And the woman slowly drives her fingers into the wound.
The pain, excruciating, blurs everything else.
The woman’s face is pressed against hers.
“Blood. That’s what attracts them. The blood feast. They would love to feed on it, but they can’t. Not directly, anyway. That’s why they demand pain… and tears.”
She twists her fingers inside the wound.
Eva howls, struggles against the ropes, cries huge tears.
“The ancient people knew it,” the woman whispers in her ear. “They lived with the gods. They knew their demands, and they accepted them. Can’t you feel this energy? Can’t you hear the gods whispering?”
All Eva can feel is that pain coursing through her. Those rivers of lava running everywhere inside her.
Finally the fingers come out. The world spins. Blood starts to run down her thigh again.
The woman brings her fingers to her mouth before putting both hands on her breasts and smearing them with blood. She squeezes her nipples, making them erect, and throws her head back. Now Eva can clearly see the skin under her throat. It is gray and stained. The skin of a mummy.
“You’re so pretty, little tiger,” she says, leaning over her again. “So pretty, so fragile. I suppose you must use a lot of medication? And beauty products?”
Eva gags. She is only half hearing her. She does not know what to say. Every breath is torture.
“I know that you do,” the insane woman whispers. “Everybody uses them. Those creams. Those products that the commercials sell us, promising they will make us look more beautiful, younger. How’s that different from what I do?”
Eva shakes her head.
Tries to control the pain.
She manages to utter, “That’s got nothing… to do with it.”
The masked woman snickers.
“Don’t you know where those products come from? Just think about it. They’re animal byproducts. There’s always an inferior life to take in order to improve your own, to erase the inevitable wrinkles, to tighten the aging skin, to regenerate sick organs. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Eva’s heart slams in her chest. She needs to take action.
“Just like… Bathory,” she manages to say.
The masked woman smiles.
“Yes. Just like her. Everything I’ve been able to do, I owe to her. The secrets were lost. Countess Elizabeth is the one who found the ways of the past again. She unearthed the secrets and the rituals. She gave her life to that end, to present the gods with blood and tears.”
She giggles and licks her bloody fingers.
“For this is the source of everything, isn’t it? What runs in our veins, what gives us life, what makes the gods hungry.”
“Bathory ended up being tried… and locked up in her room,” Eva coughs before adding, “Then she died, like… the poor crazy bitch she was.”
The woman’s face registers disappointment. She buttons her dress.
“You don’t understand a thing after all.”
When she comes near again, she’s holding the scalpel. The small blade, gleams in the dark.
Behind the mask, Eva can see only the whites of her eyes. The woman raises her hands, palms turned upward, throws her head back, and expels a throaty, droning chant.
“Spirits that dwell in the deepest of darkness, hear my voice! Zalmoxis! Abandon your dwelling. Isten! Abbadon! Come, hurry to the blood feast!”
Eva shuts her eyes, powerless.
The insane woman’s chant becomes high-pitched and animal-like.
“Diseebeh! Zabh! Let your voices be heard! Ashtaroth! Gebeleizis! Come to me with your love, your suffering, and your sacrifice! May your ancient pain come into me and speak through my mouth! Show your reality to me so I can believe in the power of will over death!”
And Eva can feel the blade entering her flesh again. Sliding all the way to the handle, while the masked woman heaves orgasmic screams.
But Eva’s own screaming is louder.
60
The house was not very big and certainly not very pretty. A crude, square, two-story structure. The beams of their flashlights illuminated rough stone walls covered with moss.
Vauvert headed for the front door.
Leroy inspected the windows, trying to find one that was not shuttered and locked.
There was no light coming from inside, nor any sound.
Vauvert tried the door, but, as expected, it was locked.
“Okay.”
He took a step back and gave the door a hard kick. It did not budge.
Then he pointed his Smith amp; Wesson at the lock and fired. Once, then twice. The sound was deafening.
“Vauvert! What the hell are you doing?” Leroy cried out.
Again, the giant flung himself at the door. This time it came open. He stepped inside, his gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Leroy trotted after him.
The entry hall had a yellowish tile floor. There was an empty coat rack along one wall. A framed photo of a girl wearing a tutu was hanging on the opposite wall.
Vauvert reached for the light switch.
Nothing happened.
He flipped the switch on and off a few times and then directed his flashlight at the ceiling. The chandelier had three bulbs.
“Maybe the power’s cut off,” Leroy said.
“Yeah. Let’s be careful,” Vauvert responded.
He trained the beam of light on the photo.
“You think this is her?”
“Could be. If it is, she was pretty,” Leroy said.
Then they set about exploring the rest of the house, the beams of their flashlights coming together and then separating as they streamed over ceilings, walls and floors. In the first room, there was old furniture, a table and wooden chairs, and a large television set on a dresser.
Dust moats floated in their beams of light, creating a constellation of swirling flecks.
There was total silence.
Leroy tried the light switches in that room, with no result.
Cautiously, they made their way to the kitchen. Pots and pans were hanging on a wall, and a few plates rested in a drying rack by the sink.
Vauvert instinctively knew that something was off.
He realized what it was when he took a closer look at the sink. The three plates in the drying rack were covered with gray dust. No one had touched them in years. Even the bottom of the sink was coated with dust.
“Looks like no one lives here,” Vauvert said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I know,” Leroy replied. “But there must be an explanation. Earlier on the phone, I was told that someone here has been using electricity.”
He opened the fridge. It was out of service and obviously had been for a long time. On the shelves were a half dozen jars of jam, now moldy. Leroy quickly shut the door.
“All right. No one’s been in this fucking kitchen for ages.”
