Book: The First - Part: One - Chapter: 17 - Installment: ii

Princess Hathandra and her five Adjutants had arrived at the appointed time, and they had begun.

Ruthven looked huge in his dark-priest’s robes, which had included thick-soled platform shoes that he had called ‘kothernai.’ He stood well over six and a half feet tall, and the enormous cape flowed ‘round him when we walked. Even when he was still, the thick fabric draped down from the chevron of his neck and shoulders in an imposing way that made him look strong and sexy. She imagined that when the guests were gone that they would just throw the cloak down on the floor and make love on top of it, then wrap themselves up for the night. Her father would be appalled. Hell, if she wasn’t quite so nervous they could even have made the ‘taking of the virgin’ part of the ceremony. That, would have been pretty outrageous. But she was too self-conscious. She didn’t even mention it to Ruthven, though she had masturbated to the fantasy of it the night prior. But she felt it was best left a fantasy.

“Childer of Cain.” Ruthven began. “Whose voice speaks for all amongst you?”

He of course knew the answer, but that was beside the point of the theatricality.

“It is I, Hathandra, Blood Princess of the Lands North of the Great Beast.”

“You bear the mark of the Ever-Living Curse?”

“I do.”

“And none here speak for you?”

“They do not.”

Sarah and Ruthven had spent most of the previous afternoon preparing the script for tonight. She should have been studying, it was reading break after all, but she promised herself – and was true to it – that she would send Ruthven back to his dorm once they were done. He had memorizing to do and she, apart from the masturbation, had an evening of preparing for the recommencement of classes on Monday.

As Ruthven ceremonialized introductions of each of the Adjutants, Sarah prepared to cue the music. They had found a collection of music from Hammer Horror films on vinyl – the latter part of which Ruthven insisted was the most important element, the scratchy retro-sound was key to the mood. They had borrowed an old turntable from a classmate of Ruthven who spun at Anth Faculty parties. 

Ruthven’s Anthropology department access had proven useful in other ways. The thirteen human skulls that formed the circle they sat in weren’t your everyday props. They were the real deal. Nothing unique – nothing pre-historic or otherwise remarkable. The department kept very close tabs on the special samples, but the base-line specimens were easy to replace. Sarah was sure that Ruthven would still be in trouble if he were caught borrowing these real skulls for frivolous entertainment. She would never call this ‘frivolous’ to him though. And she had to admit that the fact that they were trespassing in the old museum, and improperly borrowing University property excited her. She felt like she was really living.

The thought over took her. She really hadn’t expected that she would ever do anything really exciting. Just a few years ago it took all her will to leverage her way into a halfway normal life. Now here she was participating in some lighthearted, victimless crime. Tonight she would pop her cherry.

Thank you, Ruthven. I’m in love with a ‘bad-boy.’

‘Love.’ She had never used the word before except in a familial way. As the realization struck her she took in a sharp breath and felt the welling up of happy emotion inside her. This was the wrong time to cry, they were in the middle of…

The music! She thought. Ruthven was finished with the introduction. It was time to cue the music. She had almost missed it. She dropped the needle and adjusted the volume to the speakers which sat just inside the door to the next room – the sitting room where the ceremony was going on.

“Anpu, O’erseer…” Ruthven was moving into the main portion of the ceremony, setting the scene for his guests. “Watcher of the Dead. We, the Cursed, the dead amongst the living call to you for refuge. The Curse of the Boy-King renews on this night, as Thoth, the moon-god reaches full strength. We who he shall never weigh against his feather, seek your protection…”

Sarah had been proud of that part. She had drawn the connection between, King Tut and the full-moon through Egyptian mythology. Ruthven’s eyes had lit up with excitement when she had blurted it out as they wrote the evening’s script. She quietly slipped from the dining room into what had once been the kitchen, to prepare the next stage.

     Installment iii