Death of an Adept

A mote of darkness materialized as if out of nowhere, winking once and then expanding with explosive suddenness into a pillar of smoke the height of a man. Churning, the smoke resolved at length into a shadowy humanoid figure with eyes like twin flames - a likeness that made Adam catch his breath, for he had seen the infernal spirit of William de Soulis reflected thus in the vision Andrew Kerr had shown him.

Raeburn took a step closer, holding the dagger between himself and the dark presence he had summoned.

"Welcome, Lord Soulis," he declared. "All that we agreed upon has been prepared. I bring you your new host - one I think you will approve of."

He indicated the passive, vacantly staring form of lolo swaying beside him. Soulis' ember eyes shifted.

This? The query reverberated beyond mere hearing. You deem this worthy? This creature has no fire in its soul.

"Not yet," Raeburn replied. "But the tinder is there, awaiting only your spark. And he has an illustrious ancestry - one which gives testimony to his potential. By direct descent, he is blood-kin to your own most bitter foe: Sir Andrew Kerr, of the Huntsmen of the Light, who imposed your sentence of banishment - the sentence I can rescind."

This disclosure of lolo's identity caused Soulis to rear up, his gaze glittering more brightly than before.

Of Kerr's bloodline, is he? Then he is, indeed, eminently acceptable. But why shows he so little regard for his fate?

"Your new host has been drugged to suppress his resistance," Raeburn explained. "I will have the appropriate antidote administered before you take up residence. And then you will give me what I want, before I grant you freedom."

Fire flickered in the ember eyes as Soulis appeared to consider the matter. Then the shadowy head gave a nod.

Very well.

Mallory had already produced a loaded hypo. Smiling mirthlessly, Raeburn forced lolo to his knees, twisting his neck to one side so Mallory could inject directly into the jugular.

lolo's eyelids fluttered. Letting him sink to his hands and knees, Raeburn and Mallory stepped back, and Raeburn closed off the third side of the outer triangle with a fresh infusion of blood. Then, with the point of the dagger, Raeburn stretched across to scratch a gap in the inner triangle, giving Soulis access to his host.

With an exultant hiss, Soulis burst the bounds of the inner triangle, reverting to fiery smoke as he surged over the vaguely stirring lolo. The young Druid shuddered from head to foot as Soulis took him, body arching backward against the violation, clawing hands clapped to his head as Soulis' essence forced access to the temple of his flesh. As the infestation was completed, lolo gave a single, strangled cry, then sank back on his hunkers, arms falling slack at his sides, his eyes going wholly blank.

Glittering life returned to the eyes with his next breath, but the light of conscious presence was that of Soulis, not lolo. Chuckling with lascivious delight, the black wizard drew himself to his knees, then staggered upright with feet wide-spraddled. His lips drew back in a terrible grin as he cast his burning gaze on Raeburn, speaking with lolo's voice.

"You may proceed with your preparations," he instructed. "I shall prepare myself to petition the Dark Powers, while this body regains its full strength."

He paused for a luxurious sigh, flexing his hands before running them possessively up and down lolo's body. Then he made an abrupt turn and dropped to both knees, abasing himself before the black altar with a raucous shout of exultation.

His cry shivered Adam to the bone, edging him closer to despair as, with sinking heart, he felt hard hands dragging him to his feet, throwing off his blanket to chivvy him forward with rough force. Behind the altar stood the black priest in his Satanic vestments, his eyes wide with mingled shock and awed anticipation. Beside him stood Raeburn.

The two acolytes were waiting to divest Adam of his robe. Though he tried weakly to resist, his body refused to obey him as he was stripped and hoisted up onto the altar, his wrists bound with cords of scarlet silk that then were drawn hard over the sides and secured to the wrought-iron candlesticks now set to either side of the altar's base. They left his feet unbound, but that hardly mattered, since his legs were numb from the cold, his body debilitated from the drugs and loss of blood; and he knew full well that escape - at least of his own devising - was now beyond any mortal hope.