The High Priestess - The Darkest Desires Series

VI

T

he walls were an off green; not warm and sunny, or a pale mint, just an off colour. You might find the colour in the centre of some mouldy bread, or maybe on your Gran's sun-bleached curtains. Echo had stared at them; bone tired and grumpy from being dragged from her bed and could positively say it was the ugliest colour she'd ever seen.

Trapped in the lifeless room, there was little else to look at. The steel table was bolted to the grubby, lino floor, as was the metal chair she sat on which both looked like they'd seen better days. There were no windows and one door. They couldn't even afford a fancy two-way mirror, instead the well-lit room consisted of two wall lamps with harsh yellow light and a tripod, empty of a camera for now. Screwed in one corner was a security camera; chunky in design and caged behind a metal mesh. Echo gave it a little wave. The blinking red light was her only response.

Sunday morning - the only day the kooks got right: a day of rest - two very brave or very stupid officers pulled up to the House. Slamming a fist or two on the front door sent hollow vibrations all the way up to the roof which awoke Echo from her sleep. She'd debated ignoring the banging to see how long it took the glorified traffic patrolmen to give up, but she wasn't alone in the house. No one else would get the door despite the fact none of them sleep.

Echo could say they were far too busy, but the truth was they didn't deal with ... mortals. They only lowered themselves to speak to the apes when they wanted to break a deal, break a Commandment or perhaps a femur or two. No, they wouldn't even register that the door was banging, so if Echo didn't answer and the police stormed the place, uninvited... Echo shuddered at the thought.

Archer would be breaking down the stock markets; building up Ponzi schemes while also processing the money taken in the House last night. None of it legal and all of it going into a very large, off shore depositary that was up in the tens-of-billions.

Samantha was no doubt either fucking herself, having someone else fuck her, or making two or more people fuck each other. None of it was illegal... if it was all consensual and if she remembered safe words. Then there was the blurring of the lines between the genders; again, not illegal... in some forward thinking, progressive countries. Samantha adored holidays to the more mediaeval places where narrow mindedness and bitter fear ruled cocks and vaginas alike with an iron fist. She spoke highly of many southern States as her go-to 'spa retreat', or where religion trumped humanitarian rights.

Gala would be eating, food would be fine; human carcases, not so much. Twilight would probably be ok, unless she did well last night, like most nights and someone had sold their soul for a new face. Twi always kept the discarded ones, so freshly dripping blood down the walls wouldn't look too good. Of course, Mara's room would be fine, a typical looking gym if you'd ever seen one... just as long as no one brought in a black light... or cadaver dogs... or a splatter analysis.