Brides Pt. 02

She could feel its hunger. Bottomless. It craved something. Someone. She didn't fully understand why.

"Your prey," Nightmare suggested carefully. It was a thought, though she spoke it with her... their...mouth. "I was close to her last night, Master. So close."

"Yes," it replied with her mouth. "Yes, we touched her."

"We could... unnnnggh ... take care ... aaaahh ... take her together," she was feeling the sensations from the real world, his slow but relentless thrusts.

"No ... my creature, I must have her alone. But ... aaah ... in the meantime, we will make our world hers."

**

Rachel drifted in and out of sleep for most of the day. She'd never been depressed before, but she knew enough people who suffered from the condition to wonder if she was experiencing it now.

She certainly hadn't seen the letter slipped under her door that evening.

It didn't look like the dorm correspondence that the RA occasionally delivered this way, but simply a sloppily folded up piece of paper. It had all the symptoms of a stupid prank, so she left it where it was for several minutes trying to focus her mind on what to do about Cindy.

After her thoughts drifted to what a shit friend she was for leaving Cindy alone in a strange cave, Rachel called that strategy a wash. She grudgingly snatched up the letter and unfolded it half expecting to see extracted magazine letters glued to the page.

She stifled a gasp.

Rachel,

Sorry I disappeared on you. Something was in cave. I'm OK but can't come back to dorm. Be careful. He's after you too. Cops will only make it worse. Be in touch soon.

-Cind

It was Cindy's handwriting. The cursive lettering—her roommate had insisted that its diminishing usage was a modern tragedy—was distinctly Cindy's, although there was something a bit off about it. It didn't have the same precise, anal-retentive loops as what Rachel had seen in her notebooks; there was a clumsiness to it somehow, possibly stress or injury-related.

Rachel let out a sigh of relief that her friend was alive, but her elation was undercut with a twinge of dread.

Why the drama? Did she lose her phone, why hadn't she just sent a text? Maybe it was dead? Her charger was still here. Why hadn't she come in and gotten it? Or better yet, actually talked to Rachel. Had someone taken her and made her write this against her will?

The cops. She should call the cops.

But what if this was just some crazy prank? What if Cindy was orchestrating some kind of revenge for making her go in that cave? This would certainly be beyond anything she'd done to date, but if Cindy were properly motivated, she could be quite creative.

Rachel needed a drink.

**

Imani wasn't sure why, but these marathon study sessions were getting harder each semester. Maybe the brain could only take so much. She and Rachel were pretty different, but having someone to study with was kind of like having a spotter in the gym; it helped you push just a little bit farther.

Her brother had always said that calculus had made him forget how to do arithmetic, but he wasn't nearly as interested in the subject and, to be fair, his job didn't really involve much math at the end of the day. For Imani, math was something more; a way of making sense of a world that, on its surface, was pure chaos. Math could give it form and order.

And, unfortunately, it just wasn't sticking today.

Imani yawned and stretched, looking around the library. Another student, a young red-headed guy, appeared to have already fallen asleep. She wasn't going to go out like that.

Though it drove her family nuts when she was a kid, she usually was able to recenter herself by pacing back and forth. Luckily the nearby stacks were long and plentiful enough to make the behavior look more purposeful and less compulsive.

She willed herself to her feet, stifling another yawn, and proceeded to make her rounds. She'd gotten into the habit of counting along with the reference numbers on the stacks. If math didn't work out, there was always library science.

Imani was passing the .500s when she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, pale woman on the far side of the aisle, passing it at the same time she did. She thought nothing of it, until she passed .799. Her counterpart seemed to be walking at the exact same pace. She sped up a little, looking down the aisles intently now. The other woman never returned the gaze, seemingly intent on where she was going.

She was still there every time. Imani practically broke into a jog when she drew close to the end of the stacks. When she reached the final aisle, she turned into it sharply.

No one there.

She whipped backward toward the previous stack to see if she somehow hadn't seen the woman turn down. That aisle was empty as well.

Imani shook her head. Maybe she really was that tired.

Her return trip was far less exciting. Though she did hold her breath for the first few stacks, there was no sign of the other woman.

There was, however, someone sitting at her table across from her seat. He was a large man with a broad chest and thick arms. Imani's own family branched out into a number of different directions, but she wasn't sure she'd ever seen someone quite so racially-ambiguous looking. His skin was caramel and hairless, much like his head, but his stubble was vaguely red and his eyes a vibrant brown that bordered on yellow.

"I've never seen this much knowledge gathered in one place," he grinned, gesturing toward the stacks.

Imani returned his smile with a sardonic one. "You've never been in a library before?"

"Not like this."

"You one of those people who does all their research online?"

He hesitated for a moment, seeming to look inward before answering. "Yes, online. It's a lot easier."

"You know you shouldn't use Wikipedia as a source, right?"

Again that hesitation before answering, "So I hear. I usually just come here to read my book."

She didn't see a book. There was something about the way he looked at her ... or maybe even through her, that was unsettling.

This dude's creep factor was rising quickly. "You know the library's closed to townies this time of night, right?"

"How careless of me," he took his time standing. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss ..."

"Goodnight," she supplied. He seemed to get the hint, offering only a toothy smile in exchange.

Imani watched him leave, following his broad back as he exited the building, thankfully without looking back.

She tried to get back to studying, but it just wasn't happening. Several more times she found herself nodding off. After the third time she decided to call it a night.

As she packed up her things, she saw it: an enormous, dusty tome sitting on the table directly across from her. On closer inspection, it seemed to be bound in cracked leather and sealed shut with an ornate clasp. If it belonged to the college, it didn't seem like the kind of book that would be allowed into a clumsy student's hands without a librarian hovering over them.

Curious, she slid the massive book over to her side and spun it around. The faded title, which seemed to be carved into the cover, read 'Book of the Harbinger.' The clasp was purely ornamental and came off with barely any effort.

Gingerly, she flipped it open, surprised by how sturdy it was despite its appearance.

It wasn't in English, or even in any alphabet she recognized, but the patterns were fascinating, as though they were slashed, wildly, into the page. Looking at it made her eyes heavy and tired.

Her eyes glued to the strange book, she watched as the letters swelled and morphed, rearranging them into the strange symbols that she could understand—not like she understood English—but on a primal level, like she understood breathing. Her pupils dilated as the pages flipped under their own power. Somehow she read every page, saw every meticulously sketched diagram, every long-forgotten word. Oh, the ideas it gave her!

In seconds, Imani performed a lifetime of unspeakable acts, each more depraved and gruesome than the last. She did them, not in service of a philosophy of evil or malice, but merely because they could be done and she was capable of doing them and all things that were possible needed to be done. When it was no longer enough to kill, she tortured, when it was no longer enough to hear their screams, she tasted them. And when she tasted them, she learned. Memories. Hopes. Knowledge. With each act, her hunger grew. The method of consumption was too slow, too ponderous. Necessity was the mother of invention.

Imani lifted her arms above her head and stretched as high as she could. When she did, she felt herself split at the bellybutton, a horizontal seam opening up in her flesh. Without hesitation, she shoveled her victims into it, and it wasn't long before the new orifice began to aid her in the task. A set of giant fangs tore and grinded the meat, coating her in arterial sprays and ichorichor, until her skin seemed to absorb the color.

Still, she could be faster. She knew she could. Gnashing both sets of her teeth and straining, she pushed four sets of nubs out of her ribs. As they grew longer, she willed the tips into forms suited for their tasks. The first set of arms ended in long, clawed fingers, all the better to pull new "information" into her ravenous maw. The second set ended in sharp, insectile hooks for tearing and dragging meat. She left her original set of arms mostly unaltered so she could manipulate things carefully when she needed to.

No, still not making enough use of this biomass. She was bigger than them now. Much bigger. The tall ones were just high enough to stare directly into her maw right before they fell into it. She pushed some of the spare matter to her rear, her butt growing backward until she was as long as she was tall. This threw her off-balance for just a moment until she groaned... no, roared this time, growing a second set of legs at the far end, while she curved the bottom of her spine backward to help stabilize. But while settle only for land movement when she could...

Harbinger lifted her head from the desk. The librarian was saying something to her. Something insignificant. Harbinger instead gazed at her one pair of normal human hands, her normal ebony skin tone. She ran her normal fingertips over her familiar human belly. The book, that wonderful book, was nowhere to be found.

All things in due time. She had the body she needed now, and would have the body she needed—the true self that had been revealed to her-when the time came. She could almost taste the flavor of the little man before her. She smiled widely at him as she gathered up her belongings. There was only one being in the universe who could make her vision a reality. And before that could happen, there was much work to do.