Page 49 of Burn for the Devil
Just when I began to fear he’d fallen asleep, he moved away, mumbling something about water and pressing a kiss to my forehead. He left the room, and I sat up, trying to gather my thoughts. There was nothing in my past, or anything I’d imagined for my future that could’ve prepared me for the events I’d experienced today.
My eyes drifted to the crystal ball, and I cast the covers off my lap and walked across the room. I stopped in front of the dresser where Ramone had placed the sphere, leaving it nestled in a sweater I’d neglected to put away.
Drawn to the quartz ball, I stretched my hand out, smoothing my fingers over its glassy surface. The sphere looked different than it had where Ramone had taken me, almost as if whatever powered the mysterious object had been evicted, booted out during its transportation to my home. My palms glided across the crystal as thin wisps of a foggy substance began twitching inside the globe before coiling like a snake and expanding.
Transfixed, I stilled my touch, gazing into the depths. I watched as the ether filled the interior and then my vision faded to black.
Images careened before my eyes, snapshots of individuals I’d never met. One scene depicted a woman with two small children, seated at a rough-hewn long table, eating bowls of soup. I watched as the woman stood up and walked over to a massive, open fireplace to scoop food from a suspended pot into a bowl. The occupants’ clothing appeared older, reminding me of colonial reenactments I’d seen on school field trips when I was younger.
Fascinated, I saw what appeared to be blood begin to trickle from the corners and seams of the ceiling in the vision. The woman and children were oblivious as the substance became thicker and more invasive, painting the walls an ominous shade. The urge to warn them was present, despite the knowledge what I observed was merely an illusion.
The projection in my mind changed, switching to pictures of destruction. Broken buildings, bubbling swamps, buzzing insects, and tattered bodies were spread out before me. My heart was hammering away in my chest, my pulse racing as I scanned the scene in front of me. The picture moved on and a short, hunched over figure was seated on a chair, greasy hair falling forward and a childish laugh echoing around my head. Startled, I tried to close my eyes—and maybe I did, but the image remained the same.
When the invisible hand that held me hostage to the strange scenes let go, another image materialized. This one was in a beautiful home, the furnishings elegant and rich. I saw a brocade-covered sofa with a woman lain out, and Ramone bent over her, his lips parted centimeters over her neck. My breath caught in my throat as I watched something floating through the air, leaving her body. It swirled around him like a delicate fog before he inhaled. The woman grew still, her arm dangling over the side of the couch. Her body seemed to shrink a tiny bit. He sat down and pushed her onto the floor, moving her out of the way as if she were a toy doll.
28
Ramone
Thirsty, I opened Samantha’s refrigerator, and grabbed two bottles of water. My pulse hadn’t returned to normal yet and I paced back and forth, wearing a path across the marble flooring. I almost killed her; I could’ve killed her. She should be dead—but I didn’t want to admit that to myself, not fully. The fact she wasn’t, was astounding. It was unfamiliar territory for me. On the one hand, it was the greatest gift I could ever receive. I was positive I would’ve ended up extinguishing myself or putting myself to sleep in a soul coma for a millennium, not wanting to exist without her if she’d died. On the other hand, this phenomenon was a shining example of just how very wrong everything was going, and possibly indicative of even bigger issues. Or it was the greatest gift I could receive.
It grated at me, how I had no answers, and no one trustworthy enough to speak to about it. The one person I did, Alastair, was already on a mission attempting to uncover the mysteries of the wine, as well as Ilya. Unfortunately, I couldn’t trust Ilya for much of anything outside of keeping my business running. He’d shown me in the past how he’d work against me.
Approaching my father, Julian, was out of the question of course.
It had only been maybe five minutes, and already my cock was engorged again, tenting my slacks at just the mere thought of her. My tongue craved her blood, and my spirit, her soul. I took a deep breath, drinking in the bits of her that permeated the air of her home while I attempted to tame the beast clawing at my insides. I’d felt an even deeper connection to her when we made love, a closeness and oneness that I’d never experienced before. Not even with my wife, nor with Kiara.
That’s what I’d done with Samantha; I’d made love to her. I hadn’t just fucked her and thrown her away or used her body. I’d worshipped her, body, soul, and spirit.
When I stopped to consider if she felt the same way, I stunned myself. The full realization that I for once was giving a serious shit how a human felt was an unfamiliar novelty. It was far beyond the other times when I’d cared, as it was much less about my own selfish motivations and more focused on the needs of another. The awareness that it could’ve been the cursed wine messed with my head, leaving me with another, different emotion. Vulnerability.
I could live with the ramifications of needing to make sure Samantha felt the same way about me as I did her. The wine causing artificial symptoms or emotions within me, feelings that I no longer wanted to give up, was untenable. This sickness was necessary now, the effects of the cursed and damned wine something I couldn’t imagine being without if it would allow me to love Samantha the way she deserved.
Making my way with the bottles of water back to her room, the war continued in my head until I saw her with her hands on the scrying glass, eyes rolled back in her head. The ball had a hold on her. I quickly curled my arm around her waist, dragging her to the bed after dropping the water.
The crystal ball tumbled to the floor with a thud and rolled away into a corner. “Samantha. Samantha.” I shook her lightly, scared for her. She didn’t possess any magic of consequence, or I would’ve tasted it. She shouldn’t be able to handle such an item without getting hurt since she didn’t have the gift.
Her head rolled forward, resting against my chest as I sat her down. She moaned and then looked up at me before shaking her head.
“Please don’t touch that scrying tool,” I said. “It's as dangerous here as it was there, for you.”
Samantha glanced down at her lap, pulling her arms away. I gave her a minute to get her bearings before I spoke again. “I need to get that out of here. I shouldn’t have left it there.” Humans had a peculiar way of always touching things they shouldn’t.
“I saw things. Bad things,” she muttered. “Dark things.” She started picking at the fabric of the rumpled comforter.
“What things?” I’d never used a crystal ball; it wasn’t one of my gifts to do so effectively. My assistant, Violet, was the only one I knew of that could, occasionally. Due to the rarity of the gift and the unreliability, they weren’t used much.
Samantha shivered and stood up. The golden aura that wafted around her frame was dimmed and then retracted. I felt the separation like the drag of a razor blade down my spine. “War. Death. So much death and decay.”
I could barely hear her words, the effort it took for her to speak seeming to overwhelm her. Standing up, I moved to reach for her, but she shrunk away. My temper flared instantly when she scooted even further away. Shoving my anger over her skittishness down, I relaxed my stance and held my hand out toward her. “Samantha, come here.”
She shook her head. “I saw you. I saw what you did. What you’ve done.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “What stopped you from killing me?”
Carefully, I took a single step in her direction. That one step put her in the door’s frame, giving her even more space. “I told you how I feel about you. I would never hurt you.”
I would never purposely hurt her, ever. Now was not the time to discuss this quirk of mine.
“You’re like an angel of death or something.” She shook her head again as I chuckled. She was close, but not quite close enough. “You need to leave,” she said.