The Awakening (46 page)

Normal!

Nothing was normal.

And she knew as well that Morwenna was innocent, and intended as a sacrifice. She longed to talk to her cousin, to ask her forgiveness, to help her . . .

There had to be a way out.

“Who else?”

“Darren, of course. Though Lizzie has proved to be an absolute wretched familiar for him. She just loves people too much. And, of course, you should have figured Sam Tartan. He was so totally important, making sure that you and Finn arrived here, safe and sound.”

“You keep talking about your priest and priestess—who are they?”

“You'll find out tonight!” Gayle said playfully.

“Wait—you shouldn't kill Morwenna.”

“You're going to give us advice? You can't save her, you know. A stranger, snatched from the street elsewhere would have been better, but . . . Morwenna's such a pain in the ass, why not kill her?” Gayle demanded.

“She'll be missed. And you're in danger, playing with fire, taking her. Joseph will be irate, coming after her.”

“None of this is going to be your concern,” Gayle said blithely.

“Even if Theo is a cop, you must realize that there will be repercussions.”

“Don't worry—someone will be left to take the fall. And listen, cutie pie, even if an army of FBI agents showed up, it wouldn't matter. Because once we begin, the circle will be protected by a power stronger than any earthquake imaginable. And once Bac-Dal comes back . . . he'll see to it that a corpse is there to be guilty of any murders committed, and that the cops see everything the way that he wants. You see, you are the one who doesn't comprehend what you're up against! Which reminds me, I do have work to do.”

She brought the handkerchief to Megan's nose again.

Megan started instinctively to turn her head away.

“Make it easy on yourself!” Gayle said, as if finding some small bit of empathy for her captive.

Megan pretended to submit to what would be most merciful. She didn't try to hold her breath completely, but she tried very hard to inhale just one or two shallow breaths. She wanted the drug to wear off quickly so that . . .

So that what? The ropes binding her were so tight she could barely budge her arms or legs. She was freezing, naked beneath the embroidered altar cloth. Somewhere nearby, Morwenna was being tortured, probably for trying to help her.

And Finn . . .

Finn was out there. Finn's ancestor had come to kill a murderer and prevent the return of a demon; he had not been an evil man. And neither was Finn. And he was with those who could help. There was hope.

There was always hope . . .

The world was spinning again, but Gayle already thought her completely out. She had turned away because there were others in the woods, and they were very busy. Arranging for . . .

The stroke of midnight.

Finn sat white-lipped and tense, anxious every moment that they sat in the cabin.

Andy had been made comfortable on the couch, and Martha sat by his side, holding his hand, talking to him.

Lucian sat behind her, on the arm of the couch.

Mike was at the table insisting that Finn must know everything that Megan had told them, about the dreams, about the horned god, about Finn being . . .

Weird.

Father Brindisi sat at the table with Mike, seemingly incredibly uncomfortable. At length, he stood and walked to the fire, then asked Finn if he had a cigarette.

Finn gave him one, and Brindisi turned toward the flames.

“I am acutely uncomfortable here,” he said.

Finn shrugged. “Well, Father, we are in the company of wolves, as they might say. A vampire must surely make a man of the cloth uncomfortable. I can assure you, learning such details about the man has not always made me feel warm and cozy.”

Father Brindisi looked at the fire, shaking his head.

“I know. You don't believe it,” Finn said.

Brindisi smiled. “No. You're mistaken. I believe wholeheartedly in God, the one great God! But as I believe in His goodness, I know that there is evil in the world as well. There is very little that I will not believe—or else see in the realm of the possible. There is something more . . . Perhaps it is the fact that I'm going to officiate at a Mass to counter one that is meant to summon a scion of the devil, I don't know. But something here . . . isn't right.”

The door opened. Ragnor stepped in. “I've found them,” he said quietly.

Finn rushed over to him. “You've found them? Megan?” he asked. “Why didn't you bring her; why didn't you seize her away?”

“Because it wouldn't have done any good; it would have done nothing but warn them,” Martha said dully from her perch beside Andy.

“The graveyard!” Mike Smith said, staring at Ragnor and jumping from his seat. “What an idiot I've been! Of course!”

They all stared at him.

Then Lucian left his seat on the arm of the sofa and walked to Ragnor. “A graveyard?” he queried.

Ragnor glanced at Mike. “Yes.”

“I should have thought of it immediately,” Mike said. “There's only one . . . rumored to be unhallowed. There's really nothing there, some broken old statuary, but . . .”

Finn felt a flicker of anger and jealousy, compounded by the depth of his fear. He strode toward Mike again. “The cemetery. Yeah. You should have known all along. Why didn't you? Are you sure that you—a man so attuned to science, and scornful of the occult, suddenly believing!—aren't running the whole show? Maybe you're enjoying every minute here. You'll just accompany us to the right point—and become part of the Black Mass?”

Mike stared at him angrily. “I would never hurt Megan.”

“You wouldn't hurt her, because someone is supposed to become her. But, how about it—were you willing to hurt a woman in Boston—slice her to ribbons before you killed her?”

“No!” Mike protested. “Look, I'm trying to help you here.”

“Finn, I think he's legit,” Lucian said.

Finn spun on him, swallowing hard. “You think. Well, Father Brindisi here is somewhat uncomfortable.”

“Because a demon is living inside
you!”
Mike countered.

“This isn't getting us anywhere,” Ragnor said quietly.

Finn stared from Ragnor to Lucian. “You're vampires, so you say. With powers. Well, I've seen something of your powers. Why don't we just go there and rip them to shreds; hell, we've got a werewolf here—let's just go chew them up. Because I'm not sure just who we can trust here.”

“Finn!” Jade said softly. “We can't do that, you've got to understand. It's all begun already. And you know it, because of your dreams. We could kill a dozen people, and if we don't kill the right ones, and if the spells are completed, you'll be dead. Your body will be walking around, but
you'll be dead.
”

Finn knew she was telling the truth. He lowered his head for a moment, then looked at Lucian. “Kill me. Make me a vampire.”

“I don't do that,” Lucian said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don't know the final repercussions in the end.”

“And we don't know that we can stop any of this, even with a priest. So make me a vampire. At least then I won't become a demon, and I'll be able to really fight for Megan.”

“That's impossible,” Lucian said.

“Why?”

“There isn't time. You have to die, you see. And even if I kill you quickly, you won't come back in time. Not to save Megan.”

Finn lowered his head for a minute, gritting his teeth. He looked around the room. He had to trust the people—and
beings
—who were with him. There was no other choice.

He stared at Mike. “You who suddenly know so much—who's behind all this? Morwenna? The old crone from the hotel? Who?”

“I don't know,” Mike said evenly. “I can only tell you that I'm not. Who the hell knows about the others?”

“We're wasting time, and we don't have a lot of it. Let's go,” Lucian said. “Father Brindisi, are you ready? We must cast down our own circle of magic as soon as we come near their unholy altar.”

“Please don't call it a circle of magic. It's a circle of holiness.”

“As you wish, Father.”

Martha stood, wringing her hands. “Do I come with you?”

“No,” Lucian said.

“But . . . she's my niece!” Martha said.

“No,” Jade said firmly, grabbing her papers with chants and incantations they would need. “There are ten of us—Finn and Mike. That makes twelve. And Father Brindisi, as our priest, makes the thirteen. Martha, you stay here and tend to Andy. He may still pull through. Or waken to say something that we'll need to know.”

Martha looked unhappy, but she stayed where she was.

As they walked out of the house, Lucian set his hand on Finn's shoulder. “You're going to want to run to Megan. You can't do it. You have to stay in the circle of power we create, do you understand.”

Finn nodded.

He understood.

He just wasn't sure that he could do it.

 

 

Megan didn't allow anyone to see that she was awake. When she first came to, she tried to move her wrists, desperate to free herself. But they had been bound so that the rope wrapped around the bottom of the altar. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't budge the ties binding her. At one point, she bleakly wondered if she should have let herself be knocked out completely. Soon, she'd have to accept the fact that she was going to die. Painfully—if this was all true. If someone really could say all the right incantations, do the right thing, steal her body and send her soul to purgatory.

Her wrists and ankles chafed. Good.

She'd leave the high priestess or whatever in sad shape.

Night had settled over the copse in the woods completely. The full moon rode high in the sky. She didn't know the time, only that there was a bevy of activity going on. A great circle had been formed around the altar, and a chalk pentagram, upside down, had been drawn, the altar resting between the two points of the star shape. She still didn't recognize everyone walking around her because they were all clad in the black robes and cowls. They talked freely to one another though, thinking that she still slept.

Someone arrived in the copse then, and all the figures who had been hurrying around went rushing to him, going down on their knees, kissing the hem of his robe.

“All is in readiness?” he inquired. “Where is the sacrifice?”

“The blood of the last moon is in the chalice on the altar,” a figure told the newly arrived man. “Morwenna remains bound to the tree . . . and Megan awaits Bac-Dal, as instructed. However . . . you know that the Douglas is still with his friends?”

“And that is perfect. For he will change as he should, and those who would have interfered will die quickly, ripped to shreds by Bac-Dal's power, and we will all be rewarded.”

The newly arrived man, the high priest, Megan presumed, walked to the tree where Morwenna, now silent and slumped, was bound. He paused long enough to kick her. But she had been drugged, and all he received for his efforts was a moan.

He strode to the altar then and looked down, smiling. “Hello, Megan. I can see that you're awake. It will all be over soon. Hm. You always were a pretty piece of baggage, hm?”

She knew the voice. Far too well.

“Joseph. What a shock. Couldn't stand the fact that your wife was liked better than you, or that in a Wiccan society, she was simply far more important and powerful.”

“Megan, you are a bitch.”

“Joseph, I should have known.”

“How would you? I'm just your cousin's husband. A good Wiccan. Following her every word. And listening to her rant and rave this last week! God, how I laughed inside!”

“You're going to rot in hell, Joseph.”

“Not until I've had one hell of a good life here, baby. Bac-Dal is real. You've met him. He's been in your husband already.”

“But you're the one who committed murder. Because not you—or your Bac-Dal—could make him do so.”

“Megan, you're going to die.”

He pulled his cowl back, smiling at her, and reached for the chalice at the end of the altar.

“My children! We will begin!”

Sara came running up to him. “But the priestess—!”

“Will be here in her own good time! We drink! First, the cold blood that has gathered and simmered, and within it, a touch of blood from the vessels who will accept the essences of Bac-Dal and our priestess, renewing life! We drink their blood, and we ingest the traces of their hair within it, as we have offered up the bracelet, and the guitar picks of the vessels, to the flames. For the form is given life by energy, and the energy of our god and our priestess will take over the form of the victims. First, the cold blood . . . !” He paused and drank. “And then . . . the blood of the sacrifice!”

 

 

Martha waited until the others were gone.

Then she yelled at Andy.

“You old coot! You've done nothing!” she raged. She smiled regally then, and rose. “I'd kill you, if you were worth it. But you'll die in your own time. You silly fool, ranting on and on, telling more than you should have! I think I'll let the cops find you here . . . they can just speculate on what happened!”

She slapped his unfeeling face, and shook her head in disgust. She simply had to go. It was getting late. She knew where the cemetery was. And she intended to get there quickly.

Oh, but she couldn't wait to see their faces now!

Except...

She frowned.

They knew.

They knew . . . and that was why they hadn't allowed her into their circle.

No matter.

It was almost complete. She would shed her aging, sagging skin, her aches and pains. And as soon as they drank the blood of the last moon and that of the new sacrifice . . .

She would be young and beautiful again. She would be the bride of the all-powerful demon, Bac-Dal.

They best not have marred Megan's flesh—her flesh now—in any way!

 

 

They could hear the chanting as they came to the woods. Finn kept his position between Lucian and Ragnor. Sean Canady, Brent Malone, Rick Beaudreaux, Tara, Jordan, Maggie, and Ann were arranged at their sides, tossing salt in an arc as they walked along.

Father Brindisi walked at the front, alternating between the Lord's Prayer and the Nineteenth Psalm. He carried a large chalice of holy water before him, casting droplets as they walked.

In time, they saw the circle before them.

Finn started violently, seeing Megan, shivering, trembling, pale and freezing upon the altar.
It was as he had dreamed, so often! There she was, waiting, and he . . .

He gritted his teeth hard, and forced himself to repeat Father Brindisi's words.

The Satanists saw them coming, and apparently expected them.

The Satanic priest, officiating at the altar, was clad in a black cloak, his face hidden by a cowl.

The others were naked, twisting and spiraling in a strange dance as they chanted. Unafraid, they stared at the newcomers, taunting them with their chants growing louder and louder.

Finn felt his anger rise as he recognized Sara, Gayle, Sam Tartan—darned ugly naked, his little thing shriveled and scrawny in the cold. And there was Darren, leading Lizzie about the circle, making sneering faces at them as he held the dog's collar, as if he could send Lizzie out to crunch into their throats. And there . . . an old hag! It was Susanna from Huntington House. And then the couple! John and Sally. The nurse he had seen at the hospital . . . Dorcas. Theo Martin, the cop—
and
his brother, Eddie! A huge bonfire blazed from the center of the pentagram, and they cavorted around it, sneering at him, as if incredibly entertained that they had been leading them along all the while.

Lucian elbowed him. He forced himself to keep repeating the prayers they spoke. But he was counting. Sara, Gayle, Susanna, Brad and Sally, Darren, Eddie, Theo, Sam Tartan, and there . . . the old asshole who had acted like a lecher at the bar, and his wife. Two more. They needed two more.

One . . .

The man in the black robes at the altar.

But...

There. Walking from the woods. A small figure in a black cloak and cowl, just like those worn by the priest at the altar.