The Devil's Pact Pt. 34

I thought of Mark, his boyish grin and deep-blue eyes. He needed me to be strong, to save him. I couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity. I pushed at the despair, forcing it back. We were all lost if I fell apart. There had to be a way out of this. "Just stay calm and think, Mary."

But I couldn't.

My mind kept drifting back to Mark. I would struggle, trying to focus on the problem, and an image of Mark being hit would fill my mind. Of Mark placed before a firing squad, shot dead. Of Mark being hung. I would force the images away, and even worse ones would slip into my mind.

Dad walked up from coach, standing in the aisle, staring at me. His presence dragging me out of my morbid thoughts. He looked haggard, eyes baggy, skin sallow. He swallowed, then opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. His long, red hair, streaked with gray, fell loosely about his shoulders, not pulled back into his usual ponytail.

My stomach sank. "What, Dad?" I wearily asked.

"Mark's on TV. They're beating him."

"What else?" I asked, sensing he was holding back on me.

"You can't go back," he said, his eyes suddenly firm, hard.

Tears stung my eyes. "I know."

"This Brandon, he says Mark will be beaten day and night until you surrender yourself to him and be his concubine."

I felt hysteria bubbling up inside me, almost bursting out in a laugh. Of course, the asshole wanted to do to me what we did to Desiree. Mark humiliated Brandon that day, fucking his wife in front of him. He wanted revenge.

Mark, I am going to save you! I sent, mustering all my confidence and determination.

I'm fine. Do not turn yourself in. I can take it. I could feel his pain. I wanted to cry, but I had done enough of that.

I won't turn myself in. But I'm going to save you! Somehow! Be strong, Mark! I looked at Dad, and ordered, "Get Sam."

A steely resolve grew inside me. I would save Mark. We had the Book, the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. The answer must be in there, somewhere. A way to neutralize Brandon's powers or give me more strength or something.

* * *

President Baumgarten - Washington D.C.

"Mr. President," Eustace Smyth, my Chief of Staff, said, holding up the phone. "He wants to speak with you."

I frowned, watching the TV. They were still beating the despicable Mark Glassner. For the last few months my cabinet and I had argued what to do about him. He was a dangerous man, somehow corrupting anyone that came into contact with him. My cabinet was split. Some championed Mark and his sexual politics while others thought he was the most dangerous threat to the US since the war of 1812. My Secretary of Education even said he should be assassinated.

But that was illegal.

I was the President of the United States, sworn to uphold the Constitution, sworn to obey the laws. I would not, could not, approve assassinating a US citizen.

"Who's on the phone?" I asked. The world had changed today. My new God, Brandon Fitzsimmons, had finally overthrown the false God Mark and was hunting down his wife, Mary.

"Him," Eustace said with emphasis and I finally understood.

I trembled as I snatched the phone from him. The moment Brandon had spoken during his press conference, it all became suddenly clear. Brandon was the true God and had soundly defeated the false one. No, Brandon wasn't a God, he was the God.

My God.

"This is the President, my Lord," I respectfully said.

I found myself to be suddenly nervous as I spoke to an actual God. I had spoken to almost every Head of State on the planet, knowing every time that I was more powerful than any of them. For the first time since I was elected President of the United States, I was the lesser power.

It was humbling.

"You shall fly to Tacoma with your cabinet and surrender the country to me," my God ordered.

"Absolutely, my Lord," I answered. The phone clicked as my God hung up on me.

I was going to meet my God in person. I never thought it would happen while I was alive.

* * *

Mark Glassner - Tacoma, WA

The beating lasted for an eternity. An eternity of pain and suffering. This must be hell, I thought with bleak amusement. I had sold my soul, and my punishment was to be beaten by the followers of a man I had wronged.

It was poetic.

I had used my powers for my own pleasures, not caring about the lives I hurt or destroyed. Mary was right to have us free our slaves. And to tell me not to break up relationships just because I was horny or feeling vindictive. I needed to be responsible with my powers.

I passed out sometime during the beating.

Slowly, the pain brought me back to consciousness. I lay on something hard, cold. The agony slowed my mind. I fought through the fog, struggling to move, to survey my surroundings. Metal clinked, digging into my wrists and ankles. They had manacled me hand and foot then dumped me onto the floor of a jail cell. Two soldiers stood outside the bars, M16s grasped in their hands, uncaring eyes fixed on me like I was an insect pinned to a cork board.

My mouth was parched. I spotted a sink. I struggled to move, desperate for water. It was excruciating just stretching my legs, the metal of the leg irons biting into my ankles, constricting my movement. I did not know why I was still alive. I think it was the Gift. A lesser man surely could not have survived. I grit my teeth, mustered the will to fight through the pain, and pulled myself across the rough floor.

It was an effort. Each pull left me gasping, agony surging through me.

And then the metal sink was above me. I tried to grab the rim with my right arm, momentarily forgetting the foot-long chain connecting my wrist manacles together. Grunting, I pushed myself up onto my knees. With a final heave, I grasped it with both hands, pulling myself up and staring at my reflection in the polished stainless steel mirror.

My face was a bloody ruin, swollen so badly that I couldn't recognize myself. I opened my mouth, spotting the ruins of my teeth and the severed stump of my throbbing tongue. I inspected the damage: gums bleeding, shattered molars throbbing in pain, gaps where front teeth were missing. I shivered. I was naked except for the manacles biting into wrists and ankles. I didn't even remember them stripping off my clothes. I looked at my body in the reflection. Blacks and blues and yellows covered me. There didn't seem to be any part of me that wasn't bruised.

I cupped cold water in my hands, the chains rattling, and slowly sipped it tenderly, trying not to brush my swollen face. The shooting pain in my broken teeth increased as the cold water poured into my lips. I closed my eyes, and forced myself to keep drinking through the pain. I gulped down water until my stomach felt ready to burst. Then I stumbled to the cot.

We've landed in Kansas, Mary sent me as I curled up on the hard mattress, trying to get comfortable despite the metal restraining me.

Good. The beatings have stopped. I think I'm going to sleep.

I love you! Your filly is going to save you. There was such certainty in her voice.

I know you will. I sent with all the confidence I could muster to her, fighting back my despair. Mary was free. As long as she was, there was still hope. Love you.

All I could do was sleep. I was so exhausted. I closed my eyes and was letting sweet unconsciousness take me when I realized something. I had ignored my Gift, wanting nothing to do with the Heavenly Power. I could afford to ignore the power no longer. I concentrated, thinking of the Angel Azrael, as I drifted off into unconsciousness.

Summoning the Angel of Death to my dreams.

* * *

Mary Glassner - Osage Field, KS

I stepped off the 747. We were in an airport in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. It was a decommissioned airfield from the Cold War called Osage Field. It was used to service Atlas E Missile Silos before they were decommissioned. Exactly like the missile silo we bought that was only a few minutes drive from here. Our bolthole. Tiffany had found the site, and George, my older sister's fiance, had purchased it under the cover of his business trips.

A burly man with an MP5 awaited us, along with several women. More burly men guarded the perimeter. The man was Duncan Barber, one of the SWAT officers who attacked us back in June. He wasn't to blame for the attack. None of the SWAT officers that day were to blame. They were under the Nuns' control. Three of them had died, but the other nine had lived. Mark gave them the choice to go to prison or he could fake their deaths and put them to work. They chose freedom and work. So Mark and I fixed their broken relationships—it was our fault that they were broken—and relocated them and their families out here.

"Ma'am," Duncan said. His aura was black, fringed with red. Everyone at this airfield and the missile silo were bound to Mark by the Zimmah ritual. This place was just too important to let anyone know about it unless they were bound to us.

"Is it as bad as it seems, ma'am?" Kathanne asked. She was Duncan's wife.

"Yes," I sighed.

"What are you going to do, ma'am?" Duncan asked as he escorted me to the waiting SUV.

"I don't know," I said, so tired. Sam and I dug into her translation of the Book, looking for some way to neutralize Brandon's powers or break the control he was exerting on people.

"Shame we don't have a Nun," Duncan said. "Don't they specialize in defeating Warlocks, ma'am?" His eyes flicked to my mom, hardening for a moment.

I stopped, looking at him. That was it. We needed a Nun.

"Sam, you said there was a spell that would allow a Warlock to steal a Nun's powers?" I asked, hope blossoming in my chest.

"Yeah, the, um, Ganubath ritual," Sam answered before yawning. "You need to find a Nun and capture her." A knowing smile appeared on Sam's lips, but it quickly vanished. "Where are you going to find one, though?"

I grinned at her. I knew only one place in the world that you could find a Nun. "Fuel the plane!" I snapped. "We need to leave as soon as you cast the Naba ritual." I glanced at Sam and she swallowed.

"I'll get started right away, ma'am," she answered, her face pale.

I would be scared, too. It was dangerous to summon the dead.

Chapter Five

The Holy Slut Desiree faced the Demon with courage and bravery. She did not lose faith in our Living Gods nor did she submit to the vile desires of the False God despite all his cruel abuses.

—The Gospel of April 37:1-2

Desiree de la Fuentes - Tacoma, WA

Being captured wasn't what I thought it would be.

After being forced to watch my ex-husband order mi Rey's brutal beating, I was taken to the showers in the jail next door to the courthouse. Two female soldiers, one tall with a plain face and the other short and stocky, stripped me naked and shoved me in with a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo. As the warm water sprayed on my sore body, I wondered if I would ever see my wife again.

I leaned forward against the tiled wall, and my body shook with silent sobs. I desperately wanted to see my slutty Alison again. I pictured her mischievous face framed by her bubblegum hair, her tongue running over her lush lips, silver glinting off her tongue-piercing. Mi Rey gave the distress call. Alison should be far away, safe wherever the bolthole was.

Safe with mi Reina.

"You're clean," Plain-Face barked. "Let's go. We need to get you ready for Him."

I shuddered. The woman said "him" with such a worshipful manner. I had heard Brandon's pronouncement—he claimed he was a God now. Derisions fired through me. As if that fat buffoon could even compare to mi Rey. The women handed me a black dress to wear. It was similar to one Brandon bought me before Mark claimed me, low-cut and tight, showing off all of my body's ample assets.

"Take off the choker," Stocky ordered.

"No," I said with defiance. "I am mi Rey's slut!"

Stocky just reached out and yanked it off my neck, snapping the clasp. I wanted to cry. Instead, I glared icily at the woman who pocketed my choker. She handed me a black jewelry box that contained a pearl necklace. I knocked it to the floor.

"Don't make us hurt you," she threatened as she picked up the box.

Grinding my teeth, I took the necklace and placed it about my throat. They hadn't noticed my wedding ring, and as we walked through the jail, I quickly pulled it off my left ring finger and slipped it onto my right. They took the symbol of my voluntary slavery, and I wasn't about to lose the symbol of my love for Alison.

The soldiers marched me through the jail. We constantly had to stop at security gates, waiting for unseen guards to buzz them open from the control room. Everyone manning the prison was a soldier. There were bloodstains dotting the walls and empty shell casings littering the floor. And not all the gates had to be buzzed open; some lay twisted and blackened from explosives. As we walked, I realized there was no one making catcalls at me. The cells were empty.

"Where are all the prisoners?" I asked, unnerved by the empty cells.

"Executed," Plain-Face answered. "His orders."

My blood chilled. What had happened to Brandon? I never loved him—I was a lesbian who married him for his money—but he wasn't an evil man. Right? He always seemed nice and attentive. He had a temper, sure, but I was having trouble reconciling the man I married and the monster who appeared today.

Stocky prodded me, and I realized that I had frozen in my tracks. Swallowing, I started walking forward again.

Was he always a monster, and I just never saw it in him?

They led me out to the exercise yard at the center of the jail. It was a small courtyard with a few basketball hoops, some metal tables lining the sides. Both tables and their stools were bolted into the concrete. The exercise yard was crowded with women milling about under the hungry eyes of a group of soldiers. All the women were naked, young, and reasonably attractive.

A larger table had been set up with a white tablecloth and mauve candles, a bottle of wine chilling in a silver ice bucket. A romantic dinner? A naked eighteen-year-old with blonde hair walked up to me, smiling broadly. She bowed to me then dismissed Stocky and Plain-Face with the wave of her arm. The two soldiers saluted and walked off.

"My Lady," the girl said. She had a Midwest twang to her voice. "I am Ashley, your Lord Husband's chief concubine."

"You're his slut," I corrected.

"As you say, my Lady. Would you care to sit? Lord Brandon will be here shortly to dine with you."

I was about to refuse when a woman shouted in a rich, French accent, "Kneel before your God, the Majestic Brandon, the Divine Ruler of the World!"

I snorted with laughter. The Majestic Brandon? The soldiers knelt on one knee while the women in the exercise yard and Ashley fell prostrate. I remained standing, refusing to genuflect before my ex. I turned to see a porcelain-faced woman with long, dark-brown hair, falling naked to worship my ex-husband as he swept in. Behind him walked a bevy of naked women, led by a pair of twins who were almost the spitting image of mi Reina. Several military men—some sort of high-ranking officers judging by their age and bearing—followed on the heels of the naked women. The last to enter was the mayor of Tacoma, Colton Bray, and his lovely Korean wife, Yoon.

Mi Rey had fucked her right before the attack. It felt like so much longer than eight or so hours had passed.

"My beautiful Desiree," Brandon said warmly, walking up and hugging me. I stiffened in his arms. He frowned and broke the hug. "I see he has warded you from my control."

"And it has nothing to do with the fact that I hate you, picaflor?" I asked bitterly as he motioned for me to sit. I grit my teeth and plopped down on the chair.

"You do not hate me, not deep down inside," Brandon said calmly. "Mark has forced you to hate me. You are under his power."

I snorted a laugh and muttered in Spanish, "Babosa." Brandon was an idiot.

One of the auburn-haired twins popped the cork and poured two glasses of wine. Then she knelt with all the other naked women and looked adoringly up at Brandon. Not even mi Rey made us fawn over him like this.

"No, I hate you for this." I pointed around. "You attacked us. Your damned soldiers almost killed my loved ones. Almost killed me! You are having my Master cruelly beaten. And what are you doing with all these women?" I motioned to the scared women crowded in the exercise yard.

"They were candidates for my harem," Brandon calmly answered. "The ones I rejected. My soldiers are rounding-up every attractive woman they find, and I'm keeping the best. Don't look so shocked. Mark did the same thing. He walked into our house and made you his whore." Heat rose in his voice. "But don't you worry, my love, I will find a way to free you."

"Mark already freed me, babosa," I answered, putting as much derision into my voice as I could. "I'm his slut willingly. We all are."

Brandon frowned as another naked woman set bowls of salad before the both of us. My stomach rumbled, but I pushed the food aside. Brandon took a forkful, chewed it slowly, face furrowed as he thought. He swallowed, then asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Back in June, after the Miracle, Mark and Mary freed us. Some of us chose to stay as their slaves." Feeling spiteful, I added, "I could have returned to you, but I never loved you, Brandon. I just married you for your money. I was a gold digger. A lesbian gold digger. I stayed with Master because I fell in love, and I could have all the wealth I could possibly dream of as his whore. More than I ever could have as your wife."

Anger flashed on his face and I was too surprised to react as he slapped me across the table. "So you love Mark," he spat. "That vile beast that took you away from me. You were mine!"

"¡Tu madre es puta y pendeja!" I shouted back, rubbing my cheek. "No, I am Alison's! I fell in love with their slave and married her. I found true happiness! Something that you never gave me! All I ever got from you was a comfortable life and disappointing sex!"

I blocked his second blow and raked my fingernails down his arm. I smiled at the bloody scratches I gave him.

He stood up, rage filling his eyes, and rounded the table at me. I quickly got to my feet and tried to back away, but I stumbled over one of his kneeling whores. His arm caught mine in a steely grip. I snarled at him and slapped him across the face.

My head swam as he backhanded me. I tripped over the kneeling woman and fell hard onto my back. "¡Culero!" I snarled at him. "How could I love a muerdealmohadas like you? You don't even know what to do with a woman! Not with your little dick! ¡Pinche mula!"

He stared down at me, rage burning in his eyes. "I dislike having to chastise you, Desiree. But you will learn to submit to me if I have to beat all the willfulness out of you."

"¡Jode su madre!" I spat. "I chose Alison, and I chose Mark, over you! Mi Reina is out there! You think you've won, but she will crush you! And I will be there to see you fall!"

Brandon laughed. "Let the little whore try." I felt his eyes upon me as I lay on the floor. My skirt had ridden up as I fell. I pushed it back down, covering my exposed pussy. "Why so modest now?" he asked with a hungry look in his eyes. "You weren't so bashful this morning with your tits exposed and covered in his cum."

"¡Ve a chuparle el peson ha un chango! I'm his whore, not yours! Never yours."

"Let's see, shall we?" he smiled, unbuckling his belt. "Hold her down."