Carlos didn’t need to be asked twice. He carried her down the hall to their master bedroom. Inside, dozens of candles lit up the room. He noticed an odd smell; there was a lot of incense, but it was as if it all covered up something unpleasant. The curtains were drawn, the room was almost uncomfortably warm, and everything else was deathly quiet. Carlos stepped in something wet in the carpet. He’d have looked down to see what it was, but Lydia grabbed his chin and forced another long, hungry kiss upon him.
“Take me, Carlos,” she growled. “Now.”
Carlos brought her down onto the bed and obeyed.
Lydia grinned as he went at her. He completely missed the bloody pentagram in the carpet around the bed. She would have him reduced to an animalistic, rutting frenzy before the bodies of Chuy and Paco under the bed began to stink.
Normally, bringing her prey to his end didn’t involve such a production. Complicated rituals weren’t necessary for killing a man. This one, however, was needed for something beyond just killing.
His soul was bound for Hell, but his body had one last use.
* * *
“We look like assholes,” Molly grumbled.
“I think you look cute,” Onyx smirked.
Molly turned to Onyx with a scowl. “I want to put my fucking bra back on,” she said icily.
Onyx couldn’t help but snort at Molly’s plaid beret and non-prescription black-rimmed glasses. The pink iZod shirt collar popped up under her dress jacket only made it worse.
She tried to control her laughter, but couldn’t. The pair sat on a bench at North Seattle Community College, dutifully watching a single classroom’s exits. Onyx was clad in an old white Smurfs shirt with blue sleeves that came down to just below the elbow, a scarf and, like Molly, skinny, high-waisted jeans.
“I don’t think we’re being nearly ironic enough to be good hipsters,” said Onyx.
“What are you talking about? We’re trying to blend into our surroundings by dressing like people who try desperately to stand out by showing how much they don’t care about looking good. We look like perfect assholes. I think we’re fine there. How’s that not ironic?” She wasn’t as amused by the situation as Onyx. “I hope Alex is ready to reimburse us for rescuing his ass.”
Onyx bit down on her lip, but then decided to let her response fly anyway. “I plan on getting paid in sex.”
Molly scowled again. “How awkward would it be for you if I watched?”
Her partner’s eyes went wide. “Um,” Onyx mumbled, unsure how serious Molly might be.
“Molly? Is that you?” asked a nasally, technically male voice. A guy in a sweater vest and skinny slacks, with black-rimmed glasses identical to Molly’s approached with his courier bag slung over his shoulder. “Ohmygooooosh, you two look great!”
“Go away, Sam,” Molly said without looking at him.
“Seriously, ohmygosh! I’ve got to take your picture!” he said, fishing in his courier bag for his iPhone.
“Do it and I will fucking murder you in your sleep,” Molly snapped.
Sam gasped. He then muttered an ironically nonchalant apology and shuffled away.
“I take it back,” Molly said. “I’m gonna make you watch.”
* * *
“So Augustine hears this call to take up a book and read, and he pulls out the first thing in reach. It’s Paul’s letter to the Romans. He reads, completely at random: ‘Let us behave decently, as in daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.’”
Professor Lyons recited it from memory. He sat atop the desk at the front of the classroom. The small, older man in slacks and his button-down shirt smiled at the class. “This is a man who famously said, ‘God, grant me chastity-but not yet.’” He paused for the inevitable chuckle from his class. “You’ll appreciate the St. Augustine readings, I think. We’re not focusing on the issue of chastity here…that’s for another philosophy class. But it’s good to know where Augustine is coming from. You’re reading the words of a former party animal. I suspect more than a few of you could probably relate.”
He glanced at the clock. “No real time for discussion today. See you all on Wednesday.”
Students rose and gathered their things. Alex remained in his desk, still considering what he’d heard. He wouldn’t trade his experiences for the world, but it was a lot to chew on.
A woman’s hand appeared on his desk. Alex looked up to see the cute Latina who normally sat in the back smiling at him as she walked away. The post-it note she left on his desk bore a phone number and the name “Christina” written inside a heart. Alex picked up the note just as another appeared on the other side of his desk, this one left by a petite brunette in a short skirt and stockings. He didn’t catch sight of her face before she was gone. Apparently her name was Paula.
At this time last week, Alex wondered when he’d ever get beyond a second or third date. He’d found no real romance, nor sex. Now the biggest question in his life was: how much of a good thing is too much?
He might have already hit that point. Alex felt fortunate and well-loved, both physically and emotionally. So many of his worries lay dead and gone, as if they had been left to burn in the Sacred Heart Cemetery chapel. It wasn’t just Lorelei, or Rachel, or the others; he recognized the changes in himself. Yet he couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that it would all come crashing down on someone’s head. If it were just his head, that would be bad enough. If it was someone else’s…he couldn’t live with that.
How far could this go before he’d have to dial it back? How could one know when to slow down the party? When does success spin out of control to become disaster?
He glanced up to see if Professor Lyons was still there. This might be the abstract question to ask a philosophy teacher. There had to be books on it somewhere. But the professor was already out the door. Alex sighed. He threw on his leather jacket, picked up his helmet and books, and headed for his next class.
Riding to school helped return him to reality. He’d taken Lorelei’s car home to retrieve his bike, since Taylor was perfectly happy to drive Lorelei home whenever they felt like it. The motorcycle wasn’t as comfortable as Lorelei’s Lexus, but that was the point. She constantly showered him with luxury. It began to make him feel uneasy.
He couldn’t figure out why, though, and wished he knew someone he could talk to about it.
Leaves crunched under his feet as he walked. Summer hung in there through last week, but then, autumn often hit Seattle rather suddenly. The groundskeepers had gathered many of the leaves into large piles just off the sidewalks.
Money and luxury meant as much to Lorelei as dried leaves. The analogy came back to him.
“Hey, sexy thing!” someone called. Alex figured the call was for someone else, but he looked up anyway.
Rachel came running at him, leaping upon Alex so fast that he barely had time to drop his books and hold his helmet out of the way. She had both legs up off the ground and her hands hooked onto his shoulders as he fell backward into the giant pile of leaves behind him.
He didn’t have time to regain his bearings before kissed him. The fall hurt for a fleeting instant, but her kiss robbed him of all pain, or fear, or trepidation.
“Hi,” Rachel grinned, still pinning him to the ground.
“Wow. Um. Hi, Rachel,” he smiled. He’d never been tackled to the ground by a beautiful girl before. “How are you?”
“Better now.” Her lips locked with his again. The helmet fell out of his hands. He put his arms around her and held her tight. The nearness of her stirred as much desire as Alex had ever felt for anyone. She could clearly tell; as he stiffened, she pulled back from her kiss and beamed. “Much better to get a reception like this,” she said, wiggling her groin against his.