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About Tehuti
I am an amateur writer of novels, serials, and novellas. Most of my work is in the genres of fantasy, mythology, drama, occult, GLBT, and erotica.
As I'm not seeking publication, I offer my work online for free reading. I'm not seeking stylistic critique so much as feedback from people who just like reading what I write. I love hearing what people think of my characters, plots, themes, etc., so if you have any comments or advice on those, feel free to share. I'm not hugely popular and often go many months without hearing from readers so I enjoy all the comments I get!
My interests are Ojibwa mythology, Mackinac Island, Egyptian mythology, Jungian symbolism and dream interpretation, ritual crime, fantasy writing, and various other things you can find in my personal bio, available just to the right. Please click to learn more about me and what I'm looking for in terms of readers and potential friends.
Feel free to hit me up if you're interested in any of these things, and enjoy my writing!
Tar! :) |
5: Fainting Spells Original circa 1994-5 version. Scroll down for the 2007 rewrite.
FAINTING SPELLS
DAMIEN AND HIS uncle spent a lot of time together; they had quite a lot of catching up to do after fourteen years apart. Much of the conversation was pretty routine, what one would normally expect from two family members getting to know each other again. Whenever Damien talked, it was about his singing career; whenever Damien got his uncle to talk, it was about what Father Damien had been doing since they'd last seen each other. Whenever the matter of the cult was brought up the talk always grew slightly awkward; Father Damien apparently didn't want to discuss it very much, but his nephew knew they would have to sometime. Now that he'd met that Derrick guy, preferably soon.
"I thought you were shot," Damien said today, bringing up the subject again. They were at Father Damien's house; the day before, after meeting Derrick, Damien had finally had him over at his house, where the other family members had all squawked and fussed, just as enthusiastic as he had been on meeting their uncle. Now, however, the mood was more subdued.
Father Damien sighed and put down his drink, deciding it was time to answer his nephew's questions. There was no use putting it off any longer when it was one of the reasons he'd decided on getting back in touch.
"Yes, I was," he replied.
"And they didn't kill you?" It was a stupid question as the answer was obvious, yet he had to find out why.
"They thought they did. They shot twice. Actually I was only hit in the shoulder." He rubbed his left shoulder; Damien wasn't sure if he were indicating where he was hit or doing it out of habit. "But I was bleeding so bad it looked like it could have been worse. When they came over I held my breath and pretended to be dead. Luckily nobody bothered to feel for a pulse, and Alec or whatever his name was didn't say to finish me off--by that you should know what I mean."
Damien nodded. "So you escaped?"
He held up his hands. "Of course. I'm here talking to you, aren't I?"
Damien was silent for a moment. If his uncle was still alive, then..."What about Mom and Dad?"
Father Damien looked down into his drink and rocked the cup gently, swishing the fluid around. He studied his rippling reflection as if seeking guidance there. "They weren't so lucky," he replied in a soft voice. "They didn't escape."
Damien sat back and stared off into space for a while. It was pretty much what he'd expected to hear, yet he couldn't have helped feeling a tiny bit of hope that maybe they'd escaped too. Father Damien continued staring into his drink and didn't disturb him, apparently understanding what he was feeling. After a very long silence Damien spoke again, slightly halting.
"Last you saw them...were they all right?"
Father Damien shrugged and sighed. "Your mother, she appeared fine; she was always a strong one. I don't know about your father. As much as I hate to say it I think they got to him." He touched Damien's arm. "But take heart, Damien, I know your mother. We did grow up together. They'll never get to her. Ever."
Damien still wasn't convinced. "Then why does she stay with them?"
His uncle looked at him, studying his face, as if trying to determine if Damien were joking or not. "She doesn't," he said, finally deciding Damien simply didn't understand. "She's forced to stay. Plus her husband's in the cult. She won't just leave him."
Now his nephew's voice turned petulant. "Isn't that coercion? Isn't that illegal?"
His uncle sighed again--six years apparently hadn't been enough to learn all the intricacies of being in a cult--and tried to explain. "Of course it is. But this cult has people in high places, Dami, maybe even on the police force. And they're very covert. That's the way all cults are. You can't just storm in on them and free somebody. Chances are they'll have caught wind of what's going on and be gone by the time their hideout is discovered. Either that or they'll be ready and waiting with their guns and attack dogs. So as you can see, it's just not that easy."
"Don't tell me you've given up just like that."
Another look. "I haven't given up, Damien! I never will. Not till your mother--my sister--is out of that cult. I'm just saying that the method you're used to won't work here."
The method you're used to. What was that supposed to mean? Busting in? Did his uncle know everything about him, everything he'd been up to the past fourteen years?
The thought that he might made Damien want to turn red. And not from anger.
He sat back and let his head hang over the back of his chair. He stayed that way for several minutes. Maybe now would be the best time to change the subject. He pulled himself up. "Do you know a man by the name of Derrick--what is it--Derrick Grant?"
Father Damien frowned, puzzled. "No. Should I?"
Damien shrugged. "He seems to have some connection to this cult. He came up to me at the river yesterday and started talking to me about it."
Another frown, this one suspicious. "What did he tell you?"
"Not much. We're supposed to meet tomorrow at Dairy Queen and talk about it."
Father Damien sat back now, still frowning. He shook his head. Something about this bothered him. "I don't know about this, Damien. It sounds kind of fishy if you ask me."
"I don't know either. Maybe he can tell me something useful. He seems to really know about this thing. Would you like to come?"
"I'm not sure. Isn't it just between you and him?"
"Well, that's the way it was planned. But I really don't think he'd mind if you showed up, since you are involved. So what do you say?"
His uncle shrugged. "All right, fine. Just call me when you plan to go and I'll be there."
"Good. He said around noon, so that's when you can expect us to be there. I should get going now." They stood up together. "By the way, where's Harvey and Ez?"
"The kids? Oh, they're around. They have this treehouse of theirs. It's actually not too far from your place, as hard as that may be to believe. They go there every once in a while; it's their big secret hideout." He gave a sly grin. "Nobody's supposed to know about it. Fortunately, though, I do. They trust me that much." They laughed. "Come by again soon, and maybe they'll let you in on it, too. You should hear them talk when you're gone."
"About me?"
A roll of the eyes. "What else? Ever since they met you that's all they ever talk about! Ez has been telling her little friends you gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she always points out the exact spot."
Damien laughed. That was certainly flattering. "Go figure! Y'know, I probably would have done the same thing at their age." He smiled wistfully. "If I'd had the chance. Well, tell them hi for me, and I'll see you tomorrow, Dairy Queen, at noon." He counted off three on his fingers as he spoke.
"All right. See you then." Father Damien showed him to the door, and watched him, smiling and shaking his head, as his nephew got in his Lamborghini and drove away.
* * * * *
The next day they both showed up at Dairy Queen around the same time, meeting each other outside. Damien murmured a greeting to his uncle and glanced inside the plate-glass windows.
"Looks like he's here already," he said, shading his eyes against the glare.
"That's him? Sitting on the right?"
Damien nodded, pushing open the door. "Time to enter the lion's den," he announced, melodramatically, as they entered.
When Derrick saw Father Damien he got the same look he'd had when Damien had commented on the cult's name, his eyes narrowing slightly; however, it was gone by the time they sat down across from him in the booth. Damien leaned back and draped an arm over the seat.
"I didn't know you'd have company," Derrick said by way of introduction, eyeing Father Damien warily. The priest offered a disarming smile, and Derrick seemed to let down his guard. A little.
"This is my uncle, Father Damien," Damien said. They shook hands, though Derrick didn't seem to want to very much. Father Damien noted his odd necklace and tilted his head, attempting to get a better look.
"That's a very interesting choice of jewelry you've got there," he commented.
Derrick looked down; to Damien it seemed his reaction was due to wearing the necklace a lot, since he appeared to have forgotten he even had it on. "Oh, that," he said again, in dismissal. "It's nothing, really."
"What does M stand for?" Father Damien asked. Damien looked at him, curious. It was as if he were pressing for an answer.
Answer to what?
Derrick smiled thinly. "An old girlfriend gave it to me. I forget her name. It must have started with M."
Father Damien nodded, and left it at that. Derrick, on the other hand, tucked his necklace inside his shirt and folded his hands on the tabletop.
"Well, you wanted to ask me some questions," he said. "So what are they?"
"You said this cult had a name--some kind of zodiac thing, was it?" Damien said.
Derrick nodded. "You forgot?" he asked, a little reproachfully.
Damien smiled and offered a shrug. "Sorry. I'm not very up on my astrology."
Derrick relaxed again. "That's all right," he said, as if Damien had committed some kind of faux pas. "It's Scorpio. The Scorpion. Or, in some cases, the Eagle, Dove, Phoenix, or Snake. But usually the Scorpion."
Father Damien's fingers were locked and he placed his chin on them, covering his mouth, staring at Derrick thoughtfully.
"Have I ever seen you before?" he asked suddenly.
"No," Derrick said, giving him a funny look which said, What the hell are you talking about? "Why do you ask?"
He waved his hand at the air. "No real reason. You just remind me of somebody I guess I knew. Anyway, about this cult? What is it you've got to tell us?"
"I really don't know. It was Damien who set up this session. So ask away."
"Why do they call themselves Scorpio?" Father Damien asked. They both looked at him, not having expected him to ask anything else.
"I suppose it has to do with Halloween," Derrick replied after a minute, his voice cautious. "I'm not really sure. Halloween is a really important date on the occult calendar, and it falls on October 31. There's also Devil's Night. Both of these fall under the sign of Scorpio, so maybe that's where they got it. Other than that I can't think of any explanation."
Another nod, and Father Damien sat back, apparently excusing himself from the questioning. Damien sat forward now, taking over.
"Do you know anything about the members of this cult? Their leader? Their rules? Anything?"
Derrick stared at him sideways. "You're really involved in this, aren't you?"
"My parents are in that cult," Damien replied, sounding determined. "I want to know if there's any way I can get them out."
Derrick snorted lightly and picked up a drink he'd ordered before they'd shown up. "Good luck," he said as Father Damien went over to get himself a cup of water. "Nobody gets out of that cult. Not alive, at least. Even the last high priest could attest to that. He was shot." A thoroughly unnerving grin spread across his face as he said this, taking a drink as if in an attempt to hide it.
"So I've heard," Damien replied impatiently. He couldn't care less about that at the moment. His uncle came back and sat down again, taking a drink. "Who's leading it now?"
"I don't know his name," Derrick said. His voice was slightly strained and he glanced at Father Damien's drink. "I don't keep up--"
Father Damien tried to set the cup down but accidentally knocked it over, water spilling across the table. "Nuts," he muttered, reaching out to try to wipe it up. Derrick jerked back from the table with a gasp. The others glanced over at him, surprised.
"Excuse me," he said hastily, and stood up, "I think I don't feel too well. It must be the heat."
"We could get you some water--"
"No, no! No thank you. I don't want to be any trouble." Damien was shocked to discover Derrick really did look sick; he was pale and sweating all of a sudden, and stumbled a little as he headed for the door. "I'll just go home and rest a little."
"Hey, are you okay?" Damien stood up, his uncle following, slightly alarmed, and took Derrick's arm. "You look really sick! Maybe you should sit down. I'll bring the car up, and we'll drive you home. Where do you live?"
"That's--all right--I really don't need--" Damien and Father Damien caught Derrick quickly as he slumped down in a half-faint. One of the attendants from behind the counter rushed up and helped them move him back to the booth. He was shaking now, but seemed to have recovered a little. He glanced around the restaurant, putting a hand to his head.
"I'm okay, really," he stammered. "It's just the heat. I don't take too well to heat. I knew this would be a bad idea," he lamented, as the attendant came back and attempted to place a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. He brushed it away. "No, no thank you, I'm fine." He stood up shakily despite their protests. Father Damien took his arm again to steady him, and glanced down as he did so. Damien sighed with frustration as they made their way for the door. "I can make it home all right. I just need to get someplace cool and lie down. I get these spells once in a while," he said apologetically. He was now edging toward the door as if anxious to get out without seeming rude. "I'm sorry it interrupted us like that, but maybe some other time--"
"Yeah, some other time," Damien echoed. "You just get on home now. You're absolutely sure you don't want us to drive you? You might run off the road."
He shook his head, adamant. "Don't worry about me. These things never last very long, and they always go away for a while. I'll be okay. Thanks, though."
Damien nodded, and watched him slip out the door and walk away quickly down the sidewalk, almost jogging, until he was out of sight. He hoped he wouldn't pass out in the street! He peered at his uncle out of the corner of his eye and saw him watching also. The only difference was, the look on Father Damien's face wasn't worried. It was something else altogether.
**********
Rewritten 2007 version. Not proofed.
CHAPTER FIVE
FAINTING SPELLS
"I CAN TELL you don't like repeating stuff. But I'd like to know everything. Everything you can possibly tell me."
It was another bright and sunny early afternoon, with Damien and his uncle seated in Father Damien's kitchen. Damien had wanted to be up at a decent time for a change, and so had set an alarm clock, though he hadn't gotten to speak with his uncle alone until now--other family members had insisted on coming by and looking his place over and talking with him and hugging him and bringing him presents as Damien was forced to stand in the background, grinding his teeth and trying very hard to curb his patience. They'd all missed their uncle as much as he had, he told himself, so he really had no reason to be rude. It was only Father Damien's glancing his way and seeing his plaintive look that finally put an end to the stream of greetings, and the priest had insisted that he had a church function to go to, but he would see them again soon, other than that he wasn't going anywhere. The presents--mainly baskets of fruit, for some odd reason--were now gathered on the island of the kitchen where Damien and his uncle sat, and the room was empty and silent aside from them; they both had glasses of orange juice but neither was drinking, and both were staring at the mixed fruit in its various baskets but neither was eating. Damien supposed it was the longest he'd ever been silent in his life.
"I haven't much to tell, honestly," Father Damien said at last, not making eye contact. Damien was reminded of Derrick from the day before, but said nothing of it.
"Come on, Uncle," Damien said, frowning. "I was born into a cult, spent the first part of my life there, you got us out through a frigging fire, were almost killed, became a priest, while I lived under a bridge and then got into singing...you tell me there isn't much to say?"
"That's basically the nutshell version of it," Father Damien said, then shrugged when Damien gave him a dirty look. "Fine! But there are more holes in this than in Swiss cheese because Lil...your mother...never really had a chance to tell me much."
"My mother?"
"Lilith. My sister...our family wasn't very well off growing up but we got by. That's not what you're interested in hearing anyway. Not long after we'd left home and started our own lives she just...disappeared. Our parents assumed she found somebody and ran off...that happens a lot...but it just didn't seem right to me. Lilith just wasn't that type, you know?" He blinked, then blushed a little. "Of course you don't! I apologize."
"Did you have any idea where she went to, then? I can guess how worried you must've been..."
"Oh, Lil was...is...much smarter than she would make it seem. I wasn't terribly worried at first, but as time went on..." He sighed. "After some months I found a letter in my mailbox without a return address or a stamp, so somebody must've hand-delivered it. All it said on it was 'Dimmy.' That was what Lil used to call me when we were little." His shoulders sank a little. "I was shaking so much that I didn't know whether to open it or not. I finally decided I had to--she used that name--it must mean she'd sent it somehow. I was hoping everyone was right and she'd just run off somewhere but I knew it wasn't true..." He swirled the orange juice in his glass. "I had to sit down to read it. It wasn't very long and it looked like she wrote it pretty quickly. She always had such nice writing--this was messy and rushed. She pretty much just told me she was all right, something had come up and she'd had to go away somewhere, but I shouldn't worry about her because she'd be fine and she loved me. She said to say hi to Zorro, then she said goodbye."
"Zorro...?" Damien asked, brow furrowing.
"Zorro was the name of our old dog." Father Damien finally took a drink. "He'd died years ago. That's how I knew something was wrong, and Lil couldn't tell me what it was. That was when I truly got worried."
"She must've been made to write it, then," Damien said. "Right?"
"I'm guessing so, because her next letter was a lot different and I didn't get it in the mail. Oh, I took that first letter to the police and told them everything I knew, but it was a strange decade, you know, and everyone just kept saying that maybe she'd run off to join a commune, or maybe she'd gotten pregnant and had run off to find a 'solution.'" Father Damien's nose wrinkled and he set the glass down as if the orange juice had suddenly gone bad. "I can't believe how angry I felt...I still do when I think of how they treated that. I realize that's the way things were back then, but still, Lilith is nothing like that. I couldn't convince anybody to do much about it though. They wouldn't even list her as a runaway as she was an adult. So that was that."
"Feels familiar," Damien murmured half to himself, taking a sip.
"Well...I mentioned the other letter...this is where I found out the truth of what happened. If I said that first one was messy looking, then this one...it was truly awful. It was written in pen and the handwriting was so shaky, it meandered all over the page like she couldn't see what she was doing, and the pen had poked through the paper in places, and she'd scribbled things out...a lot of things...I get the feeling she was trying to keep me from worrying too much, but still, what is one supposed to do? This letter was hand-delivered to me personally. I was walking out of a store one day when someone came up close, bumped into me, and pressed it into my hand--all they said was, 'Watch out'--and they were gone before I had a chance to see them very well. Based on what I read in that letter, your mother took a great risk just in getting it to me, and I do hope nothing was done to her because of that."
"What did it say?" Damien asked.
"She basically told me the truth. She hadn't run away, but had been picked up off the road--she liked to walk by herself sometimes--and forced into a car one evening. She hadn't seen where they were going. All she could say was she'd ended up in this big strange building, and there were lots of other people, and she was told that she was there to 'work.' She didn't say what that meant. But when she said that she'd been arranged to marry someone else in the group, I believe I figured it out. That was your father. His cult name was Lucifer."
"How did he get involved in all this?" Damien asked, confused.
Father Damien could only shrug and shake his head. "I can't say. From what I've heard he was just born into it so it was as normal as night or day. But Lilith...and other women, I'm sure...they were forced in to keep the cult going. At least that's how I figured it out. Why else kidnap total strangers and marry them off? She said that her 'husband'..." he said the word with great difficulty "...wasn't cruel to her, so far, but he insisted there was no way out, and once she was in there, she was in there for good. She said that he promised not to hurt her, but she didn't like the feel of the place, the way the other people acted--especially the leader--and so she was going to try to think of ways to get out. Lucifer was trying to dissuade her but she refused to listen to that. She said that she hoped this letter would reach me, and if it did, I shouldn't try interfering because it could only mean more trouble. When she felt she was in a safe enough situation, she'd try writing me again, and then she might need my help. But I'd have to be patient until then."
"So...what did you do?"
"What else to do? I couldn't take it to the police--I knew how they'd react, plus, it could endanger Lilith. She never said where she was being kept, so there was nothing to go on anyway. All I could do was wait. And it felt like forever before I heard from her again. I was always checking my mailbox, looking under my windshield wipers, glancing at every face in a crowd in case one happened to see me and come my way with a letter. None ever did. When I did get the letter, it was simply stuck under my door. It was written much like the second one--as if she had to finish it in a hurry, and not in very good circumstances--but she seemed in better spirits than before. She said that she was pregnant, and that for some reason she was treated a little bit better because of this, and she believed that she might be getting through to Lucifer--especially now that she was going to make him a father. I found all of this appalling, of course, but I've since learned that things work quite differently in a cult. She seemed optimistic that this might be her chance out. And that was the last I heard from her for years...until you and your brothers and sisters were born, and had grown into children."
"But I was like six years old then!" Damien exclaimed. When the priest nodded he said, "You didn't hear from her for over six years--?"
Father Damien shrugged again. "Her letter...was all I had to go on. All I had to believe in. It agonized me, yes, but her faith has always been much greater than mine. All I could do was trust her. And she held up to that--she did write me once more, and that was when she asked for my help."
"Your help getting out," Damien said.
A nod. "She said that she'd finally convinced Lucifer to assist her, that he was going to help her get all of you out of the compound where you were being kept. He didn't quite believe things the way she did, but he cared about her enough to come with her and try to protect her. At least that's what she said. I didn't know if she should trust him--she'd never even known him until meeting him in that group, why should he be helpful now?--but when she asked that I be in a certain location when they tried to make a run for it, to help get them out of there, I knew she meant it. Lilith isn't quick to act, but when she does, she does so completely. I showed up where she told me to, when she told me to. It was just this big field--I didn't understand. But I didn't question it. She'd never given me reason to question her before--even now I wouldn't."
"I remember you coming along only after the fire--" Damien shuddered. "Only after it all started."
"Well...it was a very big field. And I'm guessing that Lilith hoped you'd all be further across it before your absence was discovered. But somehow, somebody tipped the leader off, and he sent his men after her and your father. I didn't know about any of this as it was happening, I was too far away. It was only when I saw fire start to burn in the distance, and heard voices yelling, that I knew things must have gone wrong. I was supposed to sit and wait for them to come to me, and then get them out of there. But things changed. When they didn't come running, I had to go to them instead. I have no idea what I planned to do--it was totally stupid--but I couldn't think of anything else. I couldn't just sit there."
"I don't remember it very well," Damien lied, preferring not to discuss the dreams he had so frequently. By now, he couldn't even be sure that what he recalled in the dreams was the complete truth of a partial fabrication made up by his unconscious. "Could you tell me?"
"Are you sure you want to know?" Father Damien asked with a frown.
Damien nodded.
The priest took a breath and let it out. "Well...someone tipped off their high priest...Alec Something...I can never remember his name, I suppose it doesn't matter. I remember what Lilith said about him in her letter, that she didn't like the way he did things. So when I saw the fire I knew it must be his doing. When I showed up I saw him standing up on that cliff and yelling all sorts of things--he was wearing this mask--and apparently the punishment he expected to give your parents for disobeying him was he wanted to 'sacrifice' them--and all of you."
"That fire was honestly there for--" Damien's brow furrowed. "He was going to burn us to death--?" When Father Damien nodded and took a drink Damien's mouth fell open. "Who does something like that--? To an entire family--?"
"Someone like this Satanic high priest," Father Damien replied. "Alec...goodness, I wish I could remember that name. It doesn't matter. I heard he's dead." He said this in such an oddly neutral voice that it made even Damien feel a little strange. "In any event when I showed up he wasn't even angry. Thought I would just end up dead like the rest of you. But there was no way I was going to just stay there and let that happen. Lilith refused as well. She told me to take all of you and run for it." His face pinched and he lowered his glass, staring down at it. "I wish I'd insisted that she come with me," he murmured. "But she insisted on staying with him."
"With Dad...?" Damien's own stare drifted toward his glass. Why would she choose him over us...? he thought, confused. If she was forced into marrying him... "Do you have any idea why?" he pressed.
"All I really remember is he didn't look terribly well at the time, but I thought it was just the smoke. Lilith and I were coughing too. But I don't know, maybe before the leader set this all up he..." He trailed off, swirled his glass, and shrugged. "They don't take betrayal lightly there from what little I know. I don't know why Lilith chose him over us. All I can say is she's always cared deeply about everyone, sometimes too much for her own good--" here Damien thought of his own sister, Lilu, again "--and whenever it starts to gnaw at me too much I tell myself that she knew we'd be fine, whereas she couldn't be sure about him. That's the only thing that keeps me from questioning myself every second of the day."
"But you were shot," Damien said.
His uncle nodded and rubbed his left shoulder, perhaps without even knowing. "I wish I'd been able to tell Lil I was all right," he murmured, his eyes going vague as if forgetting that Damien were even there.
"When somebody's shot they don't tend to be 'all right,'" Damien said, snapping him out of it. "I know you played dead so they left you alone. But what about my parents? Are they still alive?"
"Oh--of course," Father Damien said quickly, as if worried that his nephew had formed the wrong impression. "That is..."
"So they were okay, right--?"
"Well..." Father Damien trailed off, and the silence went on for so long that Damien's ears began to ring. "I don't know," he said at last.
"What?" Damien blurted out, almost standing up, the feet of his stool grating against the floor.
Father Damien held up a hand. "Damien, I said I played dead, but that doesn't mean I acted everything. I hoped to wait it out and go back after them when I could, but I just couldn't. The noises seemed to go on forever and I just passed out. When I came to, they were all gone and the fire was out. I had to get out of there and get to a hospital anyway since it was like the middle of nowhere."
"The cops--?"
"I told them I was cleaning it and it just went off. Nobody looked into it except for me. I never found out more. They figured the burnt area in the field was the work of pranksters and didn't do a thorough search. When they were gone, I did. But the only blood I found was my own," he said at last as soon as Damien opened his mouth, "so I took that as a good sign. Your parents were alive when they were taken away."
"But that was years ago," Damien said, his shoulders slumping.
"And I've been keeping an eye on the newspapers as carefully as I can since then. Trust me, Dami, they're still out there. It's...I know you'll say it's silly, but it's a gut feeling I have. Sometimes, all you can do is just believe in something without question. That's how I feel. About Lilith, at least. She's always been very strong, and even if they still have her they'll never get to her."
Damien just stared darkly at his glass. "Then why did she pick him over us?" he muttered. "Why does she stay with them?"
Father Damien blinked. After a moment he leaned over the island and gave Damien a hard stare as if to make sure he wasn't kidding. "She--doesn't stay with them, Damien!" he exclaimed at last, in disbelief. "Is that honestly what you've been thinking? You saw what they did when she did try to escape. No matter how she met him Lucifer's still her husband and he did risk everything to help her. She won't just leave him--and she can't just leave anyway. That's how cults are."
"But if they're keeping her there, making her stay, isn't that--I dunno--coercion?" Damien protested. "And isn't that illegal? Isn't that enough to get the cops involved--?"
Father Damien stared at him another moment before letting out a heavy sigh and sinking back onto his stool. "Damien...there are some things you need to learn about how this works. Cults don't abide by the same laws and rules we do. I know you're not stupid, so maybe you just don't want to see it. And based on what Lil said in her letters, the direct approach isn't something that'll work much either. She said not to involve the police not only because it could make things worse, but because they could be in on it, too." When Damien's eyes lifted from his glass, wide, the priest nodded. "Not all or most of them, but one here and there. That's all it takes is one. It took one person to tip them off about the escape, didn't it? All it takes is one bad apple to ruin the bunch and put people's lives in danger. Believe me, I've tried everything in my own power to find out what I can do, and I don't even know where these people are headquartered--I bet even if they do have some place set up, they'd find a way to bail out before the police came. There were just too many leaks and coincidences--for all I know it was the person who gave me that letter who set Lilith up. I'm not going to endanger her that way. And it's not like I can just charge out there and find them."
"Don't tell me you've given up already," Damien insisted.
"I haven't given up, Damien. I never will." Father Damien spoke with a sort of exasperated patience. "I'm simply saying that the method you're used to won't work here."
The method I'm used to--? Damien's mind echoed, and he blinked, feeling his shoulders tense. He gave his uncle a furtive look, as if trying to tell what he must know, but Father Damien was taking a drink of orange juice and staring wearily at the nearest fruit basket. After a moment more of this Damien forced himself to relax and let out a breath, deciding that this was the best time to change the subject. "Do you know a guy by the name of Derrick--Derrick Grant?" he asked at last, pulling himself up in his seat and leaning on the island.
Father Damien looked up with a frown, puzzled. "No. Should I?"
Damien shrugged. "I'm not sure. He just came up to me yesterday out of the blue and started talking about this same cult. The way he talked, I thought he might know as much about it as you, if not more."
Father Damien's frown grew. "He came up and started talking, just like that...?" When Damien nodded the priest's look grew suspicious. "I don't know about this, Dami. It sounds kind of fishy if you ask me."
"That's what I was thinking. But what you just said made me wonder. That guy who gave you Mom's message. There are people out there in the know who aren't necessarily 'with them,' wouldn't you think?"
"Recall I said this person could just as easily have been the same one who gave us away."
"Yeah, I know...but still, I managed to wrangle it out of him to meet tomorrow at DQ to talk some more. The way I figure it, we're in a public place, it's not like he's going to shoot me." He shrugged again and sipped his juice. "Wanna come? Chances are he's just some kook, but maybe we'll learn something."
"I'm not sure. Isn't it between just you and him?"
"Well, that's the way it was planned. But he shouldn't mind too much if you show up, since you're into this too. And besides, I'm pretty much the one who planned it all out. I get the feeling that after he came up to me and said his piece, he hardly wanted to talk anymore!" Damien rolled his eyes.
"Well, that shows that he evidently doesn't know you," Father Damien said, and Damien's mouth twitched. "Since you never let anything go! All right then, I'll try to show up...when did you say it was?"
"Tomorrow, around noonish. Gave him enough time to think up some stuff to say in case he really is just a kook." He stood up, finished off his glass of juice, and stretched. "I should get going now, I guess. The others are going to strangle me for keeping you all to myself. By the way, where's Harvey and Ez?"
"The kids? Oh, they're around. They have this treehouse of theirs. It's actually not too far away from your place, as hard as that may be to believe. They go there every once in a while; it's their big secret hideout. They like to pretend nobody knows about it." A sly grin crept up his face. "Fortunately, though, I do. They trusted me enough with that." When Damien laughed he stood up as well and walked around the island. "Stop by again soon and maybe they'll let you in on it, too. Goodness, you should just hear the way they talk when you're gone."
"About me?"
The priest rolled his eyes. "What else? Ever since they met you that's all they talk about! Ez has even been telling all her little friends that you gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she always points out the exact spot."
Damien laughed again, this time truly surprised. "Go figure! I'm not sure even I would've had a crush at her age." His smile turned vaguely wistful. "If I'd had the chance." He coughed before the atmosphere could grow gloomy again. "Well, sorry I missed them. Not really." This time his uncle's mouth twitched. "Tell them hi for me, and I'll see you tomorrow, Dairy Queen, at noon." He counted off three on his fingers as he spoke.
Father Damien nodded. "All right. You take care until then." He waved as Damien exited through the sliding-glass doors, and picked up his glass, swirling it as he mulled over all that they'd talked about so far.
* * * * *
The next day they both showed up at Dairy Queen around the same time, parking in the tiny lot beside it and meeting on the sidewalk out front. It was a hot day and so a group of people was gathered at the outside window, waiting for ice cream; Damien and his uncle stood a bit apart from them, peering in the plate-glass windows with their painted signs.
"Looks like he's here early," Damien commented, shielding his eyes from the glare.
Father Damien craned his neck a little. "That's him? Over on the right?" Damien nodded. "He's got a jacket on; I hate to say it but is he crazy? The only reason I wear black is because I have to."
Damien snorted. "He was wearing that at the river, too. I dunno, maybe he has a skin condition! Anyway, time to enter the lion's den," he said, and opened the door with a melodramatic flourish. Father Damien rolled his eyes but went in first, followed by his nephew.
The inside of the small restaurant wasn't nearly as crowded as it could have been, given that most people were taking their desserts over to the park across the street instead. Derrick lifted his head immediately on hearing the door open and when he saw Father Damien he got an odd look, his eyes narrowing slightly; however, the look was gone by the time they joined him in his booth. Damien leaned back and draped an arm over the seat.
"I didn't know you'd have company," Derrick said by way of introduction, his eyes shifting toward Father Damien almost warily. When the priest offered a disarming smile he seemed to relax, but only a little.
"This is my uncle, Father Damien," Damien said, and the two shook hands, though Derrick didn't terribly seem to want to. When he drew his hand back Damien saw his uncle tilt his head to the side as if trying to get a better look at something, though from his position he couldn't be sure what.
"That's an interesting choice of necklace," the priest said, and in Damien's mind the mystery was resolved; he remembered the little "M" necklace Derrick had nearly lost near the river.
Derrick glanced down at it; to Damien the action seemed almost like a reflex motion, as if he were so used to the necklace that he'd forgotten he was wearing it. "Oh--that," he said, and gave a dismissive wave. "It's nothing...I didn't even choose it."
"What does 'M' stand for, if I might ask?"
Now Damien gave his uncle an odd look but found himself ignored.
Derrick smiled thinly in response. "An old girlfriend gave it to me," he replied. "I forget her name. It must've started with M."
Father Damien nodded and left it at that, sitting back. Derrick, on the other hand, tucked the necklace inside his shirt and folded his hands on the tabletop; Damien mentally puzzled over the odd little exchange but decided not to question it. He brought his own arm down off of the seat back.
"Well, you said you had questions," Derrick said now. "So go right ahead. But I can't promise anything useful."
"You said this cult had a name--some kind of zodiac thing?" Damien asked.
Derrick frowned. "You forgot?" he asked, his voice sounding vaguely reproachful.
Damien just smiled and shrugged. "Sorry, but I don't read the tabloids. I've never been much into astrology."
Derrick relaxed again. "That's all right," he said, as if Damien had committed some kind of faux pas. "It's Scorpio. The Scorpion. Sometimes the Eagle or Snake, but usually the Scorpion."
Damien turned to his uncle and waved his hand. "What'd I tell you? He knows stuff. And he says he doesn't know much. And they say people don't know modesty these days."
"I never said..." Derrick started, only to trail off when he noticed the look Father Damien was giving him. Damien looked as well, more curious than anything. The priest had locked his fingers and was resting his chin upon them, staring at Derrick in a way that made him squirm a little; when they all fell silent he suddenly spoke up.
"Have I ever seen you before?" he asked.
Derrick blinked. "What--? No," he said, seeming genuinely confused. "Not that I recall. Why are you asking...?"
Father Damien shook his head. "No real reason...I guess you just reminded me of somebody, that's all. Anyway...Damien said you had something to talk about?"
"I really don't know," Derrick said, a note of spite entering his voice. "He was the one who called this meeting. So ask away."
"Do you have any idea why this group calls themselves Scorpio?" Father Damien asked before Damien could even open his mouth. Damien frowned but decided not to interrupt, and just shrugged and waved when Derrick glanced at him. He supposed it was as good a starting point as any.
"Not...not really," Derrick said at last, brow furrowing. "I mean...they're supposed to have been around a while...stuff like that kind of gets lost in the long run. I'd guess it has to do with Halloween. That's a big occult holiday, and it falls under Scorpio. That's really all I can offer." Another look at Damien. "That's what this is going to be about? I thought you had real questions to ask!"
"And I thought you didn't have any answers," Damien retorted, earning a venomous look in return. "If you want real questions, then I've got them. Do you know anything useful about this cult? Its members? Their leader? Their rules? Anything?"
Derrick blinked again as soon as Damien said useful, and his face went slightly red; Damien sensed that he'd touched a nerve, but somehow Derrick kept himself from saying anything about it. "I already told you a million times I don't know those sort of things," he said instead. "And you're the one who seems to be really involved in this, aren't you?"
"My parents are in that cult," Damien replied, "and if someone suddenly shows up saying they know about it, then yes I'm going to get involved. I want to get them out."
Derrick snorted and picked up a cup of soda he'd ordered before they'd arrived. "Well--good luck," he said as Father Damien got up and went to the counter to ask for a cup of ice water. "From what I've heard, nobody gets out of that cult. Not alive, at least. I'd tell you to ask the old high priest, but he's dead." A thoroughly unnerving grin spread across his face, and he took a drink as if to hide it.
"So I've heard," Damien replied with a twinge of impatience, Father Damien sipping from his ice water as he rejoined them in the booth. Derrick glanced at him and all the amusement faded from his face but Damien ignored it. "Who's leading it now, then? Since I doubt they'd still be around without a leader, right?"
"I wouldn't know his name," Derrick replied, his voice sounding a little strained. He seemed strangely absorbed in what Father Damien was doing, so much so that Damien was growing irritated. "That's not the kind of thing one tends to--"
Father Damien tried to set the cup down but accidentally knocked it over, and the ice clattered out of it, the water spilling across the table. "Nuts," he muttered, grabbing the nearest napkin and trying to wipe it up. Some of it spilled over Derrick's side of the table and he suddenly leapt out of the booth with a gasp. Damien found himself wondering just how cold the ice water must be to warrant such a panicked reaction as that, and stuck his finger in the growing puddle curiously. Father Damien glared at him.
"You could be useful and give me some more napkins," he groused, and Damien flushed and pulled some out of the dispenser before looking back up at Derrick. He blinked in surprise at the change that had come over him, and elbowed his uncle to make him look as well. Derrick was staring at the water as it trickled off of the tabletop and into the seat he'd just been occupying, and it looked like someone had just tried to set him on fire instead of splashing him.
"Excuse me," he said, as soon as he noticed their stares. "I think I don't feel too well...it must be the heat."
"It's air conditioned up the wazoo in here," Damien whispered to his uncle, who elbowed him in the ribs and put down some more napkins to soak up the mess.
"I'm sorry--I didn't mean to do that," the priest apologized. "I could get you some more water--"
"No!" Derrick blurted out, then, when they both gaped at him, "No--no thank you. I don't want to be any trouble." He took a step or two away from the table and toward the door. "I'll just go home and rest a little. Sorry to have to cut this short."
"Hey," Damien said, now standing up but unable to leave the booth until his uncle did. He saw how ashen gray Derrick's face had gone, how he was now sweating and shaking a little as he edged toward the exit. Alarm lit through him. "You really do look sick!" Father Damien exited the booth, now wiping off the seat, and Damien approached the other man. "Maybe you should just sit down, okay? I'll bring the car up, and drive you home. Where do you live?"
"That's--that's all right. I really don't need--" Derrick's eyes rolled back in his head and it was only Damien's quick reflexes that kept him from hitting the floor; the singer grabbed him by the arm, Father Damien abandoning his cleaning efforts and doing the same, and together they eased him into the nearest chair while one of the attendants behind the counter came out and hurried over to the drinking fountain in the other side of the room. Derrick was shaking now, but seemed to have recovered a little. He glanced furtively around the restaurant and put a hand to his head, letting out a breath.
"I'm okay, really," he insisted. "It's just the heat. I don't take too well to a lot of heat. I knew this was a bad idea," he lamented, as the attendant came back and attempted placing a cool wet cloth on his forehead. But Derrick only brusquely brushed it away. "No, no thank you--I'm fine." He managed to stand up despite their efforts to keep him seated, gently pulling his arm from Father Damien's grasp and pulling his jacket sleeve back down. Damien let out a sigh of frustration but didn't protest as he made his way to the door, walking a bit unsteadily but carefully. "I can make it home all right. I just need to get someplace cool and lie down for a while. I get these spells now and then," he said to the priest, as if by way of apology, edging ever closer to the door. "They're not serious though, just inconvenient. Sorry I have to cut this short; maybe some other time..."
WHAT other time? Damien felt pressed to ask, but instead forced himself to say, "Yeah...some other time. Sorry to call you out on such a bad day. You're sure you don't want us to drive you? You could run off the road or something."
Derrick shook his head adamant. "Don't worry about me. These things never last very long, and they always go away pretty fast. I'll be okay. Thanks, though." He put his hand on the doorknob and opened it.
"You might consider not wearing a jacket in the middle of summer," Damien called after him. "I don't think it exactly helps!"
"True," Derrick said, and forced a smile. "I'll keep that in mind. See you later, then." He slipped outside. The door swung shut behind him and then he was gone.
Damien snorted, staring out the window. "Cripes! What a stupid meeting. I think you're right, Uncle; what kind of nutjob wears a jacket in the middle of summer--?" He glanced at his uncle, expecting an eye roll of agreement or something similar. Which was why he was so perplexed when the look he saw on Father Damien's face wasn't exasperation, or worry about Derrick's physical state. It was something else altogether.
Continue:
"6: Late Pursuits" 
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