Mahrey rose to her feet. “Penelope. Welcome.” She flung her arms apart in joy, her enormous form wobbling with the motion. “I am so glad you made it in time for tonight’s event.”
Someone stepped in beside Penelope and grabbed her arm. “I’ll take her from here,” he said in a soft voice. “Hello Penelope.”
Penelope looked up and saw the dark man. Her icy muscles became stone, though her throat was loose enough to emit a whimper. There he was. Silver eyes and a black mask over white skin, a grip that would best a running freight train and the air of someone who could kill you with less effort than it took to greet you.
The thin-moustached guard stepped away and practically ran out of the room. Penelope envied him.
“Bring her before the group!” Mahrey almost sang, exulting in Penelope’s arrival.
“I’m glad you remember me,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. “Then you’ll remember what I’m capable of. If you choose to join That Which Sins, remember that you are mine regardless of what she says.”
They started walking toward the circle of cultists, slowly but purposefully. A deep intonation rose from the revellers, words in a guttural language Penelope had never heard. The Bacchanal was warming up.
“I am the one who took the Wanted Man single-handedly,” the dark man continued, his grip on her strengthening momentarily. She moaned in pain. “I am the foremost agent of That Which Sins. Remember this.”
Penelope nodded. If there were some power struggle between Mahrey and the dark man, she knew which side she would take; if he wanted, the dark man could slaughter everyone in this room with barely a second thought. And he claimed to have captured the Wanted Man on his own. There was no contest.
The dark man led her to the altar and then let her go. Mahrey nodded her thanks and he melted away, apparently not a part of this Bacchanal. Penelope wondered if he ever took part, how he worshipped That Which Sins.
“Penelope, my dear, do you know why you’re here?” Mahrey called over the deep chant.
“I… I asked That Which Sins for help.”
Mahrey smiled. “And did She not grant it?”
Penelope nodded. Disgust and a fledgling love rose in her at the same time, duelling forces vying for control of what she would do next. The torture had been That Which Sins’ fault in the first place but at least She’d taken an interest in Penelope…
The obese priestess stalked into the centre of the circle, talking at each person in turn. “Unlike Yahweh, That Which Sins cares about her followers. She loves us. She knows that we are creatures of pleasure, that we just want to indulge ourselves whenever we can. That is what She allows us, and implores all others, to do. That is what She wants from each of us.”
Their chanting became a little louder, slightly more fervent.
Mahrey smiled and turned to Penelope. “And that is what She wants from you, Penelope Chalmers.”
This rhetoric was akin to what Christian priests had echoed to her; an all-powerful deity that took interest in her personally. The only difference was the level of rules imposed, with That Which Sins supposedly just wanting her to enjoy herself.
Flashes of her body’s reactions when the Bacchanals were in full flow, of Mahrey’s strange brand of torture, came to mind. There were deep wells of pleasure to be found in herself, ones that she had longed to explore for some time but hadn’t and couldn’t because of her faith in the Lord. But, if He existed and wouldn’t help her, was He worth listening to? And what if He didn’t exist at all?
Mahrey stepped closer and put an arm on Penelope’s shoulder. No magic came with it this time. “I can see you have doubts; there’s someone here who might be able to… convince you to make the right decision.”
Mahrey snapped her fingers and pointed behind Penelope. Penelope turned and saw the dark man reappear at the edge of the darkness. He was bringing someone with him. The dazzling lights made it difficult to see who it was.
