Page 18 of Envious Of Fire
His name is Brock Hastings.He is currently in a secure location.I can bring his body to a discreet mortal clinic under our control for you to perform the, um…‘ritual’…? Is it called a ritual?
“Oh, I see how it is. Don’t trust me at your fancy house?”
No one is allowed in the House of Vegasyn, as you know, who are not expressly invited.Also, I regret to say I’m doingthis…in secret.
That last bit of information appears the tastiest to Mance, as the corners of his lips curl up. “So your big bad Lord don’t even know you’re meetin’ with me. Things are gettin’ a hell of a lot more interesting by the second.”
I hope we can practice discretion here, as we have in the past.
“Discretion.” Mance appears to understand more than he lets on. “I think I’m startin’ to sniff out what’s really goin’ on here. You’re ass-deep in shit ‘cause someone’s gone and broken the Protected Blood thing, and you want me to save the day.”
Tristan bristles.We are hoping to save everyone’s day.
“Boy, oh, boy … if the witches hear ‘bout this …”
Hence our need for discretion.
Mance snorts. “You kiddin’? You think I’m gonna go tell someone ‘bout this? I don’t give a fuck what the witches think. I ain’t associated with a single damned one of ‘em. Not anymore. They don’t want nothin’ to do with a cursed motherfucker like me.” He grabs his nuts to adjust them, then drags his eyes quite deliberately onto Raya. Hand still groping himself, his eyes do a dance down her chest, lips curling deeper with the sorts of thoughts that are not so difficult to fathom. “And you brought this babe along with you for a reason. To sweeten my attention, I’m guessin’, since she ain’t part of your offer.”
Raya covers her chest with her hands, disgust in her eyes.
Tristan continues.My offer is money.Do you take Venmo?
“I’m gonna need a few other things first,” he says after a puff from his cigarette. His lustful eyes remain on Raya, relishing the sight of her. “You’re gonna have to get ‘em for theritual.”
The mocking way in which Mance says the word, Tristan gathers it isn’t what he usually calls it. Condescension is to be expected, and Tristan is more than willing to swallow as much of it as is necessary, provided the man does his job.Namewhat you need,and I’ll procure the items.Or do you call them ingredients?
“I’ll need a gallon of goat blood.”
Tristan grimaces, nods.Very well, and?
“A mirror that’s seen the deceased before and after he died. Preferably the same, but can be separate mirrors, but then they gotta be shattered and put back together in each other’s frames. Also, bark from an oak tree that’s been struck by lightning no more than seven days ago, the younger the tree, the better. The tree can’t have been pissed on by a dog. Nullifies the power.”
The ingredients are getting more complicated, notes Tristan.
“And you ain’t writin’ a lick of this shit down. Hey, you. Sweetheart.” Mance gives Raya a wink. “How ‘bout you jot this down in a cute lil’ notebook? Bet you got one wedged in those sweet, plump tits of yours.”
Raya scowls, outraged, and prepares to spit curses at him.
Instead, she grabs her own breasts, squeezes them, rocks her eyes back, and moans with overdramatic ecstasy. Mance just stands there and watches her, lust gleaming in his eyes.
The next moment, Raya comes to, as if emerging from an erotic dream, out of breath, then drops her hands with a gasp, stepping back. “How the h-hell—??” she cries out.
“I’m a fuckin’ necromancer. I control the dead.” He puffs carelessly on his cigarette, blows smoke with his laugh. “Who’d you think you were comin’ down here to see? The pope?”
Tristan steps in front of her, though he’s not sure if it’s to protect her or to hold her back.Do you have more ingredients for me to procure? My memory is flawless, I shall retain all.
Mance takes the cigarette between his greyish fingertips, still eying a considerably shaken Raya, smirking. “Sure thing. I will need the wings of a greater noctule bat. Need hair the same color as your dead fella, too, gathered off the floor of a morgue,a good amount of it. How old was he when he died? I’ll need that many books that are exactly as old as he was, each of ‘em. Doesn’t matter what book as long as they all have the letter ‘B’ somewhere in the title. Y’know, for his name, I’ll be sayin’ it a lot, we’ll all get sick of it, yadda-yadda. I’ll also need black salt, a decent chunk of obsidian, and … hmm, what else? … I’ll also need the heart of a newborn baby, still beating.”
Raya lets out a sickened noise through her teeth.
Mance… Tristan sighs.I am beginning to suspect we are being trolled for your amusement, and you, in fact, need none of these items.
“Alright, skip the newborn baby’s heart. Just wanted to see how …” He licks his lips, takes a drag from his cigarette, then blows it suggestively in Raya’s direction. “… far you’d go.”
She recoils, this time with more discomfort than disgust.
Time is of the essence,Tristan reminds him patiently,for the deceased rots worse by the day, despite us keeping him in a freezer…
