At its appearance, one young woman gasped, while the others gazed at the otherworldly creature with starry, worshipful eyes. Well, I knew who the newbie was now.
Beside me, Justin’s face, illuminated by the faint glow of his recording phone, had gone white.
“A crime,” the leader sighed, gesturing at the demon. “A crime to call this magnificent immortal a demon. An evil, corrupting creature of myth? No. We know he is a Servus, a loyal servant of the Goddess. He exists to serve Her—and to serve those of us who walk in Her Light.”
Several of the avid listeners had clasped their hands together as they gazed adoringly at the demon.
“Once, the Servi would pledge service to the Goddess’s followers. And yes, the Servi would turn their brutal power on those who threatened Her children. That is their purpose, their calling—to protect.”
He tugged on the chain around his neck, drawing his infernus out of his simple black sweater, his cloak swishing with the movement. “Now, generations of baseless fear and the MPD’s restrictions have twisted the Servi’s willing service into humiliating slavery—but that is not how it should be!”
The chain jangled as he raised the infernus higher, passion infusing his voice. “This Servus gave his strength willingly to me. He is not my slave but my precious ally, gifted to me by the Goddess. And when I leave this world, he will carry my soul directly into Her arms.”
The demon lowered himself to one knee in a bow, his blank eyes staring straight ahead. The creature looked fully contracted to me, but whether the leader was lying or not, I saw no doubt in the enamored faces of his followers.
“We are the Goddess’s beloved children,” he continued. “In this life, we are protected by the Servi, Her guardians. And in the next, She will welcome our pure, devoted souls. We have pledged our eternal loyalty, and we will be forever protected. Let us thank the Goddess for Her gifts.”
As the cultists bowed their heads, I tilted my face away from my viewport, needing a minute to swallow my stomach back down. Would Ezra’s parents have stood a chance against this kind of rhetoric?
The sect’s leader completed the prayer, and the group began a ritual that involved a lot of chanting in Latin. After that, he led them through a “Knowing of Her Light,” in which all the members stared into their scarlet candle flames as though hypnotized. Some of them whispered or trembled, deeply moved by whatever they felt.
“The Goddess can feel your spirits and She is pleased,” the leader murmured. “Now, through the gracious gift of the Servi, we will bind our souls to Her Light forever.”
He pulled a silver chalice from beneath the lectern and swept into the center of the circle, his scarlet cloak billowing. The demon rose to its full, terrifying height and held out its arm. With its other hand, it dragged a claw across its wrist.
Thick, dark blood dribbled from the slice, and the leader caught the fluid in his chalice.
No. Oh please, no. Let this not be what I thought it was.
He let blood flow into the chalice, filling it nearly to the brim before pulling the cup away. The demon lowered its arm, blood dripping on the floor with loud, wet splats.
The leader turned to the woman kneeling to the left of the lectern. He extended the cup.
“Drink,” he whispered, “and let the Goddess share Her power with you, Her child.”
Without the slightest hesitation, the woman lifted the chalice and took a hearty gulp of the demon’s blood.
I gagged. My heaving stomach tried to erupt and I clamped my hand over my mouth. Beside me, Justin’s breath wheezed through his clenched teeth.
The woman passed the chalice to the next cultist. As he drank, the leader moved to the center of the circle, his deep voice rolling through the room.
“The MPD fears the Goddess’s power. The Servi are too powerful when not bound into slavery, but more than that, they fear this: the gift of Her power, given to you. Let Her Light enter you. Feel your strength, your magic, grow.”
The chalice was halfway around the circle now. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to block it all out. Had Ezra done this too? Drunk a demon’s blood while a madman told him he was being gifted with divine power?
“The Goddess is the mother of magic. Her power is ultimate. Through Her, we can reclaim our true birthright.”
This needed to be over. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.
“Auditores, thank you. We will convene again next Tuesday at eight o’clock. Remember—vigilance, for the MPD is always watching. Until then, keep the Goddess in your hearts.”
Opening my eyes, I peered through the gap. The demon had vanished, and all the attendees had blown out their candles, leaving only the candelabra to light the room. The cultists were on their feet, milling silently, then they filed toward the door.
Relief flooded me. The tension in my limbs released—and the faintest creak sounded from the plywood as my weight shifted.
Directly below me, a cultist looked up. My breath locked, my body rigid as a board.
“Did you hear that?” the cultist asked the woman beside him.
She looked up too. “Hear what?”
The urge to recoil was almost too strong, but any movement would trigger more creaking. They couldn’t see me, I told myself. The gap was way too narrow.
With bold, confident steps, the leader strode around his lectern. “Auditor, what troubles you?”
“My apologies, Praetor,” the man said. “I heard a noise in the ceiling.”
I sucked in air through my nose. Silence stretched as the people below listened intently.
“It was probably a mouse,” the leader decided, sounding almost comically mundane after his cult oration. “My cat died last fall, and the mice moved in over the summer. I’ll have to set up more traps.”
“Oh, yeah, I had a mouse problem when I lived in Salem,” the sharp-eared cultist replied, looking away from the ceiling. He resumed his journey toward the door. “They wouldn’t touch cheese, but when we loaded the traps with peanut butter, they …”
As his voice receded, the other cultist and the leader followed. A moment later, the door banged shut. The room was empty, all cultists gone, and I sagged limply against the plywood, gulping down air.
That had been way too close.
Chapter Fourteen
“The cult survived.” I paced the length of the drab living room with jerky steps. “It survived.”
Since we weren’t leaving Portland tonight, we’d needed accommodations. A crap motel room hadn’t appealed to us, so Aaron had popped online, found a short-term rental, and booked it for a few nights. The two-bedroom apartment was on the ground floor of an aging apartment complex, but it was more spacious—and more private—than a hotel.
Aaron, perched on the arm of the sofa with his hands knotted under his chin, watched me pace. “Is the leader acting alone, though? The rest of his cult was wiped out, so he started it up again as their new leader?”
“Or he could be the leader. The one who started it all.” The suggestion rumbled from Blake, who was leaning against the wall opposite Aaron while I paced long lines between them.
Male number three was sitting on the other end of the sofa. Why did all these life or death missions end up so testosterone heavy? Where was Team Estrogen?