Read Online Manifest (The Darkening Trilogy) by Jonathan R. Stanley - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan R. Stanley
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asshole. I’m told we need him for information.
“You’re too kind,” she manages.
“And intuitive,” he slips in not-so covertly followed by a yacht-club chuckle.
“It is much more serious than that, I’m afraid.” I let her do the talking and just stand behind Carlos as he completely ignores me.
“Oh? What is it my sweet?”
“A violation of sanctuary,” she counters seriously.
His bravado lessens. “I see. Please, follow me. Your coats?”
“Thanks but we won’t be staying long,” I state though I know he won’t respect my wishes.
On cue he has an attendant take Sabetha’s trench anyway. I wait for someone to come for mine so I can push them into a tacky antique mirror but the coat boy only takes Betha’s. I can sense Carlos smile as I sizzle, following him down a long and poorly decorated hallway.
“I was just on my way to the dining hall,” he says. “You will join me.”
Not a dining room – but a dining hall .
Sabetha follows him and gives me a behave yourself look. I grit my teeth and follow silently. Carlos leads us through his candle lit mansion until finally we come to a set of large double doors with iron gargoyle heads set in the face. Without speaking, he stands with his feet together in front of the door. I can already sense a multitude of guests on the other side.
“Some accuse me of wasting my blood on enhancing my tongue and enlarging my stomach, but I cannot find a better use for my life-force. My chef is very talented.” He turns back and speaks softly to us before opening the double doors, “She cooks better than she tastes...” then, looking to Sabetha pointedly, “but then again I am a chyld.”
What does that even mean ?
The hall before us stretches out in perfect dimensional evenness with the dining table, decorated with a white lace cloth, candelabras, and a feast of gourmet foods. The scene to the sides however is a nightmarish painting which undulates like an hallucination. Huddled against the walls are rocking forms that rub against each other and claw softly at one another’s skin. They move nearly in unison, swaying to each other’s thrusts and to the soft piano music. Some are male, some female and some are visually indistinguishable due to masks and leather apparel. They are all chained in one way or another, either to clothing or to skin.
A few are gagged while hooks are driven into their flesh and strangled if they make a noise. Others need not be strangled having already suffered the penalty for squealing during dinner time. Compared to what I have seen in my lifetime, this is not even noteworthy, and compared to Carlos’ basement it’s a kindergarten class, but he didn’t have to take us here. It’s the principle of it. He wants to make a point. To get a rise out of us; me.
A young ilk girl, too young to bear children, lies naked at the end of the table. Carlos takes his seat there and offers Sabetha the position at his left. I stand. The girl has been beaten and her teeth knocked out. Bruises cover her neck in yellows, purples, and greens and the internal damage is bad enough she has to gasp for each breath. Carlos leans in and bites the femoral artery, high up on her inner thigh. She moves in pain but makes no noise whatsoever. Keeping his bite clean, Carlos comes up to dab his mouth with a napkin while putting pressure on the wound.
I’m not one to be easily angered, but Carlos doing this just to evoke an emotion in me is another thing entirely, and as he finishes dinner to the sounds of the girls screams, I’m pretty close to grabbing Betha and leaving. With an inviting smile he turns to Sabetha. He’s always tried to make her more of a “true chyld,” by being an example of embracing one’s desires.
As he looks at me for a reaction, almost inviting me to say something, he pulls Sabetha closer to him by the back of her neck. I tense and try to keep
“You’re too kind,” she manages.
“And intuitive,” he slips in not-so covertly followed by a yacht-club chuckle.
“It is much more serious than that, I’m afraid.” I let her do the talking and just stand behind Carlos as he completely ignores me.
“Oh? What is it my sweet?”
“A violation of sanctuary,” she counters seriously.
His bravado lessens. “I see. Please, follow me. Your coats?”
“Thanks but we won’t be staying long,” I state though I know he won’t respect my wishes.
On cue he has an attendant take Sabetha’s trench anyway. I wait for someone to come for mine so I can push them into a tacky antique mirror but the coat boy only takes Betha’s. I can sense Carlos smile as I sizzle, following him down a long and poorly decorated hallway.
“I was just on my way to the dining hall,” he says. “You will join me.”
Not a dining room – but a dining hall .
Sabetha follows him and gives me a behave yourself look. I grit my teeth and follow silently. Carlos leads us through his candle lit mansion until finally we come to a set of large double doors with iron gargoyle heads set in the face. Without speaking, he stands with his feet together in front of the door. I can already sense a multitude of guests on the other side.
“Some accuse me of wasting my blood on enhancing my tongue and enlarging my stomach, but I cannot find a better use for my life-force. My chef is very talented.” He turns back and speaks softly to us before opening the double doors, “She cooks better than she tastes...” then, looking to Sabetha pointedly, “but then again I am a chyld.”
What does that even mean ?
The hall before us stretches out in perfect dimensional evenness with the dining table, decorated with a white lace cloth, candelabras, and a feast of gourmet foods. The scene to the sides however is a nightmarish painting which undulates like an hallucination. Huddled against the walls are rocking forms that rub against each other and claw softly at one another’s skin. They move nearly in unison, swaying to each other’s thrusts and to the soft piano music. Some are male, some female and some are visually indistinguishable due to masks and leather apparel. They are all chained in one way or another, either to clothing or to skin.
A few are gagged while hooks are driven into their flesh and strangled if they make a noise. Others need not be strangled having already suffered the penalty for squealing during dinner time. Compared to what I have seen in my lifetime, this is not even noteworthy, and compared to Carlos’ basement it’s a kindergarten class, but he didn’t have to take us here. It’s the principle of it. He wants to make a point. To get a rise out of us; me.
A young ilk girl, too young to bear children, lies naked at the end of the table. Carlos takes his seat there and offers Sabetha the position at his left. I stand. The girl has been beaten and her teeth knocked out. Bruises cover her neck in yellows, purples, and greens and the internal damage is bad enough she has to gasp for each breath. Carlos leans in and bites the femoral artery, high up on her inner thigh. She moves in pain but makes no noise whatsoever. Keeping his bite clean, Carlos comes up to dab his mouth with a napkin while putting pressure on the wound.
I’m not one to be easily angered, but Carlos doing this just to evoke an emotion in me is another thing entirely, and as he finishes dinner to the sounds of the girls screams, I’m pretty close to grabbing Betha and leaving. With an inviting smile he turns to Sabetha. He’s always tried to make her more of a “true chyld,” by being an example of embracing one’s desires.
As he looks at me for a reaction, almost inviting me to say something, he pulls Sabetha closer to him by the back of her neck. I tense and try to keep
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