Post by DDofEire on Jul 6, 2018 3:11:09 GMT
<Salem, Oregon>
It was the first day of May.
Flung far out in the center of a seemingly endless field of green a celebration was under way.
Every varied trapping of the modern pagan revival culture bloomed in a rainbow of color and song as the sun made its way towards the horizon. Despite about only twenty max guests, there was a veritable smorgasbord of wiccans, druids, spiritualists, psychics and just your average junkies in attendance.
“Intriguing; the celebration had seemingly been a patchwork mish-mash of Beltane, May Day and Walpurgis Night.
The participants ran the gamut in terms of cognizance, devotion and lucidity.”
The attire was as eclectic as the celebrants, there was a mix of flowing fabrics, Ren fair style accoutrements (a clear majority wore flowers in their hair) and selective nudity; more than a few of the ladies exposing her breasts, clearly on purpose, and even some men not letting an occasion to air out the crown jewels pass.
“A bacchanal would also be an appropriate descriptor to throw in there with the neo-pagan blend.
And all of it seems to have been centered on that.”
A roughhewn stone statue, in the image of a naked woman: decorated with flowers and ribbons (clearly having doubled as a maypole at some earlier point) and surrounded in a circle by four small bonfires.
The statue was mirrored by a young woman standing just in front of it, wearing a gossamer white shift and bearing the blossom crown of the ‘May Queen’.
“Lacy Barrows, the first victim. Jeez she looks younger than 17…”
“Goddess we beseech you!” she called.
Around her the most fervently devout chanted rhythmically, swaying back and forth as they did so. The setting sun casting a warm glow about them as they began to move as one.
“Yes… this definitely went beyond a simple ‘celebration’… this became a rite. Perhaps not intentionally, so, but nevertheless: they tapped into something real here. Called to something...”
“I offer myself to you!” She wailed like a war widow and threw herself on the effigy. The others around her bowed and even wept as some great swell of influence overtook them.
“All this greenpeace LARPing bullshit shouldn’t be effective… but they are connecting to something… someone, there’s another presence coming through.”
“She hears you…” A new voice said, a distinctly male voice. There, somehow, behind their hazy vision a man appeared on the effigy as if from nowhere, crouched like an animal at the statue’s base.
“These idiots didn’t understand magic. There is more to it than orgies, girl power and nature worship… magic is a wild hungry thing… magic is a covenant, a dangerous one at that. An abusive marriage if you will…
This was a sacrament as ancient as the rocks. This was marriage to land: to the world. Much more would be asked of you than a nun’s vows…”
He was attractive in a very dangerous way: tall and muscular. He had long dark blond hair falling about his face, a mustache in an even darker shade of blonde, completely shirtless (save for a thin necklace dangling over his pecs that bore small animal claws) showing off sun kissed body toned to perfect mouthwatering detail, dirty jeans hung low on his taut abdomen. His feet bare and equally as filthy, seemed to be quite secure on his unsteady perch.
“There was another face to magic. Not just the nubile form of the great white goddess. Gaea opening up her arms to her children…
There was also the man. Herne the Hunter, the Great God Pan, the Horned One… The dark and fiery brute of a man, rutting his pleasures into the red sky. They were now in his company…”
Lacy stood forward, the others watching her in a way they hadn’t been even just a moment ago. Suddenly the air around them changed, she wasn’t that girl Lacy who got to wear the pretty white dress… she was the maiden of spring and they her flock.
“Merry met wild spirt. We greet you on this rite of May.” She said with a slight bow.
“And what a greeting it is…” The man laughed a deep laugh, almost like a roar, as he descended the statue with an unnatural grace, “Your celebration is quite colorful but it lacks passion.” He snickered as he sauntered towards her.
With rough hands he grabbed her about the waist, “In the olden days they would crown a May Queen only to rend her limb from limb that very night as they’re souls reached a fevered peak of ecstasy…” He rubbed he pelvis against her as he spoke, uttering the last line almost directly into her mouth as he stopped just short of kissing her, fear mingling with desire as she gazed at him.
Instead of a kiss, he laughed in her face and moved passed her; making his way through the crowd like a lioness stalking its prey.
“They’d toss a young virgin or two onto the Beltane fires…” He purred to some of the young revelers, who clung to each other fearfully even as they seemed drawn towards him.
The young May Queen stood firm however, trying to calm the others nonverbally even as she approached the stranger once more but was it out of a desire to protect the revelers… or just to be close to him?
“This is a peaceful circle.” Lacy insisted as he turned to face her, their eyes meeting once more, “We worship life here.”
“Then you worship death.” The savage man retorted, smiling wickedly, “For they are the same.” He snarled grabbing a nearby reveler by her hair with unnatural speed, the girl screaming as he tossed her to the ground maintaining his grip on her, even as he maintained eye contact with the May Queen.
As she gazed into those eyes they seemed to waver between human… and animal, causing her conviction to shake.
“It was a beast shaped like a man.”
Now panic truly began to set in among the flock, they quivered, cried, some screamed and yet still no one left: their fear was tainted but nothing less than pure lust, they were pulled towards this man by some primal force…
“They never even considered running…”
“Goddess above and below… take this creature from our presence. By the silver wheel, that turns without end I banish you from our sight…” The young woman chanted.
“But I was invited…” The man drawled releasing the frightened girl from his grip as he did so and swaggered back through the crowd; his every move seemed to serve to continue to entice their baser instincts. The way his hips moved, the way he smiled, the way he stared deep into each of them as he passed.
“By who?” The May Queen asked, stepping forward.
“By the one you sing for…”
At this all proclamation many who had seemed so afraid now seemed in awe, stepping closer.
“The Goddess… sent you…?” Young Lacy questioned, though her voice had begun confidant it wavered as her eyes continued to drown in his: from May Queen to all too human girl…
“Is that so hard to believe? You can feel it can’t you?" He purred and rolling his hips, “You know it… deep down.” As he said this last bit he brusquely grabbed a male worshiper’s crotch with gusto, causing the man to squirm in pain but also just a hint of pleasure: which seemed to be a line the strange man personified.
“I banish you… I banish you…” Lacy continued even as she let herself be drawn in. The young queen seemed to have a glow about her, her flower crown seems alive, blooming before their eyes.
“This is the threshold… maiden and the beast… Eros transformed before Psyche… East of the Sun and West of the Moon… Had she been strong enough she could’ve…”
“I know you can feel it. All of you can…” He said releasing the man and walked towards the young woman, “Even you, ESPECIALLY you: For this is your day…”
“This is when it happened…”
“I banish you…” The May Queen breathed, chest heaving; the light of the setting sun behind her making her shine like an evening star… but only for moment.
“You can feel it…” The man purred as he embraced her gently before pulling back, “Feel it…” He whispered pulling her into a heated kiss, taking her breasts into his hands as he did so. She hesitated and then responded and began groping him in turn, settling her hands around his firm glutes with an iron grip. “Feel it in your heart.” With this last statement, his tone becoming darker as suddenly his grip on her body changed and with a sickening thunk he appeared to brutally plunge his hand his hand into her chest, blood spilling bones breaking…
“And next?” Sara Pezzini asked Jack Knight.
It was almost 12 hours later as she and her team oversaw the crime scene. Bodies strewn about the darkened field, several with their hearts removed from their bodies, seemingly by hand.
The DEO had stepped in shortly after the scene had been discovered, handing the investigation over to their “occult” division: Which mainly consisted of Sara, an attractive brunette woman who seemingly did her best to downply two out of three of those things: wearing an ill-fitting masculine suit, no makeup and hair that could be mistaken for being unwashed and ungroomed, Jack, who was a wiry young man with wild black hair, he was probably in his thirties but he could’ve passed for as young as 18 and finally Sara’s official partner (Jack being more of a consultant) Jim Corrigan, a mustachioed man dressed less formally than Sara in her suit but not as informal as Jack in his secondhand tee and jeans, very much the classic law enforcement officer with his wrinkled dress shirt under a tac vest and utility belt.
They’d set up lights in order to survey the scene, the stars above seeming to come alive as well and light up the aftermath of the “May Day Massacre”. The blood shining like black pearls in the moonlight.
“I said and next…? Jack?” Sara turned back to look at him, actually a little thankful for an excuse to look away from the mutilated bodies. But still Jack didn’t answer. The young man stood, holding his golden “divining rod” shaking ever so slightly.
The staff wound and twisted like a branch but it was carved with precision. The gleaming gold that made up its strange form, crafted lovingly and cared for by each Knight that held it. It shone as brightly as any of those stars above them.
“Kid. Come on! Details, give us something.” Jim demanded brusquely but still with some concern in his voice. He took the younger man by the shoulders and gave him a small shake, “Were any of them there? Are they listening now…?”
But still Jack Knight just stared into the night air; a tear streaming down his face: Lacy Barrow’s last scream still ringing in his ears…
#1 – The May Queen
<Manhattan, New York>
Many who frequented the Hellfire Club building, who knew its secrets (though at times it seemed no one knew ALL of them), liked to think of it as the mirror of the infernal netherworld from which it took its name; with each level getting worse as you go up instead of down.
It was the penthouse that served as its ninth circle.
Here everything was marble and smooth. Modern, minimalist décor marrying a temple with a chrome/corporate idea of an old school drawing room.
In its center was a small square pool, filled with an inky black substance and at its center another statue; quite similar to the one the revelers had erected but with craftsmanship far beyond theirs: realistic to the point of being unnerving. This statue made of jet black onyx rather than more common stone and instead of colorful blossoms and ribbons it was decorated with pale moonflowers.
Gathered around the pool in various states of repose, were several glamorous figures. Aside from these few the room itself would have seemed otherwise empty but if one squinted they’d be able to see a line of completely still figures standing along the dark edges of the room, unmarked by the fancy folks in its center.
Despite being filled, the room was silent. Its occupants all made sporadic, awkward eye contact. Some smiling, others avoiding each other’s gaze altogether, but none spoke.
This disquiet was perhaps enhanced by the corpse lying in front of the pool.
The deceased was a beautiful blonde woman, early 40s maybe, in formal, almost outdated business attire (shoulder pads and all). She bore two stones on her eyes, each engraved with an elaborate rune.
The silence (though there was a distinct lack of grieving, it should be noted) was broken at the sound of footsteps on the cold marble floor. From a dark corner an extremely pale man in an old fashioned Victorian three piece suit, dark blue/black in color, moved to the pool. He sat, silent and unmoving, before it for what seemed like an hour but was almost surely only a minute or more and then turned back to others.
“It’s time.” He said, “She’s ready to receive the new Queen.”
A tall attractive black man by the entrance nodded, he wore a dapper black suit, with a red shirt and accessories, with a matching black fedora and a stylish crimson cane. He moved back to open the door. He lifted his hand and soon a dark skinned female hand took it. He led a woman into the room. She wore a flowing red dress, layered but still modern looking, leather straps wrapping around her waist and festive jewelry wound about her wrists, neck and was even woven into her brunette hair.
“At last.” Said one man, tense and coiled in a chair on the other side of the room, seated between two scantily clad redheaded twins, he looked oddly familiar to Wanda but she said nothing.
“Yes now my dear come into the light.” Said an ancient looking woman who the new arrival immediately walked towards with familiarity, the cane wielding man following after, “Don’t be nervous this is what we’ve been preparing for.” The crone said maternally taking the scarlet clad woman’s hand.
“I have no fear Agatha.” The woman said even as her eyes (almost involuntarily) landed on the body before her, nevertheless her voice remained steady: sultry and smooth, “for I am among family now am I not? I have arrived home.” She finished melodically, standing straight.
Some snickers were drowned out by the pale man by the statue clearing his throat.
“Soon.” He said nodding, “to be a part of this circle though you must first obtain the goddess’ blessing.” He cast a reverent glance back at the dark statue, “For if this be a family, as all covens should then is Selene not mother?”
A lackluster chorus of agreement was put to shame by one woman, a fierce looking blonde, stepping forward.
“Yes of course.” She said loudly, with conviction even as she eyed their new arrival with a predator’s gaze.
“Before the offering let her know what she’s getting into.” The black man who had met her at the door smiled, “You have met some of our number before I know but for prosperity’s sake let’s have a proper welcome.”
“Of course Daniel,” Agatha muttered, “Our suit, Wands, has lost its queen. Dear departed Paris.” The old woman nodded to the corpse as more giggles and snickers rang out.
“May flights of devils carry her to her torment.” One of the others cried out with a laugh.
“Now, now.” Agatha chided, though not harshly, “So I as former Queen of Wands and current Ace of Wands, along with Daniel Drum, King of Wands,” The well-dressed man tipped his hat to the room, “present the new steward of our suit, the aptly named: Wanda Wayland.”
The crimson garbed woman smiled and curtsied ever so slightly.
“Ding dong,” One of the red headed twins shouted giddily, “The bitch is dead, long live the bitch.” She said raising her wine glass in a mock toast, throwing her head back with a wicked laugh.
“Enough.” The familiar seeming man seated between the twins commanded, but something about the way he said it made Wanda think that on some level he was asking their permission not demanding their subservience.
“Might as well start with you… since you’re so impatient.” Daniel said with a sarcastic twang in his voice, “Here we have Maxwell Lord, King of Cups.” He gestured to the man in question, Lord was well-dressed, short dark hair and frankly he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Maxwell Lord the tycoon, turned senator. Wanda knew she recognized him, she wondered if his constituents knew these were who he kept company with.
Flanked on both sides were the aforementioned pair of sisters, identical in every (not the least of which being their stunning beauty), red hair and bright green eyes, they wore scant little, large pieces of jewelry covering their more private parts more so than any fabric did, if they wore any at all… the room was quite dark after all, it was hard to tell.
“And Constance and Vivian D'Aramis, the lovely sisters who share the title of Queen of Cups,” Daniel continued. The two women giggled coquettishly as they languidly draped themselves over their king. Wanda quickly deduced that despite their positions and the order in how they were introduced, the sisters were clearly the ones in control, with poor Maxwell brow furrowed and he his teeth gritted… fighting some kind of battle in his own mind.
“And to our right,” Agatha spoke up, “We have the suit of Swords: Queen of Swords, Emma Frost,” She gestured to one side of the room where the severe blonde woman from before stood, she wore a simple white sheath dress but where the young May Queen’s attire had screamed ‘innocence’ this woman’s white was that of an icy bitter winter. She was young, twentysomething, trendy half shaved cut through her blonde locks and all but her eyes held a wisdom hard earned. “By her side is her King, Sebastian Shaw” this referred to the older man in a smart black suit next to Frost, he had salt and pepper hair, with ragged features but it was clear he had once been dashing, he sat on a pedestal by her and petted her hand adoringly, “Then their Knight of Swords, Sebastian’s son Shinobi” this was in reference to a suave man, about his Queen’s age, of Asian descent he stood as she did but behind her, trying to appear “cool”, “And of course dear Christian Frost, Page of Swords,” Agatha finished looking fondly on the blonde, scruffy young man sitting on a marble chaise on the Queen of Sword’s other side, he was quite handsome but his expression was a dreamy, slightly bewildered one, noticeably Emma had one hand protectively on his shoulder.
“Then there are our Pentacles.” Daniel turned towards the opposite side of the room from Frost and her Swords, “Queen of Pentacles, Mona Taylor.” this was a tall black woman, late 30s/mid 40s, in what appeared to be a bespoke short charcoal grey dress and matching high collared jacket, gold accoutrements angling from every pocket, rows of sparking bejeweled gold bracelets and an elaborate gold chain neckpiece that seemed both modern and ancient Egyptian at once falling over her dress’ plunging neckline. Her long hair of dark brown curls fell about mid back and where the blonde woman store angrily at those around her, this woman wore a saucy smirk. “King of Pentacles, Joseph Carnẻ,” By the Queen’s right side sat a very attractive man, who wore far too tight dress pants, a clean white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and a red paisley vest, he seemed to be amused by all he goings on. “And revered Agatha’s fellow Ace, the indomitable Amos Maxime Fortuna” Daniel chortled, earning a nod from the older man sitting behind the King and Queen of Pentacles, 60s/70s, slightly heavyset, in a brown suit with a cheeky smile on his bearded face.
“And the last of those who are actually present,” Daniel continued with no small amount of insult in his tone, glancing at the empty spots in each suit, “Is Elijah the Bard,” He gestured to the pale man by the statue, “Who speaks for our goddess.”
At this, all eyes turned towards the statue, notably not Elijah, with reverence.
“It is by her grace you are here.” The gaunt attendant proclaimed, “All of us.”
“Speaking of herself. About time we get down to it, no?” Amos, the Ace of Pentacles, spoke for the first time since the meeting began and as when Agatha spoke, he seemed to maintain the attention of the irreverent and misanthropic personalities in the room despite themselves.
“Bring in the offerings.” Joseph Carnẻ clapped to the all but forgotten men and women standing around the edges of the room.
One of them, a hirsute but well-dressed man (some might say overly dressed, cummerbund, ascot and all) nodded furtively and went for the door.
He returned shortly followed by the shirtless stranger who slaughtered the May Day participants. He was still covered in blood and now carrying a large antiquated platter, that would have been more at home at a museum of history than here, which carried what appeared to be several human hearts.
“Ah Thomas.” Amos said with a welcoming tone.
Wanda raised a hand to her mouth, not quite in horror… more surprise.
“I don’t believe I’ve met this one before.” She said as an aside to Agatha, who chortled, the old woman noting the dash of lust in the younger’s wide eyes.
“Thomas is one of the familiars, like dear Friedrich.” She motioned to the hairy stuffed shirt man who had let the bloody man in, “Our sacred beasts. Soon they will do your bidding as they do ours.”
The man they called Thomas walked up to Elijah, who after holding his hand over the hearts carefully chose one and with his clear characteristic reverence threw it into the pool.
Suddenly it was as if somebody had flipped a switch, or slipped drugs into her drink: The room changed but it didn’t, the walls seemed to blur and swim like liquid, the colors oversaturated, the contrast turned up and most spectacularly; the statue seemed to be alive.
A preternaturally beautiful woman stood in its place; dark bronze skin, black ringlets, still bearing the pale moonflowers.
“Wanda.” The “woman” called; her arms stretching out for her.
Wanda looked around astonished.
Where there had been those silent and still phantoms along the room’s edges now sat a menagerie of animals; birds, cats, dogs, etc. all took their places standing sentry along the walls.
The other members of the circle had also changed. They seemed “more”. Daniel’s clothes more gaudy and outlandish, and his face now made up in dayglow vodun facepaint where before he had been unmarked, Agatha seemed older, if that was possible, an eerie glow about her, the suit of Swords seemed to be further off than they had been and both Shaws had runes etched into their skin now, whereas both Frosts seemed to now have skin of alabaster. The suit of Cups was down to two, the sisters replaced by a gigantic vision of one woman who bore their likeness but with hair of fire and four arms like a Hindu deity, two of these hands bearing ancient goblets rather than the sisters’ simple wine glasses, at their feet was Maxwell in a BDSM “slave” outfit, a chain about his neck held fast by one of the great woman’s hands, the last hand holding a leather whip that rested comfortably on the senator’s back, the suit of Pentacles appeared practically unchanged other the their more colorful garb but no matter where Wanda looked in the room Amos appeared to be in the background of her sight, Elijah now appeared naked and where he had been gaunt she’d now say he was anorexic, a Skelton of a man bowed in complete subjugation at the former statue/“goddess’s” feet and finally next to him was Thomas, who now appeared as a cougar-like large cat purring as it lay near his plate of hearts… which, when Wanda squinted, now appeared to be a squirming pile of injured young people crying for her help…
She stepped forward, the dark skinned “goddess” still reaching out for her and with each step she took the image of the young people became stronger, eventually replacing the hearts all together.
She ignored them and stepped into the goddess’ arms like a baby to its mother.
The woman stroked her hair maternally.
“Mother… Goddess… help me…” A feeble cry broke the moment as Wanda pulled back and saw a young woman, pale and gaping hole in her chest… she was so bloodied that her white dress appeared red. She stepped towards them shakily.
“Please…” She begged, tripping and falling forward at Wanda and the Goddess’ feet, “My name is Lacy Barrows… I’m only 17 years old…I…I just want to go home…”
“You are home child.” The goddess said sweetly pulling the young girl in between herself and Wanda. For a moment they swayed together almost like dancing. Wanda watched… the horror on the girl’s face and the serenity of the goddess. With eyes widening she watched as the enigmatic being slipped her hand into the girl’s back and pulled her heart out of the open wound.
Lacy fell to the floor once more and the Goddess stood before Wanda, offering her the girl’s heart like an apple in a fairy tale.
“It’s your day.” The goddess said to Wanda, “Oh true Queen of May. Not just the maiden of blossoming spring but also the passionate scarlet woman of the Beltane fires…”
The new Queen of Wands knew that this was a trial; one she was determined to pass. With a sharp inhale she stepped forward and brought her hands up to cup the organ and the goddess’ hands in turn. Hesitating for a moment she breathed and looked into the powerful woman’s gaze once more, finally smiling and bringing her mouth forward biting into the heart softly and letting the coppery red liquid rush into her mouth.
The Goddess echoed her movements and soon they drank as one. Wanda felt the other woman’s hand come to rest on the back of her head and she let one of her own hands wind around her neck and they simply drank in the life and power this offering had to offer.
When she finally pulled back there was only a breath between her face and the Goddess’.
“You’re mine now. One of this circle and coven. Our power is your power as yours is ours.”
“Who are you?” Wanda asked finally… letting her mask of confidence fall ever so slightly.
“You know me. You’ve always known me. I am all-shining. I am your mother, your daughter, your sister, your lover. I am forever young and as old as time. I rise and fall and light up the night like a beacon. I am three in one. I am the center of crossroads. I stand in your dreams and drive the silver chariot of heaven. Say my name…”
“Selene.” Wanda breathed, “Praise Selene…”
And in an instant Wanda was back to reality; the statue of Selene was a statue once more, the inner circle had been returned to normalcy, or as close to it as they got one would suppose, they watched her in silence (and a soupçon of awe in parts)
The only thing to prove that it had happened at all was the blood still running down her chest and the remnants of heart still pressed into her hand.
“Blessed be…”
<Temporary DEO field HQ, Salem, Oregon>
Sara Pezzini and Jim Corrigan faced each other over a large table, without actually looking at each other. Instead they drowned in the paperwork and photographs strewn all around them: on the table, in their hands and on several “anatomy of a crime” style boards strewn about the room.
Many of the photos were of Lacy Barrows and her friends from the massacre but several other were of Paris Seville (both alive and post-mortem), some of Emma Frost, Daniel Drum, Maxwell Lord… on and on through the ranks of the Hellfire Club.
“How’s the kid?” Jim asked suddenly, offhandedly but sincerely, breaking the silence.
Sara sighed, slumping into a seat.
“He’ll be fine. I got him a cup of coffee and let him get a little under the shirt action.”
Jim nearly choked on his coffee.
“Wha…?” He asked aghast before quickly trying to school his features.
“I’m. Kidding.” Sara deadpanned for emphasis meeting his eyes with a glare, “Just thought I’d try to break the tension a bit.” She said, shrugging after a moment and returning her attention to the work.
“Yes. You are a young Lucille Ball.” Jim said matching her sardonic tone with a roll of his eyes.
Sara smirked but didn’t look back at him. They were both tired and just simply trying to keep each other… and themselves going.
Jim walked around to her side of the table to stare at the board behind her, which was centered on a photo of Paris Seville with lines of tape connecting her to several other papers and photos.
“Phillips says we need to let this go.” Jim sighed, “We have Buckman in custody and we need to stop ‘beating a dead horse’.” He said, complete with quote finger gestures.
“Phillips should be happy his photo isn’t up there.” Sara practically growled, “He’s got charter membership in the Hellfire Club how is that not a bias?” She slammed her hand on the tabletop.
“If you want to find a high ranking governing body of any kind that doesn’t have HFC members in positions of power you’re going to be searching for a while.” Jim sighed, “Besides… it’s just a ‘social club’ right?”
“Enough with the finger quotes eh?” Sara snapped, Jim laughed.
“I know we know what they are. That doesn’t change the fact that the status quo is that they are seen as a playground for the political elite to cool off by ‘heating things up’. People know they’re hiding something but they’re more comfortably believing those secrets are tawdry sex and insider trading rather than human sacrifice and black magicks. The fantasy that the darkest sins they offer is a congressmen getting a stray finger up the ass with his happy ending massage keeps everybody safe. If we want to expose them, pun not intended, we’re gonna need more.”
“We have Ned Buckman blowing her brains out on live tv!” Sara cried out, “The Ace of Swords shot the Queen of Wands and that’s not enough?”
Jim put his coffee down beside her and began to massage her shoulders, almost absent-mindedly.
“I know, I know… but again to the public and on official records; those titles are meaningless. They are just two more of a myriad of members. Their feud having nothing to do with the club and instead having to do with a business deal gone awry, there’s a paper trail a mile long backing that motive up.”
“A fabricated paper trail.” Sara snapped again but the heat was draining out of her voice as the pendulum began to swing back towards exhaustion.
“Again I know but if we try to pin them to ever single occult crime that occurs… we’re gonna look like the boy who cried werewolf…”
Sara allowed herself to smile for a moment, closing her eyes, leaning into her partner’s touch. When suddenly, at just about the same time, they both realized what was happening and Jim awkwardly pulled back.
“We shouldn’t…” Sara started, looking back at Jim but he waved her off.
“It’s fine.” He scoffed turning back to the board, “We should get back to work.”
“Right.” Sara said picking up a picture of Lacy’s body, “No rest for the wicked.”
<Hellfire Club complex, Manhattan, New York>
Wanda sat in her new quarters taking in the events of the day. She slowly removed each piece of jewelry, each accessory and all the extraneous fabrics; until she was left in only her shift.
She held her dress in front of her and for a moment, she tried to discern the crimson of the garment from the blood before deciding that it no longer really mattered.
“It’ll all wash out in the end.” A gruff voice said from behind her.
She turned to see that somehow as if from nowhere Amos Maxime Fortuna, the Ace of Pentacles had found his way into one of the chairs in her room.
She regarded him with no surprise, instead she rose from the enormous bed and walked over to stand before him: reaching out her hand and taking his.
“You did wonderful today my love.” He said with some genuine emotion, holding her hand to his cheek.
“Do you think they could sense our connection?” Wanda asked hesitantly.
“No, no.” He shushed, “Fear not. There’s not a doubt in my mind that they truly and passionately accepted the sacrificial lamb of Wanda Wayland. While the beautiful red wolf that is Wanda Maximoff snuck in in her wool.” He hummed happily, kissing her palm.
“Thank you father….” Wanda smiled, “I promise you I will not fail.”
It was the first day of May.
Flung far out in the center of a seemingly endless field of green a celebration was under way.
Every varied trapping of the modern pagan revival culture bloomed in a rainbow of color and song as the sun made its way towards the horizon. Despite about only twenty max guests, there was a veritable smorgasbord of wiccans, druids, spiritualists, psychics and just your average junkies in attendance.
“Intriguing; the celebration had seemingly been a patchwork mish-mash of Beltane, May Day and Walpurgis Night.
The participants ran the gamut in terms of cognizance, devotion and lucidity.”
The attire was as eclectic as the celebrants, there was a mix of flowing fabrics, Ren fair style accoutrements (a clear majority wore flowers in their hair) and selective nudity; more than a few of the ladies exposing her breasts, clearly on purpose, and even some men not letting an occasion to air out the crown jewels pass.
“A bacchanal would also be an appropriate descriptor to throw in there with the neo-pagan blend.
And all of it seems to have been centered on that.”
A roughhewn stone statue, in the image of a naked woman: decorated with flowers and ribbons (clearly having doubled as a maypole at some earlier point) and surrounded in a circle by four small bonfires.
The statue was mirrored by a young woman standing just in front of it, wearing a gossamer white shift and bearing the blossom crown of the ‘May Queen’.
“Lacy Barrows, the first victim. Jeez she looks younger than 17…”
“Goddess we beseech you!” she called.
Around her the most fervently devout chanted rhythmically, swaying back and forth as they did so. The setting sun casting a warm glow about them as they began to move as one.
“Yes… this definitely went beyond a simple ‘celebration’… this became a rite. Perhaps not intentionally, so, but nevertheless: they tapped into something real here. Called to something...”
“I offer myself to you!” She wailed like a war widow and threw herself on the effigy. The others around her bowed and even wept as some great swell of influence overtook them.
“All this greenpeace LARPing bullshit shouldn’t be effective… but they are connecting to something… someone, there’s another presence coming through.”
“She hears you…” A new voice said, a distinctly male voice. There, somehow, behind their hazy vision a man appeared on the effigy as if from nowhere, crouched like an animal at the statue’s base.
“These idiots didn’t understand magic. There is more to it than orgies, girl power and nature worship… magic is a wild hungry thing… magic is a covenant, a dangerous one at that. An abusive marriage if you will…
This was a sacrament as ancient as the rocks. This was marriage to land: to the world. Much more would be asked of you than a nun’s vows…”
He was attractive in a very dangerous way: tall and muscular. He had long dark blond hair falling about his face, a mustache in an even darker shade of blonde, completely shirtless (save for a thin necklace dangling over his pecs that bore small animal claws) showing off sun kissed body toned to perfect mouthwatering detail, dirty jeans hung low on his taut abdomen. His feet bare and equally as filthy, seemed to be quite secure on his unsteady perch.
“There was another face to magic. Not just the nubile form of the great white goddess. Gaea opening up her arms to her children…
There was also the man. Herne the Hunter, the Great God Pan, the Horned One… The dark and fiery brute of a man, rutting his pleasures into the red sky. They were now in his company…”
Lacy stood forward, the others watching her in a way they hadn’t been even just a moment ago. Suddenly the air around them changed, she wasn’t that girl Lacy who got to wear the pretty white dress… she was the maiden of spring and they her flock.
“Merry met wild spirt. We greet you on this rite of May.” She said with a slight bow.
“And what a greeting it is…” The man laughed a deep laugh, almost like a roar, as he descended the statue with an unnatural grace, “Your celebration is quite colorful but it lacks passion.” He snickered as he sauntered towards her.
With rough hands he grabbed her about the waist, “In the olden days they would crown a May Queen only to rend her limb from limb that very night as they’re souls reached a fevered peak of ecstasy…” He rubbed he pelvis against her as he spoke, uttering the last line almost directly into her mouth as he stopped just short of kissing her, fear mingling with desire as she gazed at him.
Instead of a kiss, he laughed in her face and moved passed her; making his way through the crowd like a lioness stalking its prey.
“They’d toss a young virgin or two onto the Beltane fires…” He purred to some of the young revelers, who clung to each other fearfully even as they seemed drawn towards him.
The young May Queen stood firm however, trying to calm the others nonverbally even as she approached the stranger once more but was it out of a desire to protect the revelers… or just to be close to him?
“This is a peaceful circle.” Lacy insisted as he turned to face her, their eyes meeting once more, “We worship life here.”
“Then you worship death.” The savage man retorted, smiling wickedly, “For they are the same.” He snarled grabbing a nearby reveler by her hair with unnatural speed, the girl screaming as he tossed her to the ground maintaining his grip on her, even as he maintained eye contact with the May Queen.
As she gazed into those eyes they seemed to waver between human… and animal, causing her conviction to shake.
“It was a beast shaped like a man.”
Now panic truly began to set in among the flock, they quivered, cried, some screamed and yet still no one left: their fear was tainted but nothing less than pure lust, they were pulled towards this man by some primal force…
“They never even considered running…”
“Goddess above and below… take this creature from our presence. By the silver wheel, that turns without end I banish you from our sight…” The young woman chanted.
“But I was invited…” The man drawled releasing the frightened girl from his grip as he did so and swaggered back through the crowd; his every move seemed to serve to continue to entice their baser instincts. The way his hips moved, the way he smiled, the way he stared deep into each of them as he passed.
“By who?” The May Queen asked, stepping forward.
“By the one you sing for…”
At this all proclamation many who had seemed so afraid now seemed in awe, stepping closer.
“The Goddess… sent you…?” Young Lacy questioned, though her voice had begun confidant it wavered as her eyes continued to drown in his: from May Queen to all too human girl…
“Is that so hard to believe? You can feel it can’t you?" He purred and rolling his hips, “You know it… deep down.” As he said this last bit he brusquely grabbed a male worshiper’s crotch with gusto, causing the man to squirm in pain but also just a hint of pleasure: which seemed to be a line the strange man personified.
“I banish you… I banish you…” Lacy continued even as she let herself be drawn in. The young queen seemed to have a glow about her, her flower crown seems alive, blooming before their eyes.
“This is the threshold… maiden and the beast… Eros transformed before Psyche… East of the Sun and West of the Moon… Had she been strong enough she could’ve…”
“I know you can feel it. All of you can…” He said releasing the man and walked towards the young woman, “Even you, ESPECIALLY you: For this is your day…”
“This is when it happened…”
“I banish you…” The May Queen breathed, chest heaving; the light of the setting sun behind her making her shine like an evening star… but only for moment.
“You can feel it…” The man purred as he embraced her gently before pulling back, “Feel it…” He whispered pulling her into a heated kiss, taking her breasts into his hands as he did so. She hesitated and then responded and began groping him in turn, settling her hands around his firm glutes with an iron grip. “Feel it in your heart.” With this last statement, his tone becoming darker as suddenly his grip on her body changed and with a sickening thunk he appeared to brutally plunge his hand his hand into her chest, blood spilling bones breaking…
“And next?” Sara Pezzini asked Jack Knight.
It was almost 12 hours later as she and her team oversaw the crime scene. Bodies strewn about the darkened field, several with their hearts removed from their bodies, seemingly by hand.
The DEO had stepped in shortly after the scene had been discovered, handing the investigation over to their “occult” division: Which mainly consisted of Sara, an attractive brunette woman who seemingly did her best to downply two out of three of those things: wearing an ill-fitting masculine suit, no makeup and hair that could be mistaken for being unwashed and ungroomed, Jack, who was a wiry young man with wild black hair, he was probably in his thirties but he could’ve passed for as young as 18 and finally Sara’s official partner (Jack being more of a consultant) Jim Corrigan, a mustachioed man dressed less formally than Sara in her suit but not as informal as Jack in his secondhand tee and jeans, very much the classic law enforcement officer with his wrinkled dress shirt under a tac vest and utility belt.
They’d set up lights in order to survey the scene, the stars above seeming to come alive as well and light up the aftermath of the “May Day Massacre”. The blood shining like black pearls in the moonlight.
“I said and next…? Jack?” Sara turned back to look at him, actually a little thankful for an excuse to look away from the mutilated bodies. But still Jack didn’t answer. The young man stood, holding his golden “divining rod” shaking ever so slightly.
The staff wound and twisted like a branch but it was carved with precision. The gleaming gold that made up its strange form, crafted lovingly and cared for by each Knight that held it. It shone as brightly as any of those stars above them.
“Kid. Come on! Details, give us something.” Jim demanded brusquely but still with some concern in his voice. He took the younger man by the shoulders and gave him a small shake, “Were any of them there? Are they listening now…?”
But still Jack Knight just stared into the night air; a tear streaming down his face: Lacy Barrow’s last scream still ringing in his ears…
#1 – The May Queen
<Manhattan, New York>
Many who frequented the Hellfire Club building, who knew its secrets (though at times it seemed no one knew ALL of them), liked to think of it as the mirror of the infernal netherworld from which it took its name; with each level getting worse as you go up instead of down.
It was the penthouse that served as its ninth circle.
Here everything was marble and smooth. Modern, minimalist décor marrying a temple with a chrome/corporate idea of an old school drawing room.
In its center was a small square pool, filled with an inky black substance and at its center another statue; quite similar to the one the revelers had erected but with craftsmanship far beyond theirs: realistic to the point of being unnerving. This statue made of jet black onyx rather than more common stone and instead of colorful blossoms and ribbons it was decorated with pale moonflowers.
Gathered around the pool in various states of repose, were several glamorous figures. Aside from these few the room itself would have seemed otherwise empty but if one squinted they’d be able to see a line of completely still figures standing along the dark edges of the room, unmarked by the fancy folks in its center.
Despite being filled, the room was silent. Its occupants all made sporadic, awkward eye contact. Some smiling, others avoiding each other’s gaze altogether, but none spoke.
This disquiet was perhaps enhanced by the corpse lying in front of the pool.
The deceased was a beautiful blonde woman, early 40s maybe, in formal, almost outdated business attire (shoulder pads and all). She bore two stones on her eyes, each engraved with an elaborate rune.
The silence (though there was a distinct lack of grieving, it should be noted) was broken at the sound of footsteps on the cold marble floor. From a dark corner an extremely pale man in an old fashioned Victorian three piece suit, dark blue/black in color, moved to the pool. He sat, silent and unmoving, before it for what seemed like an hour but was almost surely only a minute or more and then turned back to others.
“It’s time.” He said, “She’s ready to receive the new Queen.”
A tall attractive black man by the entrance nodded, he wore a dapper black suit, with a red shirt and accessories, with a matching black fedora and a stylish crimson cane. He moved back to open the door. He lifted his hand and soon a dark skinned female hand took it. He led a woman into the room. She wore a flowing red dress, layered but still modern looking, leather straps wrapping around her waist and festive jewelry wound about her wrists, neck and was even woven into her brunette hair.
“At last.” Said one man, tense and coiled in a chair on the other side of the room, seated between two scantily clad redheaded twins, he looked oddly familiar to Wanda but she said nothing.
“Yes now my dear come into the light.” Said an ancient looking woman who the new arrival immediately walked towards with familiarity, the cane wielding man following after, “Don’t be nervous this is what we’ve been preparing for.” The crone said maternally taking the scarlet clad woman’s hand.
“I have no fear Agatha.” The woman said even as her eyes (almost involuntarily) landed on the body before her, nevertheless her voice remained steady: sultry and smooth, “for I am among family now am I not? I have arrived home.” She finished melodically, standing straight.
Some snickers were drowned out by the pale man by the statue clearing his throat.
“Soon.” He said nodding, “to be a part of this circle though you must first obtain the goddess’ blessing.” He cast a reverent glance back at the dark statue, “For if this be a family, as all covens should then is Selene not mother?”
A lackluster chorus of agreement was put to shame by one woman, a fierce looking blonde, stepping forward.
“Yes of course.” She said loudly, with conviction even as she eyed their new arrival with a predator’s gaze.
“Before the offering let her know what she’s getting into.” The black man who had met her at the door smiled, “You have met some of our number before I know but for prosperity’s sake let’s have a proper welcome.”
“Of course Daniel,” Agatha muttered, “Our suit, Wands, has lost its queen. Dear departed Paris.” The old woman nodded to the corpse as more giggles and snickers rang out.
“May flights of devils carry her to her torment.” One of the others cried out with a laugh.
“Now, now.” Agatha chided, though not harshly, “So I as former Queen of Wands and current Ace of Wands, along with Daniel Drum, King of Wands,” The well-dressed man tipped his hat to the room, “present the new steward of our suit, the aptly named: Wanda Wayland.”
The crimson garbed woman smiled and curtsied ever so slightly.
“Ding dong,” One of the red headed twins shouted giddily, “The bitch is dead, long live the bitch.” She said raising her wine glass in a mock toast, throwing her head back with a wicked laugh.
“Enough.” The familiar seeming man seated between the twins commanded, but something about the way he said it made Wanda think that on some level he was asking their permission not demanding their subservience.
“Might as well start with you… since you’re so impatient.” Daniel said with a sarcastic twang in his voice, “Here we have Maxwell Lord, King of Cups.” He gestured to the man in question, Lord was well-dressed, short dark hair and frankly he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Maxwell Lord the tycoon, turned senator. Wanda knew she recognized him, she wondered if his constituents knew these were who he kept company with.
Flanked on both sides were the aforementioned pair of sisters, identical in every (not the least of which being their stunning beauty), red hair and bright green eyes, they wore scant little, large pieces of jewelry covering their more private parts more so than any fabric did, if they wore any at all… the room was quite dark after all, it was hard to tell.
“And Constance and Vivian D'Aramis, the lovely sisters who share the title of Queen of Cups,” Daniel continued. The two women giggled coquettishly as they languidly draped themselves over their king. Wanda quickly deduced that despite their positions and the order in how they were introduced, the sisters were clearly the ones in control, with poor Maxwell brow furrowed and he his teeth gritted… fighting some kind of battle in his own mind.
“And to our right,” Agatha spoke up, “We have the suit of Swords: Queen of Swords, Emma Frost,” She gestured to one side of the room where the severe blonde woman from before stood, she wore a simple white sheath dress but where the young May Queen’s attire had screamed ‘innocence’ this woman’s white was that of an icy bitter winter. She was young, twentysomething, trendy half shaved cut through her blonde locks and all but her eyes held a wisdom hard earned. “By her side is her King, Sebastian Shaw” this referred to the older man in a smart black suit next to Frost, he had salt and pepper hair, with ragged features but it was clear he had once been dashing, he sat on a pedestal by her and petted her hand adoringly, “Then their Knight of Swords, Sebastian’s son Shinobi” this was in reference to a suave man, about his Queen’s age, of Asian descent he stood as she did but behind her, trying to appear “cool”, “And of course dear Christian Frost, Page of Swords,” Agatha finished looking fondly on the blonde, scruffy young man sitting on a marble chaise on the Queen of Sword’s other side, he was quite handsome but his expression was a dreamy, slightly bewildered one, noticeably Emma had one hand protectively on his shoulder.
“Then there are our Pentacles.” Daniel turned towards the opposite side of the room from Frost and her Swords, “Queen of Pentacles, Mona Taylor.” this was a tall black woman, late 30s/mid 40s, in what appeared to be a bespoke short charcoal grey dress and matching high collared jacket, gold accoutrements angling from every pocket, rows of sparking bejeweled gold bracelets and an elaborate gold chain neckpiece that seemed both modern and ancient Egyptian at once falling over her dress’ plunging neckline. Her long hair of dark brown curls fell about mid back and where the blonde woman store angrily at those around her, this woman wore a saucy smirk. “King of Pentacles, Joseph Carnẻ,” By the Queen’s right side sat a very attractive man, who wore far too tight dress pants, a clean white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and a red paisley vest, he seemed to be amused by all he goings on. “And revered Agatha’s fellow Ace, the indomitable Amos Maxime Fortuna” Daniel chortled, earning a nod from the older man sitting behind the King and Queen of Pentacles, 60s/70s, slightly heavyset, in a brown suit with a cheeky smile on his bearded face.
“And the last of those who are actually present,” Daniel continued with no small amount of insult in his tone, glancing at the empty spots in each suit, “Is Elijah the Bard,” He gestured to the pale man by the statue, “Who speaks for our goddess.”
At this, all eyes turned towards the statue, notably not Elijah, with reverence.
“It is by her grace you are here.” The gaunt attendant proclaimed, “All of us.”
“Speaking of herself. About time we get down to it, no?” Amos, the Ace of Pentacles, spoke for the first time since the meeting began and as when Agatha spoke, he seemed to maintain the attention of the irreverent and misanthropic personalities in the room despite themselves.
“Bring in the offerings.” Joseph Carnẻ clapped to the all but forgotten men and women standing around the edges of the room.
One of them, a hirsute but well-dressed man (some might say overly dressed, cummerbund, ascot and all) nodded furtively and went for the door.
He returned shortly followed by the shirtless stranger who slaughtered the May Day participants. He was still covered in blood and now carrying a large antiquated platter, that would have been more at home at a museum of history than here, which carried what appeared to be several human hearts.
“Ah Thomas.” Amos said with a welcoming tone.
Wanda raised a hand to her mouth, not quite in horror… more surprise.
“I don’t believe I’ve met this one before.” She said as an aside to Agatha, who chortled, the old woman noting the dash of lust in the younger’s wide eyes.
“Thomas is one of the familiars, like dear Friedrich.” She motioned to the hairy stuffed shirt man who had let the bloody man in, “Our sacred beasts. Soon they will do your bidding as they do ours.”
The man they called Thomas walked up to Elijah, who after holding his hand over the hearts carefully chose one and with his clear characteristic reverence threw it into the pool.
Suddenly it was as if somebody had flipped a switch, or slipped drugs into her drink: The room changed but it didn’t, the walls seemed to blur and swim like liquid, the colors oversaturated, the contrast turned up and most spectacularly; the statue seemed to be alive.
A preternaturally beautiful woman stood in its place; dark bronze skin, black ringlets, still bearing the pale moonflowers.
“Wanda.” The “woman” called; her arms stretching out for her.
Wanda looked around astonished.
Where there had been those silent and still phantoms along the room’s edges now sat a menagerie of animals; birds, cats, dogs, etc. all took their places standing sentry along the walls.
The other members of the circle had also changed. They seemed “more”. Daniel’s clothes more gaudy and outlandish, and his face now made up in dayglow vodun facepaint where before he had been unmarked, Agatha seemed older, if that was possible, an eerie glow about her, the suit of Swords seemed to be further off than they had been and both Shaws had runes etched into their skin now, whereas both Frosts seemed to now have skin of alabaster. The suit of Cups was down to two, the sisters replaced by a gigantic vision of one woman who bore their likeness but with hair of fire and four arms like a Hindu deity, two of these hands bearing ancient goblets rather than the sisters’ simple wine glasses, at their feet was Maxwell in a BDSM “slave” outfit, a chain about his neck held fast by one of the great woman’s hands, the last hand holding a leather whip that rested comfortably on the senator’s back, the suit of Pentacles appeared practically unchanged other the their more colorful garb but no matter where Wanda looked in the room Amos appeared to be in the background of her sight, Elijah now appeared naked and where he had been gaunt she’d now say he was anorexic, a Skelton of a man bowed in complete subjugation at the former statue/“goddess’s” feet and finally next to him was Thomas, who now appeared as a cougar-like large cat purring as it lay near his plate of hearts… which, when Wanda squinted, now appeared to be a squirming pile of injured young people crying for her help…
She stepped forward, the dark skinned “goddess” still reaching out for her and with each step she took the image of the young people became stronger, eventually replacing the hearts all together.
She ignored them and stepped into the goddess’ arms like a baby to its mother.
The woman stroked her hair maternally.
“Mother… Goddess… help me…” A feeble cry broke the moment as Wanda pulled back and saw a young woman, pale and gaping hole in her chest… she was so bloodied that her white dress appeared red. She stepped towards them shakily.
“Please…” She begged, tripping and falling forward at Wanda and the Goddess’ feet, “My name is Lacy Barrows… I’m only 17 years old…I…I just want to go home…”
“You are home child.” The goddess said sweetly pulling the young girl in between herself and Wanda. For a moment they swayed together almost like dancing. Wanda watched… the horror on the girl’s face and the serenity of the goddess. With eyes widening she watched as the enigmatic being slipped her hand into the girl’s back and pulled her heart out of the open wound.
Lacy fell to the floor once more and the Goddess stood before Wanda, offering her the girl’s heart like an apple in a fairy tale.
“It’s your day.” The goddess said to Wanda, “Oh true Queen of May. Not just the maiden of blossoming spring but also the passionate scarlet woman of the Beltane fires…”
The new Queen of Wands knew that this was a trial; one she was determined to pass. With a sharp inhale she stepped forward and brought her hands up to cup the organ and the goddess’ hands in turn. Hesitating for a moment she breathed and looked into the powerful woman’s gaze once more, finally smiling and bringing her mouth forward biting into the heart softly and letting the coppery red liquid rush into her mouth.
The Goddess echoed her movements and soon they drank as one. Wanda felt the other woman’s hand come to rest on the back of her head and she let one of her own hands wind around her neck and they simply drank in the life and power this offering had to offer.
When she finally pulled back there was only a breath between her face and the Goddess’.
“You’re mine now. One of this circle and coven. Our power is your power as yours is ours.”
“Who are you?” Wanda asked finally… letting her mask of confidence fall ever so slightly.
“You know me. You’ve always known me. I am all-shining. I am your mother, your daughter, your sister, your lover. I am forever young and as old as time. I rise and fall and light up the night like a beacon. I am three in one. I am the center of crossroads. I stand in your dreams and drive the silver chariot of heaven. Say my name…”
“Selene.” Wanda breathed, “Praise Selene…”
And in an instant Wanda was back to reality; the statue of Selene was a statue once more, the inner circle had been returned to normalcy, or as close to it as they got one would suppose, they watched her in silence (and a soupçon of awe in parts)
The only thing to prove that it had happened at all was the blood still running down her chest and the remnants of heart still pressed into her hand.
“Blessed be…”
<Temporary DEO field HQ, Salem, Oregon>
Sara Pezzini and Jim Corrigan faced each other over a large table, without actually looking at each other. Instead they drowned in the paperwork and photographs strewn all around them: on the table, in their hands and on several “anatomy of a crime” style boards strewn about the room.
Many of the photos were of Lacy Barrows and her friends from the massacre but several other were of Paris Seville (both alive and post-mortem), some of Emma Frost, Daniel Drum, Maxwell Lord… on and on through the ranks of the Hellfire Club.
“How’s the kid?” Jim asked suddenly, offhandedly but sincerely, breaking the silence.
Sara sighed, slumping into a seat.
“He’ll be fine. I got him a cup of coffee and let him get a little under the shirt action.”
Jim nearly choked on his coffee.
“Wha…?” He asked aghast before quickly trying to school his features.
“I’m. Kidding.” Sara deadpanned for emphasis meeting his eyes with a glare, “Just thought I’d try to break the tension a bit.” She said, shrugging after a moment and returning her attention to the work.
“Yes. You are a young Lucille Ball.” Jim said matching her sardonic tone with a roll of his eyes.
Sara smirked but didn’t look back at him. They were both tired and just simply trying to keep each other… and themselves going.
Jim walked around to her side of the table to stare at the board behind her, which was centered on a photo of Paris Seville with lines of tape connecting her to several other papers and photos.
“Phillips says we need to let this go.” Jim sighed, “We have Buckman in custody and we need to stop ‘beating a dead horse’.” He said, complete with quote finger gestures.
“Phillips should be happy his photo isn’t up there.” Sara practically growled, “He’s got charter membership in the Hellfire Club how is that not a bias?” She slammed her hand on the tabletop.
“If you want to find a high ranking governing body of any kind that doesn’t have HFC members in positions of power you’re going to be searching for a while.” Jim sighed, “Besides… it’s just a ‘social club’ right?”
“Enough with the finger quotes eh?” Sara snapped, Jim laughed.
“I know we know what they are. That doesn’t change the fact that the status quo is that they are seen as a playground for the political elite to cool off by ‘heating things up’. People know they’re hiding something but they’re more comfortably believing those secrets are tawdry sex and insider trading rather than human sacrifice and black magicks. The fantasy that the darkest sins they offer is a congressmen getting a stray finger up the ass with his happy ending massage keeps everybody safe. If we want to expose them, pun not intended, we’re gonna need more.”
“We have Ned Buckman blowing her brains out on live tv!” Sara cried out, “The Ace of Swords shot the Queen of Wands and that’s not enough?”
Jim put his coffee down beside her and began to massage her shoulders, almost absent-mindedly.
“I know, I know… but again to the public and on official records; those titles are meaningless. They are just two more of a myriad of members. Their feud having nothing to do with the club and instead having to do with a business deal gone awry, there’s a paper trail a mile long backing that motive up.”
“A fabricated paper trail.” Sara snapped again but the heat was draining out of her voice as the pendulum began to swing back towards exhaustion.
“Again I know but if we try to pin them to ever single occult crime that occurs… we’re gonna look like the boy who cried werewolf…”
Sara allowed herself to smile for a moment, closing her eyes, leaning into her partner’s touch. When suddenly, at just about the same time, they both realized what was happening and Jim awkwardly pulled back.
“We shouldn’t…” Sara started, looking back at Jim but he waved her off.
“It’s fine.” He scoffed turning back to the board, “We should get back to work.”
“Right.” Sara said picking up a picture of Lacy’s body, “No rest for the wicked.”
<Hellfire Club complex, Manhattan, New York>
Wanda sat in her new quarters taking in the events of the day. She slowly removed each piece of jewelry, each accessory and all the extraneous fabrics; until she was left in only her shift.
She held her dress in front of her and for a moment, she tried to discern the crimson of the garment from the blood before deciding that it no longer really mattered.
“It’ll all wash out in the end.” A gruff voice said from behind her.
She turned to see that somehow as if from nowhere Amos Maxime Fortuna, the Ace of Pentacles had found his way into one of the chairs in her room.
She regarded him with no surprise, instead she rose from the enormous bed and walked over to stand before him: reaching out her hand and taking his.
“You did wonderful today my love.” He said with some genuine emotion, holding her hand to his cheek.
“Do you think they could sense our connection?” Wanda asked hesitantly.
“No, no.” He shushed, “Fear not. There’s not a doubt in my mind that they truly and passionately accepted the sacrificial lamb of Wanda Wayland. While the beautiful red wolf that is Wanda Maximoff snuck in in her wool.” He hummed happily, kissing her palm.
“Thank you father….” Wanda smiled, “I promise you I will not fail.”
