by David Risen
Rider rolled his eyes.
“I lost the job a month after we moved out here. Upper management said something about me not being a good fit. I think they wanted the me to be the cops instead of someone who wants to help people.”
For half a second, Rider felt sorry for her, but then he realized once more that he was not really Nick Carcer. She was not his wife of more than twelve years, Dena Carcer, and she had likely never worked in the private sector.
“Apparently,” she continued, “there’s not a whole lot of demand for a Seasoned Director of Manufacturing around here.”
Rider shook his head, and looked back out the windshield.
“I’m going to give you one last chance to cut the crap and actually talk about the 300-pound gorilla in the room without us both pretending that last night didn’t happen.”
She looked like a deer in the headlights – the same look she gave her High Priestess the night before.
He glanced at her and then away again.
“Go ahead. Talk. I left my cell phone at work and OnStar and the car stereo system is fried. The only way they’d find out we had a real conversation about what this actually is would be if you told them.”
She furled her brow.
“Tell who what?”
Rider sighed and hung his head.
“No one can hear us, and if you really want to be my friend, at this point, there’s only one way – the truth. If you want to know what I know, why don’t you just try asking me instead of fumbling around with it like a high school boy groping all over the vicinity of his girlfriend’s boobs hoping that she’ll give him permission.”
“What are you talking about, Nick?”
He sneered. “Don’t you mean Subject A?”
Her eyes bulged.
He shrugged nonchalantly.
“Fine, I’ll start. Believe it or not, the fake memories that I have of you did the trick. I have many feelings for the person I think you are. I realize these feelings are artificial, but I’m willing to give you a shot. I won’t, however, if you don’t stop lying to me.”
She shook her head. He could tell that she was about to lie again.
He held up his hands in a defensive motion. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you – Sister.”
She closed her mouth.
He turned away from her and nodded to himself.
“I want something real out of you. No glamors, no wet dreams, no saying one thing and feeling another, and no giving it up to me just because wicked bitch in the silver housecoat says so.”
She sank in her seat with a stormy expression on her face.
“What do you want to know?” she said flatly.
He looked at the wood grain panel on the dashboard and nodded to himself.
“For starters, on a scale of one to no KY, how fucked is this situation?”
She made a wry face.
Rider allowed the silence in the car to linger for a moment before he gave up. He leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers behind his head.
“Okay. You don’t have to talk to me about anything.”
“The leader of our international order is coming to little Darien, Georgia,” she blurted. “That’s tantamount to the Pope visiting.”
Rider nodded.
She covered her face with her hand.
“I’ve really blown it, haven’t I?”
Rider shook his head.
“The last couple of months were the best of my life. I have to hand it to your pointy-hat friends, they’ve turned my whole life around, and I’m not interested in jumping down the rabbit hole unless I have no other choice.”
She looked relieved and embarrassed.
Then she eyed him. “You know I’m a virgin, right?”
Rider bunched his lips. Then he craned his head around and gave her a look of disbelief.
“So, you would really climb in bed with me just because sister scarlet freckles told you to do it?”
Her eyes glistened with the onset of tears. She folded her arms and looked out the rain-speckled passenger window. Rider felt terrible. Up until now, he hadn’t considered the emotional toll that being a part of such a ruthless organization would take on a person who simply wanted to do the right thing.
“This whole thing is my fault. I should have paid more attention to you and Aurora. It was my job to protect you....”
She looked at him. A tear dribbled down her cheek from her right eye.
“From her,” she finished.
Rider bowed his head with reverence.
“You understand that there’s nothing even remotely weird about me. I’m Joe Blow.”
She shook her head convulsively. Rider eyed her hands, which trembled in her lap, and now he understood how much pressure she faced.
“Why don’t you just disappear? The fact that these women would ask you to prostitute yourself like that....”
“You don’t understand,” she snapped.
She sounded like a drowning person trying to squeeze out cries for help between dips below the water. “We have to do it.”
She peered back at him through bloodshot, tired eyes.
“I have to do what they told me.”
“Why?”
She licked her lips.
“My High Priestess mentioned a Grand Assembly.”
Rider waited for the rest of her explanation, but it didn’t come. Finally, he turned his palms up.
“I have absolutely no idea what that is.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know much about it.”
Rider gave her a mystified look. “Then why are you so worried?”
She glared at him. “Because that’s when they come in and wipe out the threat and everyone associated with it.”
Rider looked at the squarish, chrome-painted center of the steering wheel.
“Okay. Apparently, they think that’s me, but why do you have to do what they say?”
She gave him a blanched smile.
“What they would do to me would be worse than what they would do to you in a lot of different ways.”
Rider licked his lips. “I don’t really know how it could be much worse than getting squashed flat with an arcane ritual.”
She released a deep, shuddering sigh.
“They would bind my powers, and then they would perform a very intrusive and painful ritual that would bind my memory.”
Rider nodded. “Been there, done that, got a tee-shirt.”
“But what you don’t know is that most people go insane in the process.”
He cocked his head.
“I didn’t.”
She sneered. “But you’re not most people; I am. And after they finished with the process, they wouldn’t give me a new identity. They’d dump me off somewhere that no one knows me stripped naked with no memory, and if I didn’t die from exposure or get raped and murdered, I’d probably end up in an insane asylum.”
He huffed.
“And you call these people friends?”
She held up her quaking hands.
“The order wasn’t always like this. The new Grand Arch Sorceress is cruel and heartless.”
Rider shook his head.
“Well, what little I know about them, I hate.”
She gave him a weary look.
“They are fair. I mean, they could have just killed you rather than going to the trouble of giving you a new life.”
“Gee thanks.”
She turned her head back to face him. Her motions were jerky and nervous.
“I think we go out to eat. Give me a little time to collect myself. We go back to the house, and do precisely what they expect to see on their cameras.”
Rider gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m not real comfortable doing that with a person who under normal circumstances would chew off her own arm to get away from me. I’m not a bad lookin’ guy. I can find someone willing.”
She laughed. “It’s really not like that. I have a vow of chastity to the sisterhood, an
d I take it seriously. But the Sisterhood requires absolute obedience.”
He gave her a cynical look. “Yeah, and then you’ll go right back to them and report every one of my movements.”
“Forget that you know all of that. I’ll go find a real job somewhere, just like they told me. You decide to believe all of that about me getting fired and hiding it because I was embarrassed. We should never speak about this conversation again. If you ever see Subject B again, walk the other way. If she shows up to the house, call the police and file a complaint for harassment.”
Rider looked out the windshield and shrugged.
“Can you do that?” she said. “For me and Aurora?”
Rider frowned and glowered at her. “About Aurora, who is she anyway?”
Dena laughed assertively. “I thought she was yours.”
Rider shook his head. “My daughter died in a car crash.”
She gave him an innocent look. “They don’t tell me everything. I can find out for you though.”
Rider nodded. “Do that, and no more lies.”
They locked Amelia in a vault.
The metal was hard and icy beneath her, and whatever spells they invoked on it worked.
She had no power, and she couldn’t even move her head.
Her arms stretched out in a straight line even with her shoulders and shackled at the wrists.
Her legs extended more than shoulder width apart and cuffed at the ankles.
She felt like a human pentagram.
Every time she tried to use her power, the exertion left her feeling much weaker, and a heat source above her head burned hot.
The ride itself was long.
She had no way of knowing how long just that she fell asleep twice for extended periods of time.
She woke the final time when her forward movement began to slow, and she noticed the vehicle taking frequent turns.
At last, the truck beneath her grumped to a halt.
In a few moments, she felt the bed of the truck shudder as her captors lowered the tailgate.
The vault rose a few inches drifted backwards about eight feet, and then landed once more on something hard.
Then she heard the roar of the heavy wheels again on broken asphalt, and after a few feet, it glided over smooth concrete.
Then the front and back wheels bumped over a thick impediment. Then it rode more smoothly yet down a different kind of surface.
Amelia steeled herself.
Preparing to unleash a massive surge of energy upon whatever spell or device robbed her of her essence.
Then she pushed against her bonds with all of her strength. The heat source above her head flared. In a moment, her vault turned into an oven.
She released when she began to feel her skin burn.
That’s when she realized that she was no longer moving.
The heat source above her seemed to be growing even hotter. She lay in a puddle of her own sweat, and her mouth was as dry as desert sand.
At last, she heard the mechanical clacking of the heavy locks opening.
The left side of the container swung away, and a gust of cold air washed over her bare hands and feet chilling her wet shorts and Pink Panther nightshirt.
The other side opened and light from florescent lamps in the ceiling peeked through the stitching in the fabric of her hood.
Then she heard high heels clacking against tile floors. The footfalls silenced a few inches below her feet.
“Hello, Amelia,” a musical voice said.
The person speaking was not her initial captor, Lauren Fields-Rider.
“I can tell by the heat that you struggled. You’re lucky you didn’t cook yourself.”
“Who are you?” she snapped.
The heels clacked against tile a few times as her new host paced around to her left side.
“You’ve never met me, but you know of me.” I believe the name you know is Claire Jacobs?”
Amelia balled her hands into fists.
“I guess I’m back in Bridgeton again?”
Sister Jacobs laughed.
“No, we wouldn’t do anything that predictable, and I’m not over the Bridgeton Ward anymore. My new title is Arch Sorceress and second counselor to the Grand Arch Sorceress.”
Amelia rolled her eyes.
“I couldn’t care less about your success, and this Grand Arch Sorceress you all keep talking about must be a coward considering that she hasn’t the decency to show herself.”
“She’ll be along,” Claire said, apparently unaffected by Amelia’s posturing. “As for right now, I’m here to give you an idea of what to expect, so you don’t become terribly over wrought.”
“Oh, it’s far too late for that.”
She heard the rustling of Sister Jacob’s clothes as she shifted her weight.
“In a bit, former High Priestess Rose Walden will visit us with scissors, a few sponges, a towel, and a bowl of warm, soapy water. Her job is to cut off your clothes, and wash you up for your rituals.”
Amelia lifted her head. “If she touches one thread of my clothing, I will roast her.”
“Be careful,” Sister Jacobs said with foreboding. “Sister Walden is rather angry with you over the Darien affair. Not only did you almost kill her, but she also lost the rank of High Priestess. The Grand Arch Sorceress busted her all the way back down to Initiate.”
Amelia smiled behind the black bag over her head.
“I won’t be so generous next time.”
The clacking of her heels told Amelia that Sister Jacobs took two steps in her direction.
“There won’t be a next time. This vault is inescapable. We’ve used one very much like it to capture another of your kind, and that was almost ten years ago.”
“Yes, I know. You call her The Abysmal Matron.”
“Oh,” she said brightly, “so you’ve been perusing our restricted files? Yes, we call her the Abysmal Matron.”
Amelia huffed.
“My guess is that her only iniquity was ruffling the wrong set of feathers.”
“Oh no,” she insisted. “These aren’t just creepy stories that we entertain ourselves with during slumber parties. The prophecy of The Celestial Shards is older than Christendom and proven both by our allies in the Spirit World and our own history. The two most powerful, right now, are you, and to a slightly lesser extent, The Abysmal Matron.”
“Perhaps you’d care to share this prophecy?”
She laughed.
“We’re not inside a sacred circle. I can only say that our new Grand Arch Sorceress, who is totally not a coward, will be discussing all of it with you very soon. This is what we do.”
“Your purpose is to be full of hubris, condescending, corrupt, and later, slightly more dead than usual.”
Her clothing rustled again as she shifted.
“The implement that you’re in is so strong that you can’t even move. You’re not going to hurt anyone, so you might as well go ahead and accept that this is over.”
Amelia heard a door open.
“Ah, Ms. Walden. Amelia, we’re almost out of time, so let me just get through this.”
Amelia tried to lift her head, but once again she only summoned enough strength to tighten her hands into fists.
“I don’t care what you have planned. You and everyone in this building is soon to die. That includes you, Lauren Fields-Rider, Sister Walden here, and anyone else who is foolish enough to participate in this travesty.”
She heard Claire Jacobs sigh.
“And we’re out of time. Sister, I was supposed to stay here and supervise, but I really want a cup of coffee. Anyway, strip her and clean her up, and she has a thing for sexual molestation. That really upsets her, so make sure you pay careful attention to her female parts.”
Claire Jacobs didn’t wait for her response. Amelia heard her heels fall like hammers all the way to the door, pause, and then continue with the door shutting behind her.
Once Claire’s footfalls sile
nced, Amelia felt the body heat of the other woman leaning over her.
“You touch me and I will cause your body to heal itself so rapidly that you can never die. Then I will set you on fire that never douses.”
She felt the woman lean closer.
“You know that sexual acts with another woman are not considered a violation of our chastity covenants. We have entire rituals based on female orgies. I’ve always enjoyed the release.”
The woman originally known as Delilah Powers, daughter of Joy and Frank Powers and currently called Dena Carcer felt smaller than she ever had before.
She tried hard to invest herself in lovemaking with Subject A, but she was too damaged.
The physical sensation of it was what she came to expect of her own sexuality, but nothing more than that.
Being with an actual person following years of celibacy was just awkward. It was twice as much work, double the clean-up, the weirdness of being naked in front of another person was off-putting, and she felt no intense emotion for him.
In fact, she seemed to have her emotions turned off.
After it was over, she felt dirty, used, and ashamed of herself – like a whore.
She took a shower last night following the event, but still, she found herself showering this morning in extra-hot water and scrubbing herself until her skin was red and raw.
After forty minutes of stewing, she turned off the water and climbed out of the shower.
She wiped the condensation off the full-length mirror and stared at her image.
She never thought of herself as a seductress, but she supposed that she wasn’t terrible. Subject A certainly seemed to enjoy himself.
Whore.
Her disillusionment with The Sisters of Divinity was at an all-time high.
She lied to her High Priestess when she told her that she was working on her promotion during the time she was supposed to be checking up on Subject A.
Her real intention was to leave the order.
For months, she committed herself to research the oldest and most powerful protective spells to bar her sisters from binding her powers.
She understood Subject A’s plight. The Order would stop at nothing to neutralize a person they labeled a threat – not the least of which was an AWOL sister.
Dena’s decision to leave was the inevitable conclusion that began when the order forced her to preside over a ritual of rewyrding in which the subject was one of her childhood friends.
