Black and Orange by Benjamin Kane Ethridge Read Free Book Online

throat.”
    Paul jolted and a hand pushed him down in his seat. He glanced at Raymond Traven, who still slept soundly. “Why would you ask that of me?”
    “Difficult? Every murder has a purpose and price, brother Quintana.”
    “I don’t want—”
    “We’re past what you want! We were actually never there. Understand?” The Archbishop leaned back in his seat, anger fading to irritation.
    Paul waited a few seconds and sucked in the last of the cigarette in a burst of red light, which smelled similar to how it felt. He crushed the scorched paper and cotton into the tray. The effect of the seeds had come on strong. The walls twisted and a mummy spoke to him from the ceiling. The words came out of the mummy’s mouth in black and silver ribbons with an aroma of shit braising in onion broth. Embryos with wagging wet tongues fell out of the walls and bounced rhythmically with Sandeus’s voice—
    “Here are your choices: cut his throat, or retrieve Alexander. The Tomes of Eternal Harvest call for a Bishop to know his time and place even in the face of distortion. Prove yourself.”
    “I’ll retrieve Alexander,” Paul mumbled, unsure what the hell that meant. Was it some nonsense his mind had popped into the Archbishop’s mouth? He wasn’t sure.
    Sandeus grinned through the fogginess like a shark through sparkling silt. “You’ve chosen the easier path.”
    The fillet knife was taken up so fast it seemed to lift into the air on its own—
    Paul shielded his face as something red jettisoned from Ray Traven’s throat. Pinpoints of warmth seethed on Paul’s shaking hands.
    The sentinel dropped the fillet knife on the table and backed off, stroking blood off his heavily muscled arm. The marrow seeds had juggled Paul’s senses and there was no fooling himself out of the wild synesthesia . The red smelling drops that came from Ray’s throat had a different personality, not the liquid-soft feeling one would expect. Paul was screaming at the life slaloming down Ray’s hairy arms. Ray thrashed for a minute before entering a series of twitches, then passing out; the barbarian’s cut had gone too deep for him to live long.
    “Are you ready?” Sandeus glided over without giving the dead man a glance. He hopped on the table, sitting in the blood as though a wading pool. Paul noticed now that the Archbishop’s salmon undershirt had white lace frills peeking out at the neckline. Covert lingerie. His perfume curled like the lace and traveled outward to pet Paul’s face—he violently shook away the notion.
    The Archbishop of Midnight laughed through his nose. Then, casually he looked at one of the sentinels, who understood the silent question and hurried off, rifle clacking on plate armor. After the guard vanished down the room, Sandeus slipped two fingers into Ray’s wound and pulled the flesh apart. “Per compliance with the Tomes, if you survive the initial onset of the seeds, the Archbishop of Morning must bless your new status.”
    The Priestess’s church, from the other world… “Church of Morning? But how would we—”
    “Contact someone in the Old Domain?” asked the Archbishop.
    The sentinel came back with a machine resembling some type of robot scorpion. A wicked nest of insulated wires ran along the perimeter of a phonograph plate, which was affixed with a bronze arm and jeweled needle. The machine was placed carefully on the table near the body.
    “Listen to music?” Paul mumbled. Fine, fine, fine, and fine. Just be done. Get me out of here, he thought .
    “Oh, but your task is to bring Alexander. I need venom to loosen the blood cells. Hurry up now.”
    “Excuse me. Did you say venom?”
    Sandeus Pager sighed and rolled his eyes. It looked terrifying. “Alexander is a snake, Quintana, a Western Diamondback. Didn’t you notice the tank back there?”
    Paul’s brain walked in place... a snake ? He peered into the shadows and started. There was a glass tank against the wall. His eyes had not