crowd, reaching the front row, drawing attention to myself because the whole place had fallen still and silent.

  Erasmus played out one long blonde strand of the girl’s hair and snipped it neatly with an easy stroke of the blade.

  The crowd drew in a collective breath, and the circle of big wigs gathered a little closer around the altar. The moon was now fat and settling on top of the mountain, and Erasmus folded the razor and put it away.

  My muscles relaxed, but my fangs were long and full against the inside of my lips. When I get aroused—be it from anger, intense curiosity, or that occasional and troublesome other kind of bloodthirsty arousal—my teeth just go crazy and have a mind of their own.

  Luckily, I’ve learned to control my urges over the years, though I can’t control my physiological response. It’s like training a dog not to bark when the mailman drives up, or a worm not to wiggle when you stick it on a fishhook. Some things just are.

  Still, I couldn’t hide my relief after getting all worked up. Apparently this was just part of the show, and the inner circle stood around Erasmus with placid expressions on their faces, hardly the look of maniacs.

  Now, I could see a senator being a sociopathic madman, but I was glad the actor wasn’t a lunatic. And I thought I saw a major-league baseball player behind Erasmus, obviously skipping out on the second game of a late-night doubleheader.

  But now they just looked like harmless, gullible idiots, standing around in robes while Erasmus held the single strand of hair aloft.

  “Goddess of the moon, the mountain, and the stone, accept this symbol of change, that part of the body which grows but also falls away, that which shines yet is dull, that which is made from me but is also a gift to me. Accept my daughter as your own.”

  The person next to me coughed a little, and the person directly behind her gave her a kick to the leg. This was apparently an important moment.

  “I promised you all would be welcome here, and all can be cleansed,” Erasmus said.

  He gave the hair a symbolic wiping along the sleeve of his robe. “My daughter has made mistakes, like so many of you young people have.” Here he slowly waved his hand to indicate the inner circle. “Even the people we admire have had their share of missteps. But we can all change for the better.”

  Then he indicated the moon, which gave the illusion of being fully embedded in the mountaintop. “Just as the moon is always in motion, so must we
continue on our individual paths. Tonight, my daughter has pledged to join us, and to follow us as we walk the road of the divine.”

  He took his daughter’s hands and raised her from her kneeling position. It was almost like they were about to embark on the bride-daddy dance at a wedding. Erasmus’s reputation as a vicious, demon-worshipping murderer was taking a serious hit, and I wondered yet again if Parker was pulling a con job on me.

  “Welcome, Lilith,” Erasmus said.

  The crowd clapped, which was an odd reaction considering everyone’s previous behavior, and Lilith herself even smiled. Erasmus, who’d been so solemn and grim-faced before, now grinned like somebody’s kindly uncle. The inner circle shook hands and high-fived and knuckle-bumped, and a few of the people around me began muttering a general “So, what are you doing after the cult meeting?” kind of lines.

  People in the crowd peeled back their hoods, and I saw that although many different nationalities were represented, Erasmus Cole clearly had a preference for young blondes.

  In a way, I was glad I didn’t have to spring into action, but on the other hand, it meant I’d have to spend a little more time digging.

  There was also the very real possibility that Parker had set me up somehow, hoping I’d cause trouble. I’ve known a lot of women with daddy issues, and some weren’t above manipulating a guy into getting back at their dad for them. Some did it through promiscuity, others through drugs, still others by wrecking expensive cars or making bad grades or maxing out the credit card.