Sacrifice (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult) (9 page)

I hadn’t put any of this to thought. When would I have had
time to have done that? Time to think and put things together? Yeah, right. I’d
been running for my life from the moment I met that bitch. I might not have
known it at the forefront of my mind, but somewhere back there, I was waiting
for her to come for me. Still was if I was being honest.

“Let’s say, yes, she knew. Azelie, queen cunt monkey, knew
from the second I stepped off the plane in New Orleans, who I was. Let’s say,
she orchestrated it all, my stepping into her shop, my believing in her
abilities, my curses. Fine, I’ll take that. There are two questions left, well,
two big questions anyway. Why did she have gallons of blood in the basement of
a shitty vampire club in Los Angeles in the first place? And how the fuck do
you know Azelie d’Entremonte so intimately?”

“Nicolas Sandorus.”

“Who the fuck is Nicolas Sandorus?” The name was familiar,
but God help me if I could dredge up a connection.

“Primus, House of Cailleadh, ages ago. Malcolm’s predecessor
and a very old friend of mine.” His tone shifted, just for a moment, and he
sounded sad. Cyrus, in the short time I’d known him, hadn’t expressed an
emotion that caused him to seem so human. His usual superficial energy had
faded over the months, and more so over the hours we’d been stuck together
trying to save my head, but he’d yet to express sadness. He took a breath and
continued without my prompting; we were getting somewhere. “Sandorus was a good
leader.”

A conversation between Cyrus and I was flittering through my
mushy brain. Food and a nap were in order as soon as fucking possible. “You
were his Secondus, right?” He nodded. “How did he end up entangled with the
little bitch? Spill her latte?”

A miniscule smile tickled the edges of his mouth. “No. I met
Azelie quite a few years ago. Nicolas came to the aid of another in a situation
similar to yours. She and I crossed paths.”

“Do you have any real thoughts, or are they all
preprogrammed propaganda? I’m calling bullshit on this one.”

“
Nico
cared for his people. Unlike
Malcolm, he wanted to ensure the world we live in was free of oppression and
scrutiny. He never flaunted what he was. Azelie brought attention to herself
with her antics even then.”

“But she’s in New Orleans. Isn’t that Marienne’s territory?
Her shit to deal with.”

“It was in our cabal the issues arose. Sandorus did what he
could to protect his House and those involved, but House of Porte was not so
forthcoming. I know what Azelie is capable of because I’ve seen it once
before.”

“Why have you not mentioned this before now?” I’d been kept
in the dark, lied to, bullshitted, and fucked around for too damn long.
Malcolm, Tatum, Reggie, and the lot of them were deceitful, scheming shit bags.
It takes a fucking voodoo cocksucker to knock loose pertinent information.
Shit, Cyrus could be throwing me for a loop too and I’d be none the wiser. My
head was beginning to stop functioning. Bullshit overload.

“I will tell you this only once, and I ask that you listen.
There are things, events, beings, worlds that, like Azelie, require your faith
to exist in your world. Your quest for knowledge nearly got you killed once.
Trust me when I tell you, ignorance is truly bliss.”

“Why wait? Why?” My tired body was beginning to give up. It
wasn’t even twenty-four hours since I’d slept, but it might as well have been
forty-eight. There was too much new shit coming to light for one brain to
compartmentalize.

“Dylan, I want you. I want to be in your presence. You are
like no woman I’ve met in a century of years, and that has intrigued me to the
point of insanity. In my time with Nicolas, and with Malcolm, I have learned it
is always best to err on the side of caution. Knowledge truly is power, but it
can also be detrimental. It can be altering, demoralizing even. In some, it can
be met with demise. Why would I choose to do that to you?”

I was speechless. Ask
anyone, that
never happened. I wasn’t a romantic. I blushed and felt awkward when someone
happened to pay me a compliment. His words were intense; I had no choice but to
believe him. I’d force him to write it all down for me once all this curse type
stuff was over, but for now, I would accept that as a valid answer. “Where did
you come from?” I mumbled, not really thinking beforehand. I knew he’d told me
he was Persian. I knew he had a name other than Cyrus, a name from his country
I assumed. I knew, so my asking made little sense. It seemed the old grey
matter was shutting down for a long winter’s nap.

 
“Why don’t you try to
sleep a little? You’re going to need it. You need rest now more than ever. You
have a fight ahead of you and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
Apparently, my exhaustion was a public affair.

“Thanks for the words of encouragement.”
Asshat
. “Can you answer one more
question?”

“Will you sleep if I do?” At that point, I didn’t have much
of a choice; my eyes were fluttering, threatening to close up shop.

“Fine, but you better not fuck with me while I’m sleeping.
And please make sure no one sneaks in and takes my soul while I’m out.” I
wasn’t shitting him. I meant it.

“Agreed,” he said with a nod.

I took a breath and gathered the tiny, jumbled thoughts
mingling in my head. “If you’re not a vampire, that is if there
are
vampires, what the shit are you?” My
eyes felt heavy, even with the idea of sleep skipping through my thoughts.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” A tiny smile hit
his face but quickly dissipated.

“Try me.” As if the idea of vampires and witches wasn’t
enough to handle, there was a chance he was something else entirely.

Fuckoolacka
.

“Trust me, I’d like nothing more than that.” My dreary eyes
caught the motion of his wiggling brows.

“Don’t try to sway me with promises of sex. What are you?” I
was beginning to sound drunk.

“I am…something I shouldn’t be, something that should have
never been.”

“And that is?” My head felt heavy.

“A story for another day.” He’d promised this so often, I
questioned whether or not he knew for a fact I wouldn’t have another day.

“Fuck another day. I might not even be in this body in
another day.”

“I am Cyrus Atossa, Secondus House of Cailleadh,” he spouted
out information I already knew.

“I’m going to stab you in the eye with my keys.” My eyes
were literally closed when I said this. I felt like a lush on the long cab ride
home. Been there.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

“
What
?” I hissed,
refusing his demand.

“Just, please, close your eyes and lay your head back. You
need sleep.” His urging just pissed me off.

“Fuck off.” I crossed my arms across my chest and looked
away from him out my window. “You promised.”

His warm hand touched my fingertips jutting out from under
my folded arm. It felt nice, comforting, but didn’t stop me from behaving like
a child.

“Dylan, there is so much more you will learn in your time on
this earth. I promise you. Please, just sleep. I will be here when you wake up
and we, together, will ensure your future.”

Bastard. How dare he
be logical and caring
? Outwardly, he was being
the cryptic weirdo I’d always known him to be. Blowing me off, promising to
divulge everything on another day, it had been this way since the moment I met
him. I had no idea why I thought he’d change now. He’d sooner jiggle my tits in
his face than explain to me why and who and how.

Maybe his particular brand of monster was something really
awful or embarrassing and he didn’t want me to know. Like maybe, he was some
kind of shit demon, or a hermaphrodite or something.
Don’t be a dick, Dylan. Yet. You can always beat it out of him later.
Heeheehee
.

Sometimes my mind even bothers
me
.

I hid the smirk I’d created in my own thoughts, let my arms
loose and lay them in my lap. His hand was quick to follow mine and scoop it up.
He held my hand gently while I finally gave over to sleep.

Zeph
was quiet in his place in the back seat, so Cyrus kindly
turned the radio down. I sank deeper into the leather seats and relaxed my head
against the rest. Since I was a child, a ride in the car was a sure fire way to
put me to sleep. This ride was no exception.

My breathing slowed. Sleep was coming and I couldn’t stop
it. Really, I didn’t want it to stop. For some stupid reason, I actually trust
Cyrus to not let me die if he could help it. Unless of course Mike, or Tatum,
or I, were his opponent. Then he was a huge pussy. For the most part, he was an
ally, and I was proud to have him on my team.

I heard my heart beat in my ears – thump-bump-thump – a
steady soothing sound. As long as that sound didn’t stop, I was in a good
place.

Here’s hoping.

Chapter Seven

Drums beat
rhythmically in the background. Singing in a language I’d never heard, echoed
through the vast canyon of amber-colored rock. The light of a fire danced
across never ending walls of rock and dirt that surrounded us.

Through the flames,
a man knelt on both knees. Three others surrounded him, cloaked in muslin from
head to toe – only faces peering out from beneath a drape of fabric over their
heads. Thick black beards filled the negative space below their noses, leaving
only eyes to be seen clearly.

None of them
acknowledged me. Just an innocent bystander eavesdropping on something I’d
probably regret later. I moved, slowly walking around the raging fire to see
what lay on the other side.

The man on his knees
was bound by rope on his wrists, and tied around his waist like a prisoner. His
head hung lackadaisically; long brown hair hung over his face. His broad, tan
chest glistened with sweat in the light of the fire. Cream-colored fabric
covered his bits and pieces, but left his legs bare. Shadows danced across the
four men, seemingly ethereal, and harmless in their world of song and fire.

One of the men
cloaked in fabric, raised a wooden staff above his head. He sang louder and
jumped up and down kicking up dust in his wake. Another poured liquid over the
kneeling man, drenching his hair in thick greasy solution.

I watched in wonder.
Unassuming. Not one of them glanced in my direction. Each continuing whatever
task they had before them.

The third and most
menacing looking man, snatched up the long hair of the man on the ground. He
pulled his head back and held his hair tight above his head, finally revealing
the perfectly shaped face of Cyrus Atossa.

A gasped escaped my
mouth. I clapped my hand over it quickly and stood as still as I could. I
waited for the men to notice a woman standing just off stage, but they didn’t.
It was as if they really couldn’t see me.

The man who held
Cyrus by the hair spat in his face. Cyrus closed his eyes and whispered
something over and over again. The man with the staff danced about erratically,
spinning and jumping and shaking the big wooden stick in the air. The guy with
the greasy liquid lifted a bowl to the sky and spoke, not sang, something in
whatever language they were speaking.

He lowered the bowl
and with one swipe scooped up some gunk from the bowl and smeared it across
Cyrus’s face in long lines and down his chest. The fire plumed with big spikes
of flame, sending heat in every direction. Sweat pooled at my lower back.

My heart sped up to
near pounding when they stood Cyrus up on his feet and ripped the cloth from
his waist exposing everything he had to offer. Any other situation and I might
have blushed at the sight, but standing naked in front of a fire, bound, and
covered in some kind of liquid, didn’t seem like a safe situation.

I took a step
forward, reaching out like I could do something. Stop something. Halt whatever
was going to happen next. Maybe it’s some kind of religious thing, a baptism of
some kind, I told myself. Cyrus wasn’t fighting them; maybe he was cool with
this.

Naked, covered in
shiny grease and dirt, Cyrus stood helpless in the gleaming light of fire. The
men sang, danced, and praised something from above. The menacing man stopped
his dance long enough to produce a whip from the darkened ground. He reared it
back and swirled it in the air. WHACK it went as it snapped in the air. Cyrus
cried out and arched his back. WHACK – again. Dark lines appeared on his back
and blood soon followed. WHACK – the man with the whip swung hard and fast, and
wrapped the leather strap around Cyrus’s neck in one swoop. I cried out and ran
toward the men. I screamed for them to stop.

The man released the
leather from his neck just before I reached them. He yelled something toward
the flame. The other two placed both hands on Cyrus’s back and shoved him into
the fire.

I stopped dead in my
tracks and slammed my hands over my mouth. A scream came from deep in my belly,
but it made no difference. I was nothing. I meant nothing. This was happening
whether I was there or not.

Cyrus fell into the
fire on hands and knees. The flames rose and engulfed him completely in a
matter of seconds. Faint silhouettes of his limbs flailed about within the
fire. Screams and the sickening scent of burning hair and flesh filled the
night.

I stared, hands
clamped over my gasping mouth. What could I do? Leap in the fire and drag him
out? I might as well put my pistol in my mouth. His wails echoed through the
canyon, causing my gut to roil. My knees shook violently and I fell to the
ground. I sat on my knees, hands planted in the dirt, and watched Cyrus burn to
death in front of my helpless eyes. Unable to save him, to do anything of
influence, I cried and prayed. I prayed this was just a dream.

The flames grew and
grew until they nearly reached the tops of the cliffs that surrounded us.
Screams from the fire became guttural and more animalistic as the flames grew.
Licking the flat edges of the canyon high above us, the fire flittered and
danced in the night. When I thought they couldn’t possibly get any higher, a
shockingly bright light shot up and out from the center of the fire. In a burst
of energy and vibrancy, light and electricity filled the open space. My skin
tingled with it. I felt the change in my soul. Deep, molecularly deep, as if
the earth itself was changed. I felt it. I knew it with every cell in my body.

From the flame, a
low growl emanated. Familiar, but unrecognizable, the growl tickled along my
skin. Goose bumps raised along my chest and arms.

I watched the flame,
roaring, in more ways than one, and waited for something – anything. I let out
a long shaking breath. “Cyrus,” I whispered, tears falling down my cheeks. Nothing.
A heavy, stinging breath filled my lungs. I closed my eyes. “
Sher
Mahin
,” Cyrus’s true name
slipped from my lips as if I’d said it a million times before.

Instantly, the
flames extinguished. For a tic, there was only darkness, the blackness of night
without the lights of a city to light the way. The moon, full and round, made
its first appearance overhead. Blue-tinged light washed over the canyon and
revealed a new scene before me. In the center of the fire pit, a regal black
lion stood. I closed my eyes tightly and opened them again, assuming I was
seeing things in the newly found darkness.

The lion remained
stoic and as black as the sky above us. I’d never seen a black lion before, but
I’d also never seen a man be pushed into a fire and a lion appear in his place.
The men danced, sang and raised their hands to the heavens. The lion, mane
thick and shining in the moonlight, turned to look in my direction. His
striking green eyes met mine. I stared for an eternity into the eyes of a black
lion created by flame and magic. The lion lifted his chin high and let out a
roar that echoed through the canyon. The air around me shook and shuttered with
the force of his exuberance. Meeting my eyes again, I realized he could see me.
I was finally acknowledged and it was by the damn lion.

The dancing men
suddenly fell quiet and caught my attention. I looked in their direction in
time to catch the last man fall dead to the dirt, blood spurting from a wound
at his neck. A small, slender man stood behind them.

“Many thanks to you,
gentlemen.” He spoke English, but his accent was thick and I couldn’t place it.
“Come.” He snapped his fingers in the direction of the lion.

The beast gave me
one last glance before obeying the command of the slender dark-haired murderous
man. The man reached out and patted the large cat on his massive head. The lion
nuzzled against his waist, nearly standing as tall as the small man, even on
all fours. The lion stopped long enough to lick up a few laps of blood from the
throats of the dead men.

I sat in utter
shock, knees digging into the dirt. The two, lion and man, walked away from the
scene of death and magic, leaving me alone in the dark with the dead men.
Leaping to my feet, I ran to the now smoldering fire pit. I searched in the night
for signs of a body. Bones, flesh, anything to prove Cyrus was dead. I found
nothing.

“Wait!” I cried out
to the silhouettes of the two walking away from me in the dark. In a desperate
attempt, I screamed, “Cyrus!”

Neither turned.
Neither acknowledged I was present. I watched them grow smaller in the distance
until they were only darkened shapes against an equally dark backdrop.
Confused, I ran after them.

“
Sher
Mahin
!” I called out.

The air shook and
shifted. I stopped and looked to the ground at my feet to see dust and rocks
shaking and twitching. The lion belted out an earth-shattering roar and filled
the air with energy I could nearly reach out and touch. I looked to them again;
the faint shape of two men disappeared into the darkness. No lion. Just two men
walking in the moonlight.

The air shifted
again, and with a loud explosion, the fire ignited. The pressure of the blast
knocked me to my knees, falling hands first into the bloody remains of the
menacing man. He opened his eyes and grabbed my arm.

I opened my eyes with a start. Cyrus’s lovely face was
inches from mine. Last remnants of Mike’s abuse fading, his perfect face again
gracing my gaze. A smile spread across his face as his eyes met mine. I opened my
mouth to speak, but he shook his head, a few tiny little motions, and I
stopped. His body was leaning across mine through the open door of the car. His
hand gently released the seatbelt from its buckle and brought it across my body
slowly.

I watched him move with new eyes, as if I was finally seeing
him for everything he was, or wasn’t. Nothing had changed. He was still the
same man he was before I’d closed my eyes, but something in my subconscious
knew there was something more. Something so much bigger than I could ever
guess, out there, lurking, waiting for its time. Or maybe it was already here.
Maybe it had always been here, hiding in plain sight right under our noses.

Still in shock, I let Cyrus lead me from my seat in the car
to the sidewalk. We stood again, together, in front of Lupe’s
botanica
. This time wiser and ready, and carrying with us
my ticket to freedom. Hopefully.

“Cyrus…” I started, but he shushed me with a finger to my
lips.

Any other man, any other moment, I would have bitten that damn
finger right off, but this was different. A new respect filled my heart for
him. He had plenty of questions to answer, but not now. Conversations of dreams
and nightmares, and things dredged up from my brain could wait for another
moment. We had things to take care of.

I shook my body trying to shake off the fear and sadness
that lingered. It took a minute, a few glances around at the celebration of
death still raging on, and I was back to the present. No canyon or lion, or
little murderer guy. Just me. Just me and my cursed soul.

Grunts came from behind me.

Me…and my meal
ticket.