Page 98 of Wicked Flavors

“I’ll be back. I promise,” she whispered, bending to kiss his hand. “Stay alive for me.”

“You, too.”

Gwen nodded, then darted around the corner. Her pace was fast, purposeful as she approached the front door. Her resolve rushed through her ears with every click of her heel.

Get in, take everyone out, stop the ritual.

Those words repeated in Gwen’s head as she reached for the double doors. The single lock and key method had been used up until three years ago, when corporate had insisted on going keyless. Easier way to change the locks with the high rate of turnover. A boon for Gwen, as she knew George’s pin number from years of closing the store with him.

Once the doors opened, Gwen slipped inside, forcing the doors closed behind her. The interior of Master Basting was dark, save for the few fire escape lights Gwen knew like the back of her hand. The silence was unnerving, not at all what Gwen was expecting, considering what Sierra and a handful of unknowns were planning to do. At the very least, she had expected to at least hear the murmuring of some bullshit chant.

Gwen crept past the checkout stands and was immediately hit by a wall of euphoria. The intensity nearly knockedher on her ass. Ambrosius had mentioned that the cult’s emotional state would be intense, but this was so different from navigating the crowds of the summer night market. The singular emotion shared by so many people was as thick as smoke from a summer wildfire. And it made it impossible for Gwen to tell how many cult members were in the store or their locations.

Of course, the one natural talent I have is useless right now. Fuck, this is gonna be tricky … okay, c’mon, Gwen, push through this.

Gathering her wits, Gwen pushed back on the emotions. Her best path to the back of house was to go straight down the middle. Past the kitschy dining displays, poorly made furniture, and stolen artwork printed on canvas. However, Gwen needed to stop at one end aisle display first. All the while, her heart raced, urging her to hurry as fast as she could.

These people—whoever they were—were killing Ambrosius. They were molding him and making him something for themselves. Whether they understood they were doing it or not didn’t matter to Gwen. Only that someone like Sierra was daring to take the small bit of happiness Gwen found from her.

Gwen had never considered herself to be the jealous type, but when it came to Ambrosius, she wouldn’t exactly call herself level headed. And the idea of anyone taking him from her made the ugliest parts of her ravenous. Hands aching, her veins pulsed with anger.

The hobby tools and knives were kept near scrapbooking. With the baking utensils several aisles down. Gwen would have preferred the serrated knife used for cutting cakes, but the small retractable cutting knife would have to do. Gwen swiped it off the shelf, tearing the plasticfrom it and letting it fall to the floor as she rounded the corner and straight into a body.

The impact hit Gwen hard, but she managed to regain her balance. In the dim light of the store, Gwen couldn’t see a face, but the figure was wearing a black hooded cloak. The implication was good enough for Gwen, and she swung the cutting knife in the figure’s direction. Her swing was wide, catching the figure's cloak, but not flesh. Something Gwen wasn’t going to do twice.

“What the shit!”

Gwen swung again, bringing the knife down, but she was halted when a hand caught her wrist. The pressure made her joint ache as Gwen fought to bring the cutting knife down. There was a burst of static, something familiar—

“Brother Aaron, we heard commotion. Are you all right? Over.”

Fuck, these assholes have coms?

There was no way Gwen could afford to let this person—Brother Aaron—alert the rest of the cult. Her battle to control the knife was failing as he twisted Gwen’s wrist. Brother Aaron was stronger than her, no doubt, as he pushed the sharp blade toward Gwen’s chest. Her heart beat wildly as Gwen braced her feet on the ground to gain leverage, but it was futile.

Gwen gasped when the sharp point of the cutting knife pierced her chest, blood beginning to gather in the shallow wound. She winced as the resistance made the knife shake, the sharp edge inflicting more shallow cuts. The pain hurt, but it was inconsequential when so much was on the line.

“Brother Aaron, can you confirm everything is all right—”

“Thesummoning ritual has already started, and we’re about to start the rite with the brides! Everything hadbetterbe all right!”

“… Over!”

The first voice was the same, but the new voice—

Sierra!

Jealousy boiled in Gwen’s heart at the realization. Sierra was about to initiate the part of the summoning that required the five brides. If the internet discourse was to be believed, it meant that they were in the middle of pulling Ambrosius into a human vessel. All so they could learn some fucking bullshit truth—

Trust yourself.

The beating of her heart grew loud, blood rushing toward her head. The face of Brother Aaron suddenly came into view, illuminated by the glowing cyan of Gwen’s own eyes. A flash of green eyes that looked hell bent on surviving, Brother Aaron’s devotion mirrored her own.

Nothing mattered except saving Ambrosius from these fanatics, a desire that slowly crawled its way up the back of her throat. It pressed against her neck, bulging outward like an Adam’s apple as it crept over the back of her tongue. Gwen tightened her hold on the knife, pressed it an inch deeper into herself. Something told her she needed to be closer to his face.

Gwen opened her mouth wide, and a spider spilled from the inside. The same blue backed spider that had grown in her bathroom, only now it was less fuzzy and more deadly in appearance. Crawling over her teeth, more spiders escaped the cavern of her mouth and throat with sharp limbs. They leapt across the short distance and landed on Brother Aaron’s face. The cultist screamed as thesmall creatures bit, pulling back on instinct as more spiders appeared.

Brother Aaron spun, hands ripping spiders from his face and revealing bites that quickly turned necrotic. But that didn’t stop the colony, as the open wounds only seemed to encourage them. By the time the last remaining spider slipped from Gwen’s mouth, Brother Aaron had ran. He was still trying in vain to remove the spiders, tripping on his own cloak near the end of the aisle. All the while, his screams of fear and agony filled the air. It was better than any playlist George ever broadcast on the radio during their closing shifts.

---