The Necromancer (14 page)

Susanna squirmed, but Ambrose had taken hold of

her other arm now and the attendants continued to linger on her legs, holding them secure.

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The woman squatted down as her tongue snaked

between her legs.

“Enough of this,” Ambrose said.

At once, the tongue retreated back to the bed of the woman’s mouth, and the attendants released Susanna’s legs.

“Proceed,” Ambrose said.

The woman continued with the rite.

Susanna looked at Ambrose, and his eyes riveted her to his will. Mere niceties would no longer be enough to compel her acquiescence. It was regrettable, but he had to bend her will with enchantments. In time she would love him again. In time, she might even overcome her newfound fear of him.

Until then, however, enchantments would have to suffi ce.

“And do you, Susanna Harrington of Salem Village, take Ambrose Blayne to be thy husband; to honor and obey him for as long as thy spirit has radiance?”

Susanna. Stop. Do not go with him. You have the

means.

The echo of Robert Eames’s words clamored in her head. She thought of her material body again, making a vivid picture of it in her mind.
I have the means
, she kept thinking, knowing from her previous success that she did.

But, try as she did, she could not go back. She strained her mind to its limit. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even close her eyes to break Ambrose’s spell on her.

Then she felt her mouth open and her vocal cords vibrate. And in that instant, her ears picked up the sound among the cacophony of revelry of her own voice saying: “I do.”

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At that moment, the world was Hell. Susanna was

damned. Chaos surrounded her. The celebrants’ mingled torments and pleasures resounded louder than before, as if in acknowledgement of her new fallen status.

She hadn’t willed those words. They weren’t hers.

Ambrose must have made her say them some way. But it didn’t matter. They were married now; perhaps not in the eyes of God, but married nevertheless, albeit by a ceremony counter to God’s design.

The implications and consequences of such a marriage weren’t completely accessible to Susanna, but she knew that her soul was in jeopardy, if not already lost forever. What could she do now? Would she ever fi nd grace with the Lord again?

She didn’t know, but she was determined to try. At the fi rst opportunity she would escape, and later repent for her poor judgment.

As Ambrose leaned in to give his new bride a kiss, she started her mantra again.

Her body accepted the kiss, though she was unwilling.

Ambrose slid his hand down her back, tucking the tips of his fi ngers between the crevice of her buttocks before continuing down her leg. When it reached the back of her knee, he pulled her thigh up to his waist and plunged his member inside her.

Susanna wept.

The pain she experienced seemed limitless. Though this was her subtle body, she still felt the pain of a broken hymen acutely. But she imagined she would experience a great deal of pain even if she wasn’t a virgin. He was big and hot inside her, stretching the limits of the sheath that she was to him.

He orchestrated her lithe body to sing a chorus of sin.

A caress. A kiss. A bite. She performed the same acts Odara 123

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used to perform on him in the same manner she used to perform them. Ambrose remembered all the little sensualities of love which his sister had bestowed upon him. With a casual thought he made Susanna nibble on his earlobe or brush her fi ngers through his hair the way Odara once did. And for him, Odara was alive again, and he wasn’t going to let her go.

He turned her around and fell on her. They hit

the ground with a thud. He pushed his cock into her hard, sodomizing her violently in the intoxication of his lust.

Susanna cried out. She tried to disconnect herself from the situation as much as possible and hopefully return to her body.

She repeated her mantra desperately to herself as he rammed into her from behind
: I must return. I have the means. I must return.

She could feel it starting to work again, but Ambrose commanded her to look back at him, and her body had to obey.

To her chagrin, she saw not Ambrose, but a thing...an animal. She would have surely thrashed herself to death if she hadn’t lost control of her body.

The rapist had the head of a boar, its black snout dripping with snot, its black lips dripping with drool. She could smell its rank animal stench, its unclean body, mingling with the stench of her churning bowels. Its fi lthy hands kneaded the soft fl esh of her hips and ass. She felt its stinking hot breath on the back of her neck. She wished she had never been born to suffer this.

She turned her head away and cringed, quivering with her eyes shut tight, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I must return. I have the means. I must return.

The creature shot its fi lthy spunk into her bowels, withdrew, smearing shit across her backside, and ejaculated its remaining fl uids onto her ass and back.

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I must return. I must.

The creature backed off her and collapsed onto the ground, breathing laboriously, its eyeballs roving perversely, as if drugged.

Susanna was able to move again. She crawled away from the thing, sore and weeping, and wished herself back to her body. This time she returned, snapping back into herself in seconds.

She opened her eyes.

The ointment had worn off. She was no longer

paralyzed.

She sat bolt upright and noticed a small amount of blood and excrement coming out from between her legs.

It was not a dream
, she thought
. It happened. It was real.

Ambrose and Jessica were still lying rigid on either side of her. They looked dead. She had to leave. She had to do it now, before they woke up.

She rose clumsily to her feet, pains in her bowels and loins reminding her it was not a dream, and left the circle.

She saw the robe she had worn when she fi rst came downstairs draped over the back of a chair. There was no way she was going to put that on again. She ran upstairs to get her clothes.

She grabbed a dress and a pair of shoes and ran back down, but waiting at the bottom landing was Anster, and he wasn’t going to allow her to leave.

She took another step, and the dog growled.

She stepped down again. This time, Anster barked.

Susanna feared the barking would wake her captors, so she retreated.

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She ran back to her room and closed the door behind her, not knowing what else to do. She walked to the window and peered out into the dark of the back yard and the woods beyond. She didn’t want to jump, but she was desperate.

Besides, it really wasn’t that high up, and the soil below was soft. The consequences of the fall were less threatening than the alternative, so she opened the window and tossed her clothes through it. She stuck her legs out and sat on the sill for a moment, then turned over onto her stomach. The sharp edge of the windowsill hurt as she slid her belly and breasts over it and fi nally hung from her hands alone.

She took a deep breath and let go. She fell hard and fast, her naked body becoming imbedded with splinters as it brushed up against the clapboards. She hit the dirt heels fi rst, then fell fl at on her backside.

She was banged up, but otherwise she was fi ne; more than fi ne—she was free.

She sat up facing the house. She was a little stunned and shaken up by her fall, but she was beginning to feel better.

She turned around. Anster sat silently before her, staring. She gasped and fl inched, backing into the wall.
How
did he get out?
She wondered. All the doors and windows were closed and locked, except for the window she just jumped from, and she knew he couldn’t have followed her from there.

She stood trembling, afraid that her slightest

movement would set the dog off barking or worse. She stepped aside, and the dog mirrored her motion. He moved when she moved; he stopped when she stopped. She wished she was dressed. She felt all the more vulnerable for her nakedness, but she had no time to dress. She felt it absolutely imperative that she leave immediately, modesty be damned. She could put her clothes on later. Now she needed to act.

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One of her shoes lay less than a foot away from her. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough. She crouched down on her haunches cautiously and reached for it, never once taking her eyes off Anster. The dog simply watched, apparently not sensing her intentions. She picked it up, then rose to her feet.

She had never liked the dog. For some reason, she always felt like it was too wild to live among people. There was something very brutal and primordial about it, something she found strongly offensive, and as a consequence she always kept a safe distance away from it. She couldn’t bring herself to pet it, and it didn’t seem to mind this. Unlike most other domesticated dogs, this one seemed content to be left alone even though it still remained loyal and obedient its master.

Now she was at Anster’s mercy, and she was certain she could expect little of that. If the animal so chose, it could bark and alert its master of his bride’s escape attempt or it could rend her to bloody chunks and suffer the repercussions of its master’s wrath later. In any case, she had to do something.

She took a step toward him, holding out her left hand—the empty one—palm down, as if to stroke him.

He snarled and rose to a defensive posture.

She stopped for a second, then took another step forward.

He snarled again, not giving up any ground.

She took one more step toward him. He barked and snapped at her. She reacted quickly and bashed him in the side of the head with the heel of the shoe, putting out one of the dog’s eyes. It howled and yelped for a moment, then delivered a series of furious barking chomps at the hand she extended toward him.

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She was baiting him, and he was falling for it. Every time he came close enough, she slammed him in the head with the shoe, bloodying the animal further.

Blood ran down the side of his face from his maimed eye and torn scalp. The fur around his head and neck grew red and tacky. His snout was gashed in several places, and small fl aps of soggy hide dangled loosely as he continued to bark and snap and shake his head from side to side.

Susanna landed one last blow to Anster’s skull and it split open. The dog’s head unfolded in layers, revealing the dark red lining of its furry skin. The animal became infected with tearing. The rip in its scalp spread down his back and trunk, down his legs and tail. Blood-fi lled gashes branched out from the fresh wounds and created other avenues of suffering.

Beneath the blood and fur, the anatomy was mutating.

Pulp pushed out through muscles; bones cracked and shattered, spewing out marrow; innards roiled and snaked and sputtered. The skull, half-split and fully exposed now but for some blood and slime, creaked, and then crumbled in on itself as the jaw opened wide and dislocated. It cried out miserably, as if begging for God’s help, but this creature was a poor damned thing, and God would have none of it.

Susanna held her ears, dropped to her knees, and retched until the sour contents of her stomach roared past her ears and out of her mouth and nostrils in chunks and pale liquid. Her face was covered with cold, stale sweat. Her hands trembled over her ears as she heaved dryly and attempted to block out the beast’s horrible cries.

She looked up. There was nothing to indicate that what stood here now was, at one time, a dog.

It stood bloody, contorting and twisting itself inside out, recreating itself. Somehow, it now looked several times larger than it had originally. It stood nearly erect now and 128

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smoldered with a foul-smelling gas which steamed from the pores of its exoskeleton in a phosphorescent mist that hung about it in an aura.

It wore its bones like armor, bones that breathed noxious gases, bones that suppurated, bones that were malleable. Its head looked like a clam set on its side with a green and lifeless eye on either shell. When it breathed the shells parted slightly, revealing rows upon rows of jagged teeth, then closed again.

It advanced upon her and shrieked, opening the clam widely, revealing the gummy dark meat and tendons inside.

Susanna screamed and passed out.

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130

Roger Harrington’s Journal—

3 June—I fear Susanna is gone forever. Sheriff Corwin has called off the search for her and that Reverend Blayne who stole her away. I am losing everyone

dearest to my heart, and am helpless to do anything about it. Martha’s condition continues to worsen, and if it weren’t for that, I would surely be searching for Susanna myself. As it is, I have neglected my chores so that I may care for her. Martha’s health is ever declining, and needs to be tended to vigorously, and I fear, even with the Bakers’ assistance, that she is soon to follow the same course of degeneration as our beloved Phoebe. No medicine, tincture, or treatment of any brand we have given her seems to yield any positive effect. There is no relief of pain or abatement of symptoms. I don’t leave her side for fear of her coming to crisis in my absence. Though there is little I can do for her, I may still be able to comfort her. I do not know how I shall confront her passing, for though it be unbearable to consider, I fear she has not much time left in this World, and I could not tolerate the thought of her dying alone and affrighted in her own bed—our 131

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bed. If she too leaves me, I think I shall never again sleep in that bed, if I am able to sleep at all. Dear Lord, please—I beg of You—do not take her from me, watch over Susanna, that she be well, and care for my poor Phoebe’s spirit in Heaven.