saying.
“…abused. I mean it’s obvious.” Lennox sounded stressed, trying to keep his voice down.
“I get it. We’ve seen enough of them coming through. But whatever’s got her, you’re right. It’s strong. You really want to just let her walk out and trot on home?”
“She needs to know for herself. Just… don’t be yourself, okay?”
“Oh, don’t be myself? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A handsy tosser,” Lennox spat. “Let me handle it, and maybe she won’t think we’re trying to murder her.”
Pushing the door shut again, Dorian wondered if they were just trying to throw her off, or if they were serious. Either way, she couldn’t lock herself in the bathroom all day, and if it did come down to kill or be killed, they would have a fight on their hands. She hadn’t learned nothing in her years of group homes full of angry teens.
She straightened her shirt, ran her hands over her hair, then opened the door and walked out. Lennox was by the kitchen table now, Dash still on the couch holding the neck of a beer pinched between his thumb and crooked finger. He tipped her a nod as she entered the room, her hands in her pockets.
“You feel better?” Lennox was holding a small silver bowl and was mashing down something with a wooden pestle.
“What’s that?” Dorian couldn’t help but ask the question, her nerves on edge.
“Part of the ritual. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to feel great after.” When her face went drawn, Lennox held up a hand. “Not like that, lass, swear it. This is just a bit of oil and sage. Repels any sort of mind control the demon puts on you. It’ll allow you to speak freely to it.”
“And what, you want me to drink that poison?” She scoffed, her head shaking.
“Just gonna paint a couple symbols on your wrists. Nothing more.” Lennox took a step toward her, and Dorian took a step back. “See for yourself. No funny business, I promise.”
Peering over the bowl, Dorian’s eyebrows knitted downward in a frown. The liquid in the bowl was thick, chunky, and the color of dark rust. “If it’s just oil and sage, why’s it all red?”
Lennox shrugged and tried to evade the question before Dash piped up. “Just a bit of lamb’s blood, love.”
Whirling around, Dorian started shaking her head and laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Lamb’s blood. Lamb? Like Mary had a little lamb?”
“As in one of the most effective tools in fighting demons,” Dash said. He rose from the couch and approached Lennox who now had a small, wiry paint brush in the bowl. “I swear it’s nothing creepy. Bit of sage, bit of oil. Dollop of lamb’s blood, and a pinch of…” He said something else, but his voice was low and slurred.
“Nice try,” Dorian snapped, crossing her arms.
Dash let out a sigh and flopped his hands down. “Powdered relic.”
Dorian blinked a few times as she processed what he’d said. “Wait. Relic? As in the dead parts of a saint?” She’d heard the term enough times now having worked at the church.
“It’s completely harmless,” Dash insisted. As Lennox stepped toward Dorian, Dash’s hand whipped out and he grabbed the brush from the bowl. “I swear it.” With that, he drew two swoops under Lennox’s nose like a curling mustache, then grinned widely at his work.
Lennox’s eyes went narrow as he rounded on his partner. “Are you serious right now?”
“Just trying to show her it’s harmless!” Dash punctuated his sentence by painting a triangle on his chin like a blood-colored soul-patch.
She was torn between wanting to laugh, cry, and run like mad. Eventually, she let out a huge breath, rolled up her sleeves, and extended her wrists. “Fine. Please get it over with.”
The mood instantly sobered, and as much as it would have been hilarious to watch Lennox get to work with a fake mustache
“…abused. I mean it’s obvious.” Lennox sounded stressed, trying to keep his voice down.
“I get it. We’ve seen enough of them coming through. But whatever’s got her, you’re right. It’s strong. You really want to just let her walk out and trot on home?”
“She needs to know for herself. Just… don’t be yourself, okay?”
“Oh, don’t be myself? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A handsy tosser,” Lennox spat. “Let me handle it, and maybe she won’t think we’re trying to murder her.”
Pushing the door shut again, Dorian wondered if they were just trying to throw her off, or if they were serious. Either way, she couldn’t lock herself in the bathroom all day, and if it did come down to kill or be killed, they would have a fight on their hands. She hadn’t learned nothing in her years of group homes full of angry teens.
She straightened her shirt, ran her hands over her hair, then opened the door and walked out. Lennox was by the kitchen table now, Dash still on the couch holding the neck of a beer pinched between his thumb and crooked finger. He tipped her a nod as she entered the room, her hands in her pockets.
“You feel better?” Lennox was holding a small silver bowl and was mashing down something with a wooden pestle.
“What’s that?” Dorian couldn’t help but ask the question, her nerves on edge.
“Part of the ritual. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to feel great after.” When her face went drawn, Lennox held up a hand. “Not like that, lass, swear it. This is just a bit of oil and sage. Repels any sort of mind control the demon puts on you. It’ll allow you to speak freely to it.”
“And what, you want me to drink that poison?” She scoffed, her head shaking.
“Just gonna paint a couple symbols on your wrists. Nothing more.” Lennox took a step toward her, and Dorian took a step back. “See for yourself. No funny business, I promise.”
Peering over the bowl, Dorian’s eyebrows knitted downward in a frown. The liquid in the bowl was thick, chunky, and the color of dark rust. “If it’s just oil and sage, why’s it all red?”
Lennox shrugged and tried to evade the question before Dash piped up. “Just a bit of lamb’s blood, love.”
Whirling around, Dorian started shaking her head and laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Lamb’s blood. Lamb? Like Mary had a little lamb?”
“As in one of the most effective tools in fighting demons,” Dash said. He rose from the couch and approached Lennox who now had a small, wiry paint brush in the bowl. “I swear it’s nothing creepy. Bit of sage, bit of oil. Dollop of lamb’s blood, and a pinch of…” He said something else, but his voice was low and slurred.
“Nice try,” Dorian snapped, crossing her arms.
Dash let out a sigh and flopped his hands down. “Powdered relic.”
Dorian blinked a few times as she processed what he’d said. “Wait. Relic? As in the dead parts of a saint?” She’d heard the term enough times now having worked at the church.
“It’s completely harmless,” Dash insisted. As Lennox stepped toward Dorian, Dash’s hand whipped out and he grabbed the brush from the bowl. “I swear it.” With that, he drew two swoops under Lennox’s nose like a curling mustache, then grinned widely at his work.
Lennox’s eyes went narrow as he rounded on his partner. “Are you serious right now?”
“Just trying to show her it’s harmless!” Dash punctuated his sentence by painting a triangle on his chin like a blood-colored soul-patch.
She was torn between wanting to laugh, cry, and run like mad. Eventually, she let out a huge breath, rolled up her sleeves, and extended her wrists. “Fine. Please get it over with.”
The mood instantly sobered, and as much as it would have been hilarious to watch Lennox get to work with a fake mustache
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