Page 294 of Castings & Curses

A massive grade I listed Tudor manor, complete with turrets and a keep, rises from the impeccably manicured grounds, the longstanding Ancaster stone ashlar giving way to modern window panels and intricately designed glass doors. A perfect blend of old, contemporary, lavish, and fucking wealthy. How on Earth has the owner bypassed the legal protections and severe restrictions in place regarding renovations and transformation of such a building is beyond me. The stonework gives me an inkling of where we are, though. Lincolnshire. Quite a long way from London and home.

Determined to make the most of this evening, I march as best as I can towards the back entrance, my stilettos sticking into the gravel path more than once. I pass the guards and find the maître d’ in the bustling kitchen. Other waitresses dressed like me, and busboys with even more scanty outfits, are waiting for instructions.

The maître d’ stands in the middle of the room and clears his throat. He looks like a penguin in his black and white livery but gives off so much confidence and poise that everyone listens. “Serving staff, please gather around. Good evening and welcome to this very special event. We are counting on your professionalism and discretion tonight more than ever, and I weigh my words.” He lifts his nose even higher, eyes closed as though he’s reciting Shakespeare. “You will witness some affairs, overhear private remarks, and will be required to forget everything at once. What happens in this house tonight stays in this house, tonight and forevermore.”

He raises the bunch of paper he’s holding over his head. “Here are non-disclosure forms you will have to sign before you take your service. Fail to abide by the rules and you will pay. Wages will be withheld,a minima.” His ominous stare pierces every one of us.

I shift, unease and disquiet overtaking my whole body with a vengeance. What trap is this? I don’t mind being a waitress to pay for the bills and my studies, but I can’t say I love the job. And I never signed up for this kind of portentous shenanigans.

The maître d’ continues his threatening speech, but excited whispers behind my ears catch my attention more.

“I hear that it’s an orgy or something, very hush-hush, but so many rich people!”

“Yeah, all the big moguls are here to make important transactions while having loads of fun.”

“And I heard,” a third one adds, “there’re magic rituals involved, too.”

I shake my head. Too much information; not at all what I ordered. I’m just about to make a run for it when someone passes me a form and a pen.

“One last thing,” the maître d’ shouts over the hubbub. “If you feel you cannot respect your contract, please announce yourself now, and you will be escorted back to your home, no questions asked.”

My instincts are screaming for me to leave and walk back to London if I must. My eyes linger on the paper. A non-disclosure contract, with a number at the end. The amount of money I could make for this one and only night. Quite the colossal figures, too. With that money in hand, I could focus on my studies for a while without having to do odd jobs anymore. I could even get that tablet and the program I need to design my dream spaces and interiors.

Reason—or is it greed?—reinforces my determination. One night. Eyes, ears, and mind shut.Just do the job and never think about it ever again.Except when I play with my little designs on that awesome tablet. It’ll be worth it, I’m sure. Right?

A hefty sigh sails through my lips as I sign the form before my doubts and growing disquiet could win the fight. The maître d’ takes it from me at once and places a simple black mask in my hand instead, his predatory glare devouring my frightened face, complacency trickling in his smirk. I’ve probably only imagined that last part because of the restlessness icing my veins. It’s been like signing my soul to the Devil himself.

“Masks on. Everyone, take a tray and go to your assigned location. The guests await.”

CHAPTER3

The interiorof the manor rivals with the façade in displays of wealth and grandeur. Under the dim chandelier lights, I focus on the exquisitely carved stucco ceilings and roman colonnades to avoid burning my eyes on scenes the reddish half-darkness could never erase from my mind.

I’ve never considered myself to be a prude. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve proudly modelled in the nude for sculpting artists, and I know no shame when it comes to showing off my curves and perfect imperfections. Once my weakness, my rolls and awesome love handles have become my best allies over the years. Oh, and I sure don’t shy away from sex; I love sex. Experimenting is fun, and I could talk about positions and toys with my closest friends and even strangers for hours. But this...

Well, for one thing, I’d never, ever, have expectedthis. Had I known, I would probably have refused, just because the idea of witnessing well-known people take part in erotic ribaldry makes me uncomfortable. I mean, I may be a bit of an exhibitionist, but I’ve never considered myself a voyeur. And now that I’m facing the concept, I find it all sorts of gross. What I’m witnessing is like what I’d imagine my parents doing in the bedroom, but worse. Not that I’m judging the people themselves; whatever works for anyone, right? Just the overall current situation really... and the dudes who think it’s okay to touch me while they’re jerking off on others.

My professionalism’s dying away fast.

“Come here, baby. Give us a kiss.”

The man’s saggy, glistening skin and purple nose make me gag. I wrestle away from his grasp with a disgruntled scream, dropping my platter in a deafening clang and clatter of broken champagne flutes. People stop for a second to assess the mayhem. All eyes on me. Ugh.

I don’t even bother to pick up the mess. I storm out of my section and head back to the kitchen, determined to get away from this nightmare as fast as possible. Anger and disgust blind me, and as I get downstairs, I can’t remember which way to go. Too many corridors, and they all look the same.

I take a right, and another, open a few doors and follow more dingy hallways, until I find myself in too deep—literally. This part of the basement looks like it’s been carved directly in the rocks. The electric appliances have turned into torches burning in holders pinned to the uneven walls. How very dungeon-like. I don’t think I should be here. Truth be told, I need to get out even more now. I don’t want to witness some old farts’ BDSM fantasies being brought to life.

Chanting reaches my ears as I’m about to turn around. A low hum at first, turning into the creepy soundtrack of a gothic movie. I should leave, like, right now. But, of course, I follow the macabre melody and sink deeper into the underground tunnel.

Darkness surrounds me, but there’s a light at the end, taunting me now that I’ve gone too far and can’t go back, since everything is pitch black behind me. I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.

The chanting intensifies, accompanied by frantic breathing and moaning. Images of porn movies flood my mind, but I’m so far off. As I reach the end of this interminable hallway, the creepiest vision offers itself to me. Everywhere my eyes fall, sweaty, oily bodies mingle and masked faces kiss, grotesque grimaces full of tongues and saliva.

As I get used to the flickering light emanating from the torches perched on the circular chamber’s wall and columns, I realize what makes this scene disturbing: the sheer proportion of inhuman features. In the sea of diverse bodies getting their freak on in front of me, some of them have literal fiery eyes, others sharp fangs, or lizard tongues and scales, actual fur, tails, or even pigs’ noses. It’s a wholeThe Devil’s Advocate’s fresco vibe when it comes to life at the showdown. Except the demons look better in the movie.

My eyes catch a flash of metallic light, and my attention turns to the center of the slimy pit. On an altar fit for an Egyptian pharaoh, set above the swarm, a chanting, naked man with glowing amethyst eyes holds a knife over the body of a young, nubile woman. I can’t tell if she’s aware of the danger she’s in. What I can say is, this is the super mogul billionaire dude who owns the place—so, technically, my boss. And he’s about to murder this girl. The gasp escapes my mouth before I can stop it. And fuck, of course, he heard it.

“Get that girl!”

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