Women Scorned (26 page)

“Yes. I won’t interfere.”

“This is very important. You could doom us all forever if you interfere.”

Libitina didn’t know what that meant, but nodded her agreement, unable to speak.

The High Priestess left. Libitina sat in the corner facing the door and thought about her dog. She wondered where Cerberus was and hoped he was okay. A domesticated dog was no match for what waited in the forest. Maybe the old woman was watching over him. She imagined what it would be like for him living in the woods with her. She supposed he would be happy.

Picturing her dog romping through the trees, she fell asleep.

*  *  *

Aludra stopped pacing in her room as she felt her doom approaching. Just outside the door. She could hear it breathing, stroking the wood. She listened, sweat standing out on her forehead. Her hands shook. She knew what happened to those who met with Rory. She didn’t want to be empty like the man in the bathtub. She wanted to live, to experience the pleasures of pain.

Aludra sensed it getting ready to pass through when she heard the High Priestess’s voice. Then the spirit went away. Inside the manor. Here, it was here. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d held and unclenched her fists, her body relaxing. Only a short amount of time before the full moon rose to its height; only a short amount of time before the ritual would commence and she would be sacrificed.

She looked down at her trembling hands. She saw death in the lines etched with blood in her palms, hers as well as the others she’d killed. She’d been bad, had gone against what the order sent her to do, and this was her punishment. It was the pain she inflicted that brought Rory to her. She knew this because she’d been taught about Rory her whole life. But she loved watching others in pain, couldn’t help herself, needed more. She had to find a way to stop the ritual.

And then it came to her, what she needed to do. As she paced, Aludra smiled, crystallizing the details in her mind.

*  *  *

Old woman in the forest. There was only one who knew about Rory and how to do any kind of ritual involving this spirit. And the crone, her own daughter, had almost ruined everything for them. If it hadn’t been for the precious redhead, all these years of waiting would have been for nothing.

The High Priestess smirked. Poor, scared little redhead, so trusting and obedient. She only wanted to help. Good. The Dark One had been right all along. She’d been a fool to mistrust him, and now she would do whatever it took to make sure all went according to plan.

She veered to the left, down the hall, and made another left. There was a door at the end with the same markings on it as the previous ones. A sliding window sat in the middle of this door at the High Priestess’s height. She opened the window and peaked in.

Rory’s male half sat on the floor, caressing the wall. The man’s black hair was matted and tied in the back with a brown ribbon. His naked body was mangled, clawed, rotting. He looked far worse than the female half since Rory had been in his body much longer than it had been in Camilla’s. She could smell, almost taste, his stink through the open window. A white glaze thickened over his eyes, possibly blinding him. He paid no attention to the spying High Priestess.

This was the first time she’d seen him so complacent. Good.

She closed the window and headed down the hall to finish her preparations. Just a few more things.

But the old woman in the forest bothered her. Aludra’s mother. They’d sent her away when it seemed she wouldn’t allow the order to raise the child as the dark lord commanded. She’d felt no pain in sending away her own daughter, transforming her appearance into that of a hag before doing so. It had been necessary. If they didn’t, all would be wasted effort.

There might be other problems, however. Aludra. She wasn’t as agreeable as she was before leaving the manor. There was something petulant about her now, something disturbing. If Rory and the redhead were in her daughter’s shack in the woods, then Aludra may have been there, too. Would the old woman have recognized her own child after forty years?

What a stupid question. Of course she would have if her daughter was following the spirit. The woman knew their plans. Angry at the order, she would have told Aludra everything. The High Priestess feared Aludra knew about her own death. This must be why the child was acting so strange, so defiant.

No matter, though. The High Priestess only needed to spill Aludra’s blood, and she could be bound for that. The Dark One only said she needed to be sacrificed, no one ever said she needed to be willing.

*  *  *

Rory, the male half, crouched in his room, pressed against the wall, sucking at the wood, tasting bits of breath from the one on the other side. Visions of men kissing the woman with the torn face flooded him. He needed this spirit, could feel its strength. Its body was stiff, hard to move. The hole where his genitals had been was green around the flesh’s tattered edges, maggots squirming in the ancient wound.

A deep groan escaped his throat as he tried to press himself through the surface. He had to get through, had to taste the woman on the other side.

*  *  *

The ritual was getting close. The High Priest didn’t like the floating feeling he had while pressed to the blackness of his own mind, didn’t like being in the dark, merely able to watch what was going on. The Dark One walked around the manor, checking on every detail - important things, yes, but the High Priest wanted the control, hated the sick feeling creeping into his stomach as the Dark One manipulated him.

He tried to force his way back into possession of himself and was thrown out, booming laughter echoing through his thoughts as it happened. He spun back and back and up, out of his body completely. He hovered, watching himself head past the upside-down cross and to the altar room inside the cave.

Not liking the strangely naked feeling of being outside his body, he tried to push back in but the Dark One shoved him away again, sent him reeling. This was not how it was supposed to be. Finally, the High Priest allowed himself to recognize his doubt. Aludra had been acting strange. Did they even have the spirit yet? Time was getting short and he didn’t even know if all the pieces were in place.

Maybe the Dark One knew more. The High Priest was sure He did, hoped He did.

But doubt still lingered.

It was with this doubt in his mind that he drifted away from the Dark One, away from the manor, away, for the time being he thought, from all he knew and ever was. He had to check outside to see if the spirit was coming.

Outside. The night air. Though he couldn’t feel it, he imagined he could sense the wind pushing his hair aside the way he remembered it doing when he was a child. His gossamer form floated into the darkness, into the hills. His doubt carried him further away from the manor.

And then an odd thought struck him, a thought he never imagined he’d have.
If the Dark One wants my body, he can have it.
Never had he felt so free. Strangely, he felt more alive without his flesh. For far too long, he’d been confined to the manor, doing the Dark One’s bidding, waiting for the time of cleansing to come, the time when the living would be free to join the spirit world once again.

That time was upon them. Closing in. Even now, he could see the moon drifting toward the midnight hour. How many nights had he sat in darkness wishing he could gaze at the reflective orb once again? Too many. And now he could look at it, marvel at its changing beauty.

His thoughts drifted to his Eve. Eve used to say that women were like the moon, beautiful, distant, impossible to understand, always changing in their bodies, their hearts, their minds. After her death, any time he looked at the moon, he imagined he saw her face, would blow her kisses. But, once the manor was built, he was no longer allowed to look, no longer allowed outside the building. Now that he was free, away from the Dark One, away from the ritual of which he always thought he’d be a part, he questioned himself. Questioned his motivations to do what he’d been commanded. It was a crazy thing to agree to, he decided. Eve hadn’t lived forever. And when they’d brought her spirit back, she’d been angry, hadn’t wanted to be brought back. So who was to say, other than the Dark One, that the spirits in the spirit world wanted to be in the living world?

He drifted higher, the manor no longer in sight. And then a voice whispered a name. Two syllables stretched over the span of all the years he’d spent in the manor. “Thomas,” her voice called.

Thomas? Yes, that was his name. Once upon a time. He’d been called High Priest for so long that he’d forgotten his other name until he heard it spoken in the loveliest of voices.

“Thomas. You’ve finally come to join me.”

So familiar. He turned.

Eve. She drifted before him.

“But you… you’re supposed to be down there,” he said, astonished to see her spirit there, waiting for him.

“No,” she called. “I never was.”

He remembered the ritual the Dark One made him do to bind Eve’s spirit with the woman he’d found that resembled her. The rope ritual. The woman bound and choking until he was sure Eve’s spirit was in her. And how angry she’d been. And how many times she’d tried to escape. And then the child. Raised to think and behave the way he needed her to. He’d needed to use the ropes less and less. But Eve was supposed to be in these women. The Dark One swore she was.

“No,” she whispered. “I’ve always been here.”

He drifted toward her, no longer wanting to think about what this all meant. He didn’t want to contemplate what he’d done, what he believed he was doing, what else Satan had lied about. He joined hands with his Eve and their spirits swirled together like leaves in the wind, intertwining, mingling.

In the moonlight, they became one and passed from the living world on a beam of light that pulled them to where they belonged.

In a few hours, the full moon would reach its peak at midnight, marking the beginning of Rory’s ninth day in Camilla’s body in the same moment that Rory would become one again. Thomas no longer cared about these things. He was with Eve, and that’s all that mattered.

Chapter Twenty

The High Priestess led Libitina through the manor to the ritual. Libitina watched the swish and flow of her robes, mesmerized by the contrast of light and dark in the flickering lights. They came to the grand entryway. Libitina avoided looking at the cross. Through the door and down the stairs, she found herself once again at the heavy metal door to the left of the staircase. The High Priestess worked a few gadgets on the front and it opened inward. The yellow light spilling out seemed to call to Libitina.

If this was what she had to go through to get back home, then so be it. The sooner the ritual was over, the better. Into the tunnel and through the twists and turns. Her stomach knotted and it took every ounce of effort not to babble as she walked, not to run screaming from this place. Even if she could get away, she didn’t know where the hell she was.

Water trickled to her left. It glowed green and clear, showing dazzling crystals beneath. Her fear eased as she gazed at them. She wanted to touch them but resisted the urge. The High Priestess wasn’t slowing, so she trotted to catch up. The glowing water disappeared into the rocks. Then they were in a vast room with a ceiling that disappeared into shadow. Candles lit the icy walls as they did every room in this place.

“Is this house built into the side of a mountain?”

The High Priestess didn’t respond. She chanted something under her breath as she walked to the altar just off the center. A large stone slab dominated the space. Ritual killings leapt to mind, but then Libitina noticed there was no blood or odd stains on it. Her heart slowed. She breathed again, relaxing.

Finally, her captor turned to her, said, “You stand over there,” and pointed to the left of the altar. The moment Libitina’s feet touched the spot, she felt ropes lash out of the darkness and wrap themselves around her body. Startled, she looked down to see her bindings, but nothing was there. She struggled to move against the invisible restraints, but her pinned arms remained useless at her sides.

“What the hell?” she began, but the High Priestess cut her off.

“It could get rather frightening, this ritual. If we don’t have you bound you may flee, and we need you. I’ll be back momentarily.”

“Wait, don’t leave me! Let me go. I’ll stay, you don’t have to… no, wait.”

But the woman was already gone.

Once again, panic constricted Libitina’s chest and throat. She wheezed in harsh gasps. There was no reason for them to bind her unless they planned on doing something… She wouldn’t even allow herself the thought. She focused on Camilla. This would help Camilla. Camilla would die and Rory would be out of her body. Then she could go home. The bindings dug into her body, but she found if she focused, she could still breathe.

“So, I’m held by invisible ropes, what else is new?” The sarcasm in her tone made her chuckle. The chuckling turned into quiet sobbing. “What am I doing here? This is crazy. I don’t belong here.” She hated her bad luck.

“Why does this shit always happen to me? You know why? Because you’re a fuck-up, Libitina. You always manage to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. You always get yourself into situations where you can’t get back out. You’re a fuck-up, through and through. How does it feel to have gotten yourself into another mess?”

She hated herself, hated Camilla, hated her passion to work with the dead. Had she fled from the walking dead like a normal person, she wouldn’t be in this mess. If she were normal, she’d be outside with her dog, right now, doing normal things rather than stuck in this mountain waiting for some dark ritual to take place.

All her fears jumped to the surface when she heard approaching footsteps and more voices.

*  *  *

Rory followed the High Priestess into the caverns and didn’t even glance at the redhead when she came into the room.