Page 17 of Lake of Sin

Islept by some miracle, and when bright morning sliced through the window against my eyelids, I snapped awake in terror. Scrambling up, the sheets gathered at my waist, and I cast about expecting all manner of things, all manner of evils. A part of me thought I was still a priest, just little Alessandro about to be chastised for sleeping in well past a respectable time. The rest of me thought:why am I still in this bed?

None of the other demons had done more than their duty with me, really. But when I turned, Vassago was staring up at me through those long lashes, and several emotions vied for my attention—fear, hope, lust, a strange despair. I must not have hidden any of it, for Vassago pushed up from the mattress and cooed to me, running a smooth hand across my face.

“There is no need for this,” he whispered lovingly. A hot breath rolled off my neck as leaned forward, lips parting against my ear. “You are so close, little priest.”

With all the eagerness of a child, I pressed my forehead against his face. Clutching atsomething—I needed the approval of this man, thisdemon, before I could extricate myself from his bed.

“A Duke,” I whispered. “I please a Duke, and then I am before my Lord once more.”

Vassago held my face and kissed me, not with any passion, but with a gentleness it felt odd for him to possess.

“The bibliotheca awaits you,” he whispered, and took both of my hands. Naked, the two of us rose, and he walked me to the window of his tower. Beneath, many demons still gathered and called for his attention, but Vassago was looking out at the mountainous distance.

“Let us burn away the final dregs of shame. Let us fill you up with fiery love that goes beyond passion. You do not have to be confused for much longer: whatever is left to hold you back will be eliminated soon.”

I said nothing as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against my eyelids. He led me away from the window to the far wall where he waved his hand. Bricks dispersed, colliding against one another in their desperation to move out of the way. As they folded into one another impossibly fast, I saw the design of beautiful coloured tiles poking out from beneath.

The design revealed itself to be quite human in appearance, the same as Vassago himself. Stretching green vines looped over bright yellow tile in a confronting hue. It reminded me of all the Italian hamlets I had visited. More bricks shifted, and I was staring at a fireplace, one absurdly large, with an opening tall enough to fit a person. If this fireplace had been functional, I imagined all the soot would smoke up Vassago’s room in a few heartbeats.

“Step inside.” Vassago gave a gentle but insistent push toward the open maw. A cast iron grate sat low, and I had to step over it, feet crunching against the husks of firewood that promptly fell to ash beneath the force of my weight.

Vassago smiled. He raised his fingers and his clicked forefinger and thumb together. Fire erupted from the motion,engulfing his hand, and in the burn of the flame, I saw part of his true form revealed: long black fingernails curled over reddish skin, his hands elongated unnaturally. A thrill ran through me at his deception.

“Good luck,” he whispered before setting me aflame.

The fire rushed from his fingers into the fireplace, and it wasn’t the ashy wood that caught alight, but I.

I was consumed by heat. Flame burrowed into my skin; I felt it drying and cracking off, curling over and over into itself as it was eaten alive, exposing my tendons and the red flesh of my innards. I screamed. The pain was indescribable—sudden, all-consuming, inescapable. There was nothing but the fire. I was going to die. I was already dead. I thrashed and wailed in the fireplace, howling, and in my head, I was begging for it to end. Why had Vassago done this? Why had I trusted him?

But halfway through my next impassioned wail, the pain abruptly stopped.

I opened my eyes to find myself squatting in a fireplace with my body intact, like nothing at all had happened to it. I patted myself down, making sure, half expecting my skin to slough off in wide sheets.

Nothing.

I stood too fast on my way out of the fireplace, smacking my head against the arch and scattering ashes beyond the grate. Stumbling free, I skidded to a stop as I realised I was not in Vassago’s domain any longer.

He had done what I had asked.

The Bibliotheca awaits, he’d said.

The fireplace had deposited me in a sleek, thin tower room. Bookshelves ran floor to ceiling with only the faintest slits between shelves to act as windows. Narrow rays of silvery light cleaved through the dark. A cast iron staircase lay to my right, and I took it, spiralling down from this top room to another andanother until, finally, I came to a larger landing. It was there that I discovered the sigil for the Duke.

I was at once relievedand terrified. I went before the sigil but made no quick moves to summon the demon. Instead, I pondered on what Vassago had taught me and what I had promised my Lord Asmodeus, and I—froze.

There was still a great fantasy of mine I hadn’t much explored. So much of my life had involved the institution of my faith, and for too long, that had been a source of my fear.

If I wanted to be Asmodeus’ completely, what would I have to do to be free of that?

Could I ever be free of those thoughts when it was my long-held lust, my shame at my longing, that led me to summon Asmodeus in the first place?

I closed my eyes and centred myself. For years, I had entrusted a God who had never answered my call. Asmodeushadanswered. What was I doing by not trusting its ability?

Asmodeus had chosen all the demons I had encountered for one reason or another: for my pleasure, for its pleasure, or to unburden me of the shackles in my mind.

Whoever this Duke was, I imagined the demon would know intrinsically how it was supposed to touch me. How it was supposed to change me.

There was no knife by the sigil, but as I looked around the landing—dense with paraphernalia for study and the like—I found a plain-handled dagger waiting for me. I slipped it out from beneath the books and did once more what I needed to do; I sliced deep to draw forth blood and offered it to the sigil.

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