Liaison by Anya Howard

speaker. They encircled me, and as I spun in preparation to assail them all with the hammer, I saw they had no intention of attacking. An aura of discontent emanated from them. It stagnated the air with an uncertain madness, and yet, it seemed to stay the aggression I had fully expected. The condemnations of the others rifled sourly through the air.
    “Make him humble for pardon,” called another, “before presenting him!”
    “See, brother, how he struts even now with his precious human toy!”
    The one with the hideous voice gestured for silence, and their ranting subdued to only hoarse grumbling.
    Whatever it was I had done to displease them, I sensed it would work more readily to my advantage at the moment than wielding the hammer. I faced the disease-voiced one who was obviously the leader.
    “I will leave the hammer at the entrance to your home. It is not hers until I have inspected her to my satisfaction and am certain she is all that I traveled to this land to find, and certainly before giving my life for the cause.”
    This brought a round of seething contempt from the pack. But their leader summoned them to peace.
    His shoulders slumped as he pulled the cowl back over his skull.
    “Be prepared, Nocturne Liaison, to give your apology for your high-handedness. Our mother has spurned sorcerer kings of your race! I should think a simple schoolteacher would demonstrate at least humble gratitude.”
    The air congested with silence then. He approached me and gestured ahead. “But I see no reason she should wait any longer to at least welcome the one she has chosen.”
    The others stood back as I followed him through the brushed land to the passageway between the limestone archways. The vines that had touched me as unnatural before seemed nothing more than harmless flora as we passed through. As we entered the courtyard, two peahens flew before the vampire guide, and a peacock, standing near the shadowy thickets, raised his magnificent show of tail feathers. The hateful sarcophagus had been left with its lid moved partially aside, and a large, hairy spider skirted across the open frame. My chest tightened, but it was the only remnant of emotion that touched me. We continued into the dark grove on the other side of the courtyard, only a short distance this, and came out into a slender clearing.
    The eastern portal of the monastery was here, and torches lined the clearing. Their light illuminated a statue of a leonine angel that stood on a marble pedestal. His magnificent wings were caught in graceful flight, and his robes had been fashioned in such a way that the sculpted fabric appeared to cascade in ripples down his body. His face was beautiful, and his fine features were rendered with the severest of countenances. I was astonished to see the depicted fabric had been sculpted in such a method as to lend the impression of an immoderate phallus bulging beneath the robe. The angel’s right hand grasped at his hip the head of a female carven figure by its hair. The angel’s left hand wielded a sword. Its stylized rippling blade was aimed at heaven. The head’s mouth was frozen into a disfigured circle; its eyes sunken and open in shock.
    More surprising than this, however, was the door at the eastern facade. This was an unusual element, as most Christian buildings of cruciform design were absent of eastern portals. The door itself was made of the same stone as the black blocks that bordered the monastery property. The vampire monk pressed it in easily enough, and light from within the monastery seeped out as he stepped inside. This light glazed the clearing grass in luminous silver.
    “The pagan toy,” he spoke, “leave it at the doorway. I will present it to mother . . . after she has voiced satisfaction in you.”
    His evident fear of the thing tempted me to bring the hammer inside just to torment him. But I put aside the selfish notion and leaned the weapon upside down against the frieze casing before crossing