Soultaker

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Bridget Flanagan returned to her own apartment around the time Jordan was waking up in the backyard of an empty house in the Zone. She’d been at loose ends in the wake of Jordan’s departure, not sure whether she should stay there and await Jordan’s return or go looking for Lamia. An attempt at establishing a telepathic connection with her went unanswered, as did multiple calls to her cell phone. It was frustrating, but it happened on occasion. Lamia was very busy preparing for the Harvest and sometimes was not able to respond.

She tried not to worry. Lamia was strong. And she was wise. So she fell a little short in the omnipotence department once in a while. So what? No one could hurt her. No one could stop her. The success of the Harvest was not in doubt.

Yet she was certain the goddess would want to know all about what had happened. Jordan’s brief transformation to the serpent form, for instance. And how she had awakened to her true nature in the aftermath of Angela’s death. These things the goddess would consider vitally important. What most concerned Bridget, however, was the threats the bitch had made against Lamia.

Whoops.

The reflexive contempt she felt for Jordan was still there. She would have to work at suppressing it. Her personal feelings regarding the girl were no longer important. Jordan was Lamia’s daughter. She was to be respected, honored, and worshiped. Lamia would expect nothing less. And in her total devotion to the goddess, Bridget would accept nothing less from herself. For so long she’d been Lamia’s special one. Her favorite. Now Jordan would usurp her place. Knowing this hurt her deeply. But she found some consolation in reminding herself that she remained a member of Lamia’s Sacred Circle, that exclusive group of upper-echelon acolytes. The ones who would also reap the fruits of the Harvest. She and the other women of the Circle would become immortal and serve the goddess throughout eternity. Bridget entered a state of near ecstatic bliss every time she thought of it. How glorious! To live forever at Lamia’s side!

Bridget forced her head out of the clouds. She was tired, having slept only in brief fits throughout the night. Like all other Circle members, she was stronger and more resilient than a normal person, but her energy reserves weren’t bottomless. She needed to rest and recharge. So when Jordan failed to show by morning, Bridget returned home. She remained worried about the threats Jordan had made, but not enough to feel any real urgency. Jordan just needed time to adjust. And even if she did somehow track down Lamia, she wouldn’t be able to hurt her. She was strong, but not that strong. And, hell, for all Bridget knew, Lamia was already aware of her daughter’s awakening.

Bridget parked her car, got out, and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. The walk across the parking lot seemed an endless slog in her exhausted state, but she finally made it to the building and trudged up the stairs to her third-floor apartment.

She entered the apartment and threw the door shut behind her. The tiny studio apartment wasn’t as nice as Jordan’s place. There was a lot less room and the building was much older. The threadbare furniture was all secondhand. The carpet had stains no amount of shampooing or vacuuming could excise. All in all, it was a pretty shabby place to live. But Bridget didn’t care. It was just a place to sleep. It was temporary. Greater things awaited her. Soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow, she would leave all this behind. Besides, most of Bridget’s discretionary income went to things like clothes, makeup, and salon visits. Looking good mattered more than living in the lap of luxury. Looking good enabled a girl to reach for bigger things. Bridget reflected on that last thought and frowned. The philosophy was an echo from a person who no longer existed. The pre-Lamia Bridget. Bridget 2.0 no longer gave a shit about using her looks to snare a man with a fat wallet. All men were beneath her. She was a woman, after all. And not just a woman, but a follower of the goddess.

One of the chosen ones.

She giggled. “And this chosen one is fucking beat.”

She dropped her purse on the cluttered coffee table. Then she kicked off her shoes, stripped off her skirt and blouse, and collapsed on the couch. She reached for the thin blanket folded over the top of the couch, shook it open, and tucked it over her shoulders. She was asleep within moments. She slept deeply and when she awoke she knew hours had passed. She lay there in a state of semiconsciousness for several moments before becoming aware that something wasn’t quite right. She tried to dismiss the feeling, but it persisted. As she neared full consciousness, she realized another person was in the room. A cold finger of fear tickled the length of her spine.

Someone had broken in while she was asleep.

A burglar, maybe. Or a rapist.

She wondered whether she should play possum. Just keep her eyes closed and pretend she was still asleep. She saw one immediate problem with that. She was a snorer. Every chick she’d ever bedded complained about it, as had her occasional male partners. The intruder had been here while she was sleeping and would know it, too. She didn’t doubt her ability to physically overpower any man. She was of the Circle. Snapping his neck would be child’s play.

But…what if he has a gun?

Fear gave way to terror. She wasn’t yet immortal. A burgeoning scream welled inside her. The thought of surrendering the eternal reward promised her by the goddess was more than she could bear.

A voice she recognized said, “Open your eyes.”

Bridget relaxed at once. She blew out a breath and stretched her long, lean body. Then she opened her eyes and saw Myra Lewis-Lamia-staring down at her with her usual blank expression. She smiled and tossed the blanket aside. “Please tell me you’re here to have your way with me,” Bridget said.

Lamia said nothing, but something in her eyes hardened.

Bridget rolled off the couch and went to her knees before the goddess. She bowed her head and closed her eyes again. “Have I offended you in some way, Dark Mother?”

“Stand up.”

Bridget stood and looked the goddess in the eye. She tried not to tremble. As much as she loved Lamia, it was hard to peer directly into that endless darkness. She half suspected anyone attempting to hold that gaze for too long a time would go insane. “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. You know my loyalty to you is total. I would never-”

“Shut up.”

Bridget flinched. “I have things to tell you. Jordan Harper-”

The backhand blow sent Bridget flying over the couch. She landed in an awkward heap on the floor and a shock of pain ripped through her body. She cried out and rolled onto her back. Tears obscured her vision for a moment. When she could see again, Lamia was standing over her. The goddess planted the hard sole of a black Doc Marten boot on her bare chest and exerted enough pressure to render breathing difficult. Bridget opened her mouth to beg for mercy, then remembered what had triggered the attack. She closed her mouth and waited for Lamia to speak.

There was a brief pause. Perhaps a minute elapsed. Long enough for Bridget to feel her ribs grinding beneath the pressure of the combat boot.

Then Lamia said, “I already know of my daughter’s awakening. I am not here to talk about that.”

The goddess removed her foot and Bridget sucked in a deep, wheezing breath. Then she frowned as she watched Lamia strip off her leather jacket and toss it aside. The cropped Misfits shirt came off next. The black bra after that. Bridget stared at Lamia’s milk white breasts and their jutting pink nipples and felt a stirring of lust. Lamia leaned against the back of the couch and removed the thick-soled Doc Martens. Finally, she peeled off the tight leather pants and was entirely nude. A thick sheen of sweat covered her entire body. A thick drop fell from her nose. She looked paler than usual. Almost feverish. Bridget glanced at the jumble of clothes on the floor and saw they were sopping wet.

“What’s wrong with you? You look…sick. I thought…”

Lamia wiped a fresh swelling of sweat from her brow and flicked fat droplets from the ends of her fingers. “You thought what?”

Bridget frowned. “I…don’t know. I guess I thought you couldn’t get sick.”

“I can’t.”

“Then…”

Lamia smiled. “You wouldn’t understand and there isn’t time to explain. You have been a faithful servant. I have made many promises to you. I must now break them all.”

Bridget’s heart lurched.

“Wh…what?”

“Do you remember Moira, dear?”

The mention of her sister confounded Bridget. Moira had been dead for many years. Bridget rarely thought of her. “I…what about her?”

“I killed her. Used her body for a time. It wasn’t suitable as a permanent home, but it sufficed long enough. And now the time has come to shed this skin, sweet Bridget. The Harvest must happen today. I am not strong enough in this used-up shell. I require a new host.” She straddled Bridget and pinned her wrists behind her head with strong hands. “Your body is perfect and should serve me well for the next hundred years.”

Bridget’s head spun. The Harvest was today? Lamia had told the members of the Sacred Circle they would know the exact day and hour of the Harvest weeks ahead of time. But apparently this was just one lie among many. There was no time for Bridget to grieve the loss of all she’d been promised, or to appreciate the depth of Lamia’s betrayal. She was about to die. She now knew no eternal reward awaited her. No bliss of any kind. Just darkness.

She opened her mouth to scream.

But Lamia forced Myra Lewis’s mouth open wider.

Far wider.

Something long and scaly slithered out, moving too fast to perceive in detail. Then it was inside Bridget. Bridget twitched and convulsed, the back of her head banging against the dirty carpet for several moments as the now-dead body of Myra collapsed to the floor and went still. In a while, Bridget, too, was still.

Bridget Flanagan, her essence, expired.

Her body let out an abrupt gasp and sat up.

Lamia had a new home.