Cast In Blood: Revelations Series Book 1: (5 page)

T
he young girl
walked down the hall toward the door at the end of the complex. She was not used to the lighter frame that she now wore. Shifting into a new person always took a short adjustment period. It was the same as putting on a new outfit that didn't fit quite right. You knew it would feel better in a while, but for the first few hours, it was a little stiff and uncomfortable.

"Hey, Marissa!" a young man yelled from behind her. "Marissa," he called out again, louder.

She finally realized that he was calling out to her, and she turned around to see who was following. It was Ronnie, a pimply-faced teenaged kid who seemed to be head over heels for Marissa.

"Hey, Ronnie, what's up?"

"I just wanted to see if you would maybe sit with me at services tonight?" He shuffled his feet nervously and spent most of the time staring at the tops of his shoes.

"Um, yeah sure, I'll sit with you."

She thought Ronnie might actually come out of his skin as much as he was vibrating with excitement.

"Okay! Cool then." The boy coughed and tried to calm himself. "I'll see you at service then. Bless Father."

Ronnie smiled so hard she was sure his teeth would pop right out of his face before he turned away and jogged back down the hall.

She continued on her way toward Father's office. As she finally approached the door, Joseph stepped out of the shadows.

"What can I do for you, Marissa?" he said with a tone that was ominous, but still managed to sound friendly.

"I just need to see Father for a minute."

"You know that no one can see Father without being asked."

"I was hoping I could talk to him about something important. Could you please ask him if he'll talk to me?"

"He doesn't need to be bothered." Joseph was getting agitated, but she needed to get in there.

"Please?" She smiled and turned on all the charm she could muster.

Joseph sighed heavily, but she could tell that she had cracked his shell, if only slightly.

"Wait right here."

He opened the door just enough to squeeze his body through and closed it quickly behind him. After a few minutes, he reemerged.

"Go in, but only for a minute," Joseph admonished.

"Thank you." She walked slowly through the door as he held it open just long enough for her to slip inside.

"Father?" she asked, surveying the dimly lit room.

"Come in, Marissa. Sit with me." His shadowy figure motioned to her.

She crossed the room and took a seat next to Father on the brown leather sofa.

"I just needed to see you, Father."

She wasn't sure what to say to the man that she had so much admiration for. She already knew inside what she was going to find out, but she needed proof.

"Of course, my child. You did very well last night in showing your devotion and love for your savior. I was very pleased."

"It felt strange. Good, but strange."

"It is natural to feel that way the first time. We'll have plenty of time together to explore your faith. Trust me."

He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, darting his tongue between her lips. At that moment, she knew everything Polly had told her was true. She felt a rock drop in the pit of her stomach, and her head started to spin.

"Go now, child. I'll summon you when I need you."

Even though she had not done anything the night before with the man she called Father, she felt dirty and used. She left the room and headed down the hall, feeling like she could not get far enough away from Hershel.

As she turned the next corner, she dropped the visage of the young girl and assumed the form of Joseph.

Everyone in the complex gave her a wide berth. They were all afraid of Father's right-hand man. She heard people whispering about how Joseph was one of the Faithful and how he used to be a convict or something. There were no interruptions as she stepped out of the complex and onto the street. People walked back and forth along the sidewalk, paying no attention to the imposing figure standing there.

"Outside of Children of Light, he is nothing," Lenny whispered to herself in Joseph's voice.

She headed down the avenue toward the coffee shop on 3rd.

A pretty, dark haired woman looked her up and down. "Hey there. You looking for a date?"

"No."

The woman turned away. "Suit yourself."

Lenny felt a slight twinge in her head when she made eye contact with the woman. There was something strange about her, like she wasn't quite human. Lenny was no longer sure about anyone anymore.

What the hell am I getting myself into?
She quickened her stride against the warm afternoon sun on her way to meet a demon in a greasy diner about a new job in Hell.

A
light chill
to the early evening breeze made Drew wish she'd opted to bring a sweater with her. She'd been warm enough up until the sun had begun to set, but now that the shadows grew and the light faded, her halter top and short shorts began to feel less than adequate.

Best to tough it out.

Home was a five-block walk from there, and her pimp stood somewhere between the two locations. She'd learned long ago not to cross him with an empty wallet. The man had a short fuse and a dangerous temper. He did protect her, though, and Drew knew there were worse things roaming the streets than rapists and murderers. Didn't make him any more likeable; there was always a price to pay if he had to get off his lazy ass and intervene.

"The bastard," she breathed.

A sporty two-door approached, and she bent over to pretend she needed to fix her stockings. She could feel the approaching vibe from half a block away, and this one was definitely on the prowl for a trick. She turned with a smile as a clean-cut thirty-something pulled to the curb.

"Hello, sweetheart." She leaned into the open passenger window, giving him a good show of cleavage.

The man's smile matched hers. "Hello."

"Looking for a date?"

He gave a show of contemplation. "How much?"

"You a cop?"

"Do I look like a cop?"

She shrugged. "Maybe."

"I got twenty on me."

She slid into the passenger seat, his lie smelling like burning leaves. Perfect. The night might be salvageable after all, cold aside. With a sideways glance that said she meant business, she said, "Pull into the alleyway just down to the right."

He revved the engine before throwing the car into drive and pulling out. This one had an ego to boot. An amused chuckle managed to escape her.

"What?" he asked, still grinning ear to ear.

"Oh, you're just cute is all." She gripped his thigh, and he squirmed in his seat. The smell of lust, like overripe peaches, flushed away the burning leaves that lingered in the back of her nose. She savored it when it hit her tongue, bittersweet.

The car stopped and the young man killed the engine. He looked around, a hint of nervousness tainting the air. "You sure we're okay here?"

"We're fine. Twenty bucks will get you a B.J."

Instead of replying, he unbuttoned his slacks and fidgeted with the zipper.

"I wanna see the money first."

He shifted to grab his wallet, oblivious to the stun gun she'd pulled from her purse. By the time he saw it, she had his body convulsing with 20,000 volts streaming into his side. The wallet dropped into his lap, and she snatched it while he struggled to recover.

A quick peek revealed a small wad of twenties, which she stuffed into her purse.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm on the wagon." She gave him a peck on the cheek, another quick jolt, and then hurried off. It took real talent to run in heels, especially as quickly as she could move, and by the time the poor john was able to start his car and back out, she was long gone.

She discretely counted the money while she turned the corner and disappeared into a fast food restaurant. With as much as she'd scored, the rest of the night—or at least until J. D. caught up with her—was hers to enjoy.

For the moment, there was a chocolate milkshake and a large order of fries with her name on them.

She took her food to a booth in the corner, where she could see the entire dining room and both doors leading to the street. Always have your back to the wall and one ear to the floor, she'd been taught. Good advice, even for girls who weren't picking up guys and robbing them blind every night.

She used to turn actual tricks—a legitimate working girl—but the practice had gotten her into far more trouble than it was worth. It wasn't the sex; it was the frequency of it. One would think prostitution would be the perfect gig for a succubus. Turned out, though, that too much soul sucking got addictive—and fast. The more she did it, the more she needed it, and her body just couldn't take that kind of abuse.

The room fell a shade darker, the air going musty and thick, as the far door opened and a man dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt stepped inside. His soul had a strange darkness to it, something she'd never quite seen before, which told her he wasn't a typical person. He might not even be human, and whatever he did happen to be, it likely wasn't good. He surveyed the room before going to the counter and ordering a soft drink, nothing more, before casually inviting himself to Drew's booth.

He gestured to the plush seat across the table from her. "May I?"

Her eyebrows drew together while she struggled to place his scent. It wasn't desire or lust or any of the other stenches that came with most johns; this one was wholly unfamiliar. Whatever it was, it was murky and dirty and not in the least bit pleasant. She hoped if she was dismissive enough, he'd decide she wasn't worth his time. She definitely wasn't going to let on that she could tell he was hunting her.

"I saw you on the street, and I—"

"I'm not working right now, so you can save it."

He sat, taking a sip of his drink. "I couldn't help but see the distress on your face. I can tell you're in a bad place, and I'd like to help."

She laughed. "I've seen
Pretty Woman
, and you're no Richard Gere."

He took another sip then reached across the table, falling just short of her arm. "My name's Kevin. I work at a shelter. You'll be safe there."

The scent of deception emanated all around him.
Mold and oil
.

"Safe?"

He nodded. "Please come with me. There's someone I think you should meet."

She took an emotional step back, and the shadows went a shade darker. When she concentrated on them, she could make out the vaguest borders of something that seemed to extend beyond him. Still, whatever
it
was, she wasn't going to follow its host blindly to the source.

She slid back in her seat to let the man know she didn't appreciate his attempt to reach out to her.

"Father Chambers is a righteous man. It's his mission—our mission—to help those who need it most. No one will judge you. We're all family in the eyes of the Church. You don't need to live on the streets."

"I'm not living on the streets." She crossed her arms, creating an emotional barrier between the two of them. "I share a place with a couple friends."

Of course, this was only partially true. She wouldn't call her roommates friends, per se, but they got along well enough. J. D. owned the apartment, and rent came in many forms, but it was a roof over her head. She wondered what kind of connection the shadow looming over Kevin had with this "Father Chambers." Most pastors she'd come across had good intentions—but Drew knew all too well that the road to Hell was, indeed, paved with good intentions, and good intentions came in many forms.

Never before, however, had she seen such a darkness fall under the guise of religion. She imagined Jim Jones's followers had similar shadows following them around. The source had probably been quite the sight to anyone who could perceive all that lay beyond the physical.

She had never known any different. She'd been born that way, the trait inherited through her father. As much as she loved him, he was a wretched thing. He'd tapped her mother dry when Drew was only four, and her memories of the woman were faint at best. She'd had a pretty, friendly smile, and dark hair like Drew's. She'd also been sickly, skinny, and perpetually exhausted. He'd done that to her, she would learn when she was a little older.

Her first stepmother was also a kind soul, and Drew's father had taken to keeping mistresses on the side in order to preserve the marriage as long as he could. Drew could tell he'd loved that one, his second wife, but eventually she fell ill too. Even though he knew the cause, he let her believe her "mystery illness" had to have a name and a cure. He took her to all the best doctors to keep up the ruse. Maybe he truly believed modern medicine could save her.

She died when Drew was ten.

When eventually her father explained their affliction, he did so in a way that made it sound exceptional and elite. Her mother had been a "mundane," like most of the rest of the world. They, on the other hand, were special. Being special had its price, though, and theirs meant a slow decay of anything that remained in their presence long enough, the life around them ever feeding their special souls. They could take extra through physical contact, and even greater amounts when that contact was intimate, but extra only grew the beast hidden within, and the larger it got, the more it needed to feed.

Drew had protested when her father decided to wed for the third time, but he couldn't help himself. He came home smelling like a different mistress every night, and still his wife slowly fell victim to that terrible sickness that had taken the previous two. When that woman grew skeletal and bedridden, Drew decided she could take no more. She ran away from home at fifteen and never looked back.

Of course, she'd finally understood her father's plight when, not too long after, she lost her virginity to a man who'd so
selflessly
taken her in. The feeling that had come when their bodies had come together was electrifying. She drank her first lover's soul until she was senseless, lost in the bliss of psychic intoxication. It didn't take long to see the physical effects—his sunken eyes, the subtle weight loss, his waning energy levels—and so she left, determined she wouldn't follow in her father's footsteps. Prostitution had seemed the logical solution, but it had only made matters worse.

She'd cut herself off cold-turkey several months ago. Those around her had assumed she was detoxing from some hidden addiction.

In part, they were correct.

"Here," Kevin said, pulling her from her reverie with the offering of a business card. "If you change your mind, our doors are always open."

He stood, leaving the card on the table before walking off.

Although she wasn't going to take a chance at becoming infected with whatever darkness circulated through Kevin's soul, Drew couldn't restrain her curiosity over what exactly it was. It didn't seem to notice when she threw a psychic tether over the thing and proceeded to follow its path astrally through her mind's eye.