House Infernal by Edward Lee (44 page)

"Now I'm really confused." In the northwest and
southwest corners sat two gasoline cans. "I thought this
was some kind of blood sacrifice. You're going to burn the
place down?"

Dougie chuckled. "Don't worry about what you don't
understand," he said, and walked to the first can. "It's almost time now anyway. I told you before, the MorteCisternas can be anything-the name's pretty much just
for show. It's the meaning behind it-and our faith-that
gives it power."

The gas cans are the fonts, she realized. The storage vessels
for the blood.

"These first two'll be really ripe-they've been rotting
out in the woods since last spring." Then he unscrewed
the top and laid the can down on its side.

The blub-blub-blud sound brought with it an appalling
smell. What emptied from the can looked like black rice
pudding. Stinking and shining, it laid in a lumpy puddle
at the beginning of the first comer arrow.

"That's the blood from the nun-whew! Stinks, doesn't it?" Then Dougie repeated the procedure with the southeast can, whose contents stunk just as badly. "And this is
the old prune-but I'll tell ya, she went down kicking and
screaming. And she had a Jersey accent, too, ya know? Between her prune-face and that accent, no wonder she
never got laid."

Venetia could only stare.

Dougie walked outward toward the far corner. "If you
try to run"-he showed her the pistol again-"I'll
kneecap you. So don't be stupid."

The light was dimmer at this farther end of the atrium.
Next to the corner pillar, she noticed another can. Dougie
dumped it.

Blub-blub-blub ...

"And that's Father Driscoll's blood," Venetia said.

"Yep. It's not as dark 'cos it's only been sitting out a
day." He rubbed a finger in the foul puddle. "But it's
spoiled enough...." And then he grinned up at her.

It was in the southeast comer from which the great spiral sprouted. That's the spot where my blood will be poured,
Venetia thought.

In the moment his back was turned, Venetia darted her
eyes around. There must be something down here I can use
for a weapon! The walkways beneath the overhead stairhall were all clogged with furniture now. If only there was
a knife ...

The kitchen's too far away, she reasoned. He'd catch me before I got there. When she glanced out the window, though,
she didn't see the Mercedes, and this rekindled her hope
that Dan was out somewhere-the bar, maybe. And maybe
he'll be coming back any minute....

But then-

It lay in plain view right on the windowsill between
two heaps of furniture: one of the Red Devil razor-knives
they'd been using to scrape excess paint off the glass.

Got to get over thcre ...

She took a few slow sidesteps so as not to seem overt,
but stopped when Dougie looked back over.

That's when then another question snagged her interest.

"So this is all happening tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, standing now at the southeast corner.

"But you said the blood had to spoil for at least a day."

"It has," Dougie said. Then he blinked and started
laughing. "Oh, man, that's hilarious. You think you're the
fourth sacrifant!" He shook his head. "How stupid can
you get?"

He reached behind the pillar and produced something.
Venetia squinted but couldn't make it out.

"What's ... that?" she asked.

Dougie's laughter echoed through the atrium when he
tossed the object across the long floor. It bounced, thudding, several times, and then wobbled to a stop just a few
feet from where she stood.

Venetia didn't even scream this time; she just stared in
the numbest dread ... at Dan's severed head.

"You're crazy," she uttered. "You're a psychopath."

"Hey, sticks and stones..." Now he dragged out a
fourth gas can, which had clearly been sitting in the sun
all day along with Driscoll's. "Two virgin men in the
same house. Shit, I couldn't believe it. You fuckin'
Catholics really take shit serious." Then he unscrewed the
cap and began to dump the blood.

He dumped the blood into the fourth corner of the courtyard by sliding the stone lid off the font and tipping it
over. Then the Sergeant at Arms stepped back, looked up,
and bowed to Boniface.

The Exalted Duke, peering down from the high wall,
nodded back from behind his face of salt.

Within the smoking court, all Conscripts, Ushers, and
Golems stood in the stillest silence. Sentinels on the high
ramparts, too, watched in awe as the Hex-Flux about the
Fortress amplified. The energy crackled so thickly it could
almost be seen.

"The fourth and final Morte-Cistema has been spilled,
my most terrible prince," uttered Willirmoz.

Boniface watched through his eye slits, his gnawed face
twitching with nervousness. At each corner of the courtyard, the four pools of sullied blood shined like hot tar.

"But nothing's happening," the Duke croaked.

Willirmoz smiled with burned lips. "Patience ..

Were the blood bricks of the Fortress walls glowing
more deeply now? The richness of horror could be
smelled in the air. Boniface felt the prickling waves course
up his corrupted skin beneath his mantle and cloak.

When must we descend to the Lower Chancel, wizard?"

"When the blood begins to move, my most sickening
lord."

Boniface continued to look down. He was scared to the
core of his demented soul ... but he knew he must not
show it.

"The blood isn't moving, wizard," Boniface's voice rattled. "If you have failed me, the scribes of Hell will be
writing about your tortures for the next ten thousand
years, so help me."

But Willirmoz' charred eyes beamed. "In that event, I
would deserve it and worse, my lord, but ... behold..."

Willirmoz pointed down to the southeast comer of the
yard.

The pool of blood began to shudder, then ...

Glory to Lucifer ...

It began to move.

The finest crimson mist began to rise from the puddle's
irregular surface, while the puddle itself shifted, as if
struggling, and inched itself toward the end of the great
spiral trough of hand-steamed Druid Oak. From there,
the blood came alive, and began to slowly follow the
trough's spiriferous contour.

Struck dumb, Boniface watched. The blood pools in the
other three corners began to mist and shudder as well,
and began to crawl in straight lines toward the Involution's center.

"You are the greatest Lithomancer to ever walk the
Mephistopolis," the Exalted Duke gasped.

Willirmoz bowed. 'As the cussed blood travels its course, my horrendous lord, the more enriched the Pith
will grow. We should adjourn to the Lower Chancel
posthaste."

Boniface was practically vibrating with joy. "For this,
my whore must be by my side to witness my greatness.
Summon her at once."

Willirmoz' remarked, "The Barbican Guards have just
now begun to admit her."

"Excellent. Order her to join us in the Lower Chancel."

"It will be done, great putrescent prince." The High
Priest led Boniface toward the stone steps at which
Pasiphae-the Night-Mother and Guide of the Labyrinthwaited to escort them deep into the charnel warrens
below.

The thirty-foot-tall fortress walls and the iron portcullistopped by a raw of punctured skulls-rose as gears clattered and chains chimed. A line of leech-skinned Ushers
guarded one side of the great stone entry, while a line of
Golems guarded the other side. Vile faces glared at Ruth.

"Man, this is so fucked-up," she whispered beneath the
Putridox face.

"Go, Ruth!" Alexander whispered back from his sphere
of invisibility. "Don't just stand there! They'll think something's wrong."

Something is wrong. Way wrong, Ruth thought as she
stepped through the entry. The monstrous severed face
pulled over her own sucked down hot against her skin.
Ruth could tell that aspects of the face were still alive.

"Act like you own the place," the priest said from behind her.

She tried to seem arrogant as she sashayed down the
walk. The Ushers and Golems bowed as she passed.
When the portcullis slammed shut behind her, it was all
she could do to not scream. A homed Conscript, in a helm
fashioned from some warped Demonic skull, stood at attention and said, "Oh, great Voluptua, Chief Soubrette of our master Boniface-proceed at once to the Lower
Chancel."

Ruth nodded briskly and walked on.

A few steps later, Alexander rejoiced, "We're in!"

"Yeah, but what now?"

"Just walk all the way around the courtyard. In the
northwest corner, you'll see a stone arch. There'll be a
woman waiting for you-er, well, not really a woman."

Ruth faltered, trying to appear elegant as she walked in
the Bone-Sandals. "If she's not really a woman, then what
the fuck is she?"

"A Primordess-a living subjectivity, Ruth-an unholy
notion made flesh. Her name is Pasiphae, and her body is
composed of primordial ooze-the black ichor of the
earth."

"Oh, I can't wait to meet her," Ruth grumbled, turning
into a neon scarlet courtyard that seemed hazy with mist.

"Remember the Greek fable of Theseus and the Minotaur?"

Ruth frowned. "No."

Alexander sputtered behind his umbrella of invisibility.
"Good God, Ruth. Didn't you pay attention to anything in
school?"

Ruth didn't bother answering.

"Pasiphae is the Guide of the Labyrinth. Only she
knows her way through the city's subterranean byways.
That's how the location of the Lower Chancel remains a
secret, so it can't be infiltrated. Don't screw up."

"I'm glad you have such fuckin' confidence in me."
Ruth felt the urge to complain further, but now her eyes
were riveted to the macabre spectacle in the courtyard.

The number of Golems, Ushers, and Conscripts standing guard must have topped a hundred. From one comer
she saw a great brown gutter shaped into a spiral that
must've encircled thirty yards, and from three other corners puddles of rank blood seemed to be lengthening
toward the center of the spiral.

"It looks like a giant version of those diagrams we've
seen all over town," " she observed.

"The Involution. This is it. It might be the most effective
transpositionary Power Dolmen in the history of occult
science. Once the blood from each corner reaches the center of the spiral, a kind of doorway opens."

Ruth didn't like the sound of that. "A doorway between
here-"

"And the prior house where Venetia is. But it's more
like one of those revolving doors you see at big-city hotels.
While someone goes in, someone else comes out."

The great courtyard stank of sweetness merged with
rot, while the blood-bricks of the Fortress' walls seemed
to hum within their mysterious neon. Ruth looked again
and saw that the blood in each corner was moving slowly
but resolutely toward the center, each puddle inching
along the same way a snail moves.

Piles of corpses rimmed the yard.

Most disturbing of all, however, was the perfect silence
that hung over the entire fortress.

Ruth forced her eyes away.

"One other thing about this Pasiphae woman...," the
priest spoke up.

"Yeah?"

"She's a lusty type, and she's rumored to have something going on with Voluptua on the side."

"Chicks who dig chicks," Ruth muttered. "You sure
they're not from Florida?"

"I'm serious, Ruth. You're not contemplating the ramifications of my statement." The priest's bodiless voice
seemed hesitant. "You might have to-you know ...
make out with her."

Ruth gagged. "Bullshit, brother! I already had to swap
tongue with that pus-lady in Rot-Port! Now I've got to
suck face with primal ooze?"

"Primordial ooze, Ruth," Alexander corrected.

"With a chick who's made from the black ick of the
earth?"

"The black ichor, Ruth."

Ruth turned to face him ... but of course saw nothing.
"I oughta haul this monster face off and walk out of here."

"The Ushers would turn you into puree in two minutes.
Now keep walking and don't make a scene. Otherwise
we're both history."

Ruth fumed and continued to the next comer of the
fortress. The fucker waits till now to tell me that....

Next she thought she heard something like fabric tearing behind her. "What's that noise?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing. I just heard it. You tearing something
back there?"

"Focus on your task, Ruth."

More aggravation. He treats me like a kid. But then she
saw the stone arch, and something like a shiny shadow in
the entry.

"That's her," Alexander whispered. "Act like you know
her. And no talking from here on."

"But I don't know what to do!" she whispered back.

"Just follow Pasiphae-and shut up!"

She tried to steel herself. Conning people was nothing
new to a grifter like Ruth. But could she con a denizen of
Hell?

Pasiphae's grin seemed longing when her eyes met
Ruth's. The Night-Mother's body looked like a cheerleader who'd been dipped in crude oil.

Make it good! Ruth urged herself.

She stepped right up to the blackly shining Pasiphae ...
and ran a finger adoringly down her cheek.

Pasiphae kissed her on the lips, then gently took Ruth's
hand and took her down into the labyrinth.

They found the woman in some weeds behind a strip
mall with a Laundromat, pizza parlor, and a seedy bar.
She lay naked save for the few scraps of clothes Dougie
had left; the sodium lights made her skin look yellow.
Berns guessed midthirties; she had a decent body-Why
would Dougie pick a dog if he didn't have to?-and pretty
nougat brown hair. But her face ...

She'd been shot in the head, and then her face had been
further pulped by a nearby cinder block. Dougie Jones
had also pulverized the fingertips with the same block.