The Unseen (36 page)

“I, Yrrgsh’a, present this low beast.  He seeks discipleship,” Reese replied, still speaking in her sultry voice.

“No human is worthy of our blessings,” the prophet replied. “Bring it forward for our inspection.”

Reese touched Peyton’s arm, and he stepped down from the final stair to join the others.  She nudged him forward until he stood at the altar, facing the others, then she moved back into the shadows, leaving him alone.

“Why do you seek discipleship?” the prophet asked.

“I seek knowledge and power,” Peyton replied.  Reese had told him the responses to give. “I seek to be greater than other men.”

“Do you swear upon your worthless soul to serve our order for the rest of your days?”

“I swear it.” Peyton was having second thoughts, but he pushed them aside.  He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life knowing he’d come so close to the great mysteries, only to run away out of cowardice.  He wanted to know everything there was to know.

“Do you choose to spurn the angels of the light and embrace the angels of the darkness?” the prophet asked.

“I choose it.”

“You are beneath us.  You are a worm that crawls on its belly in the dirt.  You must be raised up.  You alone are not worthy.  Will you accept a patron spirit into your flesh so that you may become worthy?”

“I accept it.”

“Place this dirty animal upon the altar,” the prophet said. “We shall give what must be given, and destroy what must be destroyed.”

The scarlet-robed disciples at either end of the semicircle approached Peyton from both sides.  They lifted him up, then laid him facedown on the marble slab, which was so cold it seemed to burn his skin.  His testicles crawled upward in protest.

“You are a fortunate beast,” the prophet said. “For Sarinoth, a great celestial, an angel of darkness, has consented to lower himself into your skin as your patron.  Do you accept him with honor and humility, though you are a lowly, undeserving creature?”

“I do,” Peyton whispered, but his body was trembling from more than the cold.  Until now, none of this had seemed entirely real.

“Then we create the doorway.”

A red-robed disciple presented the prophet with a stone bowl of soot-colored ink and a single long iron needle.  The prophet dipped the tip of the needle into the ink, then stabbed it into Peyton’s back.  Peyton grunted in pain.  The prophet stabbed him again, and again, and again, while the others chanted in soft whispers behind their masks.

With the primitive single-needle method, the tattooing went on and on, the prophet stabbing Peyton thousands of times.  The chanting gradually grew louder and faster, but it wasn’t a language Peyton recognized.

As time passed, he felt intense sensations radiating from the center of his back—extremes of cold, heat, and pain.  Hours seemed to go by, but he couldn’t be sure of the time.

At last, the prophet drew back and flung the needle into the roaring fire.

“The doorway is opened,” the prophet said. “Let us begin the holy invocation. 
Sarinoth...Sarinoth...
”

The others joined in, whispering the spirit’s name, then saying it louder and louder, until they were shouting.  Peyton felt his heart beating fast in fear and anticipation.

The enormous fire blew out, leaving the room in the dimness of the candles in the wall sconces.  A sound like a thousand hissing snakes filled his head, and then he felt the spirit enter him.  His back arched up, and every cell in his body screamed in agony.

After the pain came the power—the flood of ungodly power, with which he knew he could do anything at all, rip his enemies to pieces, torture and kill those who displeased him.  Sarinoth, he suddenly knew, was an ancient deity, worshiped in temples long since lost to time.

His body changed, growing sinewy and strong.  Patches of green scales broke out all over his body.  His canine teeth grew long and hollow, punching into his lower lip, dripping venom that felt like acid on his face.  His fingers extended, yellow claw-tips ripping out through the ends of his fingers.  The transformation was horrifically painful, and the pain was sweet and delicious.

The demon filled him, and there was no denying now that it was demonic force, brimming with hate.  Peyton’s mind was now nestled in a much greater mind, with immense designs, and he felt Sarinoth delight at the sensation of entering Peyton’s flesh.

Peyton rose to a kneeling position, but he was not kneeling to any here.

“
I am Sarinoth,” Peyton’s mouth announced.  His forked tongue flicked out between his sharp teeth. “I am made flesh.”

“
Hail, Sarinoth.” Reese approached, her hood down, her face glowing with her inner demon’s power. “We have awaited you.  We welcome you back to the flesh.”

Reese touched his face.  On the surface, Peyton and Reese gazed on each other with desire.  Underneath, Yrrgsh’a and Sarinoth craved defilement of the bodies they wore.

Reese stripped off her robe and climbed onto the altar with him.  She pushed him onto his back and scraped her red talons down his chest and stomach, leaving eight lines of blood in their wake.  His penis rose like a cobra, unnaturally long and thick, and she took it in her hand. 

She squatted over him and fed it up between her legs, and its head wriggled and slithered inside her, stretching her out and filling her up.  Reese let out a long groan through her sharp teeth, tossing her head back as his unnaturally swollen penis slid in and out of her.  Her body grew elongated and sinuous as he she rode him.  Peyton and the demon inside him let out grunts of carnal pleasure.

The disciples around them growled, snorted, and hissed, stripping out of their robes and masks.  The men and women had distorted bodies and limbs.  Some had horns, fangs, or scales on their twisted faces.

The spirit-possessed disciples grabbed each other’s bare bodies and copulated without foreplay, some falling to the stone floor, others toppling onto the altar alongside Peyton.  Hoarse, screeching animal sounds filled the air.  One man extended a warty, hairy tongue as thick as an elephant’s trunk and lapped at Reese’s stiff, pointy nipples, then the tongue slid down her abdomen, leaving a trail of thick saliva, and licked at their genitals.

With a burst of desire mingled with dissatisfaction, Peyton seized Reese and flung her forward onto her knees, her chest and arms dangling over the lip of the altar.  He took her from behind, howling with an enraged lust that could never be satisfied.

Animal cries went up from the thrusting, panting crowd, ancient fleshless spirits eager for any pleasure.  The monstrous orgy went on and on, the possessed disciples biting and clawing, twisting and wrenching each other’s bodies, slamming each other’s limbs and heads against the stone and marble, snapping at each other’s throats.

Only the prophet himself stood back, watching all of them, still in his mask and robe.  Nobody seemed to notice when he left.

It didn’t last three days and three nights, but by the time Peyton and Reese staggered out in the early morning light, he was not at all the same person who had entered the sanctuary the night before.  He felt truly alive, no longer lost, no longer doubtful about the purpose and meaning of life.

Life, he understood, was about gaining power.  Nothing else mattered.

Friday night, Cassidy borrowed Barb’s car while Barb was at work and drove up to the Pleasant Evening Hotel in Sandy Springs.  It wasn’t a particularly impressive building, eight stories high, located just off the interstate in an area filled with nothing but drab corporate campuses and black-glass towers.

Cassidy passed little clusters of armchairs and potted plants as she crossed the lobby.  Dreary Muzak played from overhead speakers, and the air tasted like industrial disinfectant.  Cassidy didn’t recognize the plump, fortyish woman at the front desk, dressed in the official blue blazer.  Her name tag read RACHEL.

“Hi,” Cassidy said. “I’m looking for Sorcha Dolan.”

“And who are you?” Rachel asked, looking her over with a touch of obvious distaste for Cassidy’s tattoos and multiple ear piercings, a common reaction from boring people.

“I’m her daughter.”

“Oh, Cassidy!” The clerk’s face lit up. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, your mom’s a great boss.” Rachel picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Your daughter’s here to see you.”

Cassidy’s mom quickly emerged from the back office, looking worried.

“Cassidy?  What’s happened?  Are you all right?” she asked. “How’s your leg?”

“I’m fine.  Leg’s still pretty stiff, but I’m off crutches.  See?” Cassidy waved her hands around. “It’s like magic.”

Her mother managed to frown and look relieved at the same time. “You had me worried, showing up here unannounced.”

“Should I go?  Or do you have a minute to talk?”

“No, no, you don’t have to leave.  Rachel can watch the front desk.”

“You bet,” the desk clerk said. “I’ve got it all covered up here.  Go have a drink if you like.”

“I wish!” Cassidy’s mom laughed. “Come, Cassidy, we can enjoy the pool garden.  Nobody else ever bothers to use it.”

“Alert me if any gorgeous men show up for a swim,” Rachel said.

“Naturally!” Cassidy’s mother smiled and led Cassidy through the lobby.  The sliding glass doors opened automatically.

“She seems nice,” Cassidy mentioned.

“Rachel?  I love her.  She’s a quick study.  Soon I’ll be working a normal schedule again, instead of six or seven nights a week.  She’s going to save my sanity.”

Outside, wooden deck chairs overlooked the swimming pool, which glowed with underwater lights.  Though the weather was warm, the pool area was deserted.

The “pool garden” was just past the deep end and consisted of a few wooden chairs and tables surrounded by spindly potted trees and a single flower bed.  Cassidy winced as she eased herself down into a chair.

“You’re sure you’re feeling well?” Her mother looked concerned as she sat down.

“Oh, yeah.  How are you?” Cassidy asked.

“Tired as always, but otherwise fine.  Kieran...”

“What about him?”

“He’s truly turning himself around.  His summer school grades have risen from D’s and F’s to A’s and B’s.  He even goes out of his way to show me his grades, rather than avoiding the issue.”

“That’s great!” Cassidy felt cheered by the news.

“He’s not staying out with his ratty little friends all night, either.  He’s pulled all those ugly piercings from his face and looks like a human being again.  I think your talks with him truly helped.”

“I doubt that.  He didn’t seem to listen to me.”

“Sometimes young people are listening quite closely while they pretend to ignore you.  I know from experience.  My own daughter was quite wild as a teenager.  And still is.” She frowned. “I am a bit concerned that he’s so involved in this church.”

“What church?  Not that First Light cult?” Cassidy sat up, suddenly worried.

“Well, they all seem like cults to me—you know I distrust organized religion,” her mother said. “He’s really improving, though.  To be honest, I gather he’s not so much interested in the church as a particular girl he’s met there.”

“Oh, okay.  That makes more sense.”

“It would explain why he’s suddenly concerned with his appearance and grooming.”

“I’m glad things are better at home,” Cassidy said.

“And at work, too.  Thank God for Rachel.”

A father in his thirties and two elementary-age kids, a boy and a girl, emerged from the hotel in their swimwear and waded into the shallow end, across the pool from them.  Cassidy and her mother sat quietly for a minute.

“Is there something else?” her mother asked. “You’ve never just showed up to visit me like this.  I was a bit concerned.”

“There is.” Cassidy took a deep breath. “Is there anything I need to know about our family?”

“Like what?” Her mother suddenly looked guarded.

“I don’t know.  For example, are we consorts of Satan?”

“Certainly not!” Her mother’s face turned ashen. “Why would you ask that sort of question?”

“Because somebody gave me this book...” Cassidy drew the small plastic-bagged volume from her purse. “It has a story called ‘The Enchantress of
Darmoughan
.’ That’s where you and Dad grew up, isn’t it?”

“Yes...” Her mother’s eyes darted nervously toward the lobby, as though she were looking for an excuse to hurry away.

“I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I really need to understand.  This story talks about a witch whose daughter falls in love with a shepherd boy, and the witch punishes the boy by turning him into an owl.”

“That’s quite a tale.” Cassidy’s mother was no longer looking at her, but staring at the small children laughing and splashing in the pool.

“Is it about us?  Do the women of our family have...I don’t know what to call it.  Supernatural abilities?”

Her mother’s fingers gripped the wooden armrest of her chair as though she were afraid of falling out of her seat.  She didn’t say anything, but a look of horror was forming on her face.