Cole tried not to go for his gun right then. He could tell the acolyte had just pulled himself out of bed. For the look the grungy man had probably been awake earlier, grabbed a bong and smoked himself back to sleep. He smelled as though this were the case. Lennon’s Instant Karma played somewhere in the background haze.
“What’s up dude? I mean, shit, how may I help you, Bishop?” A drowsy terror constricted the man’s gaze. “I’m not ready for the Hunt. Bishop Quintana he said I didn’t have to—”
“Calm down.” Cole shifted his weight. Sandeus often sent out acolytes to trip the Nomad’s minefields. This guy had probably heard as much, but the Hunt was the least of this one’s problems. “I’m inquiring about Bishop Quintana,” said Cole. “This is where his acolytes are staying, correct?”
“Yes, Bishop. Well, just me and Vince.” The man scrubbed his hand through his greasy hair and ran it down the side of his zit-riddled jaw. “The others found a motel in Rialto.”
“And his new acolytes acquired from Melissa Patterson?”
“Same place I think. So can I ask, Bishop, sir, what’s this about?”
“I can’t get a hold of Quintana. I wondered how he was holding up. He performed that Heralding last night, as you might know.”
“Yes, I know,” he said lowly.
“Has he called in from upstairs?”
The acolyte shrugged. Several oblong holes opened the stitching of his t-shirt. Cole saw a pimple on the shoulder peering up through the cut like an angry eye. These people did not belong under a Bishop of Midnight. It showed how little Quintana cared for the title. It made Cole’s hand itch for his gun again, but he ate the pain of it.
“We knocked on the Priestess’s door last night,” said the acolyte. “Vince went this morning. We didn’t get an answer. Her bodyguard wasn’t outside neither.” Realization brought down the sky-high gaze. “You think it was the Heralding?”
“No,” Cole put simply. The man blinked. By his demeanor, it was obvious he and the others figured something fatal and nasty had happened to Paul—it didn’t break them up too much, but that wasn’t a surprise.
“Vince has been taking care of everything. But Bishop Quintana gave him instructions if we couldn’t get in touch. We’re pretty worried.”
“I can see that.”
“Bishop?”
Cole turned to walk back down the hall and sensed the door start to close. Now it all came down. He wheeled around and the man blinked again, askance. “Oh, yes,” Cole said. “I forgot. If I want to call back later and check in with you guys, is your cell number 5612?”
The guy rubbed his crusted eye with his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s Vince’s.”
Cole’s .45 swung out. The first silenced slug collapsed the man’s right cheek, a surprisingly dry cave-in; the second darted through his gaping mouth and smacked the door behind him, sending it flying against the stopper. A tooth fragment split the skin near Cole’s left eye socket. He waited a moment in the hallway, to listen for any sudden movements in any other room, or any doors flying open. A minute went by. He fanned the air for the gunsmoke smell.
Cole stepped over the acolyte’s body. With his foot he pushed the mushy head to the side and shut the door. The layout of the room was similar to his, except there were only two bedrooms and the kitchenette was half as large. The corpse’s room was ajar. Pungent marijuana smoke drifted out the threshold. Cole went farther into the living room, knowing the flow of murder had only just trickled in the mighty river to come.
The other bedroom door came open. Vince Stogin padded out with a bowl of cereal held close to his crunching jaws. His long hair was up in a ballerina bun with a florescent orange hair clip biting into it. Through slurps and crunches, “Hey fool, wanna see that thing with the Bishop one more time—?”
When their eyes met, the bowl dropped. Soggy golden squares scattered over Vince’s flip-flops. His hands went up so high his knuckles smacked the doorframe. “I just did as Bishop Quintana told me. Please don’t kill me. Oh fuck! I’m so sorry. Please. It’s Paul’s fault. He made the fucking thing!”
Cole lowered the barrel a hair. Red thoughts still burned in the forefront. His ears drowned in hysteria.
Vince laughed nervously. “It’s no big deal—right? You weren’t with her then—a lot of people do this kinky shit. Don’t get carried away.”
The next moment Vince’s brains strafed over the ceiling in a stunning orange detonation.
~ * ~
Melissa watched the pixilated penis slop out. Naked male bodies thronged around her. Her mouth ran with syrupy white strands. Paul’s puppet strings. Astonished wasn’t the word for how she felt. After I stole those damned seeds too!
The video played ten times before she deleted the file. The video had also been forwarded to Cole. That aspect hadn’t really settled yet. Cole had left their room early, in good spirits, to track down Paul. That had been about fifteen minutes before this thing infected her phone. Maybe someone killed Paul last night and that’s why his acolytes sent this—one last fuck-you.
She hoped the bastard was dead, or at least suffering somewhere. Wishful thinking. This shouldn’t have happened. Melissa should have been more firm with Paul. In some way she didn’t think he’d really follow through. There could be some hope though. It was possible Cole wouldn’t check the phone. He hated technology most times and refused to learn anything new about cell phones other than how to send and receive a call. He even remembered most phone numbers rather than build a contact list.
Oh Cole! This is so fucked. She couldn’t take this back, not after lying. All she could do was try to make him understand that she hadn’t wanted to lie. The truth was too much. Maybe if he overlooked the message, she could delete the video. As Cole often liked to quote the Tomes: You will set yourself free, no one but you.
Melissa gripped the comforter until her knuckles cracked. The room had become frigid. The rain was hissing outside. She had to entertain a bitter prospect: Cole knew. Avoiding that as a possible outcome could prove fatal. Could he really do that? He loved her so goddamn much. Too much, yes? He wouldn’t do anything. Would he? Wouldn’t lay a hand on her. Don’t be naïve, she told herself. She was going to die if she didn’t champion through this.
I do love him. I do. I do love him. I do.
It wasn’t a reassuring mantra. Her breathing matched her heartbeat. She wanted to bawl but the fear of clouding her vision burned the tears away. He forgave me the kiss. He can forgive me this. It’ll be difficult, but he’ll come around in time. He needs you.
What if he doesn’t?
She deserved it then. Was that it?
Several solutions existed, even though they were painted in pessimism.
Her phone’s alert went off and she shrieked. Main Menu. Text messages. Inbox.
NEW MESSAGE – COLE. The sweaty pad of her thumb touched the select button and held there. She could use what Sandeus had told her to get his mind back on Halloween. It was time she told him about that anyway. But—no, it wouldn’t be as easy as changing the subject. She could beg forgiveness and try to reassure him that one encounter wasn’t important to her. Because that’s what this was really about—she was ruined when they met. This was a male thing, a pissing on a hydrant thing. If reassuring Cole wasn’t appealing, she could always drive far away and never return. But Cole wasn’t some estranged ex-boyfriend. He had those seeds growing inside, making him a surrogate denizen of the Old Domain. What if they guided him to her? What then?
Her thumb descended on the button and she read Cole’s text message.
VIDEO SENDER IS DEAD. JUST LIKE US.
He’d learned his phone after all.
Outside the raindrops fell quicker, a countdown to zero.