Page 13 of Beneath the Watching

The church wasn’t far from Victor’s castle, where I resided. I left my wing, where my quarters were located, and took the staircase down, pushing open the door at the end. It brought me to the entrance hall, its walls decorated with weapons no longer used, gleaming blades fixed to the walls to shine under the light of the massive circular chandeliers that hung overhead. The space was empty of people other than a solitary soul skipping up the grand staircase to my right.

I exited through the double doors and stepped out into the light; my boots silent as I traversed the bridge. The fortresswas situated near a ridge with green valleys below and a wall of mountains in the background to the north. Crows fluttered overhead and small, chestnut brown squirrels scampered around my heels before dashing to the end of the walkway and disappearing below.

After taking a left onto the road, I walked down the tree-covered pathway and observed the parishioners heading into the towering gray brick cathedral, three steeples gracing the roof and a smaller one over the front doorway. I made my way to the back of the building, letting myself in through a private entrance out of the sight of my reverent congregation.

It gave me perverse pleasure, knowing they trusted I was a holy man, here to lead them into righteousness. Some of the members knew I was anything but divine, but they believed I’d repented my sins and strove for forgiveness. Most importantly, they also knew better than to share what they had learned of my personal business and seeming lack of humanity. My demon blood wasn’t a secret in general, as most knew of the variety of creatures existing in the realm. However, there were advantages to keeping a low profile in the church.

Once in my office, I double-checked my notes and smoothed down my suit coat. As I’d done for years, I stood on the other side of the door that would lead me out in front of the people who’d gathered waiting to be absolved of their wrongdoings. Today, communion would be served providing an extra measure of ritualistic exoneration to the needy crowd.

I humbly kept my head down as I walked out, before gently placing my Bible on the wooden pulpit. With care, I slid my notes from between the pages and set them to the left of the book. I raised my head. The audience ceased their whispers and greetings to one another and placed all their attention on the man standing in front of them.

The people were rapt as I extolled the virtues of a pure life, the abstaining from the sins of the flesh, and the consequences of indulgence. Our bodies were a vessel for the Creator, fit to be cleansed with fiery brimstone, our salvation lying in our integrity and the denial of our impulses. My job was to help them, remind them that such lofty pursuits were possible if only we could strive a little bit harder every single day. Self-condemnation was but a mere sliver of the process of asking for forgiveness.

One of the double entrance doors opened a crack during my sermon and I spied slim fingers gripping the door’s edge as it swung open. My thundering monologue stuttered for a half second, my concentration thrown off by the unexpected disturbance. Who would dare arrive late?

My gaze tracked Mabel as she threaded her way through bent knees to take a seat in one of the farthest pews. Her eyes met mine, bright and questioning, and I stared her down. The remainder of my discourse was spoken to her, and her alone. My profound physical response to the woman left me trapped behind the ornate stand when all I wanted to do was sweep her from the bench, lock her in my office, and bend her over my knee.

She remained unmoved by my lecture for the duration; the force of my words having the effect on her of a bedtime story told after a sweet tuck-in and kiss on the cheek. I should’ve expected as much from my stoic beauty.

When it was time for communion I pulled my assistant, Frederick, to the side, and instructed him to refrain from serving the newcomer any wine or wafers. This ceremony was to be presented to her by me, in private.

His gaze lingered a fraction too long, and I quickly dipped my eyes to hide what I was sure was an unnerving crimson glow. Frederick was somewhat acclimated to my so-called quirks, butit would have been best if no one else noticed until I could get the demonic blood back under control.

My mind raced around, trying to decide what to do that would force her to lower her facade. Would she admit she longed for me as much as I, her, or did she have another purpose for frequenting the Fourth Realm? My heart thudded against my ribs.

Mabel’s communion would have to be extra special.

I was playing with fire, and I knew it and yet I couldn’t stop the thrumming of blood in my veins over a mere glimpse of her. Her quiet spirit both intrigued and enflamed me. Certainly, she would be attracted if she were to keep showing up. The possibility gave me hope.

This would all be a lot easier if she were willing but at this point, it was beginning to not matter. My intuition was telling me there was more to her than most could gather; all the signs were there. If my suspicions were correct, I’d take her sooner rather than later, the working out of logistics be damned. I’d figure it out as I went along.

I’d expected her to seek me out after the Autumn ball but according to Ilya, she never did.

As it were, it appeared she had the responsiveness of a single celled organism to my presence. There was no reason she shouldn’t have been under my spell already, begging for me, throwing herself at me. She hadn’t tried to seduce me as most would. Normally, all I had to do was look at a woman, direct some of my energy toward them, and I’d have a meal and company for the evening if I so desired.

Mabel’s reaction was confusing and a mystery I needed to unveil, and it made me want her all the more. It would come as no surprise if she had magic running through her veins.

Frederick served the food and beverage, lifting a hand to halt Mabel’s retrieval of either item. A flash of confusion brieflydistorted her countenance, and she sat back down. There was no need to convey to anyone she was to remain behind, I knew she was here to see me even if only to spew questions. She wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Normally, I took up residence in the chapel after a sermon, greeting my guests and exchanging meaningless well-wishes, catching up on the banalities of their lives. This time, I left the pulpit and ducked into my church office, locking the door behind me before I slid the hidden blade from my sleeve.

My heart pounded in my chest as I lifted one of the tiny crystal glasses from the short stack I kept on a silver tray. I needed to be inside Mabel more than I needed to take my next breath. The poison of her spirit infiltrated my consciousness, crowding everything else out. She had to suffer too; I wasn't going to do this alone. It was unfair, the advantage she had, blocking her psyche, and rendering my attempts to translate her intentions fruitless. There was no choice left, she was driving me into madness even if she had no idea she did so.

In my mind’s eye, I saw her soft blue eyes gazing up at me, the ebony of her hair framing her face. After lightly dragging the silver edge of the blade along my wrist, I squeezed, patiently waiting for my life force to fill the cup to an acceptable level.

Satisfied with the contents, I chanted a brief spell designed to alter the blood’s spiritual frequency and change the taste and appearance. Her body and eyes would now accept it without hesitation while giving me the access to her that I’ve been so fervently denied. She would quickly learn I could read her, and she’d stop blocking my attempts.

Was I manipulating her? It didn’t matter, she’d never know. I’d learned from the best.

As expected, she was still in the otherwise now-vacant building. I stopped several yards away from her and motioned to her, curling my middle and index fingers. She stood up slowlyand obeyed my command. The smell of the chapel’s incense mingled with her soft, floral fragrance beguiling and tempting me to give in to my baser instincts.

“Do you desire absolution?” I greeted her, trying to stop the smug tilt of my lips and failing.

Mabel’s gaze darted around the church, resting a moment on the colorful stained glass gracing the back wall. The sun’s beams streamed through the rainbow glass leaving a highlight of blue on her cheek that perfectly complemented her eyes.

“I don’t sin,” she said, shaking her head.

Holding out the small glass I’d been clutching, I said, “The deadliest sins are those that make us feel most alive.”

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