At the bottom of the steps, he and his men rounded a corner, and before them stood a hideous display of blasphemy. Five sinners in all chanted at the vertices of a pentagram drawn in chalk on the concrete floor. Candles and incense burned, suffocating the room with unholy light and fragrance. Around the pentagram, a circle had been traced. Just outside the perimeter of the circle, a blue book with a silver pentagram inscribed at its center sat on the dirt-coated floor. He knew it well. Widely held as the most thorough and respected authority on witchcraft, it was a mark of defilement in his eyes, a blasphemous reminder of man’s frailties. In it pages was the despicable history and philosophy of witchcraft, as well as powerful spells and ritual instructions. To the novice, the book was a veritable how-to book for the induction into the ungodly practice. To the experienced sorceress, it was a reference guide that had long since been committed to memory. Beside it sat a notebook with the words “Book of Shadows” scrawled across it in loopy handwriting. The Book of Shadows was a common term for a witch’s journal. It was where she would record each of her rituals and their outcomes, along with her profane journey down the path of evil. He loathed to touch such offensive works, but needed to confiscate them as evidence for his congregates. But before he reached for the book, before he made his presence known, he searched his soul and tried to sense the Sola’s presence.
He closed his eyes and held his hands out at his sides, palms facing upward. He felt her existence thrumming through his core like a constant current of electricity, coursing through his very being. She was near; of that he was certain. But he did not feel the charge of her growing power. The energy he sensed in the room was different from that of the dangerous seer. The energy of the room, concentrated in the encircled pentagram was latent, its force as yet untapped. He opened his eyes and noticed that one of the cloaked conjurers watched him.
“Who dares to conjure evil in this house?” he boomed. No one answered, but five sets of eyes now stared at him. “Who is the high priestess of this ritual?” he demanded again.
One of the hooded fiends lowered her cloak. “I’m not a priestess or anything,” she answered. “But I am hosting this ceremony.”
Her face was smooth and round, childlike, yet had been tainted by dark makeup. He guessed she was perhaps eighteen years old.
“Ceremony,” Howard said and stooped to pick up the blue book. “You call gathering together to summon darkness a ceremony? This is an abomination, an offense against God!”
Howard scanned the faces of the cloaked children. He searched with his soul, with God’s gift, and realized they were not the devil’s disciples; they possessed no genuine power. They were just misguided teenagers intrigued by unholiness.
Howard paused and took a deep breath. “Whose book is this?” he demanded but no one answered right away. “Whose book is this?” he boomed a second time.
“That’s my book,” the baby-faced girl said in a voice that quavered, betraying the confidence she’d feigned. A silver earring looped through her nostril quivered and reflected the candlelight, and he noticed that her dark hair was streaked with scarlet strips.
He stepped toward the girl, closed the distance between them and removed his own hood. She gasped and he took her plump face in his hand and squeezed her cheeks.
“Take your fucking hands off her!” another male voice shrieked.
Howard glanced back to his men and nodded. All twelve stepped from the shadows and drew their weapons. He returned his attention to the girl. One hand held her face while the other clutched the book. He raised it and placed it close to her face. “You see this?”
She nodded.
“This is a book of witchcraft. Are you a witch?”
“N-n-no,” she stammered through welling tears.
“Then what is the meaning of this?” he shouted inches from her face.
The girl cried. Blackened tears fell from her eyes and formed sinister rivulets down her cheeks.
“You are nothing more than an impostor,” he growled.
“I-I-I- know,” she sobbed.
“Where did you get this?” he asked her and held the book to her face again.
She did not answer, but wept uncontrollably.
“Where?” he shouted.
“Online; I-I got it online.”
Howard swallowed back the bile rising in his throat and took a deep breath to calm the rage that scorched inside of him.
“You are not a witch,” he said through his teeth and squeezed her cheeks harder. “None of you are!”
“I-I-I know. There’s no such thing,” she blubbered.
Anger shot through him like a lightning bolt. His body began to tremble and he squeezed even harder. “Foolish child,” he condemned.
He stared into her eyes. They were the eyes of a scared and reckless teenage girl. His peripheral vision confirmed that all present were scared, foolish teenagers. None held powers. None were witches. But Howard felt no pity for the girl or her friends. They had chosen freely to experiment with darkness. They had turned from the light, from God. And he could not ignore such an affront. He could not forgive it.
“This is a sin. You are all sinners!” he said and dropped the blue book to the floor. It landed with a thud and he felt the girl flinch beneath his grip. With his freed hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his blade. In one quick motion, he thrust it into the girl’s stomach.
A stunned hush blanketed the room then was quickly slashed by cries of terror and pleas.
“What have you done?” a voice shrieked.
“Oh my God,” another voice sobbed.
“Please don’t kill us too,” a male voice begged.
“I cannot allow for such blasphemy to go unpunished. This is God’s will,” he said solemnly. Warmth spread over his hand and a large crimson stain grew over her abdomen, saturating her shirt and expanding to the waistband of her pants. In the warmth of her waning lifeblood, he felt infused with calm and peace. He was carrying out God’s work. Righteousness filled him. He felt dizzy, giddy even, and weightless. Tears filled his eyes, the Holy Spirit overwhelming him.
“Kill them,” he calmly instructed his followers. “Kill them all.”
At his command, shots rang out and echoed though the old house. Tears streamed down his charred, leathered skin. Pure joy filtered through him like sunlight. He relished in the moment and muttered, “I heard you, Lord. I hear you.”
He pulled his blade from the girl and returned his attention to his men. All of the sinners had been shot dead. None lived. Smoke filled the room and through its hazy veils, he saw that some of his men looked weary. He recognized their need for divine inspiration.
“Sometimes we have to fulfill commands that are unpleasant on the surface. But rest assured that at their core, the activities here were unholy, and had to be punished. These were not children of God. They had strayed and sought out dark forces. They sought out Lucifer.” He paused and heard “Amen” muttered several times then continued. “These sinners needed to fall,” he said and enriched his voice with virtue. “They will be examples to others who might consider following them.” His men nodded in agreement. He raised his voice, honesty and morality ringing out like a bell heralding a new day, and said, “We are God’s soldiers. We must be strong and carry out His will, however difficult it may seem. We will leave these bodies, as they are, around the very symbol of their ungodliness. They will show the world what happens to those who trespass against the Lord.”
“Amen!” Mark said and gripped his son MJ’s shoulder. “Amen son.”
Howard watched as MJ’s eyes surveyed the room, the blood that had splattered against the concrete walls and seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight. A smile tugged at the corner of the boy’s mouth and he looked to Howard and said, “Amen.” With his loyal followers and God on his side, Howard knew the Sola’s days were numbered. She, like the sinners he stood before, would fall.
Chapter 8
Starting the day by
losing control of her bike and careening down a stretch of road on her back had not been Arianna’s first choice of ways to begin her day. She felt safe assuming that the accident would be the lowest point of her day, and that anything else that happened thereafter couldn’t possibly be worse. Not even her second day at her new school. In fact, thanks to her new friend, Luke, Herald Falls High School didn’t seem half bad, even though she was forced to face it dressed like a prostitute. She ran her hands down her abdomen and touched her borrowed clothes. Luke’s sister had surprised her with her generosity, but in her clothes, she felt less like herself. She felt vulnerable. Though she’d never shied away from wearing tight clothing, the thin material of Stephanie’s yoga pants left little to the imagination. Every curve of her body was on display. The T-shirt she’d borrowed was more fitted than the ones she normally wore as well. The cotton and spandex blend of the fabric stretched and strained across her chest and hugged the contours of her breasts. She wished her sweater had fared better so that she could have covered up with it. She’d wanted to ask Luke for his, but he’d done so much for her already. His offer to connect her with an inexpensive mechanic to fix her bike was more than she could have possibly expected, not that she’d expected anything that had happened earlier in the morning.
The morning, and the accident, was still so fresh in her mind. Each time she blinked, she saw a glimpse of it. The world rushing at her as her bike spiraled out of control, scraping along the asphalt, rolling down the hill, and the strange man on the side of the road. Images unceasingly presented themselves, but none more disturbing than the man. The stranger on the side of the road had distracted her, and had arguably instigated her crash. But she did not want to think about him. Not now. She had a long day ahead of her.
Pulling one of two large doors toward her, she pushed the mystery man to the back of her mind, replaced by a sudden need for nicotine. She could not remember when she’d had her last cigarette and felt a distinct edge encroaching on her temper. Walking toward her first period class, she decided she’d sneak out at her first opportunity to the small clearing. Even if she only managed a few drags, the nicotine would mellow the irritability she felt. She dug through her bag and found her course schedule wadded at the bottom. She smoothed the creases as best she could and saw that her first class was just a few doors from where she stood. Few students lingered in the hallway. The first bell had rung while she had been in the parking lot with Luke. The ones that remained watched her, though they tried to do so discreetly. She would have loved to stare each of them down, freeze them out with her hardest look, but there was no time. She jogged to her class and crossed the threshold just as the second bell rang.
Everyone was already seated. Arianna looked at roughly twenty-five or so sets of eyes. And they were all on her. All looked unfamiliar, save for one. Cheryl Charles narrowed her green eyes at her and smirked.
Arianna resisted the urge to walk to her desk and wipe the stupid grin she wore right off her face, and probably would have, had her teacher not begun to speak.
“Oh, hello there,” he began in a soft voice. “My name is Mr. Bates. Welcome to American History. You must be Arianna Rose.”
“Yep, that’s me,” she said and took her lower lip between her teeth.
“Good to meet you. We have an empty desk back there,” he said and pointed to a desk in the last row.
Arianna walked to the back of the classroom and felt eyes on her as she passed. Some of the looks were approving. The boys she’d passed let their eyes travel the length of her body and generally rested on her chest. The attention was flattering. There was no doubt about it. But it did not go over well with the girls in the class. A few huffed and rolled their eyes and Arianna silently cursed Stephanie’s available wardrobe.
Once she’d finally made it to her desk and settled in, she looked up and noticed another familiar face. The boy she’d flicked her cigarette at, Preppy-boy, sat at the desk next to Cheryl. Both had turned in their seats slightly and eyed her. She met Cheryl’s gaze first and watched her unwaveringly. After she realized Arianna was not going to look away, Cheryl returned her attention to the front of the room and shifted uncomfortably. Preppy-boy gave up as well and followed Cheryl’s lead. Mr. Bates began his lecture and twenty-five boring minutes into class, everyone was broken into groups. Neither Preppy-boy nor Cheryl had been assigned to her, but their group had met beside hers.
More than once, Arianna heard Cheryl remark to Preppy-boy muffled words then laugh and look in her direction. Anger began to boil in her like molten lava. She did not know if it was Cheryl’s arrogant smirk, or her body’s need for nicotine gnawing at her, but she could not recall ever feeling as riled as she did in that moment. Each time she laughed, Cheryl tossed her head back and slung her blonde hair over one shoulder. The hair toss, the exaggerated cackle, and that smug smirk incensed Arianna. It felt as though every cell in her body teemed, alert and alive, and on edge. She balled her fists and put them in her lap, her nails digging into the skin of her palms so deeply, she was certain she’d drawn blood. She heard the word “slut” hissed and saw Cheryl stand and brush her hair off her shoulder followed by another girl chiming in and adding, “She really does dress like a slut.”
“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Arianna said aloud and looked directly at the girl.
The girl did not reply. She lowered her gaze to her textbook and stared at it as if it were the last thing she’d read. Cheryl, however, had become suddenly emboldened. She looked at her and tipped up her chin, “Arianna, why would you ever think we were talking about you? The outfit perhaps,” she said and raked her eyes over her before cackling again.
An indescribable feeling shot through Arianna’s body, like a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky. It jolted each of her senses and all she could think of was humiliating Cheryl, knocking her from the high horse she’d placed herself on. Her pulse pounded in her ears and her breathing became short and shallow. Words escaped her fleetingly and she envisioned Cheryl on her ass. She took a deep breath to calm herself and was about to utter a sharp retort as Cheryl squatted to seat herself in her chair again. Arianna stared at the chair, concentrated hard on it and focused all of her rage, all of her energy toward it. She wanted nothing more than for the chair to glide back, away from Cheryl. She lifted her hand to brush a lock of hair from her forehead and noticed that her fingertips tingled and watched as, impossibly, the chair shot out from behind Cheryl, slid of its own volition more than twenty feet. Cheryl’s backside landed against the floor with a thump, and judging from the expression on her face, the fall had hurt more than her rump. The entire class laughed.
“Ow! Oh my God! Ouch!” she squealed and stood slowly. “What the hell! You people are not funny! Not funny at all! Which one of you did it? Huh, which one?” she accused her group.
No one took credit for kicking her chair out because no one had. Arianna had seen the chair move by itself. Or had she? Searing pain exploded in the back of her head. She raised a hand and tried to massage the overwhelming ache and found that the tingling had stopped. She wondered whether the massive headache was nicotine withdrawal or possibly a concussion. Or perhaps she was going crazy. Fortunately, the pain subsided quickly, and as the laughter subsided and it had been determined that none of the people in her group had kicked the chair out from beneath her, Cheryl glanced over her shoulder at Arianna. Only this time, her haughtiness was tinged with embarrassment. Arianna was the one to smirk this time around, and though she was left with a dull smarting at the base of her skull and the distinct possibility existed that she was injured or losing her mind, she felt that either way, Cheryl had gotten what she deserved.
Mr. Bates quickly regained control of his class and silenced any remaining chatter. The rest of the period wore on and Arianna’s headache wore off. When the bell finally sounded and ended American History, she gathered her belongings and bolted out the door. A quick glance at her schedule confirmed that her next class was tw
o doors down the hall. When she arrived there, a note had been posted on the door that her teacher had needed to leave unexpectedly. The class was instructed to report to either the library or computer lab for study hall. But she had no intention of doing either, not right away at least. Enduring a fifty-minute class in the throes of a nicotine fit had been next to impossible. She did not intend to ignore opportunity when it presented itself. She needed a cigarette. She dashed down the hallway and found the alcove that led to the clearing in the woods. She pushed open the door and noticed that it did not fully close. A rock had been wedged near the bottom hinge. She smiled and realized someone had borrowed her idea.
The sun was strong for the late-October morning. Although she wasn’t particularly fond of her tight T-shirt, she was grateful it was short-sleeved. With one hand reaching into her backpack digging for her box of Camel Lights, she stole across the leaf-littered grass to the tree line. When finally concealed by a formidable maple, she placed her cigarette between her lips and lit it. She inhaled deeply and felt the smoke fill her lungs, the nicotine entering her system. She felt immediately calmed, and a bit lightheaded, but not unpleasantly so. Her accident earlier in the morning, her run-in with Cheryl, as well the bizarre chair incident moments ago, seeped from her and was replaced with quiet calm. The area around her, bathed in golden light and bejeweled with brilliant treetops, was peaceful. But the sound of damp leaves swishing in the distance ended her peacefulness. Growing nearer, it meant that she wasn’t alone. She peeked out from around the trunk of the maple she hid behind and did not see anyone. She guessed animals had made the noise and returned her attention to smoking.
“Hey,” a voice whispered in her ear unexpectedly.
Planet Urth Boxed Set Page 21
