Dance For The Devil (7 page)

“Who lives here?”

Jason put his fingers to his lips. “Remember the cardinal rule: anonymity. It protects us all. Don’t ask questions.”

Amy bit her lip, dul
y admonished. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Who were all these people? What kind of jobs did they have? Why was this meeting being held during the day, at someone’s house?

Another couple arrived behind them, older and well dressed. By unspoken agreement they didn’t acknowledge each other, even as they entered the foyer together. They slipped on their cloaks, in unison, and Jason arranged Amy’s hood so it obscured her face. He put his fingers to his lips, reminding her to be silent, then pulled up his own hood, so she could no longer see his features. By now so
me others had entered the foyer and they too began to put on the ritual cloaks. Jason moved away and Amy followed him, through the hall and down a flight of stairs, to the basement.

**

By the time they were served – coffee for him and herbal tea for Cari – Jake regained some sense of control. “Okay, mystery woman, I’m ready. What are you going to do, tell me my fortune?”

“Something like that,” Cari said, smiling softly. She reached for his hand and studied the lines. “This past year has been a difficult time for you.”

Jake leaned back and smiled sardonically. “What are you, a gypsy?”

“No,” she said sweetly. “I’m a witch.”

He waited for the punch line but it never came. Finally, squirming a bit, he asked, “Pardon me?”

“A witch. A neo-pagan witch. It’s my religion. Sometimes I sense things, like today, with you. I sensed you would be here, and here you are.”

Jake pulled his hand back. A third of a million people in this city and he hooks up with a nutcase. That figures. Par for the course considering the way his life was going right now. Next interesting woman he met would probably be a serial killer.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s not what you think.”

“How do you know what I think? Oh, God, don’t tell me you know
what
I’m thinking.”

“Well, it’s fairly apparent, it’s written all over your face. You’re thinking I’m crazy and you’re wondering how to get out of here without causing a scene. How’s that for accuracy?”

“Bang on.”

She laughed lightly. “You’re also thinking that I don’t look like a witch.”

“You don’t.”

“I left my broom and cauldron at home.” A slight pause. “That’s a joke, you’re supposed to laugh.”

“Ha ha.”

She shifted in her seat. “I know you’re uncomfortable, and I wish I had time to set you at ease, but I need to tell you something important, and I need enough credibility so you’ll believe me.”

“You think that telling me you’re a witch buys you credibility?” His tone was incredulous.

She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes with impatience, and reached for his hand again, holding it firmly as he attempted to pull away.

“You are in danger. No, not you, exactly, although that may come. No, someone very close to you... a child. Your child.”

The hairs prickled on the back of his neck. “You expect me to believe you see that from looking at my hand?”

“No. I dreamt it last night. I’m holding your hand so you’ll stay and listen.”

He studied her for a moment. She was truly lovely, st
aring at him intently. Ethereal almost, with her fine, translucent skin and wide green eyes. Too bad she was loco. Nuts. Totally off her rocker. First woman he’d met that interested him slightly and she was off the deep end. First his ex-wife, and now this one. Was there a pattern developing here? Did he have a neon sign plastered to his forehead which screamed:
Only the mentally unbalanced need apply?
Jake turned away in disgust.

“Please, listen to me, if only for a moment.” Cari squeezed tighter. “Remember, I didn’t seek you, you came to me.”

“By accident.”

“No,
for a reason. Things happen by great design, you know. Not by coincidence.”

“Look,” Jake said firmly, although not unkindly. “I’ve got to go. It’s been... interesting. Thanks for the coffee.”

She let go of his hand. “Alright, but here’s my card. It lists my business number, my home number and my cell phone. You should be able to reach me anytime. Plus, I’m writing down my home address. Please don’t hesitate to call me anytime if you need me, even if it’s the middle of the night. Okay?”

Jake hesitated before pocketing i
t, his glance flickering over the card. It looked normal enough. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“I hope not.” She stood up and dusted some imaginary specks from her long skirt. “Jake, your daughter... she is in serious trouble. Something happened today... I’m not sure what, but
she missed school. Or rather, she
is
missing school, right now. I can see a lot of people, darkness... something dark and liquid.” She gasped suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “Blood. Not hers, though. Not yet, anyway.”

Jake was unnerved. He felt like bolting. He had to get out of here, out of this coffee shop that seemed so quaint only minutes ago. He fumbled in his pocket for some loose change and tossed it on the table. The coins scattered like marbles, some of them rolling of
f and clanking onto the tiled floor. As he exited the door a gust of wind blew in, unseasonably chilly, and he almost missed hearing her final, soft words. Almost, but not quite.

“Anytime, Jake. Phone me anytime, day or night. I’ll be waiting.”

It wasn’t until he was several blocks away, turning her words over in his mind, dismissing them for the lunacy he knew they were, squirming uncomfortably as her prophecy played over and over, haunting his mind.

How had she known he had a daughter?

Lucky guess.

Maybe.

But how the hell had she known
his
name?

He was certain he hadn’t told her, and he hadn’t
taken out his wallet or anything else with his name on it. Nothing to even suggest his initials let alone his name. Jake pulled out her card and studied it again, slowing his pace slightly. As before, it looked normal. But what did he expect? Something that said
, Cari Valentine, loony-tune witch? Psychic goddess with demonic warnings?
Hardly. He tossed it in the gutter, as if eliminating the card would erase her words, and watched as the wind picked up, carrying it away, along with dozens of brown, dried up leaves.

Good riddance. She was a nutcase. Had to be.

But a tiny thought kept worming around the back of his brain, irritating him. What if she
was
right? What if Amy was in danger? He spotted a taxi and flagged it down.

His earlier outrage that had dissolved into pseudo-jubilation changed once again, until his emotions were fraught with tension and twisted into a giant cauldron of jumbled feelings. At this point, he barely trusted himself to think beyond the one thing he knew for certain: he’d acquired a killer headache, and he longed for nothing more than
to get home, pour a tall scotch and forget this day ever happened.

**

This meeting was different from the other. Amy noticed it immediately. There was tension, less of a party feeling and more of a
‘let’s get down to business’
sensation.

The occupants in the subterranean room shifted expectantly. There were no windows, no lighting of any kind, save for a mass of black candles burning
at the altar, the wicks flickering in a breeze caused by too many bodies in too little space. The wall immediately behind the altar held a cross, hanging upside down. Six rows of benches crisscrossed the room, each holding approximately ten people. Sixty people, Amy calculated, give or take a few. Sixty people all wearing robes like her own. Her heart pumped wildly.

A call to order was made. A figure stood
in front, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light. He wore pants and a mask, which Amy thought bore considerable resemblance to a goat. It seemed silly to see a grown man prancing around half-naked in a goat mask, and she had the urge to snicker until he turned around and looked directly at her. Jason squirmed and moved imperceptibly away from her.

Goat-man began to chant. Rhythmic words
which held no meaning, at least not to Amy. The congregation chanted back, at preordained intervals. Although she didn’t know the routine, she found herself chanting along, mimicking the sounds until they became second nature. This went on for an eternity, until her rear became numb from sitting on the hard wooden bench and her feet felt uncomfortably prickly. Amy started to squirm until Jason stilled her with a stern glance. At least she thought it was stern glance, she couldn’t see his features clearly from beneath his hood, but the message was clear.

The chanting stopped abruptly as Goat-man began to preach, his voice loud and low. “We have a traitor among us!” An eerie hush fell over the room.

“A traitor! Pretending to belong! One who’s brought outsiders into our midst, watering our strength, weakening our souls. A traitor to Seth who endangers us all!”

Several gasps erupted throughout the room.

“This traitor must be disciplined.” Goat-man left the altar and began to walk between the benches, touching some members lightly on the head. “I can
smell
your treachery. It emanates from you like dung.” He walked past Amy and she stiffened involuntarily, causing him to pause. “It reeks!” he shouted. “Your deceit contaminates us and you must be punished.” He swung his arm around, pointer finger stretched like a claw and for one awful moment Amy thought it might settle on her.

He chose a figure directly in front
of her, pushing the hood down and grasping the unsuspecting man by the hair. “To your feet,
Sinner
!” The man started to protest, shaking his head wildly. “It’s a mistake,” he stammered. “You’ve made a mis–”

“Silence!” Goat-man shrieked, clubbing the man on the head, a blow hard enough to send the man reeling. The man fell from his seat, knocking his forehead on the bench in front. Goat-man half-carried, half-dragged the semiconscious man to the altar and laid him out flat. The poor man was starting to stir, and Amy saw his eyes swing around, looking for help.

No one moved.

He doesn’t look like a traitor,
she thought, staring at the man. He was middle-aged, balding slightly, and looked mild and soft. Nonthreatening. Not like Goat-man. No, this guy looked ordinary, like a dentist or something.

Suddenly Goat-man reached behind the altar and grabbed what looked like a baseball bat, only it had spiky things on the end. Without warning he brought it down hard on the man’s head.

She heard the crack, saw the skull split; saw the brain exposed like seeds falling from a pumpkin. Still, no one moved. The room was excruciatingly silent.

Goat-man paused for a moment, looking like he might strike again, the
n – almost as an afterthought released the club. He motioned and four figures came forward and dragged the dead man away. At least Amy thought he was dead. He had to be dead. No one had their head split open like that and still managed to live. She hadn’t taken biology yet in school but any idiot could figure that out.

Goat-man began to speak again, this time soothingly, but Amy found herself blotting out the words. This was wrong. Not like last time. Last time felt good. Last time was fun. This was... just... evil. She wanted to go but was afraid to leave.

Suddenly, she felt Jason nudging her, pushing her to her feet. Thank God, she was going to leave.

But instead of going to the back she was pushed to the front. All alone. No, not quite. Two others slowly made their way to the front. From their posture she could tell they were as hesitant as she. Like a tiny twig in the tide, she felt herself drawn forward until she reached the altar. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

Goat-man raised his arm and Amy felt herself flinch. Was going to strike her? Instead, he reached for the person standing closest to him and drew his arm to his body, guiding his hand to his midsection, to his pants... to his newly exposed penis. He wrapped the person’s hand around it, then reached for Amy, guiding her hand. She felt herself recoil, but his hand was firm, unrelenting. She felt the pulsating member in her hand, her fingers overlapping with the others, even more so when a third hand was added.

“Welcome to the Temple of Seth,” he stated, his voice low and gravelly. Amy stared at the blood and bits of flesh clinging to his chest. “You are our newest members and we welcome you.” The crowd started chanting. “The punishment you just witnessed is both unfortunate and unusual. Rarely must we employ the ultimate discipline.”

Goat-man reached forward and procured a goblet, indicating they must drink. Amy took her turn, grimacing. It tasted like piss. She kept her hand steady on his penis, too afraid to remove it. “Our rules are few,” Goat-man continued. “Man’s true nature is one of lust and wilfulness. Like our brother the lion, we are kings of the jungle! We embrace hedonism. We welcome pride, indulgence, gratification...” He gestured at his swollen penis. “We celebrate our flesh! We have superior intellect. We are Gods! Vengeance is ours and we curse those who threaten to take it away.” A cheer swept the room, the chanting started anew, with increased vigor. Amy felt dizzy, felt herself sway.