Queen Of Blood

CHAPTER TEN

Giselle Burkhardt opened her eyes in darkness. She was back. She felt the cold steel of the cage beneath her bottom. Giselle sat upright and grasped the bars of her prison. Then she pulled them apart as easily as a child deconstructing a clumsily assembled Lego building, the steel yielding with stunning ease to her strength. She climbed out of the cage and dropped to the floor. Instinct guided her to the room’s only point of egress, a place where the texture of reality was thinner and more susceptible to the manipulation of magic. She splayed her hands on the cool stone wall and focused her will.

It was easy.

A door formed in the wall. It swung open before her and she stepped into a large room that was a precise replica of the Master’s old chambers. The door closed behind her, its outline vanishing instantly. An odd sense of peace settled within her as she surveyed the uncannily familiar surroundings. Giselle had emerged from her dank and freezing prison a changed woman. It was as if she’d shed an old skin with her passage back through Azaroth’s portal. The missing parts of her body had been restored, obviously, but there was an inner change as well.

The murder of Eddie and his woman seemed to have erased the last traces of her conscience. She was no longer a redeemed sinner. There was fresh blood on her hands. Innocent blood. She’d taken it willingly, even eagerly. So she was no longer afraid to shrink from the core truth about herself. She was a murderer. A sadist. And by killing Eddie she’d unleashed the tamed beast she’d kept hidden in the darkest part of her soul f or so long.

She thought of Eddie and tried to feel some trace of her former feelings for him, but those feelings now seemed as dead as he was.

She had done it fast, sprinting across the apartment’s living room floor toward the oblivious couple seated on the sofa. They were watching a movie and laughing. Their arms were around each other, the woman’s head on Eddie’s shoulder. Giselle gripped a handful of Eddie’s hair and yanked his head back. Eddie gagged as his eyes rolled up to look at her. His woman screamed. There was a moment of recognition in Eddie’s terrified expression. His eyes may have expressed pain over the betrayal. The knife slashed across his throat, blood leaping from the gash as Eddie’s woman disengaged herself from the dying man and tumbled to the floor. She got to her feet and ran for the door. Giselle hurried after her, moving with the speed and grace of a wolf. Unnatural, unhuman speed. She gripped the screaming woman by the shoulder, spun her around, and slammed her against the door. Then she drove the knife through yielding flesh, plunging it in just below the sternum. The woman screamed and thrashed some more, but Giselle held her in place with a strong hand to the throat. She held the knife in place a moment, coldly holding her agonized gaze, then yanked it out and thrust it in again to the hilt. The woman died and Giselle returned to Eddie and drank blood from his still-bubbling wound, knowing the obscenity would further honor Azaroth and the other death gods.

Killing the woman hadn’t been strictly necessary. But it had seemed the right thing to do. So she had killed the woman, a primal, reptilian part of her enjoying the act of senseless murder. She had a feeling Azaroth and the other death gods would appreciate the additional blood offering. And even in the midst of those savage moments she’d known that something within her had changed forever.

Now, standing here in Ms. Wickman’s lovingly recreated version of the Master’s chambers, Giselle understood that other things had also changed, including her immediate plans for the future. The things she wanted now were no longer the things she’d coveted prior to summoning Azaroth.

A full-length oval mirror on a swivel-stand caught her attention. She walked over to it and a ppraised her reflection. She was as flawless as ever, her flesh porcelain-white, body slender and shapely. Her face was delicately beautiful, almost angelic, with exquisitely fine lines and angles that belied her capacity for savagery. Her long hair was jet-black and straight, a shimmering raven mane that starkly contrasted her pale flesh.

Giselle smiled. She looked good.

Better than ever, in fact.

She turned from the mirror and moved past the large four-poster bed to the French doors at the end of the room. One of the doors was standing open. Giselle moved through it and stood on a long balcony. She moved to the edge of the balcony, braced her hands on the metal rail and looked down. The vista that unfurled below took her breath away. The balcony was high in the air, maybe as much as a half mile above the ground. The landscape beneath was a pockmarked, blasted place. The red terrain made her think of pictures she’d seen of the surface of Mars. She spied a big bonfire in the distance and a thick haze of black smoke rising toward the horizon. Teams of men in black hoods worked together to haul huge stones of varying chiseled shapes in the direction of the bonfire. Other men with machine guns and whips prodded them onward.

These activities were likely connected to Ms. Wickman’s own efforts to appease—and draw power from—the death gods. The thought made Giselle smile. Ms. Wickman was powerful and ruthless, but she did not have Azaroth on her side.

Giselle turned away from the tableau of horrors and returned to the bedroom. This time she went directly to the bed and spread herself across the plush and luxuriant feather mattress. She let out a low groan of satisfaction and rolled across the mattress a time or two, reveling in the decadent cradle of comfort. Then she repositioned herself, propping her head on the plump pillows and staring up at the heavy velvet canopy.

She heard a cough and turned her head to see a bare-chested man with a studded leather collar around his throat. The man was lean and sinewy, the exposed flesh of his torso a map of scars and abrasions. He stared at Giselle with eyes that were wide with fear and confusion.

Giselle eyed him coldly. “Stop your gawking, boy, and go fetch your Mistress.”

The man flinched as if slapped, then turned and hurried across the room. He tripped and tumbled to the floor, smacking his head against a marble pedestal. A sculpted bust of someone Giselle failed to recognize rolled off the pedestal and split in half as it struck the floor. The man scrambled to his feet and resumed his flight from the room.

Giselle closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift. It was amazing how at peace she felt now. Life was so much easier minus the tiresome complications of moral concerns. The apparent obliteration of her conscience did not alarm her. One risked these things when making deals with gods, especially of the darker variety. She fell into a sleep state, entering a dream in which she sat on a high throne made of gold. An audience of slaves knelt in rows below her, chanting, their arms extended in praise of their queen.

Then the creak of a door opening roused her from the dream state, and her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head and saw Ms. Wickman and a coterie of followers enter the room. Ms. Wickman, as always, was elegantly attired, wearing a simple black dress with a hemline just above her knees. She wore black stockings and black heels. A single strand of glittering white pearls encircled her throat. The last time Giselle had seen Ms. Wickman she’d worn her long brown hair down, but now her hair was gathered in a bun at the back of her head, the way she’d always worn it during her time as the Master’s top servant and de facto second-in-command.

Two of Ms. Wickman’s entourage were muscular men clad in black, militaristic uniforms, complete with gleaming black jackboots and crisp black caps. These men flanked her. Both were armed, one with a machine gun, the other bearing a sidearm in a holster. Giselle felt a faint flicker of amusement. In so many ways Ms. Wickman had exactly resurrected aspects of the Master’s former regime. Behind the guards was an assortment of Apprentices and servants, among them the bare-chested slave Giselle had sent to fetch Ms. Wickman.

Giselle stifled a giggle as Ms. Wickman paused next to the pedestal and stared at the shattered bust. There was a subtle atmospheric change in the room, a gathering of energy sensed by all present. No one said a word, but some of the Apprentices were smirking, sensing what was coming. Even Giselle felt a surge of excitement as she felt Ms. Wickman’s always considerable anger build and build.

Ms. Wickman at last lifted her gaze from the shattered bust and looked in Giselle’s direction. She smiled. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, dear, but I need to address a housekeeping issue first.”

She turned and brushed past the armed guards, her head down like a bull’s as she strode purposefully toward the cowering, bare-chested slave. He shook his head, whimpered, and held his hands out in a beseeching way. He backed away, but Ms. Wickman moved fast. In a moment she had the man’s head locked in her strong hands. Then there was a sickening snap and the slave fell dead to the floor.

One of the Apprentices, a young girl with pale skin and golden blonde hair, applauded. “Bravo.”

Ms. Wickman smoothed her dress and smiled at the girl. “Thank you, Gwendolyn. Could you get rid of this…mess for me?”

Gwendolyn smiled. “Of course.” She unfurled a whip and snapped it at two nearby slaves, barking strident instructions at them as the whip peeled away strips of their flesh. The slaves worked together to hurriedly haul the dead slave from Ms. Wickman’s quarters. Gwendolyn and two other Apprentices followed them out.

Ms. Wickman made eye contact with Giselle now, holding it as she circled the bed and came to a stop on the side nearest the French doors. Giselle shifted position slightly, rolling to her left a bit to better observe her adversary.

“I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished, Giselle.” Ms. Wickman’s tone was even and devoid of any hint of emotion. Amazing. The woman’s self-control was remarkable. “Clearly you possess magical capabilities far beyond what I suspected. In retrospect, I should’ve had you killed immediately.”

The guard with the sidearm moved toward the bed.

“Should I execute this woman, Mistress?”

Then Ms. Wickman smiled again and said, “No, Captain. This…girl…presents no threat. Stand back, please.”

The guard nodded and retreated to his former position.

Ms. Wickman said, “You puzzle me, Giselle.”

Giselle arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose I should have you killed now, as the Captain suggests, but my curiosity has been aroused.” She licked her lips and allowed her gaze to slowly travel the length of Giselle’s naked body before again settling on her face. “I would like to know some things. For instance, with your level of ability, you could easily have escaped this place already. Instead you summoned me. Why?”

Giselle smiled. “Because I do not wish to escape.”

Now it was Ms. Wickman’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s surprising, given the nasty things that have been done to you here.”

Giselle raised one of her restored hands, bending it at the wrist for better display. “Nothing that was permanent, as you can see.” She lowered her hand and smiled again. “You’ll want to know about that, of course. A god assisted me. Do you have any direct experience with the death gods, Ms. Wickman?”

Ms. Wickman’s gaze hardened. “I do not.” Her terse manner indicated this was an admission she was furious to have to make in front of her followers. “But I know a death god would not assist you without a suitable offering…”

“A sacrifice, you mean.” Giselle moved a hand over the empty patch of bedsheet next to her, enjoying the feel of the smooth silk beneath her restored flesh. “Yes, a death god granted me temporal transport to a location far from here. There I made the required sacrifice by killing one of the men instrumental in the Master’s demise.”

Ms. Wickman grunted. “How very fitting.”

“The Master should never have died,” Giselle said, the sincerity in her voice surprising even her. “I’ve changed. And I’ve seen the error of my ways. I want to serve here with you, Mistress, to honor and exalt you. I want to kill for you. Torture for you. Anything you desire…”

Ms. Wickman continued to regard her coolly for several long moments, her expression giving away nothing as she mulled over Giselle’s words. Then she said, “Is there anything else you want, Giselle?”

Giselle patted the smoothed-down silk sheet and said, “I would like for you to lie here with me for a while.”

Something subtle sparked in Ms. Wickman’s dark eyes. Giselle felt a deep satisfaction at having prompted it. Without moving her eyes from Giselle’s face, Ms. Wickman barked out a single command:“Leave us!”

The others in the room reacted as if slapped. They scurried almost as one out of the room, even the guards, responding to the undeniable imperative in their Mistress’s tone. The big door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the large room for a moment.

They were alone. At last.

Ms. Wickman held Giselle’s gaze a short moment longer. Then she turned her back on Giselle, dipped her head, and said, “Unzip me.”

Giselle got to her knees and moved to the edge of the bed. She took the tiny zipper tab at the collar of Ms. Wickman’s dress and began to slowly draw it down, unveiling a wedge of flesh nearly as pale as Giselle’s own. Then a surprise, a hint of color as she pulled the zipper further down. Then further still, Giselle’s breath catching in her throat as she slid the zipper all the way down to Ms. Wickman’s waist.

“Oh, my…that’s…beautiful.”

She gripped the flaps of the dress and pulled them farther apart to better admire the illustration. Ms. Wickman had a large and intricate tattoo of a dragon etched into the flesh of her back. Its scales, nostrils, teeth, talons, and glaring eyes were all stunningly rendered. Giselle touched a forefinger to the back of Ms. Wickman’s neck. Her flesh was cool and marblelike, but warmed nicely to her touch. She drew the tip of her finger down the length of her spine, moving through the dragon’s mouth before stopping at the small of her back. Then she splayed her fingers and moved her hand slowly over the bared flesh. Ms. Wickman made a soft sound and reached behind her to undo the bun at the back of her head. She shook her hair loose and turned around.

Giselle’s excitement level rose yet again. They were no more than a foot apart. Ms. Wickman placed a hand between her breasts and shoved her backward. Giselle fell into the plush mattress and watched as Ms. Wickman pulled the dress off and tossed it to the floor. Then she stepped out of her heels and climbed onto the bed, moving toward Giselle on her hands and knees, stalking her like an alley cat about to pounce on its prey. Giselle squirmed backward, toward the headboard, then stopped as her head met the pillows. Ms. Wickman reached Giselle and climbed atop her, one leg to either side of her waist, hands braced on the pillows above Giselle’s shoulders. She lowered herself slightly and her erect nipples brushed Giselle’s soft breasts. Giselle placed her hands on Ms. Wickman’s waist and urged her even closer. Their faces were only inches apart now. An electric sensuality tingled within her as she looked into Ms. Wickman’s wide, hungry eyes.

Ms. Wickman let out a heavy breath that was almost a moan. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by this. You have always been such a resourceful little whore.”

Giselle caressed Ms. Wickman’s back before allowing her hands to settle on the woman’s upraised ass. “And you have always been a consummately evil cunt. We were made for each other.”

Ms. Wickman’s eyes flared again, and this time the carnal need was unmistakable. She abruptly lowered her mouth and kissed Giselle with a hunger Giselle met with equal enthusiasm. They squirmed against each other, hands grasping and probing, wet tongues thrusting between cries of pleasure. After several minutes of this, Ms. Wickman moved lower, her mouth drawing in each of Giselle’s engorged nipples in turn. Giselle moaned and squirmed, running her hands through Ms. Wickman’s long, unfettered hair. Then Ms. Wickman moved lower still, Giselle spreading her legs as the other woman’s tongue found her clit and began flicking at it energetically. Giselle thrashed on the bed as waves of intense pleasure crashed through her. She grabbed the iron bars of the headboard behind her, arched her back, and let out a piercing scream. And after Giselle had been made to scream and pant several more times, Ms. Wickman eased away from her throbbing pussy and laid down next to her.

Giselle let out a feral grunt and rolled on top of the woman. “Your turn.”

Ms. Wickman made a growling sound and scooted toward the headboard, better positioning herself for Giselle’s attentions. Giselle kissed Ms. Wickman lightly on the mouth before sliding down and taking a nipple into her mouth. And now it was Ms. Wickman’s turn to moan, writhe, and pant. After a little of this, Giselle moved south, her tongue tracing a wet trail down Ms. Wickman’s flat belly. She laid a hand flat on Ms. Wickman’s stomach.

“I made you want me, you know.”

Ms. Wickman moaned again and said, “Mmm?” Her eyes were closed and her mouth open, her lips curled back to bare her teeth. She writhed slowly and clutched at the bedsheet with both hands. She arched her back and lifted her pelvis, her thighs and stomach muscles quivering with the force of her need. For Giselle, that need was a lovely thing to behold. It was gratifying to see the cold and merciless Ms. Wickman reduced to this helpless animal level. She was a prisoner of overpowering desire—just as Giselle had planned.

Giselle moved her hand in a slow, circular motion over Ms. Wickman’s stomach, drifting to a stop at a spot just below her prisoner’s sternum. She brought her fingers together, forming a wedge of flesh that pushed against Ms. Wickman’s soft abdomen. “You’ve forgotten some things about me, cunt, beginning with how adept I was at sex magic when I served under the Master. Haven’t you wondered why you were so quick to dismiss all your lackeys and leap into bed with me?”

Ms. Wickman’s eyes fluttered open and her gaze floated lazily toward Giselle’s intent face. She wasn’t quite alarmed yet—the erotic charge sizzling through her body was still too powerful—but Giselle’s words stirred a part of her mind that had been sleeping. “What is this?” She grunted and lifted her pelvis again. “Please…”

Giselle sneered. “Pathetic. You want me to penetrate you? Okay.”

She leaned forward and thrust her hand forward with all her considerable strength, the wedge of fingers splitting Ms. Wickman’s flesh as easily as if she’d shoved them into jelly. Ms. Wickman’s eyes opened wide and her mouth stretched to issue a scream, but Giselle slapped a hand over the opening and muffled the sound. Her other hand delved further into Ms. Wickman’s body, pushing aside organs and digging through layers of muscle to reach for her heart. Ms. Wickman thrashed in agony. She scratched and flailed at Giselle’s face. But Giselle held on with ease. She was stronger than Ms. Wickman now. She pressed her face against Ms. Wickman’s, staring into her bugged-out eyes as her questing fingers found the throbbing mass of muscle. She held that gaze a moment longer, savoring the mass murderer’s agony and terror. Then her hand closed around the heart, gave it a savage twist, and yanked it from her body, her dripping red hand emerging from the hole beneath the woman’s sternum with a moist plop.

Ms. Wickman went still at once. She was dead.

Ding-dong, Giselle thought, and giggled.

And without her heart, this particular wicked witch would never rise again. Again, Giselle felt satisfaction, but there was no righteousness attached to the feeling. She had not done this thing to avenge the thousands of deaths Ms. Wickman had been responsible for over the decades. Her role now was that of usurper. The dead woman’s kingdom would belong to her now.

She brought Ms. Wickman’s dripping heart to her mouth and tore a chunk out of it. She chewed it slowly, enjoying the tough, raw taste of meat and muscle. A groan of satisfaction escaped her lips as the morsel slid down her gullet. Then she tore another chunk out and devoured it more quickly. Followed by another chunk, and then another, until it was gone, until she’d symbolically eaten the woman’s essence and her magic. This Giselle did to preserve the work Ms. Wickman had done with this place. Otherwise this magically constructed edifice and the fiery realm beyond would turn hazy and wink out of existence. Giselle licked her lips and sighed with the satisfaction one derives from a fine meal.

Now that the deed was done, she allowed herself to marvel over how easily it had been accomplished. If anything, Azaroth had understated how amplified her abilities would become with the sacrifice of Eddie King. The power coursing through her was such that she felt like something so much more than a mere sorceress. In the past, even the simplest magic had required some rudimentary form of spellcasting. Now, however, she was able to wield magic merely by focusing her will, thinking about what she wanted to happen, and directing the core of magical energy within her to make it happen. That Ms. Wickman had succumbed to sex magic spoke volumes about the staggering intensity of that energy. Giselle had long been able to manipulate normal people by amplifying the automatic sexual response to certain scents given off by her body, but other practitioners such as the Master and Ms. Wickman had been immune to this brand of magic. No longer. She felt capable of absolutely anything—and of everything all at once.

What she felt like, actually, was a goddess.

She decided to experiment. She flexed her will and heard the large doors at the far end of the quarters creak open. She thought of the people who had accompanied Ms. Wickman into the room earlier and focused on one of them. A few moments later, one of the black-clad guards came staggering into the room, his legs propelling him forward jerkily as if he were a puppet on a string. He pawed at his holstered sidearm, but his hand twisted painfully away from the weapon with a sound of grinding bones. His eyes popped and jittered with the helpless terror of one not in control of his own body. Then he saw the limp form of his dead Mistress and let out a squeal of fear.

The man Ms. Wickman had referred to as “Captain” came to a swaying halt at the foot of the bed as Giselle relinquished much of her physical control over him (though she kept his hand twisted away from the pistol).

Giselle licked blood from her fingers and smiled at the terrifed man. “Tell me your name.”

In a trembling voice the man said, “I-I am…C-Captain Girard of the B-Black Brigade. The military wing of the M-Mistress’s …organization.”

“I see.” Giselle tongued the last of Ms. Wickman’s blood from her fingers, then wiped them clean on the bedsheet. She climbed off the bed and approached the trembling captain. “As you can see, you no longer serve Ms. Wickman. I am Mistress of this place now, and you will answer only to me from now on. Is this clear?”

Captain Girard appeared to be too stunned by the inexplicable coup d’etat to immediately supply the only acceptable answer. He kept glancing at Ms. Wickman’s body, perhaps expecting her to rise from the dead and reassert her authority. Which, given the condition of her body, was just stupid. Impatient, Giselle snatched the 9mm pistol from his holster and shot him in the face. By the time his corpse struck the floor more black-clad armed men had stormed into the room. Giselle usurped control of their minds in a millisecond. They stood there, terror shining in their eyes, mouths hanging open in shock, their fingers frozen over the trigger guards of their useless weapons.

Giselle stepped over the fallen Captain and advanced to within six feet of the nearest trembling man. “Ms. Wickman is dead. I rule this place now. Captain Girard is dead because he could not accept that. He was a stupid man.” She eyed each of the men in turn before saying, “Are the rest of you as stupid?”

A chorus of muttered denials brought a very slight smile to her face.

“Good. Then know this. I do not wish to kill any more of you. Nor do I wish to upset the essential order of things around here.” She clasped her hands be hind her back and strode slowly back and forth in front of them like a marine drill sergeant addressing a rank of fresh boot camp inductees. “This is a change of command, nothing more. Your Black Brigade will remain intact. If anything, you will have more power than before.”

Giselle allowed a moment for that to sink in. A new, hungry gleam stole into the eyes of several of the men. Giselle supposed the message was getting through. These men had been something of an elite force before, but now they would be backed by power far greater than that wielded by their deceased Mistress.

Giselle said, “I need to speak with your top officer privately. The rest of you go about your business at once.”

All but one of the men hurried out of the room. The big door slammed shut yet again. The Black Brigade officer who remained with her was a tall, thin man with cold blue eyes and close-cropped steel-gray hair. He glanced briefly at the bodies of Ms. Wickman and Captain Girard. Giselle watched him closely, but his eyes registered nothing at all. He was over any shock he’d felt at this turn of events.

Giselle moved closer to him, almost to within touching distance. “And what is your name?”

The man’s face remained expressionless as he said, “Lieutenant Schreck, Mistress.”

Giselle suppressed the smile that wanted to come.

Mistress.

“The Black Brigade is yours to command now, Schreck. Anyone above you will be demoted or eliminated.” Giselle smiled. “Whichever you deem necessary.”

A corner of his mouth twitched, the first indication of any emotion lurking behind the man’s mask of cool indifference. “I understand.”

Giselle moved away from him and sat at the foot of the bed. She crossed her legs and set the pistol next to one of Ms. Wickman’s unmoving feet. “Please bring me up to speed, Schreck. Brief me on the things I most need to know about this place.”

Lieutenant Schreck cleared his throat and began a concise recitation of a number of basic facts. Some of what she learned then increased her contempt for Ms. Wickman. Her handling of the slaves, for instance, bespoke a pathetic lack of confidence in her ability to forestall an uprising like the one that had brought down the Master. This would not continue under the new regime. More pleasing was what she learned about the ongoing efforts to rein in the survivors of the Master’s former domain. She wanted to see those people again.

The briefing finished, Giselle allowed herself a silent moment of contemplation. She looked at Ms. Wickman’s corpse and felt a tingle, a ghost of the powerful erotic charge that had flowed through her own body during their brief but electric coupling. That tingle intensified and Giselle became keenly aware of an awakened taste that had not yet been sated.

“Tell me, Lieutenant. You are no doubt familiar with all the Apprentices in service here. Of the females, whom would you say is the most beautiful?”

Schreck’s answer was immediate. “That would be Ursula, Mistress.”

“Have someone fetch her for me. But first…” Giselle turned her head to look at the open French door and the red sky beyond. “Have this cunt’s body taken to that barren place and burned. I would like to watch this happen from my balcony.”

“As you wish, Mistress.”

She dismissed him then and he departed the room at once. Giselle again arose from the bed and ventured back out to the balcony. She observed the diminutive forms of the hooded, toiling slaves and thought of what Schreck had told her about the edifice they were constructing.

An actual pyramid, she thought, wonderment again filling her as she imagined it.

She smiled again.

She couldn’t imagine a more appropriate place for the sacrifices to come.