Scenting Hallowed Blood

by Storm Constantine

  They are moving.

  Sofia opened her eyes and raised the binoculars once more. She saw dark shapes hurrying down the alley; one of them, female, running on ahead. That must be Aninka. Shemyaza was instantly recognisable. She could not make out the details of his features, but he was surrounded by a golden aura. Sofia counted heads: four. Shemyaza must have one of his followers with him. She wondered what had happened to the others. They too would have their uses.

  Sofia contacted Agnestis. I am coming down.

  They would follow Murkaster and Aninka to Cornwall, and if they tried to go anywhere else, they would have to get past the Serafim first. The master of the Emim she would deal with later.

  ‘Do you think it was all right to let Daniel go off with that guy?’ Lily asked, as she walked, arm in arm with Israel up the side street that led to the square. Now that they’d left the club, some of her euphoria had evaporated. The dance-sweat had dried on her back; her skin was cold. She felt nervous of Israel’s hot proximity.

  Israel made a palliative sound. ‘He’ll be fine.’

  Lily, conscious of this Grigori’s strength and height beside her, fought for words. ‘But he’s... inexperienced.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Israel said.

  They walked into the square and Lily could hear birds calling in the trees of the Garden of Remembrance, even though it was still the middle of the night. The city was like that, she thought, mixed up in time. During the dark hours, many things happened that belonged to the light of day, or vice versa.

  ‘Let’s cut through the gardens,’ Lily suggested.

  They walked through the creaking iron gate and onto the path, strewn with wet, papery leaves, which were slippery underfoot. The bare branches of the trees gripped the sky above them, and a few stars could be seen through the orange haze of the city lights. Lily sighed. She felt momentarily sad: one of those moments when time condenses and the past and the future seem to come together in the heart in one melancholy spasm. Only a few weeks ago, she’d been able to predict the course of her life from day to day. Now, the illusion had been shattered. There was no routine, and her belief in one had been misguided. Always the gift of her heritage had been waiting for her, waiting to pounce and tear the fabric of her reality to shreds.

  Israel put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about Daniel.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Lily wondered whether she was about to cry. It was absurd, but her emotions seemed outside of herself; she could observe them with a cool eye.

  Israel made her stop walking and put his dark hands upon her arms. She looked up into his inscrutable face. He’s not human. The thought seemed inconceivable. But how could she think that? She’d never been completely human herself.

  Israel lifted her bodily in his arms until her face was level with his own. Then he kissed her, and Lily opened her eyes to the vague, occluded stars. She felt her body was a void, empty of light, but stretching into infinity. She thought of Ishtahar, and the timelessness of love, its eternally damned patience. She thought of Owen and the way they had once been lovers, drawn to one another because there was no-one else of their kind to turn to.

  When Israel released her, Lily sat down upon one of the wooden seats beside the path, hugging her arms because she felt cold. Israel sat down beside her and touched her cool cheek with his fingers. She shivered, prompting him to withdraw his hand.

  ‘No!’ she said, shaking her head, and turned towards him. ‘Touch me again.’

  He reached out and slid his long, dark hand beneath her hair. Lily leaned against him. She felt lonely, yet weirdly happy. She wanted this Grigori male. It was his duty to obey her desire.

  On the wet mat of leaves behind the bench, Lily lay back upon her shawl and lifted the red folds of her borrowed gown. She parted her legs with her knees raised, and Israel knelt between them. They said nothing to each other as he unzipped his trousers. Lily closed her eyes and stretched her arms along the ground, high over her head. She parted her legs wider, feeling the cold air moving against her moist sex. She still felt weirdly removed from herself. Her instinct was that of lust, and her body was responding to it, but her mind seemed up among the stars.

  Israel touched her gently between the legs, opening her up with his long fingers. Coolly, she felt the lust grow hotter in her loins, the hungry contraction of muscles that desired only something to grip, something male and hard and alive. His dextrous stroking, which he must see as foreplay for her own pleasure, only teased her. It was agony because she wanted all of his body, and there was pleasure in prolonging that agony, in not voicing the command for him to enter her.

  She was almost at the point of orgasm by the time she felt him begin to push into her. She was used to Grigori size, for she had slept with Othman, but Israel seemed concerned about causing her pain and moved only slowly. Were Grigori women any larger than human girls? Was that why he was so careful? She didn’t care. She wanted to feel her flesh stretching to accommodate him. In an attempt to encourage him, she curled her legs around his back, pressing down with her heels to pull him into her. She felt him shudder with desire, and could hear his breath becoming harsher. His hands were upon her breasts as he strained his upper body against the constriction of her encircling thighs, but she gripped him only harder. She was still the empty void and she sucked him into her. In, out: the long fist of his sex pumped her body. Her skin was hypersensitive, registering in abnormal detail each fraction of his movements. Then, she sensed a ball of light spinning in the void, getting larger, drawing nearer, bringing with it a tail of fire. She thrust her legs high into the air as the orgasm crashed through her body. She felt it in her arms, her legs, her fingers, her toes, her eyelashes, her tongue, the depths of her ears. Her hair seemed to stand on end. Then, in the pulsing aftermath, she felt Israel’s seed gouting into her, soaking into the soil of her womb.

  With tangled hair, and leaf-strewn clothes, they ambled down the pavement towards the Assembly Rooms, beneath the shuttered eyes of the dark, looming buildings. Few words had passed between them. They had stood up, brushed themselves down, and resumed their walk home. Their communion had seemed a necessary thing, an act of love for the world, something which ensured the sun would rise tomorrow. She would sleep with Israel tonight, and before they slept, they would make love again and again.

  When Lily saw the dim lights in the windows of the Assembly Rooms, alarm stabbed unexpectedly through her belly. The light looked different, although she couldn’t understand how. She sensed danger, and without realising it, became rooted to the spot.

  ‘What is it?’ Israel asked.

  ‘There’s something... something feels wrong.’ She wondered why Israel couldn’t sense the strangeness all around them. He was pure-born Grigori and should surely be more sensitive than she was.

  Israel only peered at her, waiting for her to explain.

  Lily tried to find the words, but found that the feeling had ebbed. It had been like a brief waking dream. She shrugged and began walking again. ‘I don’t know what it was,’ she said lamely, but in her head was a blazing image of Owen. She felt worried about him. They had left him alone.

  Once they reached the side alley, Israel retrieved his keys from his jacket pocket, but after he put the first of them in the lock, he made a sound of consternation. ‘The door’s open.’ He glanced at Lily, and she felt her skin crawl with dread once more.

  ‘Owen,’ she said, and pushed past Israel into the building.

  The moment she stepped into the place, she felt the change. Something had happened here, or was still happening.

  ‘Wait, Lily.’ Israel’s hand clamped on her arm. His voice was low.

  ‘You sense it?’ She was shivering now.

  ‘Let me go first.’

  ‘Owen’s room,’ Lily said. ‘Please!’

  Israel glanced back at her, made a soothing gesture. ‘OK.’

  They went up the back stairs. On the second landing, Lily stifled a cry of disgust. There
was blood on the threadbare carpet, wet and shiny in the dim light. Israel swore softly. ‘Is this because of your friend Shem, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She risked a partial honesty. ‘Probably.’ She wondered how much Israel had worked out about her and her companions.

  Israel shook his head and padded up the next flight of stairs, Lily following some distance behind. She felt very much afraid now; her fear condensing in her chest, clogging her breath. She wanted to turn around and run from the house, but the image of Owen held her feet to the climb.

  The strangers dropped down upon them before Lily and Israel even noticed they were there. Uncanny creatures; their bodies as skinny as birds, and their floating hair like feathers. They seemed to drift down from the dark corners of the ceiling, or from an upper storey, like webs of gauze, but once they struck they became hard teeth and claws, possessed by the strength of eagles.

  Lily uttered a cry of horror. She saw the flash of white faces, with dark, burning eyes, but they moved so quickly, she could barely isolate their images. She was aware of slender limbs encircling her body with preternatural strength. They did not attempt to hurt her, but their smell was unliving and it frightened her.

  Israel gasped out a cry of pain, and Lily realised the creatures were not being so solicitous with him. She tried to utter a protest and struggled to go to his aid, but the blurred, shimmering assailants held her firmly in their grip. She could not see Israel for his body was completely covered in the flickering creatures. ‘Don’t hurt him!’ Her cry was ignored. She realised then that the sinister pursuers, whom Emma had always feared, had become a hideous reality. These creatures had come for Shem. Lily cursed herself. If both she and Daniel had been here, their heightened awareness would have felt these creatures coming. As if sensing her thoughts, one of them stopped shimmering before her eyes and she was able to look into his face. He was beautiful, with small features, heavy-lidded dark eyes and a pointed jaw, but he was slightly less tall than Grigori normally were, and silent. ‘Who are you?’ Lily murmured, her voice a husky fragile sound.

  The creature’s lips did not move, but she heard the word, ‘Emim. We are the Terrors.’

  There had been blood upon the stairs. Whose?

  Israel was still trying to put up a fight — she could hear him cursing — whereas she was capable only of standing against the wall, helpless. She understood there was no point in fighting.

  ‘Lily!’

  Her body stiffened at the sound of her name. She looked up and saw Johcasta running towards her on the landing above. Her clothes were in disarray and her face was bruised and bloody. Behind her came a pair of grinning Emim. They stalked her without haste, aware she had nowhere to run.

  The Emim around Lily broke away from her, and swarmed up the stairs to engulf Johcasta in a melee of dark limbs. ‘Lily!’

  Lily put her hands over her ears. She felt utterly numb, incapable even of fear. Johcasta managed to struggle free a little and threw something down the stairs, which landed at Lily’s feet. It was a small leather pouch. Lily stared at this object for a few moments, unable to identify it. Then she realised it contained Johcasta’s divining stones. She glanced up the stairs as Johcasta uttered an agonised, despairing groan. There was no clear sight of the Grigori woman now, just a dark, twitching huddle, and the pale heads of the Emim, dipping and swaying above their victim. One white face came up and snarled silently at Lily. Blood dribbled from its mouth. Lily felt nausea rise within her, yet she couldn’t be sick. This was all too unreal. Her limbs had become sluggish. She could not decide what to do, although she did not feel as if she was in any physical danger herself. These creatures had come for Shem, they had come for all of them. Slowly, she sank down the wall, and squatted against it, with her hands still clasped around her ears. This did nothing to blot out the hideous sounds around her: the bubbling cries of Israel and Johcasta, the crunch of bone and the tear of flesh. She closed her eyes and began humming loudly to herself, in an attempt to isolate herself from what was happening. She did not think of Israel. He was lost to her now: she knew that. Hadn’t the intensity of their love-making in the garden somehow foreseen this moment? She couldn’t feel shock or grief, because in some way she had known this was to happen. The price for loving her was death. She thought of Ishtahar again, and a blue calm came into her mind. I am going mad, she thought. Madness is no pain. But it didn’t feel like madness.

  Gradually, everything subsided to quiet. Lily, with her eyes screwed tightly shut, wondered whether she had stepped out of reality. If she opened her eyes now, would she find herself somewhere completely unknown? Something nudged her foot, and she flinched, reluctantly opening her eyes. One of the pale-skinned Emim stood over her, his hands and face seamed with blood. He gestured for her to rise. Holding the Emim’s eyes with her own, Lily reached out and grabbed hold of the pouch Johcasta had thrown to her, which she slipped into one of the deep pockets of the red gown. Then she rose slowly to her feet. She didn’t want to look to left or right for fear of seeing what had happened to Israel and Johcasta. The Emim nodded in apparent approval, then began to ascend the stairs. Lily shrank against the banister and followed him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a splash of bright, gold-embroidered fabric on the floor; the corner of Johcasta’s skirt.

  Lily followed the Emim into one of the rooms upstairs. It was a bare chamber, furnished only by an ancient table, which still gleamed with French polish beneath the light of the street-lamps coming in from outside. Here, a tall, red-haired figure sat, his legs crossed casually, his pale, long-boned hands resting gracefully upon his raised knee. Even in the dim light, his features were plain to see, as if his skin glowed from within. She knew he was Grigori. No humans were ever that beautiful.

  ‘You are Lily Winter,’ he said. His voice was soft yet sharp, like light dancing upon ice cubes.

  Lily nodded. She knew then that these creatures had not found Shem, and were about to question her about it. Shem had gone. He had abandoned her, and there was nothing she could tell his pursuers that would help them.

  The red-haired man blinked slowly, as if he’d heard her thoughts. ‘You don’t know where he is.’ There was no hint of enquiry in his voice.

  Lily shook her head. She felt too numb to speak, and yet if she said nothing, they might kill her because she was of no use to them. Her only thought was that at least Daniel was safe somewhere, and because of this she was not totally alone. If she could only survive this night, she too would be safe. ‘Who are you?’ The words came out separately, as if they had no meaning.

  The red-haired man re-crossed his legs and drew in his breath through his nose. ‘I am Salamiel,’ he said. ‘A friend of Azazel, whom you know.’

  She shook her head. ‘No I don’t. Who is he?’ She knew she was playing for time, but it was so difficult because her mind felt disconnected from the present moment.

  Salamiel laughed, but made almost no sound. His head simply went back and his mouth dropped open. A series of coughing sighs came out of him. ‘You do know him,’ he said. ‘He has touched you, enfolded you. You are his.’

  Lily frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You call him Shemyaza,’ Salamiel explained. ‘That is one of his names, but he has many. Shemyaza means, literally, the name of Azza, and that is but a form of Azazel, the scapegoat.’ He pulled a scornful face. ‘But you know none of this, of course. You simply accept what you see, and have no interest in the truth behind the name.’ He smiled and held out his hands. ‘To me, he is Azazel, and always will be. It is his dark side, and one that the Parzupheim wish dearly to contain. But I am his brother, and his dark soul calls to me. I seek him because of this yearning. You are his creature and you must lure him to me.’

  ‘I don’t know where he is,’ Lily said helplessly.

  ‘The boy, Daniel, will know.’ Salamiel’s eyes burned with a vivid orange light. He had the eyes of a red cat.

  Lily felt she was witnessing th
e true face of the Grigori, more so than those she had met before, like Israel and Johcasta. This was Shem’s equal.

  ‘Azazel will not abandon his vizier,’ Salamiel said. ‘He will summon him, one way or another.’

  ‘Daniel’s not here,’ Lily said lamely.

  Salamiel stood up and made a gesture of irritation. ‘I know that, as I know exactly what he is doing at this moment. Oh, it is all of no consequence! The Parzupheim will take Azazel to their sanctuary in Cornwall. Of that, I have no doubt. It is the only place to take him, because that is where his work must begin.’ He turned and looked at Lily. ‘It is an inconvenience that he’s been taken by them, not least because some of my Emim have suffered. Still, at least I have you...’

  Lily could not prevent an image of Owen flashing through her mind.

  Salamiel smiled. ‘And the damaged boy, of course.’ He gestured towards the door, where two of his Emim were waiting. ‘Would you like to see him?’

  Lily felt a thrill of alarm course through her belly. I must guard my thoughts. But of course, it was too late.

  ‘How little you know of the history of your race,’ Salamiel said in a conversational tone, as he led the way to Owen’s room. ‘Have you no curiosity about it?’

  Lily shrugged. ‘Yes. I haven’t had time...’

  ‘I have seen so much about you.’ Salamiel placed a cold hand on her shoulder. ‘The little village, your little life, and what happened to you when Azazel came upon you. Don’t you realise how privileged you are?’

  Lily wanted to say, ‘Nothing good happened,’ but kept silent, realising Salamiel would not want to hear that. ‘He told us very little,’ she said.

  ‘We have all the time in the world,’ Salamiel said. ‘Do you know that? And yet we have no time at all.’ They had come to Owen’s door. Salamiel put one hand flat against the flaking paint and said, ‘Your brother is sacred.’ Then he pushed open the door, splintered the wood, shattered the rim lock.