Seven
CHURCH
HE STOOD IN the back, where he could see the whole room.
On the altar up front, candles burned––so many of them, the altar itself appeared to be ablaze. Black scanned faces, taking note of how many appeared human and how many seer. He didn’t use his psychic ability to verify his tally; he knew he likely missed a few seers as a result, those who could pass more easily for human.
He knew he was being watched. There had to be at least three hundred people inside the underground church, all of them chanting the same words.
He felt eyes on him though.
Something was wrong.
Iltere ak selen’te dur Hulen-ta...
Isre arendelir d’goro anse vik-renme
Isre l’ange si nedri az’lenm
Isre ti’a ali di’ sule-tuum...
The light of the ritual made him sick. It made his stomach hurt.
He could feel the silver lines criss-crossing over the church.
Hard light. Metal light.
He remembered that from the Old World, too.
He’d been drowning in that silver crap since he got here. It reminded him of working for the rebels in his home world, as a kid. They’d been the good guys, the bad guys––all of that had been so mixed up in those years, and not only because he was too young to really understand the difference.
But he wasn’t a kid anymore.
Someone gave him a new life when he came here. A life he didn’t want to waste––definitely not by recreating a past that was fucked up the first time around.
Here, he’d managed to avoid all of that ideological and religious bullshit from back home. He could just live in this world––invisible. Free. He didn’t have to be something or someone different than who he was.
He had to hide things about himself, sure. He had to hide his race. But he’d found having a shit-ton of money made it really easy for people to forget things about him that might not add up. If you had enough money, no one in the human world gave a shit what you did. No one argued with you––no matter how fucking strange they thought you acted.
That darker, nauseous feeling worsened.
It was never enough.
There were always people who had to have more.
It hadn’t been enough for human in the Old World. It wasn’t going to be enough for Lucky and his Mythers here, either. They couldn’t just leave him alone, let him live in peace––let him have a different kind of life than what he’d been forced into when he was born. He couldn’t even lip-service the whole thing. That wasn’t enough for them either.
No, they had to own his fucking light totally.
These New World seers, they finally found the enemy, only the enemy was them. They’d let themselves be made over into that image, somewhere along the way, and now they were just replicating all the same b.s. they hated back home.
Whatever their problem was, he wished they’d leave him out of it.
Then again, maybe that was his fault too, getting involved. Even before Miri, before Ian and Solonik, he never really left them alone either. He never stopped hunting his own kind. He’d stayed away from those directly claimed by Lucky, but he never gave up on finding more like him, ones who didn’t want to join––ones who didn’t want to chant in underground churches and talk about racial purity and death and “the problem with humans.”
Unlike them, he had zero nostalgia for the past.
He couldn’t really be the only one, could he?
Black scanned that sea of faces, muttering the same words along with the others to avoid attracting attention.
Something was wrong, though. Too many people were aware of him. He could feel their lights on his, touching him, following every movement of his eyes. Knowing he only mouthed the words. Knowing he wasn’t really one of them.
Or maybe he’d just gotten so little sleep he was getting paranoid.
He turned his head subtly to scan the crowds standing around the congregation in the center, most of them clustered at the ends of each wooden pew. He’d made it about a third of the way up one side when pale white eyes shone back at him.
Black froze, watching the seer standing there.
He saw him speak the words said by the others, could almost feel the reverence in every syllable, even from all the way across the room. The seer stood in the shadows of a stone pillar beneath an iron sconce and a blazing torch. He held a small symbol in his hand, made of some black stone that glinted in the firelight.
Ian.
Ian was here.
Black moved without thought, sliding his way between bodies in the row of humans and seers where he stood. He moved fast, half climbing over a pew to get closer to the form in the shadows where he kept his eyes fixed. He got confused looks, disapproving looks, a few smacks in his light from fellow seers for disrupting their holy space.
The space of wire and metal.
Black ignored all of it, his mind focused solely on the tall seer with the bone-white irises who stared adoringly up at the depiction of the One God over the altar. The dragon-like form writhed in similar-looking black stone, wings outstretched.
That was a Myther thing too, that obsession with the One God.
Black’s mother had derisively called it “idolatry” when he was a child.
The image scared Black when he’d first seen it as a boy.
By then he no longer lived in his mother’s home. A four-foot version made up the centerpiece of the altar in Johan’s bedroom. Part-human, part-serpent... part-angel, perhaps... Johan called it Dragon and told Black it was always made of stone. Like the one on the wall of this underground church, Johan’s God always seemed be depicted with hate-filled eyes, blood on his lips, outstretched claws. In the one book Johan read to him however, Dragon was known by its voice––a voice that could stop a man’s heart, reduce cities to rubble.
Black continued to shove his way through the crowd, moving fast, as silently as he could.
But he disrupted too much. His light clanged off-key with the rest.
Those bone-white irises turned, finding Black’s face.
Black saw him stare right at him. He saw a faint smile on his lips––
Then someone grabbed him from behind.
More than one. Several someones.
Black called out sharply in the space, feeling them willing him to be silent, to not speak a word as they caught hold of his arms and torso.
No! I’m tracking someone! He flashed an image of Ian’s face. Those white eyes. The human-like features and mouth. I’m working for Lucky... don’t let him leave! He’s an exposure threat... I’m working for Lucky, goddamn it!
No one answered him.
He turned, trying to fight the hands on him, but before he could make sense of the individual faces––
Something hit him on the head. Hard.
It dropped him before he knew what happened.
He was on his knees on the stone when they hit him again. Harder.
That time, he went down for real.
WHEN HE OPENED his eyes, he was naked.
He was also wet.
The second part was explained by a metal bucket that clattered to the floor in front of him, clearly the reason he was also now awake.
He watched, dazed, only half-conscious as a seer wearing a dark blue robe covered in elaborate gold thread released the bucket’s handle and it fell with an echoing thunk.
Kneeling on hard stone, Black blinked to clear his vision.
He looked around the dark, cave-like space, but didn’t recognize it. Below the church maybe? In the catacombs? Pain throbbed his head, making him groggy, even as nausea coiled in his gut, likely from the head injury as well. His tongue was thick in his mouth. Someone had chained him to the stone wall, using those old, Tower of London type chains, his arms spread out, like he was some kind of Christ-figure.
He stared at the torches in iron brackets on the wall inside the room, focusing briefly on the dark corridor beyond. He tried to calculate how long it felt like he’d been out. And what was with all the fucking torches?
“You don’t like fire, brother?”
The blue-robed seer stood directly in front of him now.
In assessing the bare bones of his situation, Black had nearly forgotten him.
He squinted up at him now, trying to make out his features, to determine if he knew him. As he did, the skin of his own face moved strangely, crinkling and pulling uncomfortably. Something had dried all over his face, sticking on his skin.
It didn’t take a major deductive leap to assume it was his own blood.
“Fire’s okay,” Black said, answering the question belatedly. “But what’s with all the medieval bullshit... ? You trying to scare me?”
His voice slurred, again probably from the blow to his head.
He struggled briefly to test the chains, still fighting to pull his mind and light back together when his gaze shifted up, focusing on the face of the red-eyed seer standing there. He didn’t know him. He was dressed like one of the fanatics though.
Glancing to either side at his own outstretched arms, which were also wet and had a few new scratches and bruises visible around the tattoos, Black noted where the chains fastened to the stone wall, then looked back up at the seer standing over him.
“Someone have a sword and magic role-play fantasy they want to share... ?” he said, winking at the male with the narrow face. “...Or did you just forget to pay your electric bill?”
The seer clicked at him, then smiled faintly, as if in spite of himself.
“You are... an interesting specimen, brother,” he said.
“Am I?” Black glanced at his chained wrists again, yanking on them to test them a second time, but they barely moved. He glanced down at his naked body. Moving his legs, he found his ankles also chained to the stone. “You know, friend, if this is foreplay, we should talk. There are easier ways––”
“You disrupt a religious ritual in a way that could get you killed,” the red-eyed seer cut in, his voice openly warning. “You are forcibly subdued and probably concussed. And yet the first thing out of your mouth is more disrespectful jokes. More garbage...”
The seer paused, folding his hands as he looked down at him.
“A wiser seer... or an older one, perhaps... might cultivate a little humility at a moment like this.”
Black looked up, his mind suddenly clearer.
Death threats had a tendency to do that for him.
He studied the face of the seer standing there, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t see the point. Not until they told him what they wanted.
He didn’t really think they’d kill him. Well, he hoped not.
The seer exhaled at his silence, clicking softly.
“You must know that what you did upstairs constitutes a severe blasphemy, brother. As I just said, it is punishable by death, according to the old books. You rightly surmise we don’t intend to give you the maximum sentence, but you must also realize some punishment is surely warranted...”
He paused, frowning delicately at Black’s face.
“Can you explain this disrespect, brother? Or are you too immature to do more than quip humorous remarks at me and toss insults in the space about our beliefs... ?”
Black glanced towards the darkness of the stone hallway, wondering if they intended to bring someone out to whip him after this little pep-talk. Grimacing at the thought, he returned his gaze to the red-eyed seer, making his voice more serious.
“I was working for Lucky. Tracking Ian Stone. He was in your congregation tonight, and––”
“––And your answer to that occurrence was to crash the space of a six-thousand-year-old ritual in progress?” the seer cut in. “A ritual that has only been performed twice in its entirety, since it was brought from the Old World? One that took us months to prepare for, little brother, and to set the constructs in order to enact properly... ?”
At Black’s silence, the seer stared down at him coldly, his long face as hard as granite. He stepped closer, his light shimmering with those silvery, metal threads.
“You must know the importance of this, brother,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “It is more important than any ‘job’ you might do in the material world, no matter how critical that job might seem to you. These rituals are not mere showmanship. They are meant to bridge our light between that prior world and this one. They are meant to preserve the very foundations of our culture... of our race. Not simply via transcription of significant events. Through our very living light!”
Black shook his head, clicking under his breath.
Staring down at the wet stone floor, he considered telling the seer exactly what he thought of that idea. Biting his lip, he decided against it when he saw the fury in the other male’s face.
“A wise decision, brother,” the seer said coldly. “Perhaps your first yet.”
Black looked up at him, frowning for real.
“What the fuck is this? You got an issue with me, talk to Lucky!”
“You were invited to that ritual by Mr. Lucky,” the red-eyed seer said. “Do you think anyone walks through those doors without his express invitation?”
“Should I assume Ian Stone was invited as well, then?” Black growled. When the seer clicked at him in irritation, he added, “What the fuck is this? Seriously? Lucky knows I’m not religious. Why was I even in that fucking ritual if it’s so goddamned important?”
“You are one of us. Like it or not, brother... you are one of us.”
He hammered each word at the end, his voice clipped.
“The hell I am,” Black muttered.
Feeling a pulse of real anger off the other seer, he shook his head, spraying droplets of ice-cold water and shivering. “What the fuck do you want from me? Lucky asked me to track that bastard... to bring him in alive. I do what I’m told. That’s all I’ve fucking done since I got here... what I’m told. I’m not really sure what you get out of moving the line every few days. Unless you just get your jollies chaining up fellow seers...”
“You cannot control yourself for the duration of a single ritual?”
Black glared up at him. “Lucky hired me. What part of that aren’t you getting?”
“Yet Lucky also wished you to attend this ceremony,” the seer said. “...Presumably for reasons of race and family. You cannot determine the relative importance of two different edicts when one can only occur on a specific evening and the other could occur at any time?”
But Black ignored the overly-pious question that time, too.
“How the fuck did Ian get in there?” he said instead. “Really? How? There’s only one door. I know, because I checked. You’re telling me your security is so shitty that he walked right through your front door on the night of some super secret woo-woo ritual?” He clenched his jaw, glaring up at the narrow-faced seer. “...Or was he invited, too? Is this all just another one of Lucky’s fucking tests that I failed?”
The other male seer made a dismissive gesture with a pale hand.
“You are certain he was there at all?” he said. “This ‘Ian Stone’ you are so obediently hunting for Mr. Lucky?” Those red eyes shone like burning coals as they studied Black’s face. “I am told you have not been sleeping well, brother. Perhaps you imagined this person to be there, when really it was someone else? Perhaps your fatigue has gotten the better of you... ?”
“I didn’t fucking imagine it,” Black snapped.
The other seer continued to gauge his face, his expression unmoving.
“Regardless,” he said after a pause. “It was neither the time nor the place to pursue any agenda other than the one that brought us here.”
Black clenched his jaw, staring down at the wet stone.
He didn’t answer, although he wanted to. He had answers aplenty for this robe-wearing shit-bag. Most of them involved a lot of profanity though, and he could already tell that wasn’t likely to win him many points right now. He could feel the machinations here. He was so fucking tired of it, of all the headfucks and game-playing. He knew on some level the seer was right about that––he really was starting to lose his mental control.
Still, he already knew nothing he said would change anything that was about to unfold here.
Lucky was behind this too. Black could feel it.
They were all just fucking with him. This robed asshole was no different.
At least being knocked out must have gotten him some sleep.
“Not enough, brother,” the red-eyed seer said, his voice holding a warning again.
“Not enough what?” Black said.
“Sleep, brother. You are sleep deprived. This is becoming an issue. A direct impediment to your effectiveness as an employee of Mr. Lucky.”
Black looked up, incredulous. “Meaning what?”
The seer clicked at him, holding up his hands in a kind of disbelieving gesture. “Everything is a fight with you. Everything. It is quite childish.”
Black didn’t answer that either.
“Little brother, you are not sleeping enough. What could possibly be unclear about that?”
Black shook his head, letting out an unamused grunt. “You’re going to dictate my fucking sleeping hours for me now, too?”
“If they are threatening your health... then yes. Perhaps we will.”
Black stared up at him, feeling his muscles tense. He could feel the threat was real. At the very least, they wanted him to believe it was. Gripping the thick black chains in his hands above the iron cuffs, he bit his lip, then ended up speaking anyway.
“So you’re going to knock me out cold every time I don’t sleep enough to satisfy Lucky, is that it?” he growled. “Or just chain me up down here until I pass out? Or until I give up coffee? Or do you just want me to promise to do everything you say, no matter what it is?”
“None of those, brother,” the seer said, his voice cold. “Mr. Lucky is concerned that part of the problem is due to separation pain. Since we already had you subdued down here, he asked me to help you alleviate it, to see if it made a difference.”
Black stared at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I assure you, I’m not.”
“I said no on that,” Black growled. “Repeatedly. I was pretty fucking clear.”
“I’m aware of your answer.”
“So you’re going to force it on me? Seriously?”
The seer gave a delicate shrug. “Force? I suppose if you want to see it that way. But it needn’t be unpleasant. Perhaps you should consider accepting the gift you’re being given with some amount of grace.”
“Gift?” Black’s voice hardened. “You call that a gift? To make me break vows I’ve made? What kind of fucking gift is that... brother?”
The other clicked at him, rolling his eyes. “The whole point of doing it this way is to remove any accountability you might have for what is occurring. There is no vow broken, brother, when you cannot consent.”
Black stared into the dark corridor, suddenly aware of why he kept looking there.
Other living lights waited there, other beings. Now that he was actually paying attention to them and not just the robed seer, some of them definitely felt female. He felt sex pain on at least one of them, too––enough to know that he might not be able to see them, but they could definitely see him.
They also definitely knew what he and this robed fuck were talking about.
He looked back up at the red-eyed seer, feeling a coil of pain go through him intense enough to close his throat, bringing that pounding headache back with a vengeance. He winced as that pain sharpened behind his temples, like a icepick had been inserted there.
“No,” he said.
“Brother.” The other sighed, folding his arms. “We’ve been over this. You are not being permitted to deny consent.”
“Please don’t do this.” Black subdued his voice. He made it deliberately contrite, formally so––employing seer manners he hadn’t used in decades, not since he’d lived in the Old World. “Brother. Please. I am making a heartfelt request. Do not do this. Please.”
He swallowed, glancing again at the black space beyond the torches. His eyes couldn’t penetrate that darkness, but he definitely felt other people there now.
“...I’m sorry about the ritual,” he said. “And for being an asshole about it. I’ll give a formal apology to, if you want one... to you. To brother Lucky. To the whole damned congregation, if you need to hear it. But don’t do this, please.”
Swallowing again, he let his eyes return to the corridor, seemingly on their own.
“...She’ll feel it,” he said, lower. “She’ll fucking feel it.”
“I apologize for your distress in this matter, my brother... truly.” The seer watched him clinically, no trace of that apology in his face, or his light. “...But I would hope a companion would understand when one cannot truly consent. And I am under orders too. The decision has been made. I am told it is non-negotiable.”
Black felt his muscles clench harder as several people walked forward into the light.
They were all naked. The female in front, he recognized from Grigiore’s dining room. Her long, curled brown hair glinted with red highlights under the torchlight. She smiled at him almost shyly, her eyes drifting down his body right before she licked her lips.
“Fuck.” Black looked back at the red-eyed man. “This is bullshit. You know this is bullshit. This is way over the line... it goes against every law we’ve ever had on the books when it comes to messing with seers under agreement...”
The red-eyed seer inclined his head, an acknowledgment of his words.
But he didn’t answer.
Stepping aside, he walked deliberately to one of the stone-masoned walls with the iron brackets, opening the space between Black and the corridor. The invitation was obvious, even to Black––the robed seer was giving the others the green light to approach.
Three of them walked right up to where Black knelt, all of them looking at him now.
Curiosity shone in their eyes. None of them looked away from his body or face. None of them appeared embarrassed either, despite what they must have heard Black say.
They knew he didn’t want this.
Clearly, they didn’t care.
Black could see now that in addition to the female seer he recognized, a male seer stood there as well, along with what appeared to be a female human. All three of them looked like they were high on something, too––which wasn’t exactly reassuring. Black couldn’t tell what they were on, not even by feeling the edges of their light, but it might not be drugs or alcohol. Lucky’s people might had done something more permanent to them.
That female seer definitely didn’t look like she was playing with a full deck.
He winced back when they moved forward, but the chains didn’t let him go far. He found himself looking up at the faces of all three of them, knowing from their glazed stares that he probably wouldn’t be able to reason with them.
He tried anyway.
“I’m under agreement,” he said, breathing harder as he stared up at the female in front. “I’m under fucking agreement. I don’t want any of you...”
The female seer smiled.
It was a knowing smile.
Kneeling in front of him, she didn’t hesitate, but put her hand on him. When he sucked in a breath, yanking hard, backwards against the chains, she stroked him with her palm. She pulled on him slowly, sensually... but only long enough to get him hard.
Then she lowered her mouth.
Minutes later, Black let out a low groan.
“Fuck...”
His mind went to Miri––to what she’d done to him his last night in San Francisco.
The instant he let himself go there at all, every single part of him was at full fucking attention, and not just his cock. It had been months now. Months and months of nothing but frustrating Barrier sex with Miri, not being able to touch her, to even really feel her light much since he didn’t want to get any of this bullshit on her.
More than that, he couldn’t go far with Miri, not now.
Not until he talked to her.
He found himself remembering what she’d done, letting himself go into the memory, something he’d fantasized about for months too––only to be reminded it wasn’t her again as the seer with her mouth on him blew her own light over him.
He didn’t want her light, though. He didn’t want her body either... or even her mouth.
He hadn’t been lying about that.
He was still trying to fight them, fight their light at least, when the human woman moved closer, her hands massaging his shoulders and chest, sliding into his hair.
He struggled briefly against the chains.
But really, there was nothing he could do.
Once the thought really sank in, he fought to close his mind.
He put all of his focus there, on shutting down everything, closing all of it, so she wouldn’t feel it at least. He could do that much for her, make it so she wouldn’t feel any of what––