Page 15 of Prayer of the Damned

“Mr. Fermi, are you ready?” she asks, and my father gives her a sharp nod.

She opens the heavy doors, and we walk in, leaving her behind. She immediately shuts the doors with a squeak that freezes my blood. Suddenly I feel claustrophobic, even though we’ve entered an enormous hall. The walls are so tall that when I look up, I get dizzy. The ceiling is decorated withpaintings depicting anxiety-inducing scenes: hellfire, demons and monsters, the polar opposite of the roof of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, which represents divinity. In fact, the more I scrutinize the nightmarish scenes, the more they seem to be the Devil’s reply to Michelangelo’s marvels.

I swallow heavily and stare straight ahead to the five Council members sitting… on thrones? Oh God, are they the royalty of the demon world? Am I supposed to bow to them?

My father answers by placing his hand on his heart, lowering his body respectfully and saying: “Esteemed Council members, it is an honor to be in your presence. I’d like to introduce to you my daughter, Bellcolor Umbra Fermi.” He gestures to me with a hand, and I hurry to curtsy politely. Am I doing it right? I’ve never had to bow to anyone. How humiliating.

The Council members stare at me, scanning me from head to toe. They don’t say a word, and my eyes jump from them to my father and back.

I stiffen all my muscles, the tension threatening to drive me out of my mind. Why aren’t they saying anything?

My father reaches behind my back and caresses me with foreign affection, hinting at me to calm down, and I’m finally able to get some air in my lungs and breathe right.

Thanks, I say in my mind, and he smiles.

That’s the first time this whole mind-reading thing has come in handy, and in my favor for once.

The man sitting on the middle throne – I assume it’s Libretto, head of the Council – rises up and walks towards me.

I hold my head high, faking courage and praying that if I’m convincing enough, I’ll actually feel it. My father softly caresses my back the whole time, and I cling to his grip like a lifesaver.

“Bellcolor,” Libretto says my name with a thick Italian accent and in a low baritone.

“Sir,” I curtsy again, feeling the need to do so.

“The human demon,” his voice is full of disdain as he scans me with his eyes. My body turns to stone. Am I supposed to curtsy again? I decide not to move because I don’t like the tone of his voice.

“We don’t know that yet,” my father interjects.

“My eyes don’t lie, Othello, the proof’s right here before me,” he reprimands him, sounding furious. Oh god, I’m about to get it, and big-time.

He circles me, apparently sizing up the magnitude of the disaster, the idiotic mistake I made.

“Has she fed yet?” he asks my father, who shakes his head in the negative.

“Tell me, child, does blood make you uncomfortable?” Libretto addresses me.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” I answer honestly. I’ve never been sensitive to blood, though the thought of drinking human blood definitely makes me queasy.

“We’ll see soon enough,” he says with a frown. “Bring in the human!” he calls, and the double doors immediately open as a man in his thirties enters the hall. His body is upright, and he seems surprised at the presence of the Council members. He holds an empty wine glass in his hand.

Libretto motions for him to approach, and the latter hurriedly obeys and stands before him. The human hands him the wine glass, and Libretto brings it to the man’s neck. Suddenly Libretto’s fingernail elongates in a crazy way. I gasp as I realize what’s about to happen before my eyes. Is the human hypnotized, or is he aware of what’s happening and willingly giving away his blood? Does he know who we are and yet is here anyway, completely unafraid?

My father tightens his grip on my back, motioning for me to relax, but it’s useless. I’m losing my mind!

Libretto slices the human’s neck and a spurt of blood leaves the jugular, filling the wine glass in his hand. When the glass is full to Libretto’s satisfaction, he gestures to the human, who grips his neck and flees from the hall. As the doors slam behind him, Libretto turns to me and hands me the wine glass.

The sharp scent of the blood hits my nose and I sway in response, fighting the dizziness that’s momentarily taken hold of me. The scent is so familiar, and I’m immediately thrown back to the game room in Trent’s house. Was that blood I’d smelled?

Suddenly the thought of drinking human blood not only makes me nauseous but causes my whole body to signal that it’s forbidden. I think I’m going to lose it completely if he doesn’t get that glass away from me. I reach out for the glass to push it away and notice that my fingernails have grown long and sharp. I panic and start whipping my hand back and forth hysterically, as if the delusion will disappear if I jostle it hard enough.

Libretto draws the glass back and examines me closely. “Interesting…” He places his hand on his chin and scrutinizes my reaction. “The demon within her awakens in the presence of human blood. I wonder…” He goes silent, pondering something. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and to be honest, I don’t care either, because my eyes are fixed on only one thing – the glass in his hand, and how to get it away from me as soon as possible.

“You want the blood, girl?” he asks in a teasing voice, and I hurry to shake my head.

“Libretto—” my father interjects, but Libretto raises a hand and silences him.

“Drink!” he commands, holding the glass out to me.

---