Sacrifice (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult) (23 page)

I wasted no time standing around in awe. I lifted my leg to
move toward the last place I’d seen Azelie, but it didn’t want to work. I fell
instantly. Machete jarred from my hand, it slid to Tatum’s limp legs. Once
again, on my knees, I scurried toward the blood heap to fetch my killing thing.
“I’m sorry,” my lip quivered, as I’d predicted, as I apologized for not
completing my task.

“Dylan!” Mike yelled for me.

“I
gotta
go. Love you.” I
scrambled to my feet and made way to save a friend that was still with the
living.

He was lying in the dirt; hands behind his back, Azelie
d’Entremonte straddled him. Her hands gripped his thick neck. She’d lost the
horned mask at some point. Her long dreads hung down her bare back and trailed
over his chest.

“Dylan!” Cyrus called from the other side of the fire pit.

He struggled to fight, being naked and all. Dominika was
nowhere to be found. Alien guy had Cyrus in a choke hold from the rear. It was
a pathetic sight to be had.

I was the only one with a weapon, clothes, and two hands. My
saviors had become my damsels.
Isn’t that
about a bitch?

I couldn’t let them down. Not like I’d let Tatum down. I
squashed my tears, forced them to wait until an appropriate moment to break
down.

“I’ll be there,” I replied to the naked one. Why he was
naked, why Mike was cuffed, where the fuck we were, all of the whys and
hows
and what the fucks would have to wait until after we
were safe, home, and clothed. Oh and clean. And, not in a padded room. It would
be a while.

My machete and I ran toward Mike and the evil little bitch
that rode him like a demonic cowgirl. Her boobs bounced in his face as she
struggled to force the life from him. She wasn’t shit without her magic. Just a
shrimpy
little cunt with bad hair and an affinity for
dead things.

She didn’t see me coming. Not a demon from hell. Not a
mythical beast. Not anything other than a human with a fancy set of spells and
great tits.

Death to the whore!

I ran at them in a full sprint. My arm, my gut, my exhausted
body, none of it hindered my momentum. I let out a menacing battle cry a breath
before I swung my blade with the force of pure hatred.

The sharp blade sliced a chunk of dreads away before she caught
my arm and stopped it from chopping her block off. Mike was free, but now I was
in a pickle. And Cyrus…well…let’s not talk about his pickle.

She wasn’t stronger than me, only meaner, if you can believe
that. And more spry. The little ones are wiry. She was up from Mike and in my
face before I could make a plan B.

“You fat bitch!” she spat in my face. “Your soul is mine!”

“You’ll have to kill me first!” Puke and blood spewed from
my lips and spattered onto her already mucked up face.

“If you insist.” Her hands gripped my forearms so tight I
thought that maybe they’d pop right off.

“Fuck off!” I screamed, and spat blood and putrid bile into
her open mouth. Her eyes grew wide. I reared my head back and let it slam into
her face without hesitation.
Never
underestimate a properly executed head butt.

I knocked myself silly with it, but I knocked her on her
ass, so I broke even. Mike was on his feet and at my side. I lifted my killing
blade above my head. “This is for Tatum you hell cunt!” I screamed and ran her
through.

The machete entered her gut with a squish, like a fist
jammed in wet pasta. Her eyes locked on to mine. “You will always be with me,”
she grunted.

I smiled and turned the blade a half turn to drive it home.
Blood pooled at the corners of her mouth and I knew death was near. Her breaths
became ragged. Shorter and shorter with each exhale until finally it sputtered
to a stop.

I was on my knees straddling her. The last time I’d been on
top of her, I was pummeling the shit out of her face. She’d healed nicely over
the span of a day. There was not a sign of a struggle under all that war paint
and barf.

“For Tatum. For them all,” I whispered and shoved the blade
through her body and into the dirt below.

I stood and blood began to seep into the dirt around her
body. I took a move from Dominika and used my foot in the center of her body to
pull the machete from its home. Taking one last glance, I half expected her to
get up, to fight harder, like in the movies. They were not really dead the first
go around. She never moved.

I didn’t acknowledge Mike before I moved on to the other bad
guys. If I did, if I so much as met his eyes, I’d crack. I’d fall apart, and I
wouldn’t come back. I’d let it happen eventually, but not yet. There was more
to be done.

I tromped past dead
Zorin
and
bloody Tatum around the fire. I kicked Malcolm’s head for fun, but didn’t stop
to play. I had a mission. Cyrus and his pickle were winning the fight with
alien guy. I’d seen how strong he could be; he could murder this
asshat
. Shit, I almost did it myself without a weapon.

Enough screwing
around.

Cyrus held the skinny thing by his Riff Raff pony-nub at the
back of his head, and swung him around; away from his nakedness and all that
came along with it. I swung my blade, one fluid motion, all the strength I had
left in me, and lopped the alien head clean off. It dangled from its nub from
Cyrus’s clenched hand.

Cyrus looked at me like he was looking at some kind of
monster instead of a woman he was about to fuck hours before.
Good.

Dominika came stumbling from the dark; blood covered her
hands. She was hurt, limping atop a set of seriously high heels, but the blood
on her hands wasn’t hers. Judging by the axe that hung loosely at her side,
she’d finished the job with Marienne. I didn’t ask. I just took it from her.
She let it slide from her hands. No protest, no annoying banter. Something had
changed in our dynamic over the span of a weekend. A mutual respect had been
found.

Axe in hand, I stood over Azelie and watched her blank eyes
stare at nothing. I positioned myself so they were staring into mine. Dead or
not, I wanted to look into her eyes as I took her precious head. She and her
vampire cronies had ruined my life. Fucked with the lives of people I loved.
Taken lives, all in a quest for vanity and money. Surely, regardless of
Marienne’s statements about youth and beauty, money had to be involved. So much
blood, so many lives taken, one vampire’s vanity could not be the motivator of
so much destruction.

“After tonight, I will never think of you again. Your power
over me is officially renounced. I will continue to live this life, whatever it
takes, however it may change, and not one moment of it will be spent in fear.”
I raised the axe above my head. “Go to hell, bitch.” One swing and it was done.
It didn’t roll away. It didn’t start singing a little tune. It just sat there.
Slightly detached. She was dead. I was free.

“At some point,” I said blankly, “someone is going to tell
me what the fuck just happened. Until then, I’m fucking hungry and I need a
beer.”

Blood still covered my face. My exposed chest was wet with
sweat, blood and spew. My shirt was gone. My friend was gone. True thought at
that point, stopping for even a moment to comprehend the nature of the situation,
and I’d break. Primal needs only for the time being. Food, sleep, shelter. I’d
beheaded more people than one person should in a lifetime. And I wanted a
burger. Was that so much to ask?

Dominika smiled at Cyrus and looked him up and down, taking
in his God given gifts. For once, I didn’t really care. “Well, I’m a bit
peckish myself.”

 
“Maybe we should call
the police?” Mike said idiotically.

Everyone turned to glare at him. “Who’s this idiot?”
Dominika asked, jamming a thumb in his direction.

I shook my head. I didn’t have words. If I did, they weren’t
any I wanted to say yet. We weren’t done, not by a long shot. Headless bodies
were strewn about, blood soaked the dirt under our feet, and the scene was
straight from a horror flick. Unlike a movie, I’d likely be locked up for life
and the boys would get the chair. As much as Mike wanted to believe in his
precious judicial system, it wouldn’t work in our favor here. It was time to
believe in something bigger and more deadly than a bench and a gavel, and twelve
angry men.

The four of us stood in a circle. No one spoke. Mike’s face
was drawn, sad, and forever changed. He looked like he’d gained a dozen years
during his time in the shed. His gun and badge would never hold the same
weight. His heart would always know there were things in the dark, cruel and
inhuman things, which a piece of tin and a bullet couldn’t stop. Cyrus, naked
as a jaybird and not the least bit modest, looked as though he had the weight
of the world tossed onto his shoulders. His perfect green eyes were dark and
pensive, seemingly lost in thought. Dominika, smiling and adjusting her boobs
under her cobalt blue corset, seemed the least affected. I didn’t blame her;
not one of us meant a shit to her. Why should a few decapitated bodies make a
difference?

Cyrus nodded in her direction, expression assertive and
contented. “Secondus,” he said. The one word rang through the silence and
perked up my ears.

She lowered her head to him, “Primus.”

Well, I’ll be
damned. Again.

Chapter Fifteen

I didn’t bother prodding about the Primus thing. It made
sense, on a fucked-up occult type level. I’d ask later. Everything would come
later. We were losing the cover of darkness fast, and still had a few homicides
to cover up. Lopping off heads was messy. The bad guys were dead and any chance
of accurately getting to the bottom of things went with the heads of our
villains; though worth the kill, a disheartening revelation.

A roaring fire already in place, acted as an excellent
evidence killer. We tossed each body in, one by one. Well, after we salvaged
the alien guy for pants and shoes. No naked men outside this ring of trees and
dark, no exceptions. When we stripped him down, it was obvious he was missing
an important member. My original confusion as to its sex was actually correct.
Cyrus used the word eunuch and I didn’t ask for more.

My body was numb. It was either that or complete mental
breakdown. My brain, too full of nonsense to fight it, followed Mike’s
instructions like an obedient lapdog. Really, who better to execute a body
cleanup than a police detective? I stayed in my bra; modesty went out the
window when you slaughtered your best friend, and thankfully neither of the men
that’d I’d nearly fucked earlier, gave my big boobs a second glance. I’d used
Marienne’s fancy lace skirt to wipe as much shit off my face as possible
without running water and turpentine. It still stunk, but not as bad as the
scent of burning flesh.

We didn’t burn Tatum. She was an innocent, as innocent as Tatum
could be. She had chosen this life; she’d chosen this for me too, to some
extent, but this death wasn’t in her plan. Shit, it wasn’t in Malcolm’s plan
either. Those voodoo cocksuckers tried to take her from me once before, so many
months ago. I stopped them then. I saved her. Regardless of my heroism, they
got her anyway. And for what?

So many questions without answers. Moreover, so many answers
without questions. I’d rather not know ninety-percent of the mythical bullshit
I now knew – even if it was only a fraction of what was actually out there.

I was so pissed at her. She’d been such an asshole, but I’d
give my life to have hers back. There was nothing I could do about it. The
dastardly deed was done, and there was nothing on this earth that could change
that. Nothing I’d uncovered anyhow. Dwelling on things unchangeable was for
pussies and alcoholics. Even if I did stop burning bodies and mourned over my
friend, if I gave myself a chance to grieve, I’d slide down that hole of
despair and loathing, and never find myself again. That couldn’t happen. I had
people - living people - that counted on me. I didn’t know it before, but I had
people. Some folks spend their whole life looking for people. Mine were right
under my nose. Along with scary shit that I wished I never knew about.

I stood, numb and barely conscious, watching the flames
destroy Azelie’s miniature body and Malcolm’s lonely head. Where the hell the
body was that went along with that head was anybody’s guess, and not a one of
us had time to search for it. My bag, with all my shit in it, was gone, along
with Mike’s wallet and Cyrus’s everything. We were stuck in New Orleans,
virtually naked, and covered in blood and battle scars, superficial and
otherwise.

Mike, through masculine tears, instructed us on how to
position Tatum’s body so the police would find it and know without a doubt
she’d been murdered in some form of ritual. He’d hoped the police would somehow
link her to the others, all those headless dead girls, and we’d be left out of it.
It was true, no need to lie, just omit the lot of us from the equation. We
couldn’t leave the vampire bodies lying around to be found, or Azelie and
Zorin
for that matter. Too many questions, too many heads,
one too many to be exact. I should have kept hers as a souvenir. Had it stuffed
and mounted to hang above my television. I did manage to pocket one bauble from
my recent kill, not the whole shebang, more like the smashed penny sort. Just
in case.

According to Mike, we would call in a missing persons report
once all the bodies were burned down to nothing. We would call and report Tatum
missing. They would look for her, and they would find her with the help of an
anonymous tip. A sad, lonely, pathetic corpse in the middle of where ever the
fuck we were. Tied, bloody, nearly decapitated.

It was not as easy as one would assume, burning bodies to
bones; not decapitation, though that was no picnic either. It takes a high heat
and lots of time. For whatever fucked vampy reason, Marienne and her alien
henchman were dust long before the voodoo twins. Yet another question for my
‘tie Cyrus up and force answers from him’ list. The later list. The ‘not
fucking today’ list.

We didn’t really talk, not really. We made a plan to stay
alive and that was it. Dominika and Cyrus worked together to clean up any blood
in the dirt; no they didn’t lap it up. Together, they tossed it by the handful
into the fire. Mike and I, after Dominika kindly axed his cuffs apart, stared
at Tatum for a while. It was surreal. Like I wasn’t really there, like it
wasn’t really happening. You read about people in intense situations going on
autopilot. It was no bullshit. This was how personalities splinter. Shit like
this.

The sun was coming. The sky above us a dark shade of grey
just before dawn. “Mike, thanks.”
You
know, for covering up another of my murderous rampages.
I didn’t need to
say that part. He knew it. I knew it. Besides, the words wouldn’t form at my
lips even if I wanted them to.

He nodded, a sad and halfhearted sort of nod. The kind you
saw at funerals. In a way, that was where we were. A funeral. Eventually, it’d
sink in what I’d done. It’d really hit me Tatum was dead. I’d killed her. But
for the moment, all I could feel was hate. Azelie wanted her penance, her
fucking sacrifice for my trepidations. All along, I thought she’d just take me,
kill me, or keep me as a slave, something. Killing someone I love, taking a
life I held above most others, killed more than just my body; it killed my
soul, rotted it from the inside out. The decay was still fresh, but there was
no stopping it. She’d gotten the ball rolling. I was on my way to becoming a
monster, just like her.

My penance, my
sacrifice – my humanity.