House Infernal by Edward Lee (36 page)

Distract him? Ruth didn't have a clue what he meant,
and creativity under pressure wasn't a strong suit. The
Werewolf hands squeezed as she moved briskly to the
table.

Aldezhor's hand-like a glove of compacted black
gas-was holding up a small piece of parchment. "Excellent." He regarded the Chevalier. "I'll rush this over to
Boniface when we're done eating." Then he began to put
the note beneath his cloak.

Without forethought, Ruth slipped her bra up. She
touched Aldezhor's cold shoulder just as he was about to
put the parchment away.

The Chevalier's segmented face went beet red. "How
dare you put your filthy prostitute hands on the Grand
Duke! I'll have them cut off!"

But Aldezhor's faceless face was looking right at Ruth's
bare bosom.

"Why, that's most ... impressive," he muttered.

She looked at the Chevalier. "Don't blow a gasket, sir. I
just thought I'd offer the Grand Duke a lap dance while
he's waiting for his lunch."

"You ridiculous impudent disgrace to all Humankind!"
the Chevalier screamed. "You are lower than the lowest
filth to ever exist in Hell! How dare you presume that Satan's Grand Messenger would have any desire to be in
proximity to the likes of you!"

Aldezhor held up a shadowy finger. "Silence, Chevalier.
The fact is I'd very much enjoy such a delightful spectacle."

We're good to go, Ruth thought and got to doing what she
did best: enticing men with her body. The dining room fell
silent as she slowly danced around the Grand Duke,
churning her hips and tracing her hands across his black
chest. Even Alexander was looking on. Ruth expertly
spun a leg over Aldezhor's head, simultaneously edged
her butt up on the table, then shot both legs up in a V.
There's an eyeful, she thought. In more synchronous movements, then, she slithered forward facing him, and sat in
his lap. Jesus, this guy's colder than a snowman, she thought.
Now her bare breasts were right in his incorporeal face.

Got to get a look at that note now...

She stood up, spun another leg over his head, and
again sat herself in his lap, only this time with her back to
him. Hands on knees, she slowly ground her buttocks
into his groin.

The note lay opened right in front of her.

VII.VII, it read.

Remember that ...

When Ruth finished her dance, she turned and bowed to uproarious applause. Grand Duke Aldezhor slipped a
thousand-dollar Hellnote into her waistband.

"That was marvelous," he gushed.

"Thanks for the tip, Duke. Oh-be right back. Your
lunch is ready." She traipsed off, quickly grabbing her
pen and writing VII.VII on her thigh-

"Harlot!" the Chevalier yelled. "In the name of Lucifer,
stop right this instant!"

I guess he means me, she thought, but when she turned
around, she almost fainted.

The Chevalier was aiming a sulphur pistol right at her
face.

"Come forward!"

"What did I do wrong?" she said, astonished. She
edged back to the table, noticing that creepy Bio-Wizard
leaning over as if telling Aldezhor something.

"You re under arrest for anti-Satanic thoughts and terrorist premeditation," the Chevalier said.

"The fuck?"

Aldezhor stood up. "Conscripts! Fetch a cranial retractor at once."

The Chevalier smiled down the bead of his pistol. "Our
Bio-Wizard has interpreted your psychic aura, harlot, and
has discerned an act of subterfuge and treason."

"The fuck?" Ruth repeated, dismayed.

Helmeted Conscripts clattered into the room, and one
handed the Bio-Wizard an iron device that looked like a
closed bear trap.

"Remove her brain without delay and deliver it to the
Psychical Sciences Center for analysis," the Grand Duke
ordered.

"Brilliant suggestion, Grand Duke," the Chevalier
added. "The mediums there will be able to read her
treacherous brain like a book, and extract all of its heretical secrets."

The full force of the predicament finally socked home.
Holy shit! These assholes are going to take my brain out of my
head! In the background somewhere, she thought she heard a strange steady tone, almost like a bell, and as the
Conscripts reached for her, Ruth began to scream-

"So, when are we gonna get to this funky restaurant?"
Ruth complained. She and Alexander walked leisurely
down a glowing redbrick sidewalk.

The priest smiled at her. "Believe it or not, Ruth, we just
left the funky restaurant."

Ruth stopped and leaned against a wall below a poster
of that weird design she'd been seeing-the spiral in the
rectangle. "What?" she said. "I'm supposed to get a job at
this joint so I can read some secret message passed on to
this Aldezhor guy."

"You already did." The priest waved her into a scarlet
alley. "Come on. You have to change clothes. You'll attract
attention on the street, and after what just happened, we
don't need attention."

What the fuck is he talking about? But before she could object, Alexander slipped his tentacle around her waist and
urged her into the alley. More shock slapped her when
she looked down at herself. She was wearing the TongueSkirt and Hand-Bra. She winced when the Werewolf
hands gave her breasts a squeeze. "This is fucked-up,
man! I don't remember changing into this!"

"You don't remember a lot, Ruth." The priest sat down
in the corner, his Usher legs runneled with muscles. "In
fact, nobody in the restaurant does. Because of this." He
held up a metal implement that looked like a fork with
only two tines. "Remember my goody bag?" He gestured
toward the puckered pouch around his neck. "This was
in it."

Ruth rubbed her eyes. "It looks kind of like a tuning
fork that guitarists use."

"Good guess. It's a Regression Fork. It regresses the
memory of anyone who hears it. We almost got nailed in
the restaurant but once I struck this fork"-he winked at
her and put it away-"it worked like a charm and we got
out scot-free."

"I don't remember shit," Ruth asserted.

"Neither does anyone else who was there when I rang
the fork."

Something clicked in her head. "Then how come you
remember?"

He opened his wide, three-fingered hand, displaying
two pebbles. "Earplugs."

Ruth's breasts heaved with a great sigh. "So you're
telling me I've already read this note, this superimportant secret message?"

"Yes, Ruth. You simply don't remember reading it. Pull
your skirt up over your left thigh."

"Why?" she challenged. "I knew you were a perv."

"Ruth, just do it."

With obvious distaste, Ruth pulled up the TongueSkirt's quivering hem.

"There. See?"

Written on her thigh was VII. VII.

"That's perfect!" he enthused. "Now we know exactly
when the Involution will be initiated."

"Huh?"

Alexander rose. "I'll explain as we go. But for now, you
need to change-"

"Fine with me!" she rejoiced and yanked the hairy bra
off. "I've been dying to drop this stuff in the garbage."

Alexander put the bra in 'a bag. "Not so fast. You'll need
to wear the outfit one more time. It's very important."

Fuck, she thought. She reached to slip off the grotesque
skirt but-"Hey!" She found the thousand-dollar Hellnote in the waistband. "How'd I get this?"

"You don't want to know." He handed her the cutoff
shorts and pink yuci Poo T-shirt. "Put this stuff back on
and let's go."

Ruth stepped out of the skirt and as she stood naked
before the monster-limbed priest, she caught him looking
at her very intently.

"You don't have to stare, you know."

"Trust me, Ruth. I'm not lusting after your body."

Yeah, right. "Then what are you doing?"

"It's just amazing," he said, "how closely your body resembles someone else's...."

Where ... am I? Venetia thought when she awoke in a
room that clearly wasn't hers. And when she leaned up"Oh my God..."

The back of her head throbbed with pain.

"Relax, dear. You're in Father Driscoj's room."

She recognized the soothing voice at once: Mrs. Newlwyn's. Then the matronly woman's face focused above
her, along with two more-John and Betta.

"Why am I in Father Driscoll's room?" Venetia finally
managed, and leaned up. She was wrapped in her robe.

"We found you this morning at the bottom of the
stairs," a firmer voice cut in. Father Driscoll's face now
appeared, along with Dan's.

The memory-slammed back, and her eyes shot wide.

"What happened?" Dan asked.

That voice again.

I'm talking to you from Hell, it said.

But what else? Something about bones-six bones? Six
coffins? And a strange word, she recalled. Electrocution? Plus
the same names on the list I found. And-

She remembered the cloaked figure on the landing
coming for her.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Dan said trying to
jest.

Maybe I have, she thought.

Then something worse jagged into her head: an image
awash with sensations. It must've been something I
dreamed.... Of course. She'd dreamed that the cloaked
figure had proceeded to perform oral sex on her...

Mrs. Newlwyn and Betta helped her sit up on the bed.

"We brought you into my room," Father Driscoll told
her, "because it's downstairs." He touched her shoulder.
"Venetia, did you fall down the steps?"

"I . . . ," she began. I guess I did. "I'm fine. I may have
tripped at the bottom."

"I think I should call a doctor."

The idea alarmed her. "No, no, I'm all right, just a
headache."

Driscoll frowned toward Dan. "It looked like you were
passed out at the bottom of the stairs. Dan admitted that
you'd both been drinking last night."

Dan cut in quickly, "But I also mentioned that Venetia
only had one beer. It didn't seem like a big deal."

"Of course not, Dan," the priest said sarcastically. "A
girl barely twenty-one-who never drinks-chugging a
beer on a hot night after working in the heat all day."

"Look, if you want to blame me, go ahead. I'm sorry. I
didn't think one beer would hurt. I told her to order it."

Venetia shook her head. "It's nobody's fault but mine.
The beer may have buzzed me a little but I'm certain I
wasn't drunk. I think I may have fallen asleep in the
atrium-"

"Why in the atrium?"

"I couldn't sleep so I went outside for a walk." She
flicked a quick glance toward John and Betta. "I took a
walk in the woods, then came in and found I was really
tired." She rubbed her face. "Lord, I feel so stupid. I came
in and sat down and I think I fell asleep. I had ... a nightmare. It's one I've had before-I dream I hear a voice."

"A voice?" Mrs. Newlwyn asked.

"A voice from Hell, telling me weird things."

Dan tried-and failed-to buffer the comment with
some levity. "At least it was a good Catholic nightmare."

Driscoll frowned.

"And then I dreamed I saw this ghost everyone's talking about-the cloaked figure."

Mrs. Newlwyn's face blanched, and so did Betta's.

"Venetia," " Driscoll said like a father to his little daughter, "there's no such thing as ghosts."

Well ... he doesn't look happy, and I can't say I blame him.
Venetia felt like an imbecile, shaking the whole house upside down with ghost stories. I hope he doesn't tell my
parents.

The priest seemed to be thinking. "All right. You got
tipsy-thanks to Dan. You had a bad dream. And you
may have fallen. I'm responsible here, so I have to make
sure you're all right."

"I am," Venetia implored.

"You're certain you don't want a doctor?"

"I'm positive."

"All right, but there's one other thing."

Everyone else was looking at her with a hushed concern. Eventually, Mrs. Newlwyn said, "We're worried ...
about the position we found you in."

Venetia sensed the tall woman was testing an uncomfortable detail. "My position? What do you mean?"

"When Betta and I found you, you were unconscious at
the bottom of the stairs, and your robe was off. Your..."
Another moment of hesitation. "Your legs were parted."

Driscoll stepped in. "We just want to make sure you
weren't raped."

Astonishment broke over her. "That's ridiculous." My
robe must have come off when I fell. That's all I was wearing,
she thought. "There was no way I was raped, Father."

"Even with the new locks, this house would be easy for
a professional thief to break into," Dan said.

And Driscoll: "Are you sure you locked the door when
you came in from your walk?"

The key around her neck felt chilled. "I'm positive."
Venetia couldn't believe all the concern she'd caused, but
before she could answer, someone rang the doorbell.

"John"-Driscoll looked to the yard boy-"go and see
who that is, please."

"Okay, Father," he said and went off.

All eyes returned to Venetia. "I wasn't raped," she said.

"We could take you to the hospital for an examination,"
Dan said.

"That's ridiculous. I would know," she asserted without
stating outright that her hymen was intact.

Driscoll nodded, adding, "We could at least ask the police if there have been any sexual assaults in the area
lately."

"That would be crazy," she scoffed. "We don't need to
mention this to the police."

John came right back in.

"Who's at the door?" Driscoll asked him.

"The police," John said.

The scrawny kid who answered the door came back a
minute later and said, as if insecure about something,
"Urn, uh, Father Driscoll says you can come in."

"Thanks," Berns said and stepped inside to an atrium
that was walled with books and full of sheet-covered furniture.

"They're all in his office." The kid's hair was sticking
up and his T-shirt was flecked with grass. Yard boy, Berns
thought, but when he looked up to the second-story stairhall he thought he saw a woman in a white robe rush into
one of the rooms. Was that Venetia? He caught a glimpse of
bright blond hair but that was it.