She stood fully six and a half feet tall, towering over all the men present.
Her eyes were a startling shade of orange, almost fluorescent, and when the light hit them just right they captured that light and seemed to amplify it. Looking directly into those eyes was like peering through windows that opened up on some fiery corner of hell. Almost no one could hold that gaze for long without getting weak in the knees and loose in the bowels.
Unlike the men she led, Myra was dressed very casually—a simple khaki pants-suit and leather loafers. And she didn’t have a gun because killing was already almost too easy for her. She preferred taking lives up close whenever she could—close enough to smell the blood.
Killing, after all, was one of the best vehicles for real intimacy that life could ever offer. Murder—the real kind of murder, the kind that could teach you a proper sense for the sweetness of life—was for her special times, when she needed to cherish something, when the worlds and the places between took it upon themselves to cough up something worthy of celebration.
Times like tonight, she thought.
But was it really true?
She decided to check again, just to be sure, and closed her eyes, letting her consciousness drift on the currents of the wind, using one of her special senses to reach out, one more time, and hone in on the cold, harsh current of energy that poured out from within The Great Father.
And she felt it, just like before.
He has found her and she has found him. They are joining already.
The stone had worked as advertised, and the girl, Simone, really was what they’d all dreamed she might be.
Myra took her cell phone from her purse and dialed a number.
Her older brother Tobias picked up on the third ring.
“I’m glad you’re still awake,” she said, using the language of their homeland to conceal her words from the mercenaries. “I have good news.”
“What happened?” he asked. “I assume she took the box.”
“Yes, but that’s not all. I can already sense the power of The Father coming through the walls of the house. She was able to forge the connection.”
“Already? You must be joking.”
“No. I feel it, Brother.”
“Then we are successful… I thought it would take much longer.”
“So did we all. She must be very powerful.”
“Did you get a look at her?” he asked.
“I did, “ said Myra, “just a moment ago, and she truly does resemble mother.”
“Really?”
“It is uncanny. You won’t believe your eyes.”
“I would like to see her myself.” Tobias’s voice sounded eager, childlike. It made Myra cringe to hear the naive weakness in it.
“You will,” she said, carefully keeping the disgust out of her voice. “Soon. I can use this phone to capture an image of her face and send it to you.”
“The phone captures images?”
“Yes—isn’t it remarkable?”
“How would you send the image to me?”
“Through the computer.”
“It can do that?”
“Yes.”
“This world… The things they can do now… It’s almost like magic, isn’t it?”
“Almost,” she agreed. “Has Mother been well today?”
“Very well. She’s taken a great interest in your assignment, and she asked me many questions. I think the excitement of coming back to this place has been good for her.”
“Did you try speaking to her again, about taking the girl back to the church and keeping her there?”
“I tried,” Tobias said. “But you might as well give up. Mother will never permit you to put the girl under duress. It must all happen as a result of free will. Those are the rules, and Mother doesn’t believe in bending rules.”
“The world’s different now. Very complicated. Things could easily go wrong,”
“There’s no point in arguing about it. I talked to her and she doesn’t want to hear any more.”
“Very well. But we’re taking many unnecessary risks.”
“Trust in Mother’s wisdom. I’m sure it will all work out in the end.”
Myra said nothing.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Tobias asked. “What do you think of the soldiers?”
“I like them. They seem competent, and all of them are very handsome. I’ll be using one of them tonight, so you should send a replacement tomorrow.”
“Using one already?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Spending so much time around them, I would go mad if I didn’t indulge myself a little, and I have to keep my wits about me.”
“Or instead, if you were more prudent, you could try showing some restraint.”
“It’s easy to show restraint when you spend your whole life in Mother’s company, having all your needs attended to by an army of servants. Some of us are expected to do more, and we have to take care of our own needs. I’m sure it’s hard for a hermit like you to understand.”
Tobias went quiet.
I’ve hurt him, she thought, and felt a little guilty.
But she also enjoyed petty cruelty.
She started to apologize, but couldn’t bring herself too. Not yet.
- - -
When the call ended, Myra took a stroll among the mercenaries.
All of them were reasonably handsome, and quite young—none more than 25 years of age. They were muscular but lithe, just the way she preferred.
Tobias had chosen them well.
A few were standing off to one side, smoking cigarettes, while the rest sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, relaxing and talking, bathed in the light of a small electric lantern.
The men were probably wondering if they’d be camping out tonight. She could’ve told them that they would, but preferred to leave them ignorant for the time being.
She let her eyes wander from one man to another, inspecting them carefully, and finally decided on the blond with the long hair. He had a soft feminine face, his smooth skin covered in heavy stubble that was probably meant to make him look more rugged. To her it just emphasized his basic fragility.
She tried to remember his name, but couldn’t, so she tapped his shoulder interrupting the conversation he was having with one of the others.
He looked up at her, blue eyes glistening, then shied away a bit when she made direct eye contact.
“I need you to gather your things and come with me,” she said.
He was surprised, “Something wrong?”
“Nothing serious, but we need you elsewhere. Someone’s coming here to pick you up.”
He stood. “Okay, sure. Just give me a second.”
Like most of the others, he had actual combat experience in the Iraq war, and you could see it in his eyes—a sense of damaged innocence. He hurried over to his backpack and loaded all his gear, moving quick and efficient, like a good soldier should. When he was done, she led him off into the forest, carrying one of the small battery powered lanterns to light the way for him—she didn’t need it herself.
They moved at a brisk pace towards the logging road where the cars were parked, about a mile away.
A few minutes into their walk, he turned to her and said, “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal?”
She raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you said I was needed elsewhere, so I was just kinda wondering…”
“Oh that… Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. Just a small problem. Tobias has some business to take care of, and needs a man to stay with Mother at the church. Mother is very important to us, and we like to make sure she’s protected at all times. I noticed how efficient you were on the job today, and I recommended you.”
“Oh. Well thanks then. It’ll be good to get indoors for little while, and maybe sit on something more comfortable than an old log.”
“I assumed a soldier like you would be accustomed to roughing it.
”
“I loved roughing it in the marines. Guess I’ve softened up some in the last couple years.”
They walked on in amiable silence for another minute or so, then she glanced over at him and gave him her warmest smile. “Don’t be offended,” she said. “But I have to confess that I can’t seem to recall your name.”
“Oh hell, No offense taken ma’am. It’s a boring name and easy to forget anyway. I’m Tim. Tim Beckwith.”
“Oh yes, that’s right.”
“You know,” he said. “if we’re just walking back to the cars, you don’t have to come if you don’t want. I know the way.”
She laughed. “I’m sure you know your way around well enough. I’m only coming along because the man that’s picking you up is also bringing something for me.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, you probably shoulda brought somebody else along, too. Might not be safe on the way back. This is real wilderness out here. There’s probably bears and poisonous snakes.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I have my cell phone and I carry a little pistol in my purse, but thanks for your concern.”
They made pleasant small talk for the rest of the walk. She was good at talking to people, and he was a nice seeming chap, very gallant to think that she might need protection. She had to stifle a grin.
When they reached their destination, she pretended to be surprised that Tobias’s man hadn’t shown up yet.
“I’m sure it won’t be long,” she said.
“It’s no problem if it is, I’m enjoying the company.”
She turned her body away from him slightly so he couldn’t see her hands, and flicked off the lantern, leaving them in darkness. Then she used one of her special gifts, a blessing she’d gained from her association with The Great Father, to sap the remaining light from the area and bring about a terrible blackness like ink that cloaked everything.
“Oops,” she said. “I think I hit a button by accident.”
In the sudden absence of light, he was utterly blind of course, but she could feel him just fine using other, special senses that didn’t depend on light to function.
She moved quietly behind him as he stared around in the pitch-blackness, and gave him a little slap on the side of the head.
His legs went all floppy, but he didn’t fall right away—she’d been too gentle with him.
He turned in her direction, raising his fists up in a boxer’s stance, eyes wildly searching in the gloom, trying to see his assailant.
She gave him another little slap, and this time he dropped, nice and easy.
He would sleep for a little while.
She pulled the handcuffs out of her purse, turned him over on his belly, and fastened them behind his back, being careful not to accidentally wrench his shoulders out of socket.
The handcuffs were an unfortunate necessity. Sometimes it was good to let them struggle because struggle could have a purifying effect on the soul, and also lent so much excitement to everything, but out here in the middle of an unpredictable situation, she couldn’t justify taking any chances.
She released the unnatural field of darkness, and the subtle glow of moonlight returned. Then she lifted him, carried him cradle-style out into the woods, and didn’t stop until she found a spot with a thick cushion of leaves where she could lay him down.
She removed her clothing while he slept, crouched beside him, and smelled his skin, smelled him all over. Then she took off his pants, pulled his underwear down, and took his organ into her mouth.
Soon his body was ready even though his mind still slept.
She straddled him, guided him into her slick wetness, and rode him for a while, moving gently, so as not to break his bones.
When he finally woke, he gazed up at her, confused. And then he tried to talk, tried to ask her questions.
Every time he spoke she hurt something—a pinch here, a poke there—not too much pain, just enough to keep him quiet.
Finally he did what most of them did; he started participating, fucking back from beneath her, building towards his own peak. He thought it was a game, that she was some kind of fetishist. He was enjoying it as much as she was, maybe even more.
He entertained her for a while with his enthusiasm, but after her second climax, feeling satisfied, she decided it was time to move on to the next step.
She rode him faster, leaned down close to kiss his ear and whispered dirty little things to him, urging him towards completion.
Soon his thrusting took on a frantic quality, and then she felt his body stiffen, felt him spurting his warmth into her. And while he was still spasming in the aftermath of his pleasure, she reared back and punched him in the center of his chest with all her strength.
Her fist went all the way in, deep enough to crack his spine, sending shards of bone flying into his heart. His feet kicked for a few moments and then he was still.
It was a quick way to kill, and merciful because nobody thinks a punch to the chest is going to kill them, so they don’t get scared.
Most of them didn’t even realize she was about to do it, didn’t see her drawing back because they were oblivious in the moment of their orgasm.
His sightless eyes stared up at the overhanging canopy of trees, mouth open slightly.
He was still pretty, even in death.
Now that her sexual desires were quenched, it was time to deal with her other needs.
She dug into the soft flesh of his stomach and opened him up wide with both hands, cracking his ribs so that they lay to either side like wings, giving her easy access to all his organs.
She reached into the mess and tore his dripping liver free.
She always ate the liver first. It was the best part.
Chapter 3 - Assignment
The room was a mess.
There were crates lying all over the puke-green carpet, overflowing with a vast collection of books and unusual objects. Some of the things in the crates appeared to be ancient artifacts—the sorts of things that might have been stolen from some museum somewhere—while others looked almost futuristic.
In the middle of it all, Malcolm Thackery sat on a wide leather couch, seemingly at ease with the mess—almost an extension of it really—wearing his boxer shorts and nothing else, sipping coffee and eating a muffin with his laptop open in front of him.
He was a very tall man, and broad in the shoulders, with extremely long legs that made him seem gangly even though he wasn’t exactly skinny. He was in his mid-forties, but he had big bold eyes and larger-than-life features that made him seem younger at first glance. His brown hair was a wild, unkempt mess, and anyone looking at him would’ve thought he had a severe case of bed-head, but in reality his hair didn’t behave much better even after he took the trouble to run a comb through it.
It was already 10 am, and there were a few semi-productive things Malcolm could have been doing, but in his opinion they were all bloody boring and he didn’t really want to do any of them, so he was putting them off.
One of the things he needed to do was to check his official work email and see if anything important was going on.
This task was so simple, and required so little actual effort to do, that, finally, he was beginning to feel a tad irresponsible for not having done it already.
So, he took another sip of his coffee, navigated away from the CNN.com homepage, and logged into his [email protected] email address.
There he found a rather terse message from Enid.
The title of the message was “IMPORTANT,” and the body text was as follows:
I need you to call me at home as soon as you get this.
It’s important.
Official business, actually.
Thank you for getting to the point, Enid.
He took another bite of his muffin, and a few crumbs dribbled down into his chest hair.
Official business might not be so bad, really, even though the kinds of jobs Enid gave him were usually the sort of nasty work tha
t he would rather avoid altogether.
The message had been sent at 3:22 am, which meant it was probably related to some dream she’d had. On a few occasions Enid had led him on wild goose chases with her dreams, but more often than not he’d hit pay-dirt eventually.
He set his laptop down, and headed for the kitchen to get his portable phone, taking long strides to cross over various crates as he went.
- - -
Enid answered on the third ring.
“Malcolm,” she said, “What took you so long?”
“I just got your message a moment ago.”
“I tried your cell phone number several times last night. You’re supposed to keep it with you at all times.”
Oops.
He’d probably left the thing in his coat pocket, or maybe in his van. He got so little actual work from The Order—maybe one job every two or three months—that it was hard to maintain the pretense of being on call 24/7, but Enid wouldn’t accept that sort of excuse.
“I didn’t hear it ring,” he said. “There must be something wrong with it.”
“Well you better deal with that right away.”
“Yes, of course. I’m quite sorry.”
“It’s really a pretty serious breach of protocol, Malcolm.”
“I realize that, and I do apologize. Believe me, I won’t let it happen again.”
There was a long pause—then: “well, okay. See that you deal with it.”
“I certainly will. What can I do for you this morning, Enid?”
“Have you heard from Joe?”
“Joe who?”
“Joseph Santini”
“Not recently, thank goodness. Why?”
“No one else has either.”
“Good for them.”
“This is serious Malcolm. He vanished a few weeks ago, and it’s starting to look like he might’ve gotten himself into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“It’s all still a bit speculative, but there’s a chance he was into something dirty, possibly involving forbidden alchemy.”
The DARK Trilogy: Titan's Song Chronicles Volume 1 (Books 1 - 3) Page 2
