"He's dying!"
"Help me lay me him down!"
"Move!"
The kitchen of the Montgomery Mansion was in chaos as Tisi, Alec, and Meg scrambled to get Pietre's bloody body stretched out on the floor. His complexion was waxy, his lips ashen. Tisi examined him quickly then reached for his shirt. Alec intercepted her hands, catching her nearest wrist.
"You know what we have to do," Tisi said, trying to pull free.
"We don't have to," her brother said.
Meg, cradling the dying man's head in her lap, looked sharply at Alec. Was he suggesting what she thought he was?
Tisi and Alec locked eyes.
"Yes," she said flatly. "We do."
"No, we don't," he insisted. He looked to Meg. "We could let him die."
A flicker of fear showed in Meg's eyes, galvanizing quickly into a dark look. "He will come back no matter what we do. If we don't do it, he'll find another way. And when he does come back, he will come find us. You know he will."
Tisi yanked free from her brother's weakened grasp and took hold of Pietre's shirt. With a strong tug she ripped the buttons from the silk, exposing his bare chest.
Meg and Alec locked eyes, his pleading.
"Meg. It's our chance to be free."
She softened just a little. She had often longed for the same thing. She put a hand on his cheek. Gentle. "The time to fight him was long ago. Fighting him now, fighting any of this...it's just suicide."
Tisi tugged open the fly of Pietre's pants. A pool of blood was forming beneath him on the black and white tile. The temperature in the room dropped, but none of the living noticed.
"Meg..." Alec tried again, but he knew she was right. More, he knew he wouldn't have the support of his sisters if he chose to run. He couldn't go alone.
Meg moved closer to him, put her arms around him. On the floor, Tisi tugged off her underpants and mounted Pietre's inert form.
"You don't want to die," Meg murmured to Alec, so close now that her lips brushed his. "You know what we have to do."
"We're cursed," he said.
"What does it matter?" Meg said softly. Her hands explored his body, gently tugging his pants down. "Cursed. Blessed. We are."
"I hate you," he mumbled as she kissed him.
She pulled him unresisting to the floor with her, beside Tisi who had managed to get Pieter's dying cock inside her. Meg squirmed out of her own undergarments.
"Fuck me," she whispered.
And he did.
The ritualistic orgy between the triplets and the moribund warlock was messy and morally appalling, attracting the most depraved spirits in the haunted house. But even they were reluctant to involve themselves in the black magic that took place that night.
An unnatural storm rolled in as the writhing mass of life and death pushed toward climax. A violent series of thunderclaps and lightning attacked the sky, signaling the planting of Pietre's seed.
...
Gray morning light sliced through the dark bedroom, right across Michael's eyes. It was an unpleasant way to wake. He threw an arm over his face and tried to will himself back into the warm embrace of dreamless sleep.
He became aware of the fact that he was twisted in a weird way. He shifted to make himself more comfortable, but that only alerted him that he needed to piss. He lie there a while longer, disliking how demanding his body was. As if in response, his stomach gave a guttural growl. Instantly, thoughts of bloody meat sprang to mind.
He wasn't getting back to sleep.
With an irritated sigh, he rolled over and kicked off the knot of blankets. For just an instant, nostalgia swept him back to younger days. The pleasant feeling soured quickly into realism. Somewhere in the house, a baby cried.
In a flood, everything from the previous day came rushing back to him. The fight, the retreat.
"Fuck!" he swore.
He looked around, but Troy wasn't there. That made Michael even angrier. He expected the guy to be right there and waiting. He stripped his dirty outer clothes, mad about that too. Someone should have cleaned him up. He didn't know who should have, but someone should have.
"Mother Constance!" he hollered out into the hall. "I need a shower!"
"You don't have to shout," she answered back, materializing in the hall outside the room. "I can hear you just fine."
"I need a shower," he repeated. "And food. Did Troy leave? He better not have left."
"There's stuff in the fridge," Constance said. "Have Moyra throw a plate together for you and I'll start your shower. Troy's downstairs with those...witches."
The distaste in her tone was plain. He could always count on her to be herself.
"Thank you, Mother Constance." He leaned in to peck her on the cheek, surprising her.
He pretended not to notice the reaction and brushed by her. "Call me when the water's ready."
He went downstairs then, not bothering to put anything on over his black satin boxers. The house was his. He could wear whatever he wanted to breakfast.
...
Author's Note:
I feel I should apologize for this chapter, for a variety of reasons. It's a while in coming, it's short, and it's completely unedited. But it is New Year's Eve 2021 as of this posting, and I wanted to get something out before year's end. I will come back later and edit.
I've been neck-deep in filming that will wrap in January. It's the first horror screenplay I've written and the first to be made into a film. Very exciting, very hectic work. Cold, too! Filming in a centuries-old "haunted" location isn't comfy, but it is an incredible experience.
For the past year or so I've been working on another project that finally wrapped up so I'll have more time to work on this and my other fic. I'm putting together an author page...I'll share the link once it's up, so you can follow my work. I'd love to have you along for my other weird adventures!
Happy New Year!