Queen Of Blood Part 3

Terry's abrupt surge of anger died, terror again twisting his features. "No. I'll do anything. I'll kill anyone. Whatever you want."

"So sorry, dear. I'm afraid I find you too boring to join the ranks of my Apprentices." Ms. Wickman's voice conveyed boredom, with an undertone of mock regret, a parody of an interviewer turning down a job applicant. "So now, yes, you die."

Then she positioned herself so that she was standing directly over Terry's head. "Now, no peeking up my dress, you naughty boy."

Terry sniffled. "You're...crazy."

"Perhaps. But I'm not the one about to die helpless and broken."

Two Apprentices worked to keep Terry's legs pinned to the floor. Two more of the black-clad boys kept his arms still. Dean kept the big blade pressed to his throat, while his other hand was wound in the boy's sweat-soaked hair.

Ms. Wickman lifted her right foot and placed the sole of the black stiletto against the boy's forehead. The point of the long, narrow heel hovered just above his dancing eyeball. Normally she wore a more modest heel, but she'd worn the stilettos tonight with this very purpose in mind. She watched the jittery dance of his eyes a moment longer, savoring his terror, enjoying his helplessness.

One of the apprentices snickered and said, "Oh, look, he's p.i.s.sing his pants."

Ms. Wickman directed a last bit of mocking laughter at her victim. "Pathetic. You're clearly too worthless to continue existing in this world, Terry. Convey my regards when you meet your sister in h.e.l.l."

She eased the point of her heel down and it touched his eyeball. Terry squealed and jerked against the grip of his captors. But it was no use. The Apprentices managed to keep the boy still as she continued to press down. She watched in almost breathless fascination as the point of the heel dimpled the surface of the eyeball, causing the tissue to well up around it. Then she increased the pressue still more and there was an audible, liquidy pop as the point of the heel pierced the eyeball. Terry screamed yet again and jerked harder against his captors, almost dislodging the boy pinning down his left arm.

But it was too late to matter now.

Ms. Wickman bit her lower lip and thrust the heel downward, angling it so that it pushed through the eye and into his brain. Blood jetted from the socket and the boy convulsed violently for a moment before going still. The curved back end of her shoe conformed against the curvature of the dead boy's eye socket in a way she found aesthetically pleasing. She wished someone had a camera to take a picture of it. Ah, well. She admired the darkly delicious juxtaposition of shoe and eye socket a moment longer before extracting her heel, which emerged slick with blood and tissue.

A breath of shuddery, sensual satisfaction issued through her lips. She straightened her dress and brushed back her hair. "Dispose of this trash, children. I'll be retiring to my quarters for the evening."

She exited the living room without another word and continued through the gleaming foyer to the ornate staircase that led to the many floors above. She had learned many useful things from the Master, among them the ability to manipulate aspects of the physical world. The necessary magical energy was derived from appeas.e.m.e.nt of the death G.o.ds, ent.i.ties that derived power from suffering and death, which she happily supplied in generous portions on a daily basis.

This house was outwardly decrepit. When glimpsed from the bottom of the long, dusty driveway, the abandoned farmhouse looked as it always had to generations of locals--like an uninhabited, decaying thing, a rotting collection of ancient timber and drywall that through some miracle managed to remain upright.

But any wanderer unlucky enough to step through the front door would instantly know they had entered a strange place far removed from the natural world. On the other side of that creaking front door was the interior of a huge mansion, a place far too large to be con tained by the ancient farmhouse. And yet, once inside, there was no denying the apparent reality of it.

And once inside, Ms. Wickman reflected with a stiff smile, no could ever hope to escape.

She had learned from the Master's mistakes. Her new kingdom was formidable in its own right, but it was not so large and out of control that she was unable to maintain a firm ruling hand. The slaves she had were not allowed to talk to each other, lest they have their tongues removed and fed to them. The silence rule drastically reduced the possibility of a revolt.

Everything was so very close to perfect now. The lone remaining large task was the ongoing effort to hunt down the surviving House of Blood revolutionaries. But the hunt was going well and she knew she'd have them all soon, kneeling before her and begging for mercy.

She entered a long corridor lit by candles flickering in wall sconces. Each side of the corridor was lined with doors that opened to bedrooms that doubled as torture chambers. Ms. Wickman glanced through one open doorway and saw a thin blonde girl in skintight black leather.

"h.e.l.lo, Gwendolyn. Enjoying your work tonight?"

The girl flashed a smile as she flicked a bullwhip at a middle-aged man strapped to a four-poster bed."Loving it. As always, Mistress."

Ms. Wickman watched the whip slice away a strip of blubbery flesh and flashed a smile of her own. She then left Gwendolyn to her work and continued to the end of the corridor where a set of double doors marked the entrance to her chambers. The doors opened at her approach, sweeping backward as if triggered by an electronic sensor. They closed again as she moved into the room. The room was huge and well-appointed, a living area fit for a queen. A ma.s.sive four-poster bed with a velvet canopy was set against one wall at the far end of the room. A library and bar dominated another corner of the room.

She paused at what appeared to merely be a smooth expanse of unadorned wall. Her fingers brushed the wall's surface and the outline of a doorway formed. A tap of her forefinger caused the door to open. The door, a huge stone slab, made a gritty sound as its bottom end slid over the stone floor of the hidden chamber. Through this door was a deep, sticky darkness, a blackness so impenetrable and compelling that many who glimpsed it feared it would swallow them forever. A fear not far from the truth.

Ms. Wickman stepped without hesitation into that clingy darkness. The stone door slowly closed behind her and the blackness enveloped her. She felt for a moment like a wandering soul suspended in some void between worlds. But the feeling was fleeting, because this was her realm. Her darkness. She commanded the spirits and the elements in this place. She was the only thing to be afraid of here, and knowing that aroused her, caused her nipples to stiffen against the fabric of her elegant dress.

The sound of a m.u.f.fled whimper penetrated the silence.

Ms. Wickman snapped her fingers and the wicks of several candles sparked and grew thin columns of flame.

Another, louder whimper, just this side of a moan.

Ms. Wickman's nostrils flared. She ached to touch herself. Instead she placed her hands on her hips and approached the cage that hung suspended from the ceiling by a stout chain. The dark-haired girl whined and scooted to the back of the cage. The motion caused the cage to spin slightly, and the twisting chain links made a grinding sound.

Ms. Wickman stopped a few feet from the cage. She threw her head back and laughed with sudden, shocking heartiness. Just as abruptly, the laughter died. She stepped closer and pressed her face between two cage bars.

"h.e.l.lo, dear." Her voice was a breathy whisper, barely audible. "How are you settling into your new home, hmm?"

The girl said nothing.

Ms. Wickman turned the cage. The chain links groaned and the girl attempted to scoot away again, but Ms. Wickman caught one of her slender arms just above the charred stump of her left wrist. A loud moan emerged from the cage. Ms. Wickman gave the girl a savage yank and she crashed against the cage bars. The girl's other stump flailed uselessly. Her hands were both gone, of course, removed to make the rendering of dark magics next to impossible.

Ms. Wickman pulled the girl closer and said, "I'd tell you struggling is useless, which is true enough, but I do so enjoy reveling in your terror, Giselle."

The girl abruptly stopped struggling.

She sagged against the cage bars and shuddered as the room grew colder.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Something s.h.i.+fted in the darkness. Dream was dimly aware of a subtle rolling motion. The sensation reminded her of early morning fis.h.i.+ng trips with her father when she was a little girl, the way those slowly rippling lake waves would make the boat gently sway in the murky green water. The memory was fleeting, the vivid colors bleaching from the vision before it blew apart like a puff of fog. There was a pang of loss, but then that too was gone, lost in the s.h.i.+fting black tides of unconsciousness.

s.h.i.+fting...

Dream felt it again, the slow, almost imperceptible roll of her body, only this time the sensation was clearer, more of the real world than the comfortably numb land of sleep. She wasn't awake yet, but some part of her knew consciousness was approaching and wasn't happy about it. This dark place was better than what awaited her on the other side of the wall of sleep.

Then she became aware of another sensation, even sweeter, a hand moving slowly over her naked body. Her breath quickened and she moved closer to consciousness. The hand slid up her inner thigh, moved very lightly over her tingling p.u.s.s.y, then roamed over her flat stomach and up between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. When the hand cupped a breast, Dream moaned and arched her back, offering a swollen nipple to her still invisible lover.

She was almost awake now. Her eyes fluttered once before closing again, allowing her a glimpse of a formless shadow. Her lover's mouth closed over the proffered nipple, making her moan again as the person's tongue swirled around the stiffened flesh. It felt good. So good. An animalistic grunt came from the region of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as the mouth s.h.i.+fted to her other breast and showed it the same hungry, aching attention.

Dream was awake now, but she kept her eyes closed, reveling in the delicious sensations rippling through her body. The mattress below her rolled again. A waterbed, she finally realized. Which meant she was likely in some cheap hotel. Which further meant the person suckling at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s was some sleazy guy she'd picked up somewhere. Not that his ident.i.ty mattered. In the end he'd be just another faceless mark, the latest in a succession of men she wouldn't have to care about the next day.

Dream decided to keep her eyes closed while the mytery man did these delightful things to her body. She was enjoying too much the notion that he could be anyone. He could even be...

The image that came to her then arrived with such sudden and shocking vividness that it made her gasp. A part of her mind rebelled. No. The man she was remembering was a monster. He'd done awful, horrific things. And he'd been responsible for the deaths of her friends. But the Dream who'd cared about such things was the part of her psyche she'd worked so hard to suppress. That Dream was dead. The person she'd become accepted darkness, welcomed corruption.

So instead of pus.h.i.+ng the vision away, she allowed it to further crystallize in her mind. She imagined the Master on top of her, his naked body gleaming in the flickering candlelight the way it had the one night she'd spent with him. The s.e.x she'd shared with him that evening had been astonis.h.i.+ng, better by far than anything she'd experienced before or since. Her body twisted on the bed, delighting at the feel of his rough, masculine hands kneading her soft, yielding flesh. The fingers teasing her s.e.x abruptly pushed inside her, curled and flexed, triggering a first jolt of o.r.g.a.s.m and eliciting a shuddering cry of ecstacy. She lifted her a.s.s off the bed and thrust her pelvis at the still-flexing fingers.

She ached to be penetrated by something else and said so. "Take me..." A gasp. Another flex inside her. "Do it. Please ..."

Then the mouth came away from her breast and a voice said, "Afraid I can't do that, baby."

Dream's eyes flew open and she gaped at the sight of Alicia Jackson's smiling face. "I don't have the necessary equipment, so sorry." Alicia's tongue darted out and flicked at Dream's still engorged nipple. "But this I can do all night long if y ou like..."

Dream's face twisted in disgust as a maggot tumbled out of Alicia's mouth onto her breast. "Get away from me!" Her body jerked away from Alicia's touch, sinking deeper into the yielding mattress. The tiny maggot clung to her skin and Dream instinctively tried to brush it away, but her arms wouldn't move. They were stretched at sharp angles behind her. She glanced back and saw that she was tied to the bed. She jerked her hands against the restraints, but the lengths of new-looking rope abraded her flesh and refused to yield.

Fully awake now, she began to take in more details of her surroundings. She saw a ceiling fan above her. Tufts of dust along the edges of the unmoving blades. A bookcase filled with haphazardly stacked old paperbacks. An old television with a rabbit ears antenna atop an old dresser. Piles of dirty laundry on the floor. Chintzy cheap curtains drawn across the room's two windows. A creased and much-folded poster of Robert Smith on the closed bedroom door. And a faint p.i.s.s smell she a.s.sociated with cats. Then she felt the sticky wetness beneath her and realized she'd p.i.s.sed the bed while she was unconscious.

Gross.

"Where am I?"

Alicia's hand slipped out of Dream's v.a.g.i.n.a. The dead woman smiled and licked moisture off her bloated fingers. "Mmm... you're not in Kansas anymore, baby."

Dream's mouth curled in disgust. "You're not Alicia."

The dead woman rolled her milky eyes. "How tiresome. We've been over this. I--"

"I know you're real," Dream cut her off. There was fire in her voice now. "But you're not my dead friend. She'd never do anything so vile to me."

"You didn't think it was so vile a minute ago."

Dream's face reddened. "A minute ago I thought you were--" She faltered, her mouth hanging open a moment before she lamely finished, "--someone else."

"Oh, I know what you thought, baby." The dead woman s.h.i.+fted position on the bed, stretching a leg across Dream's midsection. Then she sat up, straddling her. She was still wearing the slinky little black dress; it rode up high on her thighs now, exposing mottled flesh that had once been smooth and toned. "You figured I was some dude you picked up at a bar, but what you were really thinking about was--"

"Shut up!" Dream vainly tugged at her bindings again. "And get off me, you f.u.c.king disgusting...thing."

"I will not." She cupped Dream's b.r.e.a.s.t.s in her swollen hands and tweaked the nipples with her thumbs. Her nails were abnormally long and yellowed; seeing them graze her flesh made Dream's stomach twist. "You're in no position to demand anything. And let me be clear about this one more time. I am Alicia Katherine Jackson. And though you didn't mean to, you brought me back, restored me to this undead state of existence. And let me tell you, I'm not feeling all that charitable toward my old best gal pal these days. It's not a lot of fun being a half-decayed walking corpse."

Dream still couldn't accept it. Buying into what the grotesque apparition was trying to sell her would mean she was some kind of monster. "No. You're not her. You're lying. You're some thing masquerading as her to cause me misery."

"Nonsense. You think I'm some random ghoul playing head games with you? What kind of sense does that make? No, I'm what I say I am and you're just going to have to deal with that." Alicia picked at a weeping razor wound with a yellowed nail. "These hurt, by the way. Thanks so much for making me corporeal, Dream. Thanks for making me feel things. Everything hurts, Dream. Everything feels like it wants to come apart, but the magic you filled me up with won't let that happen. So, from the bottom of my dead-but-beating heart, thank you so very f.u.c.king much. c.u.n.t."

Dream's vision blurred. She sniffled and b linked back the tears. "I'm sorry." Her voice was small, soft, the sound of a beaten, broken thing. "I never meant to hur t you."

Alicia's smile faded. "I wonder how many times you've said that in your life. You know, I never thought I'd say it, but I'm beginning to think Chad-boy was right about you all those years ago. You love drama. You wallow in self-pity. And at the end of the day, all you've ever really done is hurt people."

"Stop it." Dream's eyes misted over again. "Please..."

There was a sudden sound of voices from the other side of the closed door. Alicia sighed and climbed off the bed, moving to a spot near the bookcase. "The f.u.c.kers who nabbed you earlier are back. Guess I'll just sit back and watch the show. Hopefully they'll at least leave me some sloppy seconds."

The door flew open and several young people swarmed into the room. Dream counted seven altogether, including the girl she'd a.s.saulted in the bathroom of the Villager Pub. There were two other girls and four boys. They all appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties. One boy was carrying a huge Igloo cooler. He flipped the top open and pulled out a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. A few of the others grabbed beers, too. A girl wearing a black gypsy dress had hair bleached a platinum shade of blonde with inch-long black roots. Black fishnets with several rips exposing pale flesh encased her slender legs. She fired up a clove cigarette and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"h.e.l.lo, sleeping beauty."

Dream didn't say anything. Though the girl was smiling, the expression didn't reach her eyes, which were hard and flat. A barely contained rage pulsed just beneath that smiling surface. Dream's eyes again filled with tears. She would probably die in this room. And despite the h.e.l.l her life had become, she didn't want that to happen.

The girl blew rancid clove smoke in Dream's face. "I hear you beat up my sister tonight." She indicated the girl Dream remembered from the Villager Pub with a nod. "She says you beat the living s.h.i.+t out of her for no good reason at all. Now, you're not getting out of here no matter what. I guess you know that, so you might as well be straight with me. Is my sister telling the truth?"

Dream met the girl's merciless gaze and swallowed hard. Though she was still terrified of what was about to happen, a part of her was already resigned to it. So the girl was right, there was no point in telling anything but the truth.

"Yeah. I did it."

The girl nodded. "Good." She blew more foul smoke at Dream's face. "It's good that you admitted it, I mean. It'll make this easier for both of us. We'll know what we're doing is justified. And you'll know you're getting what you deserve."

"What are you going to do?"

"We're going to kill you."

The bluntness of the statement elicited a helpless, sudden sob from Dream. For a long moment the only sound in the room was her rising anguish. Then the girl put her cigarette out on Dream's thigh, making her scream and jerk away from the source of the pain.

The girl waited until Dream's screams died away to a low, blubbering moan. "We're going to kill you," she said again, "and we're going to take our time doing it. You may wonder why we didn't gag you. We're kind of out in the country here, which means you can scream your f.u.c.king lungs out and no one will ever hear you."

One of the boys, a lanky, long-haired kid with acne, had been slouching in a corner, his arms wrapped over his knees, a can of Pabst dangling from one hand. He abruptly came out of the crouch and moved into the center of the room, beer slos.h.i.+ng out of the beer can. "Am I the only one who thinks this is kind of f.u.c.ked?" There was agitation in his voice, real anger and incredulity, but the words were slightly slurred. A little much liquid courage, Dream figured.

He turned in a slow circle, eyeing each of his friends in turn."Come on, you a.s.sholes. You know this is wrong. You can't kill a person over something like this."

No one said anything for a while. Several of the kids s.h.i.+fted uneasily. They studied the floor or briefly glanced at each other before turning their gazes to the ceiling or an inexplicably interesting patch of blank wall.

Then the girl sitting next to Dream said, "Am I going to have to worry about you, Michael?"

Michael was staring at another boy in the room, one to whom he bore a strong resemblance. They were siblings or very close cousins. Michael's brother or cousin stared hard at the floor. His hands were shaking. Dream did a quick scan of the faces arrayed around her and saw evidence of fear in all of them, including the girl she'd so stupidly vented some of her free-floating rage on in the pub bathroom. The one exception was that girl's sister, who was eerily calm.

The girl rose from the bed and approached Michael. "I asked you a question. I'd like an answer. Now. Am I going to have to worry about you?"

Michael gave up trying to engage his relative's attention and faced the girl. "Or what, Marcy?"There was real venom in his voice now, a harshness only slightly blunted by the boozy slur of his words. "Are you afraid I'll turn narc?" He gulped Pabst. "And what if I do, huh? What then? Are you going to kill me, too?"

Marcy said nothing at first. She pried the Pabst can from Michael's shaking hand. She drank what was left and tossed the empty can into the open cooler. Then she put a hand on Michael's shoulder and said, "No more beer for you tonight. It's making you crazy and you need to calm down."

The kid was trembling all over. Something about Marcy being so close terrified him. He wanted to flinch away from her touch but didn't quite dare. And he did seem perceptibly less bold without a beer in his hand.

His voice was very soft as he said, "We can't do this. It's wrong."

Marcy slapped him, the sound shockingly loud in the otherwise silent room.

Alicia barked laughter and said, "d.a.m.n."

No one reacted. The kids couldn't see or hear the dead woman. Dream glanced at her. Alicia winked and blew a kiss. Dream forced herself not to react and made a mental note not to respond to anything else Alicia might say. She sensed a delicate balance in the room, her fate perhaps hinging on whether this kid had the fort.i.tude to continue making his stand. Her case wouldn't be helped any should she start talking to invisible people.

Marcy cupped the boy's chin in her hand and leaned close. "We're gonna do this. n.o.body does what this b.i.t.c.h did and gets away with it, not when it comes to my family, motherf.u.c.ker." The boy was shaking more than ever and Dream despaired, sensing the fight was already lost. "And about your question, Michael? Let's just say you don't want me thinking for even one second that you might narc." She released his chin and stepped back. "Can I trust you? And please tell the truth, because I'll know if you're lying."

Michael sighed and nodded. "Yes."

"And it's not like she'll be the first person we've killed." This was Michael's brother or cousin finally speaking up. "n.o.body talks about it, but we all know that b.u.m we jumped in Overton Park last summer didn't survive."

Dream's heart lurched at the revelation. Again, no one said anything for a time. The general anxiety level skyrocketed. There was a lot more nervous shuffling of feet. A lot of fidgeting. Marcy's sister looked very pale, as if she might throw up at any moment.