“Why shouldn’t you? I tended to the wound Diamond Lee inflicted upon you. I’ve treated you with nothing less than respect and cordiality. And, truth be known, I’ve saved your life tonight, though you don’t realize it yet. Anyway, you’re a guest here, not a prisoner, for the time being at least, and all I ask of you is conversation.”

Ellen bowed under the man’s charm. Something buzzed deep in the back of her mind, a droning that dulled her typically sharp senses. Mesmerism, she thought. His voice, so suggestive. Feel like I’m dreaming. Can’t let him hypnotize me.

“All right,” she said. “I’m Ellen Patrick.”


The man took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Charmed. My name is Sol Rath. This is my ship, the S.S. Lilith. Welcome aboard.”

Ellen seized Rath’s hand, twisted his wrist to drag him off balance, and then flashed forward. She brought the edge of the silver dagger to the man’s throat and glared into his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt or kill you, Mr. Rath, but I will if you don’t help me get off this ship right now,” she hissed.

Rath smiled. “Trust me, you don’t want to do any of those things. Not until you’ve heard me out.”

“And why would I want to listen to anything you say?”

“Because, you see, I know quite a lot about you Ms. Patrick and about the people who want you dead. And I also knew your father quite, quite well.”

Ellen pulled back as if Rath were on fire. She tore the domino mask from her face and tossed it away.

“Liar! My father would never be friends with…with a Devil cultist.”

“Quite true,” said Rath. “We were adversaries, in the classical sense. Opponents whose goals were not so distant from each other, though our methods and principles set us far, far apart. There was, perhaps, mutual respect between us, but never friendship. But I must compliment Owen Patrick on the admirable job he did raising such a beautiful and willful young woman.”

Ellen scowled. “Well, this beautiful, willful young woman has one question for you, Mr. Rath. Did you have my father killed?”

Rath glanced at the dagger in Ellen’s hand, then returned her hard stare. Seconds passed.

Ellen’s heart pounded. Her blood raced and her nerves sizzled, and she wished she were anywhere else but on this ship. Donning the identity of the Domino Lady gave her control, and she always kept open an avenue of escape. But here in the middle of the Pacific, dressed in borrowed clothes, with her true identity exposed, she was infinitely vulnerable and surrounded by men and women who were depraved at best and more likely evil to the bone. She’d always prided herself on challenging dangerous men, but she’d never imagined facing anything beyond the guns and explosive violence with which most of them conducted business. She saw no purpose, yet, in the way Rath toyed with her, and that frightened her.

“No, I did not,” Rath finally answered. “In fact I mourned your father, who was in many ways my polar opposite in this state. I could always count on Owen Patrick to challenge me. Life since his assassination has lacked a certain vibrancy it once possessed. I miss him.”

“Do you…do you know who killed him?”

“It was an animal clothed in the shape of a man. A brute, hired killer. He spent less than forty-eight hours in this country before returning to his native land, but it was long enough to fire one unerringly fatal shot.”

“Who hired him?”

The pounding in Ellen’s head threatened to flood her senses. The room spun. Her arms trembled. She tried to stand, but fell back on rubber legs. Her fingers turned soft and dropped the dagger to the carpeted floor.

“I can tell you that, and I can provide ironclad proof,” offered Rath, “If the outcome of our conference aboard the Lilith is satisfactory to me, I will do so.”

Ellen forced herself to remain calm. “You’re no better than Diamond Lee if you think I trade in that sort of thing.”

“You misunderstand, Miss Patrick. I’ve no desire to manipulate you in mind or body, though I welcome whatever gestures of good will you might care to offer,” Rath said. “I want us to be allies. You’ve made a lot of enemies in this state. It’s no stretch to say that sooner or later, they will catch up with you. And they will kill you—perhaps in a most painful and unpleasant manner, or perhaps quick and dirty, like they did your father. It’s all fun and games to dress up as the Domino Lady and go running around people’s boudoirs and private offices, stealing from them, threatening them, instilling them with a sense of vulnerability. But these are not weak or stupid men you oppose. If they were, they’d never have risen to power, and if you think you can break that power through petty theft and aggravation, then you’re more naïve than I imagined. If Mr. Lee had called anyone other than me after you phoned him this morning, you’d most likely be dead by now. Or very much wishing you were.”

“Don’t try to frighten me, Mr. Rath,” Ellen said. “I’m no child.”

“Which is exactly why I think you’ll appreciate the value of my offer. I hope by now you’ve achieved whatever satisfaction you craved out of playing Domino Lady, and that you’re ready to mature,” Rath said. “There’s undeniable appeal to your ‘Robin Hood’ methods, but they’ve left you as hated by the rich and wanted by the police, as much as beloved by the masses. You’re a local folk hero. People cheer your escapades. But you’re also a target. I could make it possible for you to do much more for them than you ever have before or ever will be able to on your own. Imagine doubling or even tripling your charitable donations. Accept my protection, and I can make it happen. All I ask in return is to share the benefits of that magnificent good will you generate.”

“Why? What’s in it for you?”

To Be Continued

“You’ll help me consolidate my power. We’ll hit the worst of the powerbrokers and deliver their fortunes to those more deserving.”

“You mean we’ll go after your enemies.”

Rath nodded. “Consider it a byproduct of your efforts. I’ll ascend to the sole, supreme power in this state. For people on the street, life will go on as it always has, day in, day out, but better than before, because we’ll keep them contented. But the power will be mine. And once I possess the state, who knows what might come next? One day you might find yourself with a friend in stratospherically high places.”

“And you expect me to buy into your abhorrent black magic and supernatural baloney?”

“Believe what you like, Miss Patrick. My rituals, my traditions only work if you come to them willingly. I’d welcome your conversion, but I won’t force it. My faith is a liberating one. Its appeal speaks for itself.”

Rath retrieved the silver dagger and handed it to Ellen. She slid it into the sash of her robe.

“I’ve given you a lot to consider,” Rath said rising. “Come, I’ll walk you back to your cabin.”

Ellen followed Rath along the passage. Sounds drifted from closed cabins, the rabble of forbidden revelry as the cultists celebrated the night’s ritual. Moans and shrieks drifted throughout the ship, intermingled with faint strains of music and the unidentifiable thuds of solid masses striking floors and walls. The scent of burning incense and seared flesh mingled in the air. Ellen struggled to keep her thoughts clear. Rath attracted her almost as much as he repulsed her, and the contradiction left her confused. His words bore an appealing weight of experience and wisdom; Ellen found herself wanting to trust him, though she knew she shouldn’t.

“Have you ever asked yourself,” said Rath, “why you chose to avenge your father’s murder by hiding behind a mask and false identity and committing larceny?”

Rath opened the door to Ellen’s cabin. He remained in the passageway while she stepped inside.

“Your father never hid from the people, never lied to them. He took his place in the sun as a leader,” said Rath. “Are you really trying to honor his name? Or was his death just a convenient excuse for you to unleash a part of yourself you’d kept in check your whole life for fear of how he might react to it? Good night, Miss Patrick. We’ll speak again in the morning.”

Rath left. Ellen closed the door and locked it.

On her bed waited two bundles: her clothes, cleaned and returned just as Rath promised, and another wrapped in brown paper. Ellen tore it open. Inside waited black, lace undergarments; a backless, white gown; a black cape; a domino mask; a small automatic; and a hypodermic syringe full of serum of a familiar hue: the costume and tools of the Domino Lady.

***

Morning heat and light flowed through the porthole into Ellen’s cabin. She’d spent most of the night awake, nodding off just an hour before dawn, but she rose with the sun and showered. The hot water rejuvenated her and the cloud of steam it raised suffused her with warmth. Afterward, she wrapped herself in plush towels and strode into the cabin. An assortment of perfumes, toiletries, and cosmetics waited on the dresser, but even though some were the kind she favored, the fact that they were not hers stayed Ellen from using any but the bare essentials.

She laid out the two outfits side by side on the bed. Rath had left word that she was to meet him for breakfast. Ellen sensed that her choice of attire would send him a message.

Standing before the full-length mirror mounted to the back of the cabin door, she shucked her towel loose. Her golden hair laced over her finely sculpted shoulders. The hot water had imparted her creamy flesh with a pink glow that accented the swells of her figure and highlighted her finely shaped muscles. She possessed a powerful body, not only for its robust physicality but for its magnificent allure. It was the greatest tool of the Domino Lady; for Ellen Patrick it was a wellspring for the attentions of men, and sometimes, women. She had used it to accomplish much good. True, her father would disapprove of her methods, but never her results. All her life, she’d placed him upon a pedestal, and in his absence, she’d never once asked herself why she’d followed the mad, independent path of the Domino Lady rather than a straightforward one Owen Patrick had blazed. Rath saw through her better than she’d thought, perhaps better than any other man she’d ever known, except her father. Just like Owen Patrick, Rath understood her with crystal clarity. The realization stung. Ellen felt drawn to him. Something inside her smoldered when he spoke in that resonant, hypnotic voice of his.

A pixieish smile curled Ellen’s voluptuous lips. She traced her fingertips along the contours of her figure, then gathered up her lush tresses and raised them for a clear view of herself, as she arched her back and stood on tiptoe. Her flesh pulled tight and smooth. She made her choice and then turned to the bed and began to dress.

To Be Continued

Rath waited on the aft deck, seated at a single table with two chairs at the center of the expanse. Gone were all signs of the night’s diabolical ceremony. The deck had been cleaned, the torches removed, and not so much as a speck of ash or a drop of sacrificial blood remained. Sunlight glared down like hot chrome. The air and the sea were quite still; the vast yacht cut the lazy swells effortlessly.

Rath stood as Ellen approached. “Good morning, Miss Patrick,” he said. “I’ll confess I had hoped I might see the Domino Lady this morning.”

Ellen had chosen the clothes she’d been wearing when she was captured, minus her ruined wig and beret. She settled across from Rath and waited while he poured coffee from a silver urn into delicate, porcelain mugs.

“The Domino Lady suffers from nocturnal tendencies, so you’ll have to settle for plain, old Ellen Patrick.”

“But, Miss Patrick, there is emphatically nothing plain, nor—especially—old, about you.”

Rath’s eyes drifted over Ellen. She’d left the top of her blouse undone, her jacket unbuttoned, and suddenly felt self-conscious about it. Rath seemed different in the light of the sun. He’d shed the air of mystery his red hood lent him, the mystique of shadows that came by torchlight. He seemed just a man, ordinary, aging, of sophisticated means but vulgar tastes—except when he spoke. Every word he uttered made Ellen tremble. In some ways she found him far more fearsome now than she had last night.

“Have you considered what we discussed?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it until you answer some more questions.”

“By all means, please, ask.”

“First, where are we and where are you taking me?”

“We’re roughly due west of Santa Rosa Island. We’ve traveled far enough off shore to be free of prying eyes. We’ve been sailing in an extended figure eight—the symbol for infinity—and can return to shore in under three hours by merely summoning the speedboat. Most of my guests are due back to their run-of-the-mill existences in just a couple of days. It’s my hope that you’ll be one of them.”

“The scepter I stole from Ronald Sussex,” she said. “I saw it in use during your ceremony.”

“It’s The Scepter of Eibon. It dates back to the Renaissance and is said to possess occult powers. Sussex thought it was just another tomb-raided trinket. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t avail myself of the opportunity to secure it for my followers. Diamond Lee would’ve sold it to some pigheaded Chinaman to be melted down and cast into cheap, street-fair jewelry.”

“What will you do if I refuse to accept your offer?”

“That’s a prospect I genuinely prefer not to entertain. I think you can imagine for yourself what I’m obligated to do should we remain enemies,” said Rath. “Are you all done now?”

Ellen sipped coffee and didn’t answer him. Thoughts of Bert Raythorne crept into her mind, and she wondered how different might her life have been if Bert had been around rather than out to sea all the time. But then maybe that was how she liked it. There were plenty of other available men who were more than a little interested. Men who were just a phone call or a cab ride away. Men who’d never leave her side if she asked it of them. But none of them added up to the picture in Ellen’s mind of her father and mother, of her childhood, of what it should be like to have a family, a home, and children of her own.

“Why do you want so much power?” she asked Rath. “Haven’t you got enough, already? Enough money? Enough influence?”

“Inconceivable,” Rath replied, chuckling. “Money is power and influence. Power and influence are life. Could you ever say you have enough life? Besides, my followers look to me for leadership to vouchsafe the forward march of our mutual interests. Power provides these things.”

“You’re just looking after your cult?”

Rath nodded.

“Who’d have figured you for such an altruist?” Ellen said. “I don’t buy it. There’s more.”

“We aspire to certain long-term goals and hopes that most likely will not be realized in our lifetime. Some of our beliefs are slave to the passage of time, to the machinations of the celestial bodies. We are beholden to peculiar forces that, some day, will make demands of us or our progeny, and we must be firmly established so that such future obligations are fulfilled,” Rath explained.

“Obligations to Satan? To the forces of black magic?”

“As you like. We know him as Asmodeus.”

To Be Continued

“So in return for her life, all the Domino Lady has to do is help your cult thrive,” Ellen said. “You’re asking me to shelter and serve the most perverted group of people I’ve ever met. Mr. Rath, I’m truly not sure I wouldn’t be better off dead.”

“Do you go to church, Miss Patrick?” Rath asked. “Every Sunday? Sit in the pew, sing hymns, bless your neighbors, take the priest’s sermon to heart? Do you live by the Ten Commandments? Thou shalt not commit adultery? Thou shalt not worship false idols? Thou shalt not steal?”

Ellen blushed.

“Don’t be embarrassed. Given your penchant for parties and other late night…activities, I’d have been surprised if you claimed strong faith,” Rath said. “So why do our beliefs bother you so much? I don’t ask you to accept them or make them your own. And if you don’t much believe in Heaven or God, then what difference can Hell and the Devil make to you? Work with me where our goals coincide, and in all other considerations, we go our separate ways. We need not ever meet face to face again if you so desire. You needn’t die for some enslaving sense of vague morality.”

Rath’s voice, that deep, probing voice, confident and forceful, filled Ellen’s mind. She saw the path laid out before her exactly as Rath described it: the Domino Lady swept along through the shadows of endless nights of thievery and subterfuge, of boldness and adventure. Wealth flowed from those who wouldn’t suffer for its loss to those who would die without it. The scale tipped ever so slightly in balance toward justice. It felt right, it felt good, but then Ellen recalled what she’d witnessed last night, the sounds she’d heard through the small hours, groans of pain and pleasure rising from other parts of the ship, utterances born from the indulgences of the flesh, and she knew she’d only experienced the briefest glimpse over the edge of the abyss upon which she teetered.

“Stop it!” Ellen cried. “Stop talking!”

She jolted from her seat and ran to the deck rail as waves of nausea rolled through her. The water below frothed in the ship’s wake; it looked cold, dark, and frightfully inviting. The heat of the sun roasted the back of her neck.

A gentle hand fell upon her shoulder.

Ellen turned. She looked up into eyes like black obsidian draped in spider-web lashes and embedded in skin the tone of marble. The woman’s concerned expression barely masked the venom that flowed beneath her surface. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. She wore a skin-tight, black turtle neck and khaki slacks with high, black boots. A pentacle of brushed iron hung from her neck on a silver chain. Something sweet perfumed her breath.

“Miss Patrick,” the woman said. “Are you all right?”

Ellen did not answer.

“Let me introduce you to our high priestess,” Rath said, as he approached. “This is Salít.”

“You…,” Ellen managed. “You slaughtered that poor beast last night.”

“Consider it a sacrifice for the feast, dear,” said Salít. She glanced at her hand, still on Ellen’s shoulder, and then returned her gaze to Ellen’s eyes. “Are you cold? You’re trembling, dear.”

“Enough, Salít,” said Rath. “It’s time.”

Rath stalked across the deck, signaling to a man standing on the next level in the very same place from which Ellen had spied the last night’s ritual. Salít slid her arm around Ellen’s shoulder and led her starboard.

“Let me you warm up,” Salít said.

Ellen pulled free of the woman’s embrace and slapped Salít across her cheek. Salít drew back, all pretense shattered; she resembled a cobra poised to strike. Her face brightened with rage. A drop of blood beaded upon her lower lip and then trickled down her chin. Salít’s tongue flashed out and licked it up. She smiled.

“Ladies,” warned Rath.

The two women turned to see a group of four men, two armed, two shackled, walking toward them. The armed men forced their prisoners to kneel on the deck before Rath. Salít walked to his side.

“Witness, Miss Patrick, two heretics who dared challenge the authority of He whom we worship,” said Rath. “They sought to undermine my power by cutting deals behind my back and were duly exposed by their own treachery.”

To Be Continued...

“Sol, no!” pled one of the men. “I swear it’s not like that. You don’t have to do this.”

Salít shrieked with a tinny wail like metal tearing, then plunged to her knees, grabbed the man’s head, and pulled it close to hers. Their lips met, and for a moment, Ellen thought they were kissing, but then blood spurted from between them and she heard the gnashing of Salít’s teeth as the snake woman twisted her head and tore free.

The man’s severed tongue dangled from her mouth. She spit it back in his face, then backed away, laughing. Blood coated her face, her shirt, her hands. It dripped to the pristine deck. The eyes of her now-mute victim rolled back in their sockets, and the man collapsed. The other prisoner paled and began sobbing.

“Strip them and tie them to the cleats,” Rath ordered.

“Wait!” Ellen shouted. “You can’t do this.”

“Traitors receive no mercy,” said Rath.

The guards complied with Rath’s orders, dragging the unconscious man by his chains. Salít shouted a summons and a young woman appeared on the deck. She helped Salít peel out of her blood-soaked turtle neck. The iron amulet slipped snugly into the deep groove between the snake woman’s breasts and gleamed in the sunlight. She tugged off her boots, slid out of her slacks, and handed them to her attendant in return for a leather cat ‘o nine tails studded with iron barbs. Naked, Salít paced the deck like a panther; her long legs strode restlessly while she toyed with the whip. In minutes and she set to work against the traitors’ bare flesh. The conscious man’s cries wracked the morning quiet; the other roused with the pain, but lacking a tongue he could only manage a furtive, agonized bleating.

Ellen turned away. Rath gripped her by the shoulders and forced her to watch.

Salít squealed with pleasure. The whip snapped gunshot loud. Bits of torn flesh flew up and stuck to her thighs, to the plane of her stomach, to her hands.

“Salít will work them until she is sated,” said Rath. “Later, others will come and pour salt water on their wounds. After sunset, dead or alive, the traitors will be thrown overboard. Did you know that sharks sometimes frequent these waters?”

Ellen wrenched free of Rath’s grip and looked into the man’s eyes. She felt the full power of his frigid, commanding stare, and as strong as the revulsion that fountained inside her was, it was insufficient to extinguish the tiny part of her that feared his disapproval and desired his respect.

“You’ll give us your answer tonight at midnight at the ritual,” he told her.

Ellen ran, fleeing the crack of the whip and the screams of the tortured men. She bolted back to her cabin, locked the door behind her, slammed the porthole shut, and buried her head beneath soft pillows, but even that failed to silence the awful sounds echoing through her mind.

After dark Ellen acted without hesitation. The waning moon peeked out from behind fast, patchy clouds. The weather had turned wild, and the wind had picked up. Ellen hoped it would provide distraction enough to hide her activities. She’d spotted the radio in the pilothouse that morning; it would take only minutes to get a message out and hopefully somehow reach Bert. She dressed as the Domino Lady. The costume reassured her, as did the loaded automatic and vial of sedative strapped to her leg. Another demonic ritual was scheduled for the night, and silence ruled the boat while the cultists prepared.

Wrapped in her black cloak, Ellen moved like a living shadow. She’d memorized much of the ship’s layout, allowing her to trace the safest route to the pilot house. Voices came through the open hatchway. Ellen counted three men.

“What a bloody mess,” said one.

“You should’ve been on duty this morning. One hell of a show, let me tell you,” said another. “Salít, naked and bloody, going at those two like they were holiday hams.”

“She scares the daylights out of me,” said the third.
“She’s supposed to,” the first man said. “Now get down there, toss those two over, and start swabbing. I need that deck clean before tonight’s ceremony.”

The two men grumbled. Ellen pressed herself into a nook of shadows as they passed her. She waited till they moved aft and then followed in time to see them cut the tortured men loose, carry them to the side of the ship, and drop them over the side. A groan escaped from one of the victims. Ellen waited for the faint splash of their bodies striking the water, and then returned to the pilothouse.

One man stood at the ship’s wheel. Slipping the hypodermic from her garter holster, she threw her cape back and adjusted her evening gown to ensure the best effect when she made her entrance. Then, holding the needle behind her back, she stepped inside.

“Say, I hear there’s a storm coming,” she said.

To Be Continued...

The man spun around and took in the sight of Ellen. “What’s this, a masquerade?” he said, with a laugh.

Ellen stepped forward, charting the man’s gaze, which fell exactly where she intended. Before he realized it, she’d gotten in close, reached out, stabbed the needle into his neck, and depressed the plunger. The man’s eyes shut and he collapsed. He’d be out for several hours. Ellen shoved him into a supply closet across the room and shut the door. She went for the radio.

She whispered her message into the handset and launched it into the ether. Over and over she repeated it, while her eyes kept alert for signs of anyone approaching. She provided all the information she had and asked anyone who heard to contact Bert Raythorne on the S.S. Malolo. At the sound of the two crewmen returning from clean-up duty, she cut her final transmission short and fled, without lingering to hear their reaction to the empty pilothouse. With her first task completed, she stole back into the maze below decks. She had much more work to do before midnight.

***

When Rath came for her sometime later, she’d carried out the rest of her plans and returned to her cabin, exhilarated, smudged with grease, and coated with sweat. She’d almost been spotted twice, once by Salít herself, but her quick thinking and agility had saved her. Rath’s knock at her door came just as Ellen stepped out of the shower. She answered wearing nothing but a loosely wrapped towel. The sight of Ellen still wet from bathing and flush from her night’s adventure, gave Rath pause. An electric flicker passed behind his eyes. Ellen wondered if it was lust or recognition of the change that had come over her since morning. In those few hours, she’d won back her confidence and set her head straight about how to deal with Mr. Rath and his cult of Satanists. She’d looked beyond the horrors that surrounded her and found her way back to that old spirit of adventure she cherished so much.

“It’s time,” said Rath.

“Let me dress,” said Ellen. “Come in.”

Rath entered and crossed the cabin to the porthole in the far wall. He peered out into the darkness.

“I can wait outside if you prefer,” he offered.

“It’s all right,” Ellen said. She threw her towel on her bed, then stood in the mirror, brushing her hair, watching Rath in the reflection to see if he would turn to steal a glimpse of her; he didn’t. “Let’s call this an exercise in trust.”

“Not an invitation, then?”

“No,” Ellen said.

“But you’ve made a decision about my offer?”

“Yes.”

Ellen moved to the bed and slid into her black panties, stockings, and ivory camisole. Rath’s gaze remained engrossed on the vastness beyond the ship, signaling to Ellen that within the boundaries of his world, he was a man who honored his word. He wanted her to trust him, and she’d taken advantage of that. She slipped the automatic from beneath her pillow where she’d hidden it as a precaution and strapped it to her leg. She slid into her evening gown, stepped into her shoes, and donned her cape.

“All right, I’m dressed,” Ellen said.

Rath turned in time to see her fastening her mask across her eyes. He grinned.

“So, it’s the Domino Lady who’ll be joining us tonight,” he said. “That’s wonderful.”

“The Domino Lady has been here all along.”

Spasms of gleeful expectation ticced across Rath’s face. He stepped forward and offered Ellen the loop of his arm. She took it, and the pair walked down the passage.

“Don’t say it now,” he told her. “At the height of the ritual, before the sacrifice is rendered, I shall remove my hood and ask you, so that you may answer before an assembly of the faithful and feel the power of their welcome.”

“All right,” Ellen whispered, demurely.

“It is going to be a very special night,” commented Rath. “I am sure it will live forever in my memory.”

“Why, Mr. Rath, any night with me should live forever in your memory,” said Ellen.

Rath chuckled and led the way up the stairs to the main deck. “Indeed, my dear. And I hope it’s the first of many. If our way of life should win you over, I’d be most proud to initiate you into the rites. I’ve no doubt it would prove a most rewarding experience for us both. Though certainly I’m no substitute for your father, I’d be honored to provide you with whatever guidance I can.”

The torches burned bright on the aft deck. Most of the cultists had assembled for the ritual, and their masks came to life by firelight. Ellen felt the energy coursing through them, full of wantonness and anticipation, bloated with greed and egoism. Fear rushed back to her, but she was ready for it. She’d cast the die of her fate. By sunrise she would take the first steps toward a new life.

Rath showed her where to stand, off-center within the ceremonial ring. There she waited for the ritual to begin. The dancing girls circled her, their eyes flashing scorn from behind their iron cowls. Up close, even the firelight couldn’t hide the wear and abuse that marked their once-tender bodies. Ellen pitied them.

Rath’s booming voice ordered the cultists into position. Chanting roared from their throats. They began to sway and twist. Ellen steeled herself for what was to come. She stood at the heart of a black whirlwind, a dervish of soullessness that threatened to swallow her down like a hungry serpent. The pace of the ceremony quickened. Fringes from the dancers’ costumes whipped at Ellen, but she stood her ground. She clenched her eyes shut and summoned memories of big bands and Dixieland and jazz quartets to filter away the chanting. Seconds passed, minutes accrued, but she stood her ground. The ritual stoked to a fever pitch. Somewhere outside the ring, a goat bleated.

The chanting ceased, and motion stilled.

Ellen opened her eyes.

To Be Continued...

The gathered faithful surrounded her; every pair of eyes locked upon her quivering figure.

Time stretched so that a single breath seemed to take hours. Rath had promised her the welcome of the cult, but all she sensed was hatred, rage, and sick desire. They looked upon her not as one of them, but as a talented beast of burden. Ellen stiffened in defiance. She peeled away the strip of cloth that covered her eyes and regarded them nakedly; hers was the lone, true face among a sea of masks.

“My faithful! Tonight is a great night among great nights,” Rath cried out. He moved to Ellen’s side. “We live beneath the specter of the future, in the shadow of our debts and obligations. Because we are powerful, it can be hard to remember this. But tonight I must remind you all of your humility before our dark lord, Asmodeus. For tonight he has delivered unto us the means to secure our place in the world for generations to come.”

“Hail, Asmodeus,” replied the cultists with one voice.

Rath met Ellen’s gaze through the eyeholes of his mask. He drew the hood from his head and faced her. His face beamed with triumph.

“Look upon she who delivered us the Scepter of Eibon, she who has shown us the path to destroy our enemies and win the trust of those we will one day rule,” Rath said.

Murmurs raced through the cultists. A knot of wood popped in one of the torches. Ellen saw no sign of Salít.

“Tonight, we welcome the Domino Lady into our fold, though I bid you all, be gentle with her, for she is a thing of most delicate and ethereal beauty yet filled with wondrous power,” Rath continued.
“Hail Asmodeus!” the cultists cheered.

“And so now I ask of you, Domino Lady—are you prepared to become our ally?”

Ellen spotted Salít on the overlooking deck, hooded, but identifiable by her iron pentacle. Gathering clouds blocked out the moon, and in the glow of the fires Salít seemed almost a creature of wholly demonic fiber, a snake coiled and boiling with venom.

“I’ll never help the likes of you!” Ellen screamed. “You’ll all burn in Hell, and deservedly so!”

Rath froze, stunned.

Silence fell over the cult. Salít shattered it.

“Betrayer!” she screeched from above. “She has stolen the Scepter of Eibon!”

As all eyes turned toward Salít, Ellen seized the moment to draw her automatic and press it to Rath’s temple while simultaneously throwing an arm around his neck. Strength rippled through him. She knew she could never best him if he fought, so she pushed the gun barrel into his skin hard enough to draw blood and cocked the hammer.

“I’ve never killed anyone before, but I won’t have any regrets starting with you,” she hissed in his ear.

Salít descended to the main deck, her arms raised in signal for the cultists to hold their ground. She ripped away her hood. Her face burned with fury as she flicked a business card into Rath’s face. The black paper imprinted with white lettering struck Rath’s nose and fluttered to the ground. It landed face up, displaying the legend “Compliments of the Domino Lady.”

“I found this in our sacred chamber in place of the Scepter,” said Salít. “You’re a fool, Rath, to have trusted in this petulant child.”

“Stay where you are, Salít,” warned Ellen. “I’m a quick enough shot to kill you after Mr. Rath.”

“Shoot him. You think I need for an aging fool like him?” Salít said. “Look at what he’s cost us tonight. Our ritual spoiled, our sacrifice unmade. Our holy relic lost.”

“Don’t push me,” said Ellen.

“I’ll make you this offer,” said Salít as she took a step closer. “Release Mr. Rath, tell me where you’ve hidden the Scepter, and I’ll promise you enough pain to guarantee you’re unconscious when you die.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Ellen replied, but Salít moved before she finished speaking the words.

The snake woman clutched Ellen’s hands. Her fingers probed for the trigger, located it, and squeezed even as Ellen yanked the gun upward. The slug went wild, cutting a gouge in Rath’s skull before it blasted into the sky. Rath dropped to his knees. Blood sheeted from his head. Ellen toppled backward beneath Salít’s weight and wrestled for control of the gun. She wrenched it free and tried to wriggle loose, but Salít seized her leg and clamped her teeth down hard on her thigh. Ellen cried out and aimed at Salít’s head, but before she could fire, the cultists descended on her. Someone pried the gun from her grip. Cold fingers grabbed her arms, her legs, her waist. They dug into her, pressed against her, pinned her to the cold, hard deck. They forced the breath from her lungs, and she gasped for air. Ropes looped around her wrists and ankles, her neck, and then drew tight, their rough fiber scratching her soft skin. The crowd peeled back. Ellen found herself bound tight with three men at the loose end of each length of rope, prepared to tug her to pieces. She was immobilized.

Salít crouched down between Ellen’s spread legs, and said, “Where is the Scepter?”

To Be Continued...

Ellen ignored her. Outside the circle of torches Rath crawled toward the stairs, leaving a trail of blood as he made his way upward, unnoticed by the others.

Salít snapped her fingers. The ropes tightened. Pain lanced every part of Ellen’s body.

“The Scepter, my dear?”

“It’s gone,” Ellen uttered. “Overboard.”

Salít slapped Ellen. “Not your style. Where is it?”

“At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.”

Again, Salít slapped her. “Where? Tell me.”

“In the belly of a shark.”

Another slap. “You’re lying.”

“In Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Liar.”

Salít stood and kicked Ellen in the ribs, triggering a wave of agony through Ellen’s body. The snake woman cast off her ceremonial robe, leaving her naked but for strands of gold and jewels looped around her neck and the iron pentagram resting upon the swell of her breasts. She gestured and someone handed over her cat ‘o nine tails.

“The truth, Miss Patrick, is always a surprise, and I’m the kind of person who believes in delaying a surprise until the very last moment,” Salít said.

She cracked the whip into the air. Even the cultists flinched at its sound.

“Did you think you could escape from this ship? Did you expect we’d stand by while you held a gun to Rath’s head and hopped in a lifeboat?”

Another whipcrack, only inches from Ellen’s face.

“What a deliciously foolish girl you are,” said Salít. “What a pathetic Daddy’s little princess. You must have been oh, so upset when they put a piece of lead in Daddy’s brain and splattered it every which way. Did that just take all the fun out of living off his money while you traipsed around the world dallying with young men?”

Ellen screamed when the whip nicked her shoulder and dug loose a chunk of flesh. Salít retrieved Ellen’s mask from the deck and tossed it to a nearby cultist.

“Put this on her,” she ordered. “I’m going to enjoy my time with this infamous and much-feared thief. The Domino Lady. It’s sad, really.”

The cultist complied. Ellen experienced an unexpected surge of strength with her mask in place. She strained for a view of Salít, looked her up and down, and then dropped her head back as she laughed.

“You look ridiculous!” she spat. “Standing there in your birthday suit with your whip in hand, and all I can imagine is how that’s going to over with the boys in ten years or so when your age catches up with you.”

The whip lashed Ellen’s belly, slicing her gown and the flesh beneath it. A line of blood welled up. Ellen shrieked at the pain.

“I am going to take away every last bit of beauty you have, you sanctimonious, judgmental, little flirt,” purred Salít. “And I guarantee you’ll live long enough to understand just what that entails.”

Salít raised the whip again, but then the entire ship shook and rocked, and the grumbling thunder of an explosion roared through the night. Light and flames followed. A cloud of black smoke burst into the air. Screams rose from the cultists. Salít looked around at the flames licking at the port side of the ship. A second, smaller explosion came, jolting the Lilith with the fury of a train wreck. Ellen’s body dropped to the deck and went limp as the tension on her bonds slackened. The cultists ran in every direction, unsure of what to do, where to flee.

Ellen hurried loose from her bonds. Gunshots snapped in the air, and she kept her head down. She watched for Salít to attack her with the whip, but the snake woman had run toward the explosions in a screaming rage, snapping leather and steel at anyone who blocked her path.

The ropes fell away, and the Domino Lady stood. Pins and needles stabbed her limbs and her muscles ached in protest, but she forced herself to rush forward, bobbing and weaving around the panicked cultists. She needed to reach the bow and recover the package she’d hidden there, but she froze as she clambered down to the foredeck and saw the lifeboat missing. It was the only one she hadn’t sabotaged, the one she’d set aside for herself. She ran to the edge of the ship, but there was no sign of it on the water. Ellen turned back. Her foot struck a bundle hidden in the darkness. She lifted it, unwrapped the canvas, and smiled. Here it was, the Scepter of Eibon, left behind in the panic of whoever had taken the boat.

A third explosion came. The ship lurched and seemed to jerk sideways. Ellen lost her balance and fell to one knee, but she recovered quickly and ran toward the starboard deck. Lights flashed from the water below. Bullets raked the air. Cultists clambered onto the rails and jumped overboard only to be shot as they fell or targeted when they crested the surface.

A voice called, “Ellen!” and she ran toward it.

Light flashed in her eyes. She threw a hand up to shield them and peered down.

To Be Continued...

“Ellen! Thank God!” It was the voice of Bert Raythorne. He stood in the first of three power boats idling alongside the Lilith. “You’ve got to jump, Ellen. The ship is going down!”

“Catch this!” she called and threw the wrapped Scepter down to Bert, who quickly stowed it.

Ellen stepped up onto the top rail. She caught a vision of Bert’s craggy, upturned face as she leapt, and then cold air whistled past her, dragging her dress and cape up over her face to blind her. Impact with water cut the sound off, and Ellen plunged down, down into an icy darkness that embraced every inch of her. She kicked her legs, wind-milled her arms, but still she descended, drawn deeper by the weight of her waterlogged cape and gown. She released the cape and let it drift off. She tore at her dress, ripping it away beneath her thighs. She kicked her shoes loose, and then swam, fighting her way upward, uncertain in the darkness if she were even moving toward the surface. Her chest burned. Blackness crept in around the edges of her vision, and then the water broke and air rushed into her needy lungs. She gasped and forced herself afloat. Mighty hands gripped her and raised her out of the water. Warm lips pressed against hers. She shivered, frigid from the sea, chilled by the wind, but Bert held her close, even as he grabbed a waiting blanket with one hand and wrapped it around her. She devoured his warmth, nestled in tight against his broad chest, and let him hold her.

The boat engine revved, and the small craft shot into the night. The other boats followed, their crews taking last shots at the bobbing cultists. The Lilith burned and floated askew on its side until at last it dipped below the surface, and all at once rolled and vanished into the ocean. A hellish light glowed beneath the water before the fire went out, and afterward a terrible stillness descended, broken only by the hum of the powerboat trio.

“It’s okay. You’re safe, now, Ellen. I’m here. I came for you,” said Bert. “But dear Lord, girl, have you got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

Ellen lifted her head. “Have I ever!” she said. “But so do you. I didn’t expect you to bring a small army.”

“What can I say? A lot of men owe Bert Raythorne a favor. And it seems we were just in time.”

“Too true,” said Ellen. “I set a small fire in the engine room and monkeywrenched the motors, hoping to leave us dead in the water, so you could find us. I never expected them to blow like that.”

Bert cupped the back of Ellen’s head and untied her domino mask. He tossed it over his shoulder, where the wind took it and carried it to the sea.

“How long have you known?” she asked him.

“That you’re the Domino Lady? Almost from the beginning,” he said. “Ellen, sweet, what you’ve got takes an awful lot more than a mask and a fancy dress to hide.”

Again Ellen laughed. Bert joined her, and it felt good. She pressed her head against his chest, still desperate for his warmth. They settled in and waited to reach shore. Far out to sea lightning flashed and painted the horizon with magnesium brightness. The wind kicked up and a gentle rain pattered down. Ellen would be glad to put the night behind her. Exhausted and safe, she fell asleep before they reached the beach. Bert carried her to his car, took her on the long drive home, and put her to bed. He settled in on her couch to wait for morning. Once, Ellen cried out in her sleep, and Bert stood in her bedroom doorway until her breathing settled back to normal. After that, she dropped into a deep and untroubled sleep.

***

The next night found Ellen and Bert outside Ellen’s building, dressed in formal attire, and waiting for a cab. Ellen bought newspapers from the corner newsstand and skimmed the articles about the sinking of the Lilith. Sol Rath had escaped. That much seemed clear from the reports and the discovery of one of the ship’s lifeboat beached south of Los Angeles. Everyone else aboard the Lilith was presumed dead. There was no word of the cult’s activities.

Forgetting the cab they’d called, Ellen dragged Bert into a coffee shop across the street. A bank of payphones lined the rear wall. A few well-placed calls publicized the Domino Lady’s connection to the events aboard the Lilith and launched rumors about the Satanic activity of those involved. The simultaneous deaths of so many rich and powerful people left a minor power vacuum in the state’s political machinery, and Ellen meant to exploit it. She wanted those who opposed her to know that they’d come at her with their worst, and she’d survived. She hoped it would stay their attempts to kill her, at least for awhile.

To Be Continued...

Afterward she and Bert went downtown for their planned evening of dining and dancing. For hours they spoke only of each other and said nothing of the Domino Lady, the danger they’d faced, or even the danger that awaited them. Occasionally Ellen winced when she twisted her fresh wounds, and several times she thought of her father and a distant look came over her in those reflective moments.

“You met my father many times,” Ellen said while they danced to a slow ballad. “What do you think he’d make of the Domino Lady? Now that you know all my secrets, I mean.”

Bert tightened his embrace of Ellen, dipped her low, and brought her back as the couple spun slowly across the dance floor. Ellen wore a startling blue, low-cut gown that lent her beauty some added magnificence; Bert had basked all evening in the envy of every other male in the room.

“Honestly? He wouldn’t like her,” said Bert.

Ellen’s face fell.

“Now wait a minute. Hear me out,” Bert continued. “He’d never like the idea of you putting yourself in danger. He loved you too much to ever be comfortable with that. And I don’t think he’d have appreciated the masked bit. He never trusted someone he couldn’t look in the face and know their mind. But even more, he’d hate that someone like the Domino Lady was needed to fight the corruption in this town. But the truth is she is needed, Ellen. Your father fought his battles in the open, and he died for it. Being the Domino Lady protects you. Same battle, better odds. I don’t think your father would care for it, but he’d certainly appreciate all that you’ve accomplished.”

The music stopped. Bert led Ellen out to the patio, where they wrapped their arms around each other.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Ellen said. “I’ve been thinking it over almost since the moment you pulled me out of the Pacific, and I’ve made up my mind.”

“Uh-oh, I’ve seen that look before,” said Bert.

“I’m going to run for public office.”

“What?”

“Something small to start, but maybe in a few years I can shoot for the state congress or the senate. I’ve got the money and the connections. I’ve got the name and the pedigree,” Ellen said. “And as evil as Sol Rath might be, he certainly sized me up as easy as two plus two equals four. Now, I need to do what they won’t expect me to do and make it that much harder the next time they come after me.”

“So, then, that’s the end of the Domino Lady.”

“Says who?”

“Well, I just figured with Rath knowing your identity, and all the public scrutiny you’re in for…,” said Bert. “Say, what gives?”

Flashing a wide grin, Ellen said, “Rath won’t breathe a word of what he knows. I’m going to make his life vibrant and interesting again. Everyone else besides you who knows my secret went down with the Lilith. And what sort of adventuress would I be if I let a few extra reporters and photographers scare me off my life’s work? Oh, no, Bert Raythorne, the Domino Lady is just getting warmed up.”

“Suddenly, I’m sort of glad to be heading back out to sea tomorrow,” Bert said.

“Hmmm. Then I’d best give you something to think about while you’re gone.” Ellen coaxed Bert down and kissed him; the two stood for a long time, locked in passion with only the starlight and rustling trees as witness. Inside, the music kicked up with a fast rhythm; they ignored it. They followed the night where it led them, and at dawn, alone again and nestled into her bed, Ellen found sleep. She dreamt of the Domino Lady, black and white flashes of her past, present, and future. She slept until night, rose, and walked to the balcony of her room. Water gurgled from the hot bath she’d started running. She gazed out at the twinkling city lights sprawling in every direction and imagined the shadows cast by each one. Good and evil were like light and dark—there was a twilight ground between them, a place Ellen knew well.

She was Ellen Patrick.

She was the infamous Domino Lady.

And the night was hers.

THE END