Soultaker

CHAPTER FOUR

Bridget was having a good time. She liked to mess with people. Get their motors running, build up their expectations, then crush them. The old guy at the bar, for instance. Her new work in progress. She looked forward to seeing him again. Being a guy, he was gullible. It would be easy to lead him on, make him believe she wanted his old ass. The look on his face when he learned the truth would be well worth the effort. Something within her found deception of any type enjoyable. The girl across the table, a petite brunette with a pixie-style haircut, was another good example. Thinking of Bridget as a confidante, she’d tearfully confessed her sexual confusion to her the night before. Bridget fended off the girl’s tentative advances while professing profound respect for her courageous decision to out herself. Which, it turned out, wasn’t what the girl wanted at all. She just wanted to “experiment,” she claimed, and she begged Bridget not to ever tell anyone else about the episode. So Bridget made a solemn vow to take the secret to her grave if need be.

The memory made Bridget feel delightfully wicked.

“You guys want to hear something shocking?”

The women seated around the table looked at her with expressions of expectation. The girl across the table looked troubled. Not quite alarmed. Not yet. Just troubled. Her name was Jordan Harper. She believed Bridget was just about the sweetest girl in the world. Or so she’d told Bridget.

Jordan stared at her. “Bridget-”

Bridget smiled. “Jordan’s a dyke. She came on to me last night.”

The revelation was like a grenade rolled into the conversation. All giggling ceased. There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. The silence was broken by the ragged sob that tore out of Jordan’s throat. “I can’t believe you. You said you wouldn’t tell.”

Tears streaming down her face, the girl bolted from the table and ran out of the bar.

Bridget laughed.

Angela Brooks gaped at her. “That was so mean.” Then she grinned. “It was fucking beautiful.”

The others laughed.

Jordan Harper had never been fully accepted into Bridget’s circle of friends. She had no way of knowing it in the midst of her current misery, but she was fortunate to have escaped with just this fresh psychological scar. Had Jordan been deemed worthy, she would have been ritually inducted into the Sacred Circle.

A transformation that would strip her of her humanity.

As had already happened to Bridget and the other girls at the table.

Bridget enjoyed a few more drinks with her friends as the evening wore on, strong, high-alcohol drinks. Her girlfriends deferred to her at every point in the conversation. Although they were Sacred Circle members, they had not yet attained the privileges Bridget had been granted.

They were Novices.

And she was Adept.

She had learned some things, special secrets, the simpler aspects of what Lamia, the Dark Mother, called the Mysteries. She craved so much more. One day she would wield the power of a Priestess, become one of Lamia’s chosen ones, and how glorious that would be!

She eyed the Grolsch-drinking man at the bar, so familiar, and she slid a hand up a bare thigh as she imagined possessing the ability to reach into his mind and make him do as she pleased. She pretended not to notice his occasional, surreptitious glances her way, but she knew the man was entranced by her. He clearly desired her body. She could, of course, manipulate him sexually, but that would be too easy. And not nearly so fun as the other thing she could do.

She smiled.

And hoped his “family business,” whatever it was, would keep him around until she was able to fully harness the power Lamia had promised would be hers.

Then she would pull his strings.

Make him dance for her.

Fall down for her.

Like a helpless little puppet.