Queen Of Blood

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The view from the balcony pleased her more with each passing day. A small, ramshackle community was rapidly taking shape out there in that alien desert, with numerous primitive huts and a handful of prefab buildings and trailers dotting the landscape. The huts functioned as the new living quarters for the slaves. The prefab buildings and trailers—which were surrounded by a chain-link fence tipped with barbed wire—housed the Black Brigade compound. Plans for the near future included the establishment of a large, open-air marketplace, drinking halls, and places of entertainment, where the live sex and torture shows once enjoyed by the Overlords of Below would be resurrected.

Giselle’s intent was to fashion the incipient city into a bustling center of filth and decadence, of tawdry spectacle and ultimate corruption. She imagined the new community several months hence. A fully realized city of the damned. Used-up prostitutes bleeding to death in alleys, razor-wielding psychopaths prowling dark streets, murderers and petty criminals alike strung up from public gallows, children ripped from the arms of their parents and made to watch as mommy and daddy were raped and slaughtered in the streets by Black Brigade soldiers, and all-night fetish/torture sessions in a lounge reserved exclusively for an elite few in the Brigade’s power structure.

The vividly imagined atrocities brought a smile to her face.

Beyond the embryonic city, hundreds of slaves clad only in loincloths and sandals continued to work at hauling huge slabs of stone toward the steadily rising structure just visible at the edge of the horizon. The technology and machinery necessary to greatly speed up the construction process was available, but, as with so many other things, Giselle preferred to do the job the old-fashioned way. She liked watching the slaves toil. But there was a purpose to the method beyond the simple joys of casual cruelty. The human misery honored the death gods, who drew sustenance from pain and gave power to those who appeased them. The city taking shape beneath her would also honor the death gods. Giselle would provide the old ones with a veritable feast of suffering and death, a nonstop carnivale of depravity unlike anything they’d seen before, eclipsing anything from Medieval times or modern war. Her forces were working continually to cull thousands of sacrifices from normal human communities, mostly the marginalized people no one in authority cared much about. Poor people. Prostitutes, runaways and drug addicts. This in addition to the handful of societal castaways who managed to find their way here by accident every year. Ms. Wickman had largely contented herself with the random strays who happened into her territory, but Giselle had no interest in conservatism. She was determined to be bold. To do big things, bigger even than the Master had ever envisioned.

She heard a click of heels behind her. A moment later Ursula was standing to her right, leaning over the balcony railing to stare intently at the bustling, busy forms a half mile below. “Wow, Razor City is really coming along.”

Giselle glanced at her lover and smiled. “Yes. I enjoy watching it grow.”

Ursula was wearing a long, cream-colored backless dress woven from a thin, clingy fabric. It adhered to the pronounced curves of her long, slender body in a way that made Giselle’s breath quicken. Her hair was an almost white shade of blonde. It was long and straight and fell in a brilliant spray across the pale expanse of her back. Her flesh was the incandescent white of one who has spent nearly all her life indoors. That and her fine, regal features made her look like an ice queen from a fairy tale. Ursula turned her head to look at Giselle and the spray of hair across her back rippled and shifted, revealing a small birthmark on her left shoulder.

Ursula lifted an eyebrow. “Are you having naughty thoughts, Mistress?”

Giselle moved closer and laid a hand on her lover’s back, enjoying the way Ursula shuddered slightly at her touch. “Perhaps.” She moved her hand slowly over Ursula’s back. “Are you in a mood to tempt me?”

Ursula licked her lips and said, “Always.”

Giselle pulled the woman into a sudden embrace and kissed her with vigor. Ursula matched her hunger and grabbed at her hair, pulled her head back to kiss her throat and the hollow between her breasts. Then Giselle grabbed her by the hand and led her back into her quarters and the huge, plush bed they’d shared so many times over the last month. They disrobed quickly and fell upon each other in the bed, rolling over the soft sheets, limbs shifting and intertwining, mouths warm and seeking, hands rubbing and probing. A little later, when they lay sated and still in each other’s arms, Giselle said, “I feel like giving you a present.”

Ursula squealed with delight and sat up suddenly, bouncing up and down for a moment before exclaiming, “I love presents!”

Giselle smiled. “Would you like to play tonight?”

Ursula’s eyes opened wide and an eager grin made her pale flesh almost glow. “We haven’t played in days! Oh! Do I get to do whatever I want to our playmate?”

“Anything your heart desires.”

“Anything? Seriously? Even…”

Giselle laughed. “Even that.”

Ursula moved to the side of the bed and lifted a bell off a marble end table. “Should I ring for Mr. Schreck?” She shook the bell by its black handle (though not hard enough to produce a tone) and grinned. “Have him fetch one of the fresher arrivals, perhaps?”

Giselle pulled Ursula close again and stroked the girl’s long, shimmering hair. Hair the color of sunshine. “You’ve wanted a playmate and you’ll have one. But I want to properly show my affection for you. No mere slave will do.”

Ursula gasped. “You can’t mean…no, you can’t, surely not. Do you mean…” She made a sound of exasperation. “Oh, I can’t make myself say it.”

Giselle clasped hands with Ursula. The younger girl’s chest was heaving as she struggled to control a burgeoning euphoria. It was a lovely, delicious thing to see. “Darling, is there any one person you hate more than anything else in the world?”

Ursula’s eyes blazed with a degree of intense excitement Giselle normally only glimpsed in the deepest throes of passion. “Gwendolyn.”

Giselle smiled. “I thought as much. Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of planning ahead.”

Ursula clapped her hands together and squealed.“Yes!”

Giselle got off the bed and strode quickly to a nearby wardrobe. She opened the wardrobe and withdrew a pink satin bathrobe, which she shrugged into and closed by loosely knotting the white sash at the waist. Then she crooked a finger at Ursula and said, “Follow me.”

Ursula hopped off the bed and hurried to catch up with Giselle, who had just come to a stop at a blank patch of wall. “Why are we staring at this wall?” Ursula crossed slim arms beneath her breasts and frowned. “I want Gwendolyn.”

“This is no ordinary wall, dear.”

Ursula’s frown deepened. “Stop teasing me and get on with it.”

The girl’s impatience made Giselle pause a moment longer. She wanted to spoil Ursula. Wanted to pamper her, give her everything she desired. But her behavior at the moment was a shade shy of outright insolence. She considered delaying gratification for Ursula a while longer, even briefly thought of withdrawing the gift altogether.

But Ursula must have sensed her anger because she suddenly smiled and said, “Please.”

Most of Giselle’s anger melted at the sight of that smile. She decided not to withhold the promised gift. She would discipline Ursula later.

“Very well.”

She looked at the wall and focused her will. A dim, door-shaped outline formed in an instant, then quickly became more defined. She directed energy at the door and it began to move inward, revealing a wedge of darkness so black it seemed like a living thing, an unfathomable predator waiting with infinite patience to draw the unsuspecting into its sticky embrace. Giselle had a reflexive shudder of fear at the sight of it, but the sensation passed quickly. That strange dark energy was hers to command at will now. Once the door was fully open, she grasped one of Ursula’s hands and was unsurprised to find it cold and trembling.

Ursula let out a shuddery breath. “I don’t know if I want to go in there.”

Giselle chuckled. “Nonsense.”

Then she tightened her grasp on Ursula’s hand and led her into that deep darkness. Despite the reassurances, the girl clutched at her as they moved further into the room, a helpless, barely audible whine issuing from the back of her throat. She shrieked when the heavy stone door behind them slammed shut with an echoing boom.

Giselle decided to show a measure of mercy and released a small energy pulse. An array of candles and torches sparked to life, columns of flame driving back the oppressive darkness in places.

Ursula cupped a hand over her eyes and blinked against the sudden glare. Then she glimpsed the small form huddled in a corner of the suspended cage and grinned. She let go of Giselle and moved to a spot almost directly beneath the slowly swinging cage. Her mouth opened wide as she stared in rapt awe at the sight of her imprisoned rival’s nude—and only slightly bruised—body.

“So…beautiful.” Her voice was low and reverent. “I can’t believe she’s really mine.”

Giselle smiled.“Believe it. Nothing’s too good for you.”

Ursula abruptly came away from the cage and pulled Giselle into a rough embrace. “Thank you so much.” She kissed her hard on the mouth, then beamed at her again. “I love you for this.”

“You deserve it, Ursula.” Giselle smiled. “I would do almost anything for you.”

Ursula touched her face. “I know. You spoil me.”

Then she stepped out of the embrace and moved back to her previous position under the cage. Giselle felt a small pang at her departure, craved the return of that special warmth. A troubled look crossed her face. She had become one of the most powerful creatures on earth. Nothing should trouble her. She should be able to do as she pleased with impunity, with absolutely no concern for consequences. But she did worry about her deepening feelings for Ursula. In the immediate aftermath of killing Eddie, she’d believed herself to be cleansed of the capacity to feel things like love for other creatures. And in the beginning, she’d been able to believe that all she felt for Ursula was a simple animal lust.

Then a week passed and Ursula was still sharing her bed. A week after that it was apparent a real bond of some sort was forming between them, something beyond the obvious balance-of-power connection between Mistress and slave. And now, a full month after their first night together, they had progressed to a stage that could only be construed as romance. Given the way her heart seemed to swell against her chest wall every time Ursula so much as looked at her with a certain glint in her eyes, no other label for what was transpiring could be appropriate.

Yes, there could be little doubt now.

I’m falling in love with her, Giselle thought. How stupid.

Stupid because the very act of falling in love with a person carried with it an implicit vulnerability. It meant the other person in the relationship possessed the ability to hurt you more than any other person possibly could. The potential was there—albeit slight—for someone else to influence the girl against her. She was relatively certain that, despite being firmly under her thumb, every person in her employ was satisfied with their position here. One of the first things she’d done after assuming power was to identify potential troublemakers and purge them from the ranks. But it was just possible that someone who sought to avenge Ms. Wickman’s death remained, and Giselle would be a fool to assume such a person would not at least entertain the notion of recruiting Ursula as an assassin. She doubted very much that the girl could be swayed to an enemy’s side, given her newly exalted position, but one could not afford to be complacent about such things.

Ursula had retrieved a torch from one of the wall sconces and was raising it toward the unconscious form in the cage. The leading edge of the billowing flame licked at Gwendolyn’s body, and Giselle cringed at the memory of the acetylene torch applied to her mutilated flesh in the back of a limo. Gwendolyn awoke with a shriek and jumped away from the searing heat, making the thick metal chain that held the cage suspended above the floor groan as the cage swayed wildly. Ursula laughed and shifted position beneath the cage, raising the flame again. There was a faint sizzle of burning meat as Gwendolyn danced away from the flame and began to plead for mercy. Giselle felt a tiny flicker of sympathy. Not so long ago she’d been in the same position. Desperate, her spirit broken, her dignity gone.

An intense sense of déjà vu made Giselle want to leave the concealed dungeon at once. Ursula danced beneath the swaying cage, raising the torch again and again as she grinned and giggled at Gwendolyn’s tears and cries of pain. The delight she took in her adversary’s pain made Giselle think about vulnerability again.

The smart thing to do would be to eliminate the potential threat engendered by her feelings for Ursula. Kill her. Or cast her out to the slave city, which might be even worse for her. But even as she considered these ideas Giselle knew she would not harm her lover. There were other, less lethal precautions she could take. They weren’t as foolproof as death, granted, but they would be better than nothing.

“Ursula.”

“Yes, Mistress?”

Giselle kept her voice even and her face expression less as she said, “There are some things I must attend to. In the meantime, I’ll leave you to play with your toy. I’ll leave the door open in case you need to leave, okay?”

Ursula nodded.“Okay.” She smiled. “Thank you again. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I…love you.”

Giselle’s heart raced. “I love you, too.”

Then she turned away from Urusla and strode out of the dark place. Back in her quarters, she hesitated a moment, considering whether she should simply close the door and seal Ursula inside forever.

But the girl’s words came floating back to her: I…love you.

And Giselle again was unsurprised to find she still lacked the will to implement an obvious solution to her dilemma. She would instead summon Schreck and have some simple restraints affixed to the big bed.

But something else caused her to delay summoning Schreck. It was the other thing that worried her and which she strove not to think about. An inexplicable thing. She approached the full-length oval mirror that stood next to her wardrobe and stared at her reflection for a long moment, her hands clasped tightly just below the sash. The pink bathrobe didn’t look good on her. She was meant for darker shades. But that, of course, wasn’t the thing that was bothering her.

She sighed. Oh, just do it!

She untied the sash with fingers that trembled slightly and pulled the front of the robe open. She stared for a moment at her full breasts and flat stomach, then she turned to her side and allowed the robe to slide down her arms to her elbows.

It was still there.

A month ago her back had been a smooth expanse of pure white. But now much of that flesh was covered with a large and intricate tattoo of a dragon. The same tattoo she’d seen on Ms. Wickman’s back. She’d seen it the morning after Ms. Wickman’s death, glimpsing it in a mirror after her bath. The sight of it, unexpected as it was, had almost stopped her heart then. And it still scared her. She had no idea what the tattoo’s appearance on her flesh might mean. It didn’t seem to be affecting her in any obvious way, but, as always, it wasn’t the obvious things that worried Giselle.

She abruptly pulled the robe back over her shoulders and tied the sash. There was nothing to be done about it. It was probably a harmless consequence of having devoured the dead woman’s magic when she ate her heart.

She turned away from the mirror and summoned Schreck.

Somewhere on the other side of the world, a slim woman wearing a black shirt and black slacks entered a dimly lit room. Her bare feet whispered across carpet as she approached a man who sat cross-legged on the floor. The man’s eyes were closed. He was meditating. The woman waited in respectful silence until the man’s eyes opened and he acknowledged her presence.

She bowed her head and presented him with an envelope, which he accepted with finely wrinkled fingers as dry as crepe paper. The man flipped the envelope over and saw that it bore the seal of the Order of the Dragon. He winced slightly at the sight of it. The Order normally preferred to conduct its business in more subtle ways. The arrival of this letter could only be a portent of darker, more dangerous times to come. He didn’t need to read the letter to know this.

He nonetheless tore the envelope open, unfolded the single crisp sheet of paper it contained, and read the two paragraphs with mounting fury. The intent of the letter was twofold—to serve as a summons and to inform him of the passing of a member of the Order. The old man stood and moved to a table upon which was an ornate sword in a scabbard and a single flickering candle in a silver holder. He fed both letter and envelope to the flame, watched as they turned to black ash and fell to the table’s polished surface. Then he removed the sword from the scabbard and held the blade upright before him. He ran the ball of a thumb along the edge of the blade. The sharp edge nicked his flesh and a thin stream of scarlet ran down the blade.

The anger coursing through his body invigorated him, made him feel like a much younger man. He turned away from the table and quickly crossed the room. The other man in the room cringed at his approach, but he could not get out of the way of the doom bearing down on him. This other man was tied to the only chair in the room. The rubber ball in his mouth muffled his screams as he watched the long, flashing blade arc toward him. And then he felt nothing as the blade separated his head from his body.

The old man watched blood erupt from the neck stump and felt nothing. The anger that had possessed him a moment ago had deserted him. Nor did he feel remorse for the life he’d taken, which was only the latest of hundreds. He summoned servants to dispose of the body. The slim woman in black returned and asked if he had any orders for her.

He did.

Beginning with the scheduling of his first trip to North America since World War I.