Earlier that day...
Outwardly Meg looked calm, composed. Just beneath the surface her heart raced, and her guts squirmed with anxiety. Pietre he had summoned her to his suite only two hours after they got to the hotel, when Armilus' arrival caused them to evacuate the Montgomery Mansion. While Pietre had been incubating, growing in her sister's womb, Meg had taken to wearing clothes again, but with his return she had reverted back to her nude punishment state. The cold was the least of her worries as she stood in his presence.
He circled her in a predatory manner, drinking in her fear and submission.
"Little Meg. I know what you did while I was away."
Her thoughts blurred rapidly as she tried to isolate what she might have done that would incur his wrath. Perhaps wearing clothes? Or was it the exchange she'd had with Madison..?
... ...
Two days ago
While Tisi was pregnant, all of the tasks of tending Pietre's prisoners fell to Meg and Alec. The second day he was gone, Meg had told Madison what was happening. She hadn't meant to; the news slipped out when the bound witch asked for updates. She had so little to do, news of the world beyond her prison room was precious.
"He's gone?" Madison was instantly invigorated. "Then you can free me."
She tugged on the charmed collar around her neck. It didn't budge.
"He isn't gone," clarified Meg. "He is...gestating. We don't know how soon he'll return, but he will return."
"But you could still let me go," said Madison, her hope becoming manic. "Please. I'm going insane locked up in here all the time."
Meg set the new puzzle books and magazines down on the bedside table, within Madison's reach. She looked down on the chained woman with open pity.
"I can't," she insisted. "Even if my magic was strong enough, if he returns and finds you gone..."
It was all too easy to imagine what he might do. He had stripped her of her clothing simply for telling Desiree too much about how to free the other prisoners. If she willfully set one free herself his rage would be unprecedented. Little scared her like the thought of his genuine ire.
"He'll destroy us both. And he would find you," Meg said.
Madison sank into herself and looked so very defeated. Meg sympathized with that feeling. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached over, lightly running her fingers over the other woman's fair jawline. Madison startled at first then turned toward the touch. It was the first gentleness she'd felt in ages.
"I wish he would destroy me," she murmured. "Anything would be better than this eternal hell."
"You don't mean that," said Meg.
She started to pull her hand away, but Madison caught it. She met Meg's eyes, imploring. The look constricted Meg's heart.
"I can't," she insisted again. "I'm so sorry. I can't free you and I can't kill you. I can't even help myself."
She felt a tear slip out of her right eye, barely grazing her cheek before it was gone. Madison saw it. Something in her demeanor shifted then. She reached for the other girl. Meg fell into her arms, and they hugged, each one wallowing in shared misery for several moments. Then lips found lips, tongues jousted. Hands explored.
Before long, Meg was between Madison's thighs, delivering pleasure in a way only experience can bring from one woman to another. She licked, nibbled, and probed until Madison's back arched and her legs trembled.
"Oh, god..!" the witch gasped. It had been so long since she'd felt sexual gratification that wasn't accompanied by pain or disgust.
After her climax, Meg cuddled with her for a few short minutes, then pulled away.
"I haven't returned the favor," Madison objected. It wasn't about the sex entirely. She just didn't want Meg to leave.
"I have to take Desiree's food to her," she apologized. "Tomorrow it's Alec's turn but I'll be back the next day."
Madison sighed and gave a little nod. Then: "Thanks. For... y'know. Everything."
Meg nodded and then collected the dirty clothing. Then she left.
... ...
Back to present day
Meg stared down at her bare feet. "I did my best," she said to Pietre. It was the truth.
He stopped circling her and approached her from the front. He hooked a thumb under her chin and forced it up. She met his eyes. He was smiling. From him, the expression could mean anything.
"You did well," he purred.
She blinked in open surprise. Was he toying with her? "Master?"
He moved his hands to her bare shoulders, stroking them with a touch that meant he approved of her. "You did your part in the ritual," he told her. "And you kept to your duties here." He nuzzled her neck, then whispered in her ear: "I know you brother tried to subvert you and you stood strong."
Meg trembled then, filled with desire and dread in equal amounts. She feared for Alec, but Pietre's approval was such a rare thing for her. It hit her like a drug.
"I did my best," she repeated numbly, unable to think of anything better to say.
"I know," he murmured. Then he pulled away from her. He grabbed something from the bureau drawer and tossed it at her.
She caught it with a bit of a fumble. The cloth unfolded and she saw it was a warm if shapeless white long-sleeved granny dress made of durable flannel. A pair of white panties tumbled to the floor. She quickly grabbed them up.
"Your punishment is over," Pietre told her. "You may get dressed, my good little girl."
She did so quite happily, but her elation quickly tempered. She feared for her brother, but she didn't dare ask about him. She didn't want to know the answer.
—
Pietre dealt with Alec next. His displeasure with his apprentice he exhibited through a display that was far more psychological than physical. They were alone in the lobby when Pietre confronted him with his treachery. He kept his hands behind his back, facing Alec as he paced slowly back and forth.
"I am most disappointed in you," Pietre said. His tone was aloof. "You tried to disrupt my resurrection."
"I—" Alec started.
"Shh! Sh-shh!" Pietre cut him off, his outward calm fracturing for an instant in the way his brows pinched. When he was sure Alec wouldn't try to speak, the wrinkle smoothed and he resumed pacing. "I should have cracked down on you sooner, I know. Too many times in the recent past I overlooked your recalcitrance. That ends now."
His hands finally made an appearance to toss something to the floor between them.
"You have a choice," Pietre told the visibly shaking Alec. "You can strip down and put that on. Or you can leave."
He went to the front doors and pushed one open, showing his apprentice that he meant what he said. Alec looked at the open doorway in confusion, then bent to pick up the small pile near his feet. There was very little to it: A thick leather dog collar connected to a short lead and a ball gag made of wood attached to a black leather hood.
Alec looked from the items in his hands to the open door. White sunlight poured in. His heart skipped. It looked like freedom, but he couldn't believe it. If he left now, what would happen next? He seriously doubted the warlock would just let him go. More likely he would wait a bit then sic the Wild Hunt on him. Or worse. And what of Meg and Tisi? Would he take Alec's leaving out on them? Or turn them against him? He could easily imagine the man commanding his sisters to eviscerate him or worse.
His trembling increased. He wanted very badly to toss the restraints down, walk out, and embrace whatever followed. And yet he stood there.
"Well?" Pietre pressured. He motioned grandly to the door. "It's your choice."
Alec looked down again. His mouth was suddenly dry. Stiffly, he set the items down on the floor and began disrobing. The chilly air nipped at his bare skin. With a lump in his throat that stemmed from the ice in his middle, he buckled the collar around his neck. He felt something inside him die a little as he strapped on the hooded ball-gag.
Pietre let go of the door. It swung shut, sealing out the light. The room seemed even darker than before. With slow, deliberate steps the warlock approached Alec. He took the end of the short leash in one hand and put his other hand on the man's skinny shoulder.
"You will sleep in the kennel beside the witch in the basement," he said. He pressed hard on Alec's shoulder, forcing him down to his knees. "You will walk on all fours." He pushed harder until Alec dropped to his hands and knees. "The gag will only come off for meals and when I personally say it can come off. You will speak to no one unless I instruct you to. You will do your chores in this fashion unless a task cannot be accomplished otherwise. You have no name. You are just 'Boy'. You are...an animal. Lowest dog in the pack until I deem otherwise. Do you understand?"
Alec shut his eyes and nodded. The internal death continued, searing him inside with humiliation and self-loathing.
"That's my Boy," said Pietre.
...
(Music: Sympathy for the Devil – The Rolling Stones)
The sunset was bloody red, with twilight creeping dark behind it when Michael pulled up outside of Murder House. He and Troy got out of the sleek black 1984 Ferrari GTO. Behind them two other cars, a red Bugatti and a black-and-silver Jaguar pulled up alongside the cracked, weed-choked sidewalk. A dark blue Porsche brought up the rear, screeching to halt across the street. Car doors opened and slammed as their occupants emerged.
Michael waved his hand and the gate that shielded the property swung open with a squeal of old hinges. He and Troy crossed the property line, followed by the coterie, dressed to kill.
Michael's inner circle was gathering for a war council.
—
They gathered in the dining room: Michael, Troy, Jeremiah and Constance, along with Fe, the new leader of Michael's church, and his right-hand priestess, Hester. Pieter was with them as well, along with the triplets. The male, Alec, was decked out in a weird black leather bodysuit and hood that reminded Michael of the rubber suit he'd taken from Tate.
"My plan," Michael said to them. "Is to get rid of Belial. Doing so will get me the Shroud and be rid of someone who's been plaguing this house for far too long. For years he has been trying to usurp this power source. This latest intrusion by Armilus is just the most recent example."
"But if you use the last Dagger," Jeremiah pointed out. "You won't have the complete set of Relics. The Shroud won't mean much in light of that fact."
Michael frowned. He didn't like that the man made sense. "It's the only weapon I know for a fact can deal him deadly damage. If you have a better suggestion, I am all ears."
"I might," ventured Troy. He glanced at Fiona, who nodded. "While I was waiting for you to get back from the coast, Fiona and I—well. What about trapping him?"
"Trapping him," Michael repeated, tasting the flavor of the idea. "What good will that do?"
"It will put him at your mercy, for one," offered Pieter. "It is written that the thing Belial fears most next to—" He pointed ceilingward, not wanting to mention the Divine by any name. "Is the Heart of Darkness."
"The horror," Michael muttered. Then: "How, though? A whiskey bottle won't hold him."
Constance grimaced. Jeremiah touched her shoulder consolingly.
"What about a rock?" Meg suggested.
"A diamond," Tisi clarified.
"Or we could use his servant," Fiona suggested, looking directly at Jeremiah.
Confused murmuration followed. Michael glanced at Jeremiah, who looked as bewildered as anyone.
"What are you talking about?" said Michael. "Father Jeremiah isn't Belial's servant."
Fiona arched a fine brow at him. "Oh, he isn't?" Then, to Jeremiah: "Whom do you serve?"
Jeremiah's hand closed on the pendant he wore. It felt warm in his palm; soothing. "I serve Samael."
Fiona's lips curved in a smug little smile. "And what is Samael the prince of?"
Everyone was looking at Jeremiah now. He gripped the seal tighter, not liking the attention. "He is the Prince of Rome."
Fiona flicked a finger at Troy, who dug a torn page from his back pocket. It looked like it came from an encyclopedia or Bible. He smoothed it and then read from it: "Samael. King of all demons. Prince of darkness. Angel of death. Husband to Lillith. Accuser, seducer, destroyer. Known interchangeably as the Venom of God, Melkira, Satan, and... Belial."
A clash of feelings welled up in Michael and he snatched the page from Troy's hands to read it himself. His expression darkened and he looked accusingly at Jeremiah.
"Did you know?" His words were deceptively quiet.
Jeremiah's heart raced under the combined weight of so many unpleasant stares. "No."
He hadn't known. Not directly. However, the many pieces of the puzzle were always there. He just never put them together. He resisted the urge to take a step back. He couldn't show weakness or uncertainty now.
Michael wadded up the page, furious, and threw it across the room. Troy scuttled after it and picked it back up.
"God DAMN it!" Michael swore. His heart was thundering too. Not from fear, but from rage. "The whole FUCKING TIME..!"
The fireplace roared to life, sending a flume of fire straight up the chimney. Simultaneously, the candles in the room sparked and burned far brighter than natural. Wax dribbled under the intense heat.
"Michael, sweetheart," Constance tried.
He wasn't listening. He turned on Jeremiah and in a blink was in the man's personal space. He snatched the chain around Jeremiah's neck and broke it, seizing the Seal of Samael. He held it up between them, letting the amulet spin freely.
"It's time to summon your master," Michael snarled.
—
Author's Note:
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad features the famous line: "The horror! The horror!" which is what Michael was referencing.
The plot twist there at the end surprised even me. I've been researching for a while and only recently discovered that Samael and Belial are connected. Some religious texts imply it may be a conflation of the two entities, but more use the names interchangeably, such as the Talmud. I'm as in the dark as you are about how this battle will pan out. Play on words intended.
Next time: Showdown with Belial. How will it end?