Authors: Edward Lee
The Minotauress (2 page)
"What on earth are you doing?"
Waldo's brows rose. "Well, sir, I'se eatin' me some hair pie. It's a right fun, it is." Waldo's eyes widened in concern. "Ya wanna take a lick, sir? Bet it's been a whiles since ya et a splittail's gash, huh?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" the old man repeated, appalled. "Waldo, she's a
prostitute!
Do you have any idea how many filthy, immoral men have ejaculated in her orifice?"
prostitute!
Do you have any idea how many filthy, immoral men have ejaculated in her orifice?"
"Orif— Oh, you mean her joy-hole? Well, I guess quite a number but... so what?" His grin flashed back. "Say, sir, can I fuck her in the graveyard and bleed her some, like ya let me do with that last gal?"
"No, no, that was an oblatory rite, this is for a materialization... ," but now the old man was getting a headache, and it was with further distaste that he noticed what Waldo had been doing while his tongue had ranged the abominable folds. His trousers were open, his hand wrapped around his penis which, like the rest of him, was overly large. This was one unfortunate side-effect of the Subservience Spell: accelerated libidiny.
"Please, Waldo, try to focus on your task. Don't succumb to diversions of the flesh."
Waldo's broad shoulders slumped. "Sorry, sir... " He stood up and forced the unsated erection back into his trousers. But suddenly a confusion lit in his eyes. "Sir? What'cha need the splittail fer if you're goin' on yer trip in the mornin'?"
"That's the surprise, Waldo."
"Surprise?"
"Yes. Now that you're done washing our sacrifant, you can go back upstairs and finish packing my bags, and when you're done with
that
, you can pack your own. You see, Waldo, I've decided to take you to Toledo with me."
that
, you can pack your own. You see, Waldo, I've decided to take you to Toledo with me."
Waldo's face brightened in delight. "Aw, shucks, sir! I'se always wanted to go to Ohio!"
The old man groaned. "
Spain,
Waldo. Toledo,
Spain.
There's a broker of sensitive collectibles there, and I see him every year at this time. You've worked hard during your time under my employ, so I thought you'd enjoy a trip overseas."
Spain,
Waldo. Toledo,
Spain.
There's a broker of sensitive collectibles there, and I see him every year at this time. You've worked hard during your time under my employ, so I thought you'd enjoy a trip overseas."
"Shee-it-yeah, sir!" Waldo rejoiced. The boy's twenty-six years of redneck oblivion had never taken him across the Russell County line. "You're a super-cool boss, I'll tell ya!"
"Actually, Waldo, I'm morose, narcissistic, and boring, but thank you for the compliment." In truth, though, it was not any impression of reward that urged him to take Waldo along. This particular excursion would require him to venture into some of the cryptic city's back alleys which more and more were being overrun by a ruffian element. This year his broker had procured for him a blasphemous 15th Century codex supposedly owned by one of Vlad Tepes' concubines—Canessa—a prostitute and sorceress who had, at Vlad's order, infiltrated a Wallachian monastery and cast, among other things, a Bloodlusting Hex on all of its monks. The hex had proved a whopping success, turning the monastery's contingent of faithful friars into Satan-worshiping madmen who wound up draining the blood of several dozen local children before a tribunal from the Holy See had condemned them and ordered the monastery razed. The codex was a book of intercessions said to conjure a demon named Baalzephon. The old man would also be visiting another dealer—his ossifist of choice—to purchase the pelvic bone of one Saint Radegunde, whose tomb in Poitiers, France, had been plundered by professional grave-robbers-for-hire. The bones of saints, especially those known to have displayed stigmata, were of great value to occultists; when powdered or tinctured they could be used very effectively in smoke-divinations and automatic-writing trances.
"Run along now, Waldo, and when you're done with the packing you'd best get to sleep. It's a long drive to the airport in the morning."
"Hot
dog,
sir! You kin count on me!" And then he turned for the stairs. "I'se going ta
Spain...
!"
dog,
sir! You kin count on me!" And then he turned for the stairs. "I'se going ta
Spain...
!"
But before the young dope could fully exit the room, something sparked in his feeble brain. "Er, wait, sir. If I'se goin' with ya on yer trip... who's gonna keep an eye on the house and all yer val-yer-bulls?"
"That's a good question, Waldo, and very astute of you." The old man's hand bid, first, the hanging girl and, second, the implements on the table.
"Ooooooh. I git it... "
"Um-hmm. And thank you for cleaning up the excreta."
Waldo's jaw dropped. "The
what?
"
what?
"
"Just go finish packing."
Waldo tramped back up the steps, hooting more exuberance.
Sniffing apple-cinnamon now, the old man upped the crematory temperature and donned a plastic apron and gloves. That's when the dowdy drug addict regained consciousness. Her sty-flecked eyes fluttered, then shot open to show dulled whites. Dazedly she looked at the old man, then looked around to see herself suspended from the chain. She looked back at the old man and shrieked.
The old man winced. He deplored loud, sudden noises. "Please, miss. You won't benefit at all by that."
"You old fuck!" she protested. "You skinny piece of old shit!"
These protestations did not carry the typical southern accent the old man was used to; instead, it sounded more like Jersey or the Bronx. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he quipped.
"You tricked me! You were supposed to be a twenty-dollar trick! You-you-you... " The dull eyes blinked in the pudgy face. "You knocked me out!"
"I congratulate you on your perceptivity."
She wriggled uselessly on the chain, which only caused her to sway back and forth, pendulum-like. A pendulum of ungainly human flesh with a LOVE DEPOSIT tattoo on a belly busted out with stretchmarks from untold trick babies. "You spinach-chin motherfucker! I
knew
I shouldn't have gotten in the car with you! You look like my motherfucking grandfather, you dick-suck ass-lick psycho shit-suck ass-bag piss-slit ASS-motherfucking-HOLE!"
knew
I shouldn't have gotten in the car with you! You look like my motherfucking grandfather, you dick-suck ass-lick psycho shit-suck ass-bag piss-slit ASS-motherfucking-HOLE!"
"You speak with the eloquence of queens, my dear."
"And-and... you fucked me already, didn't you, you gray-haired bald shit! My pussy doesn't feel right! You fucked me while I was knocked out, didn't you, you sick cock?"
The old man couldn't resist. "Young lady, I'd sooner admit my penis into the drain-hole of a ghetto dumpster than admit it into that horrific morass you call your vagina."
She paused in an attempt to comprehend his words, then gave up. "Just let me go, you shit-dick!"
The old man chuckled. "I would estimate that such an event presents a very
low
order of probability."
low
order of probability."
Her pasty bulk kept swinging. "Where're my clothes!"
The old man's fine leather shoes tapped across the room's cement floor. He opened the hatch of the Ener-Tek IV crematory, showing the rows of white-hot liquid-propane nozzles kicking out 2,200 degrees.
"Regrettably, your attire was consigned to the flames... along with what I would approximate to be your last dozen or so meals."
The girl shrieked again, so shrilly this time that the cords stood out in the old man's neck.
"Oh my God you crazy sick piece of shit! You're going to burn me alive!"
"Please, miss. I can't implore you more deeply. Be
quiet
. And, no offense intended"—the old man shook his head ruefully—"but your accent is killing me. And don't despair. I've no intention whatever of burning you alive," and then he closed the hatch.
quiet
. And, no offense intended"—the old man shook his head ruefully—"but your accent is killing me. And don't despair. I've no intention whatever of burning you alive," and then he closed the hatch.
Her terror dropped down a notch, her flip-flopping on the chain retarding. She blinked repeatedly, cogs turning in the spoiled brain. "Look, look—lemme think. Er, look, mister, I'm sorry I called you bad names—"
"Bad names?" The old man couldn't help but be amused. "That's putting it a bit mildly, I'd say. Your language could stop the Devil in his tracks—"
"Look, look, listen... " For the first time, her eyes appeared half-enlivened. "I'll do anything you want, no shit. You ask any of those guys at the truck stop and they'll tell you I suck better cock than any girl working. I'll give you the best nut of your life—just let me go."
"Please... "
"You wanna piss on me, shit on me?"
"I should think not."
"Oh, I get it, you're one of
those
guys. You want
me
to shit on
you
—"
those
guys. You want
me
to shit on
you
—"
The old man grimly recalled the sheer
volume
of the feces that was now reduced to ash. "Trust me, miss, even if I did desire to be so debased, I'm sure you're not up to it at the moment."
volume
of the feces that was now reduced to ash. "Trust me, miss, even if I did desire to be so debased, I'm sure you're not up to it at the moment."
"All right, all right," she hurried, desperately assessing possibilities. "I'll tongue your asshole and suck your balls at the same time—how about that? Or—hey!—I'll put my big toe up your ass and sit on your dick. Think about it, mister. I can really
do
that."
do
that."
The old man groaned. "Really, miss, I've no interest in your debauched delights, I assure you. Your being abducted by me and my associate is an example of ill-fortune, I'm afraid, but such are the pitfalls of your profession, hmm? There's a fair share of disturbed people out there, and, plying this trade of yours, you could fall victim to any one of them: psychopaths, rapists, the sexually monomanic, the mentally ill. But at least you didn't fall into the clutches of one of
them.
Instead, consider yourself privileged. You've fallen into the clutches of an eccentric antiquary who also happens to be a sorcerer of some authority."
them.
Instead, consider yourself privileged. You've fallen into the clutches of an eccentric antiquary who also happens to be a sorcerer of some authority."
She squirmed more on the chain now, but then stalled. "Sorcerer? You're into, like, satanic shit, devil worship and all that?"
The old man's bushy gray brow rose. "Indeed."
"Well that's great because I've got five kids back at the projects. Shit, man—I'll
give
'em to you if you let me go. I mean, you satanic guys sacrifice kids all the time, right? And, shit, one of the little fuckers is only a month old. You can drink his blood. That's what you guys do, isn't it? Drink baby's blood and use it for rituals and shit?"
give
'em to you if you let me go. I mean, you satanic guys sacrifice kids all the time, right? And, shit, one of the little fuckers is only a month old. You can drink his blood. That's what you guys do, isn't it? Drink baby's blood and use it for rituals and shit?"
Oh, such a sad refrain...
The old man pushed the girl toward the second of the six arched doorways. This was possible because the chain's ratcheted pulley was fixed to an overhead track which branched off to each door.
The old man pushed the girl toward the second of the six arched doorways. This was possible because the chain's ratcheted pulley was fixed to an overhead track which branched off to each door.
"What are you doing, you fuckwad!"
"Your time has almost been expended, my dear," he told her in a kindly voice. "I'd advise you to spend these last moments in prayer, because one thing I can tell you beyond all doubt is that in the course of my studies I've verified that there is indeed a God in Heaven and a Devil in Hell, not that I suspect any amount of repentance on your part could save you from meeting the latter... "
"You cock-lick dingleberry-eating piece of
fuck!
"
fuck!
"
The old man re-opened the crematory's hatch.
"I
knew
it! A lying old shit-heap mother
fucker!
" she railed. "You said you weren't gonna burn me!"
knew
it! A lying old shit-heap mother
fucker!
" she railed. "You said you weren't gonna burn me!"
As aforementioned, the wooden door in each archway had been fitted with a sharpened iron spike. The old man, next, grimaced when he placed both hands against the girl's flaccid breasts and
pushed.
pushed.
She tensed, then convulsed, gargling blood when the spike exited the hollow of her throat. The pale belly sucked in and out in horror, causing the atrocious LOVE DEPOSIT tattoo to sort of undulate. Her last words, though barely intelligible due to the puncture, were as thus:
"I never should've left Atlantic City... "
The retractors were out and ready; there was only the minor problem of separating the sternum from top to bottom. For this he used a simple branch-cutter. The sickle-like blades first cut up into the outer solar plexus, then eight or ten strokes on the tool clipped a reasonably straight line right up the sternum. The task never required as much strength as one would surmise, but that grisly
clipping
sound never failed to unnerve him.
clipping
sound never failed to unnerve him.
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