Blood and Prayer

*****WARNING*******

If you are UNDER EIGHTEEN or know that you cannot handle scenes of fetish-type lesbian-ish sex and violence, DO NOT READ THIS! I mean, really, some of what I wrote went WAAAYYYYYY beyond the norm.

So again, be warned. Don't read this if you think you can't handle (or don't like) erotic horror. Thank you.

Also, for anyone who would like to help me, I could use some honest feedback with this story. Constructive criticism, if you will.

Thanks!

*******************

"You know I love you," Johnny said.

I snorted and took a drag from my cigarette. "Bullshit. You love your cock in my mouth."

Johnny grinned, his gold tooth glinting at me through his scabby lips. Not taking his eyes off me, he crawled into the bed until he reached where I was lying propped up against the headboard.

"That, too, Baby."

Still grinning, he unzipped the front of his blue jeans. I didn't say anything. Looking away, I ground the burning embers of my cigarette into the frame of the open window. I flicked the butt into the street and closed the shades.

Johnny was waiting, every part of him looking expectant. I ran my tongue through my mouth, tasting the foul aftertaste of nicotine and this afternoon's beef lo mein.

Not like my mouth would taste any better any time soon, I thought to myself. Reaching over to Johnny, I met his expectations.

*~*~*

Thirteen months ago, I was a different person. Back then, I had a boyfriend named Johnny who would occasionally pimp me out whenever he lost a bet. I smoked and drank. I ate red meat with abandon and didn't flush after I was done with the toilet.

Back then, people called me Baby. Just Baby. No one ever bothered to ask about my last name, and I never offered to share it.

Today I have a new name. Call me Tamora. Tamora Black.

Coyo gave me the name after bathing me in her blood. This is not as disgusting as it sounds.

For starters, Coyo is a severed head and she bleeds all the fucking time. When the members of the Sisterhood first introduced me to her, they'd placed her on a silver platter lined with white cotton towels. By the time the meeting was over and all my questions had been answered, the towels were red and sodden.

Most of the time, Coyo spent her days in the bathtub. Not the most glamorous place for a goddess, I know, but when you consider practicality issues, this was the best we could do.

Nixi Green, the High Priestess, gave considerable effort to make the bathroom a nice place. She got Ysabelle Blue to paint murals on the walls, which was really smart of her. Before she joined up, Ysabelle was a professional tattoo artist, so she could draw things really good, at least until she'd gotten addicted to heroin and lost her job. Joining the Sisterhood helped her out of her addiction, just like it helped me get away from Johnny.

After Ysabelle covered the bathroom with Aztec murals, I was put in charge of incense and flowers. I light a new stick every three hours and I get fresh lilies daily.

I talk to Coyo whenever I do this. Sometimes she even talks back to me, but for the most part she doesn't respond. Either way, I love my duty. So much better than Ysabelle, who fucking paints all day, or Carolina Red, who distributes pamphlets on the street to strangers about the glories of Coyolxauhqui's power.

At least with my job, I get to see her face every three hours. I get to sit next to her and breathe in the incense and her smell.

You know what a goddess smells like? If you're thinking fresh air and daffodils, then you're full of shit. Coyo smells like blood, stinking and metallic. The incense and the flowers help cover it up, at least a little, but it's always there, like an undercurrent that never quite goes away.

The smell of the blood sticks to you, too. I go out in public places and nobody even gets near me. Some people might not like that, but I do. I don't want strangers to brush up against me in public, not even accidentally. I had enough of being touched when I was with Johnny. Never again.

Right now, I'm in the bathroom, doing what I always do every three hours. I clean up the old incense, sweeping up the ashes with my fingers and scrubbing the rest away with a ratty washcloth. Then, I light a new stick, this one scented like cinnamon. I like it a lot, much better than the last kind, which was some sort of Indian shit that smelled horrible. I think Coyo likes it better, too, though she'd never tell me.

Nixi Green says that the goddess doesn't think about mortal concerns, but I don't believe her. I think Coyo just likes being mysterious. Lord knows that I did, back when I was a whore. I'd change my name with every new john that Johnny sent me. For each one, I came up with a new back-story and each one, I left wanting.

I was good at that. I could fuck a man seven ways from Sunday and, by the end of the hour, he'd still want to go again. Hell, it wasn't even like I was that particularly attractive, but there was something in me, something instinctual, that knew how to manipulate a john until his brains about leaked out his ears.

If Johnny'd had his way, I'd have been on the streets every night, but I was always stubborn. Maybe sometimes I agreed to see a john, but only sometimes.

What an idiot I was.

The incense releases a cinnamon-scented plume of smoke into the air. I don't have any reason to be there any more, but I hesitate before opening the door to go into the rest of the house.

Coyo is in her usual state, her eyes closed and her face resting in an expression of utter peace. A constant trickle of blood leaks out of the ragged flesh of her neck, but she doesn't ever seem to notice it. I guess she's used to it, but I don't know. I can't even think properly when I'm looking at her.

She's so beautiful.

Her hair is short, woven into stubby dreadlocks, each one glistening in a midnight black hue. Her cheekbones are high set and delicate and her chin is narrow. I wish I had her lips. Hell, every actress in Hollywood would probably wish they had her lips, so full and pouty. They're as red as the blood that seeps from her neck.

The thing that gets me most about her is her eyes. I wish she'd open them more often. Instead of blue or brown like most people's, her eyes are an unmistakable silver, the exact color of the moon.

Today, as usual, her eyes are closed and she's far away in her thoughts, doing whatever goddess thing that she does whenever she's not dealing with the Sisterhood.

I linger for a moment more, and then head for the door. If I stay too much longer, Nixi will come looking for me.

As I reach the handle, I hear a voice. It is hers. My heart rejoices.

"What night is tonight?"

I smile. This is a rhetorical question, because both Coyo and I already know the answer. This is just her way of reminding me of what is expected.

"Tonight is the night of the full moon, lady."

"Are the sisters prepared?"

I pause before answering, planning my words before I say them aloud. "Yes, lady, the Sisterhood awaits your command. Including myself."

Coyo smiles with her full red lips and her eyes flick open, catching me with their lunar gaze.

"Be ready," she says and I know that this is my cue to leave. I bid her a goodbye and close the bathroom door behind me.

My heart is pounding so loudly that I am absolutely positive that Coyo can hear it. Was she talking about me? Was she telling me in particular to be ready? Jesus, I didn't even want to risk thinking about it, in case I'm wrong.

She's never chosen me for the Feeding ritual before. Maybe tonight I would be given that honor...

Don't think about it.

Taking a deep breath, I move from the door and into the further reaches of the house. Delilah Turquoise is in the kitchen making quesadillas for supper. I go and join her, pressing the tortillas much harder than they need to be. Delilah protests that I'm making them too thin, but I ignore her. The work is good, making my arm muscles burn with the effort. I can concentrate on that instead of on the future.

The Feeding ritual.... I shudder, forcing down the delight of hope, and focus on making dinner.

*~*~*

Thirteen months ago, the night I first met the Sisterhood, Johnny had convinced me to go with Joe, his best friend and gambling partner. This wasn't a new thing, since whenever Johnny and Joe couldn't find a couple of suckers to play poker with, they'd play each other. When the money ran out, Johnny would bet me and Joe would bet his blow.

This was the second time that Johnny lost, but honestly, had the game turned out in his favor, it still wouldn't have been any good to me. The last time they'd bet and Johnny'd won, he hadn't even shared the blow.

Joe waited in our shithole apartment while I got my stuff. Unlike Johnny, who was into women for the tits and ass, Joe was all about the S and M. More specifically, he liked to tie me up and spank me until either I started to bleed or he came.

I hated doing anything with him, had hated it the last time, but Johnny'd begged and pleaded me all afternoon. When that didn't work, he threatened to leave me. Like an idiot, I'd agreed to do Joe, but this was the last time. The thought of being on my own without anyone to tell me what to do terrified me. I'd rather fuck strangers and get my ass beaten, than lose my boyfriend.

Pathetic. I have no idea why Coyo picked me to join the Sisterhood. I wasn't worth it. I'm still not.

Johnny came with us after we left the house. He didn't want to leave me alone with Joe, since he'd heard Joe's stories about what he'd done to prostitutes before. Apparently he liked to beat the shit out of them. One time, he'd made this girl spit out her own tooth. He'd bragged about it later, even to me as if he was proud of what he'd done. All the while I couldn't stop thinking about the poor girl and her broken smile, even as Joe sat in our living room, drinking a beer and smirking at me.

We loaded into his car and drove for most of the evening until we reached the skyline bridge in downtown. There was a dark, mostly empty spot underneath it that none of the city lights could reach.

This was where Joe took me last time Johnny'd lost at cards, and (the stray thought buzzing at my mind) where he'd probably taken that girl who'd lost her tooth.

Joe stopped the car and we all got out. He told me to take off my clothes and I started lifting up my t-shirt before movement caught my eye. In one of the darker shadows beneath the bridge, two dirty bums sat and passed a paper-bagged bottle to one another. They were so dirty, so piled up with ragged clothes and overcoats, that I couldn't even tell whether they were male or female, old or young.

"Hey, there's people there," I pointed out, my shirt still pulled halfway up my stomach.

Joe grinned and, very conspicuously, rubbed his hand slowly from his chest down to his groin.

Understanding his answer, I didn't argue and continued to undress. Besides being a sadomasochist, Joe also added to his impressive range as 'pervert' by being an exhibitionist. The fact that the bums would see everything didn't bother him a bit, but rather added to the experience.

I hated it. If Johnny wasn't standing there, giving me pleading looks with his puppy dog eyes, I would have ran the hell outta there. But I knew the consequences of not paying debts as well as Johnny did; if I didn't fuck Joe and the bill was considered unpaid, Joe would get every underground gambling joint in the city to blacklist him. Johnny'd be outta work and I'd probably have to whore myself fulltime just to be able to pay the apartment bills.

Much as I hated it, there was no choice in the matter. I pulled down my pants, found a grassier, trash-free part of the ground, and got on my knees.

"Put your head down on the dirt, bitch," Joe said from somewhere behind me. I hesitated, glaring at Johnny for making me do this, and he shrugged at me, like what could he do? Frowning, I lowered my head until my forehead brushed the ground and waited for the pain to come.

It wasn't a long wait.

Joe alternated between using his hand and striking me with a flexible, three-foot long wand. I winced each time it hit me. Contrary to what Joe was muttering behind me, I wasn't a pain slut. I hated pain. That was one of the nice things about being with Johnny.

When I ran away from home when I was sixteen, I'd gone with this guy named Scooter who would beat me up whenever he had a bad day. I loathed him, but I'd stayed with him for a year. I'd finally left when I'd caught Johnny's eye and moved in with him. I went straight from one lousy boyfriend to another, but what could I do? I hated to be alone.

The thought stayed with me and repeated itself in my head, again and again, rhythmically with every blow: This is because you don't want to be alone. Slam. This is because you don't want to be alone. Whack.

Joe switched back to using the wand to beat me and I could hear squelching noises from behind me. I didn't need to turn my head. I knew what he was doing; beating off using my blood as a lubricant. He'd done it before. Probably with all the girls he beat on.

"You're such a dirty pain slut, aren't you? You're disgusting, you useless, pathetic whore -"

His voice jerked to a sudden, jarring stop. From ahead of me, I heard Johnny gasp and I sat up, wincing at the pain as I moved. I whipped my head behind me and saw what had made Joe stop hitting me: one of the bums had a piano wire against Joe's neck. He was pulling it so tight that it disappeared into the skin, releasing a stream of blood that steamed in the cool night air. The other bum ran in front of Joe while holding a large plastic bucket. I squinted at them, trying to see their faces in the darkness of the bridge.

A cool breeze flowed past me and I stiffened, feeling the coldness of the wind come in contact with my burning wounds. Very, very cautiously, I rose to a standing position, still studying the two figures choking the life from Joe. From the corner of my eye I saw Johnny, standing as still as I was as he gaped, frozen, at the sight of the attackers.

The full moon appeared from behind a cloud and pale, silver light shone down, penetrating even the dank blackness from under the bridge. I got a closer look at the two bums and gasped in shock as the moonlight revealed what I hadn't been able to see before. They were women. The two bums were women, each around my age, or close enough. Hell, neither of them could've been older than thirty. The second one held out the plastic bucket in front of her, catching Joe's blood as it flowed from his neck. His hands flailed at her, but she swatted them carelessly away, focusing all her attention on getting as much of the spilled blood into the bucket as possible.

I didn't know what to do. I was naked except for my shoes, not to mention bleeding from the split skin on my ass and lower back. I could run for Joe's car, but I was pretty sure that Joe had his car keys in his pocket. The thought of somehow saving him from the two bums passed through my mind, but I dismissed it. There were two of them, armed with at least one weapon, and the attack looked planned.

I watched enough war documentaries on the History Channel to know that you never go up against a force that outnumbers you unless you can take them by surprise.

Considering that I was naked, where the hell would I hide my surprise?

Joe gave a final, bubbling sputter and then collapsed, falling to his knees before landing face first in the dirt. Hell, it almost looked like the position he'd made me get in before the attack. I stared at him, his big ass the highest point of his body, and fought the urge to giggle hysterically.

Idiot! I thought to myself. Think! They could be after you next!

The two bums stood up from Joe's body and looked at me. I know, I know, they probably looked at Johnny, too, but my skin crawled as I imagined their eyes on me, taking in my bloody nakedness. Shaking out of my stupor, I reached down and snatched up my t-shirt. I pulled it over my head so fast that I ripped out a good chunk of my hair. It'd gotten caught on the charm bracelet Johnny'd given me for our third anniversary.

I could have been more careful and untangled the hair out of my bracelet before pulling the t-shirt down, but I didn't want to lose sight of the two attackers for longer than I absolutely had to.

The second one, standing about a foot shorter than the first, smiled at me. She grabbed the dirty, cheap woolen cap that covered her head and pulled it off, spilling out bright red hair that fell to her waist. She rubbed at the dirt smudges on her cheeks with her hand and then pulled off the two stained overcoats she was wearing, revealing a normal t-shirt and jeans outfit beneath it.

"Hi, Baby!" she chirped, reaching her arms over her head to stretch. I watched, dumbstruck. Free of the filthy clothing and streaks of dirt, she was actually really beautiful.

"You're supposed to wait until after the Harvest, Ysabelle," said the taller one, pushing back her hood. From what I could see of her beneath her overlarge parka, she had close-cropped blond hair and a strong, angular face. "We still have the other one."

"Oh, him," the redhead- Ysabelle? - sniffed. "He doesn't even seem worth the effort."

"We need the blood of two healthy men," scolded the blond. "You know that. Why are you arguing?"

"I'm not arguing. I just wanted to meet my new Sister first, that's....HEY!"

I swung my head around to see what she was shouting at. Johnny had started to run away in the opposite direction of the attackers. I stared at him, dumbed down by shock. He was just going to leave me here? Abandon me?

Despite her shout, Johnny kept running. I glanced back just in time to see Ysabelle give an angry huff and pull a small, snub-nosed gun out of her pocket. Closing one eye, she raised the gun into her line of sight and then fired.

The blast of sound hurt my ears, making them ring as I saw a red spray of blood burst from Johnny's left shoulder.

"Fuck," he screamed, clutching at his wound. His cries broke my paralysis and I ran towards him, unthinking, on autopilot.

"Johnny!"

"Stay the fuck away from me!" he moaned, tears rolling from his scrunched-together eyes.

The blond walked up to where Johnny lay writhing on the ground, and kicked him in his side.

"See what you did?" she called to the redhead. "Now he's bleeding all over the place. This year's Harvest is gonna be half-assed, at best."

Ysabelle rolled her eyes and strolled towards where Johnny lay. I knelt down beside him, searching my brain for what I remembered from those medical shows I watched. Apply pressure to the wound. Stop the bleeding. Try to keep it from getting infected.

Okay.

I put my hands over the hole in his shoulder, which was much larger than the entry wound. Trying not to think of how much filth was on my hands from kneeling in the grass, I pressed down on the black and red mess and tried to staunch the flow of blood.

Not enough pressure. The blood seeped through my fingers, undaunted by how hard I was pressing. Maybe I wasn't covering enough surface area of the wound. I grabbed Johnny's Knicks jersey and ripped off a strip from the bottom. Wadding the fabric in my hand, I pressed down on the wound again, holding it in place with all my strength.

"What the hell are you doing, Baby?" the redhead - Ysabelle - asked, peering down at me with her bright blue eyes. I didn't answer and I didn't move from Johnny's side. Maybe they were going to kill me, too. I'd seen their faces and could identify them if the pigs dragged me in, but somehow, it didn't seem like I was next on their list.

Also, how the hell did they know my name?

"She's trying to save the bastard," drawled out the blond, looking at my efforts with utter disdain written on her face. "Maybe she has that psychological thing...oh, what's it called? Where you sympathize with your tormentor and feel you deserve the abuse you're getting? Stockholm Syndrome?" Her expression twisted, she lifted her foot back and kicked Johnny again in the side. Hard.

"Stop it!" I shrieked at her. "Get the fuck away from us!"

"Calm down, Baby. Everything's gonna be all right," soothed the blond, her stern face suddenly radiating kindness as she smiled at me.

"Listen to Delilah," suggested Ysabelle. She glanced over at her companion. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Could you go get the bucket? We could hold him over it and drain him that way."

"Sure," started Delilah. Whatever else she had to say was interrupted as I threw myself at her.

"Leave us alone! Go away! Leave!" I scratched at her eyes, her face, clawing at her skin as I pushed against her, trying to force her away from Johnny.

It was like pushing an oak tree. She stood still, examining me as I attacked her, unfazed by my efforts.

"To think," she said, "that I was ever this weak."

Raising one of her surprisingly delicate hands, she slammed her fist into the side of my head before I could bring up my arms to block her.

I fell to the ground, my head twisted away from Johnny as I felt the wave of blackness sweep over me. Right before unconsciousness hit, I noticed the detritus thrown all over the dirty lot. One single bit of detritus, in particular.

Directly in front of me on the dusty ground, about two inches away from my eye, lay a cobwebbed, broken tooth.

*~*~*

When I woke up, I was laying on my stomach in an unfamiliar bed. My head didn't ache, which surprised me. Searching my memories from the night before, I remembered enough to be surprised that my backside didn't hurt, either.

Cautiously, I drew a trembling hand towards my ass and touched the spot where Joe's wooden wand had stripped some of the skin off. There was nothing there. No bandage. Hell, not even a scar. Nothing but smooth, unbroken skin.

I slowly moved over to the edge of the bed and sat up, looking around. It was a nice room. Cheerful pink wallpaper and navy blue carpeting added a pleasant color contrast to the white bed and furniture. There was a single, curtained window next to the bed, letting in streaming golden rays from the sun.

If I hadn't had the knot of dread in the pit of my stomach, I would have been charmed.

Where the hell was I?

I got up and a long, white nightgown fell from bunches around my waist to my ankles. On the one hand, I was glad that I wasn't wearing that bloody t-shirt any more, but on the other hand, someone had dressed me while I was unconscious. That shit wasn't right.

Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I stood up and made my way to the door. Nobody was keeping me in here. Those bitches could kill me if they wanted, but I wasn't gonna be anyone's prisoner.

One of the things that had set Scooter off, that year I'd lived with him, was that he'd hated it whenever I went out on my own. So for practically twelve months straight, I was a shut-in at his apartment. I never even ventured out for groceries on my own.

It'd been miserable. At first, Scooter'd been too poor to afford cable, so I'd watched the same four free channels every day, memorizing the actor's faces and everything they did. After I'd complained about it for the first few months, Scooter had finally jimmied with the wiring on his neighbor's apartment and stolen their cable. By then I'd been so eager for something, anything, to stimulate my brain that I'd watched the Discovery and History channels nonstop.

Scooter'd called me his "little Einstein," but not in a good way. He usually complimented the phrase by punching me in the kidneys. He didn't want his woman to be smarter than him, which was part of the reason why he'd helped me run away from my parents in the first place. I didn't even have a high school education; I'd left way before I could've graduated.

Scooter liked his women dumb, skinny, and compliant. Hell, I gave him two out of the three.

Compared to Scooter and being trapped in a single room apartment for an entire fucking year, Johnny didn't seem that bad. Sure, I occasionally had to fuck another guy, but at least I had my freedom. At least I could leave....

I reached the door to the bedroom and turned the handle slowly, so that the brass knob wouldn't creak. The door opened silently - must have had well-oiled hinges - and revealed a large, comfortable living room. Three overstuffed couches sat facing one another in the middle of the room, each with its own side table holding dirty coffee cups and old magazines.

There were flowers everywhere: on the tables, on the mantle above the marble fireplace, sitting in sconces attached to the walls.... My nose twitched, the pollen in the air making my allergies act up, but I squeezed my nose shut and breathed through my mouth until the urge to sneeze passed. I had to be as quiet as possible. I didn't know who those women were, but I'd be damned if they were going to keep me here.

I snuck across the carpeted floor, heading towards what looked like what could be a front door. The boards beneath the carpeting creaked halfway across and I froze, terrified that someone had heard me. Nothing happened, nobody came, and I kept moving.

It was weird. Why would someone kidnap me if they weren't even going to keep tabs on me after taking me to their house? What the hell?

My heart was pounding too loudly, but I ignored it. I crept towards the large door, hoping against hope that it was my exit out of this place. When I reached it, I grabbed the knob and swung it open, too fast for caution. The hinges might have squealed, I wasn't sure, because at that moment I was screaming too much to notice.

It wasn't a front door after all. I'd entered a large bathroom, pretty fancy looking with a huge bathtub and gilded mirrors. There was a severed head in the porcelain sink. It was sitting there and it was looking at me, eyes blinking at me, lips smiling at me....

I was still screaming, fuck being quiet, as I slammed the bathroom door shut and launched myself towards the other side of the living room where there was a hallway. The front door had to be on the other side of it, it had to be. The house had to have an exit somewhere.

I flew into the hallway and was halfway across it when a door at the far end opened and the petite redhead stepped out. Ysabelle.

"Wait a minute, Baby," she said, not alarmed, not shocked to find a screeching, panicked woman a couple yards in front of her.

I ignored her, still running as fast as I could. She was a small woman, much smaller and thinner than I was. I could push past her and get to the door at the end, which looked much more like a front door than that horrible bathroom with that horrible head sitting in the sink, looking at me and....

Don't think about it!

I ran straight for Ysabelle, hunching my shoulders forwards like I'd seen the footballers do, and slammed into her, prepared for her tiny body to be launched backwards.

It was like running into a concrete pillar.

I flew backwards, shoulders and hands aching where I'd come into contact with her. I landed on my back, my head slamming into the carpeting before I slid several feet away.

Room spinning, I lay still for a few seconds and blinked. What the fuck had just happened?

I saw movement from beyond my head. Two feet stepped on either side of me. I shot upwards, ignoring the wave of agony from my skull, and managed to stand upright. A new woman, with dark skin and cornrows braided into her hair, stared at me with a serious expression on her face.

"You okay, Baby?" I heard the redhead call from behind me. I turned and looked at her. She didn't seem the slightest bit disheveled, which fucking pissed me off. I may be skinny, but I'm also five foot eleven with a healthy layer of muscle. I'd fucking thrown myself at her, but she didn't even have a scratch on her. What the hell? A girl her size, I should've crushed her.

The new woman glared at the redhead, ignoring me for the moment. "What the hell were you trying to do? Kill her?"

"I didn't think she'd fall that hard!" Ysabelle protested.

"And where the hell's Delilah? I thought she was supposed to be watching over the new girl?"

The bathroom door opened - the one containing the severed head - and another woman stepped out, this one with a flat, Asian face and a shaved head. "Our Lady sent Delilah Turquoise out on an errand."

She grinned at me, giving me a wink with one of her tiny brown eyes. "Coyo occasionally has a craving for Godiva chocolate."

"Coyo?" I choked out, my head spinning.

The black woman smiled and grabbed my hand. Automatically, I tried to jerk away, but her grip was like steel.

"Forgive us," she said. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's make introductions first."

She gestured towards the redhead. "You've already met Ysabelle Blue and Delilah. That," she said pointing to the Asian, "is Carolina Red."

"Right," I said, feeling a wave of hysteria begin to rise up. "And what color of the rainbow are you? Violet Orange?"

The woman chuckled. "No, no, although that's a lovely idea. I am called Nixi Green. I am the High Priestess of Coyolxauhqui, great moon goddess of the ancient Aztecs."

I stared at her, uncomprehending. Nixi studied my expression for a few seconds, then rolled her eyes.

"In there? In the bathroom?" She frowned at me. "Surely you noticed the severed head?"

I backed away from her, a rather useless move since that only brought me closer to Ysabelle.

"Okay. Right. You worship a body part," I stated flatly.

The bathroom door opened again and I saw Carolina Red walk out. I hadn't even noticed she'd left the room. In her hands, she carried a large filigreed silver platter. Resting on the platter, staining the fluffy white towel beneath it a horrible, spreading crimson, was the severed head.

"No," said Coyolxauhqui, her voice as melodic as a singer's, "they worship me."

Trying not to do anything that could get me into more trouble, like vomit or collapse in a dead faint, I didn't say a word. Instead, breathing in and out in deep breaths while struggling not to faint, I carefully scrabbled for the edge of the couch and edged over to it until I could sit down. The other women followed suit, Carolina carrying the platter to the center of the couch across from me.

I didn’t speak. I couldn't. The eyes of the severed head stared at me, watching my every move, and if I spoke again I would start screaming and I didn't think, if that happened, that I'd ever be able to stop myself.

So sitting on the overstuffed couch, grasping at the frame as though I was going to lose my balance, I first heard the story of Coyolxauhqui and her great and terrible punishment.

*~*~*

Her mother was called Coatlique, She of the Serpent Skirt, and her brothers numbered four hundred. Coyo was the most powerful of all her siblings. She was the strongest at fighting, the best at magic, and the most beautiful. Her name, Coyolxauhqui, meant 'face painted with bells' and her worshippers were many.

Of all the many gods in the Aztec pantheon, Coyo's family was the most respected. Then, one day after many years of receiving fervent worship and bloody sacrifice, Coyo's mother became pregnant again.

Unlike before, when such a development was celebrated as it meant a new brother would join their family, at the news Coyo was filled with absolute shame.

Her father had not been with her mother the night she'd conceived. According to Coatlique, a ball of feathers had fallen from the sky and landed in her womb, filling her stomach with child.

It was a lie. It had to be, and Coyo's heart turned bitter with disgrace. Now all the gods in the Aztec nation would know that their mother was unfaithful, that their family had at least one unwanted bastard within it.

Coyo went aside to her four hundred brothers and developed a plan. In order to keep the family name afloat, they would murder their mother before the bastard could be born and spare themselves the shame.

That night, Coyo gathered her brothers and went before Coatlique, her belly already big with child.

"So you've come, daughter, to kill me?"

"Yes," said Coyolxauhqui, her beautiful face hardened with the weight of her task. The thought of merely allowing the birth to happen, of raising her newest brother with the same love she'd shown her other four hundred siblings, did not cross her mind. The shame of it all burned her, multiplied by a thousand by the mocking jeers of her fellow gods.

The dishonor Coatlique had done their family could not go unpunished. Coyo wrapped her hands tighter around the handle of her obsidian-chipped sword, willing her courage to allow her to make the first strike.

"You will die for what you have done," she hissed at her mother.

Coatlique shook her head, giving her daughter a tight-lipped smile.

"You were always the most beautiful one," said Coatlique. "I will miss you."

"What?" Coyo asked, but that was when the world burst into light.

Huitzilopoctli may have been a bastard child, but whoever his father had been, he was ten times stronger than even Coyolxauhqui herself. He burst out of Coatlique's womb in full war armor, thick layers of warthog hide and jade platelets covering his body, protecting him from any blows that Coyo's brothers could manage to land.

The battle was quick, fast, and brutal. While Coatlique lay back on her chair and watched, Huitzilopoctli murdered all four hundred of her sons, slicing off their heads and spilling their intestines as his sharp and deadly swords glittered in the moonlight.

By the time the battle was done, Coyo stood alone in a field of gore, surrounded by the severed limbs and accusing gazes of her siblings. Huitzilopoctli towered before her, his face glowing in a death mask as the passion of battle coursed through his system.

While dealing with her brothers, he had been quick and merciless, but for his lone sister he looked to their mother for guidance.

"I will miss seeing your face every day," said Coatlique. The serpents that made her skirt writhed and twisted across her body, each hissing in betrayal and rage. She looked to her last and latest son. "Do you understand, young one?"

The towering Huitzilopoctli knelt down on his knees before his mother. "I understand."

Rising up, he took his sword and sliced it down in a single, deadly stroke.

There was a loud sucking sound as it cut, slicing Coyo's left arm completely free from her body. It fell to the ground at her feet, her fingers still twitching even as the life drained out of them. Coyo looked helplessly, all of her magic and her power useless against her stronger brother.

Huitzilopoctli delivered the same stroke to her right arm, and then to both her legs.

No human could have survived such a treatment, but Coyolxauhqui was a goddess, one who had been fed by the prayers and blood of her worshippers.

As her bleeding torso writhed on the ground, Huitzilopoctli delivered the final blow, using his sharpened obsidian knife to hack her head from her body.

Bending, he handed all that remained of Coyo to her mother, who took the head gingerly.

"Mother!" Coyo choked out, struggling to move a body that was no longer attached.

"You should not have betrayed me," murmured Coatlique, setting Coyo's head into the sky where it shone as the moon.

Looking up into the newly brightened midnight sky, Coatlique sighed as Huitzilopoctli moved behind her, ever ready for the next fight to begin.

"Oh, daughter. You were so beautiful."

Moving onwards, she left the battlefield with her single remaining child. Abandoned, alone on the blood-streaked grounds, Coyo's mutilated body twitched and twitched.

*~*~*

"I found her head buried in an ancient Aztec temple about thirty miles away from Cal y Mayor in Mexico," said Nixi, interrupting the silence that had spread across the room after Coyo had finished telling her tale.

"I was a practicing archeologist and Mexico was where the university sent me. First time on the field, in fact."

She grinned at me, her face flushed with pride. "I was the first Negro to ever graduate from my university with a doctorate in archeology. Hell," she laughed, "I was the first woman to succeed in the field."

I blinked at her, confused. What college was out there that was so backwards that someone as young as Nixi would've been their first black female student?

Carolina saw me staring in confusion. "Oh! Nixi should've mentioned.... This was back in 1956."

"I don't believe you."

Nixi laughed. "Believe it."

I didn't feel like smiling. "You're my age."

"No, I'm not," replied Nixi. "I was born in 1929. I was twenty seven years old when I became a Sister."

"That's one of the benefits of joining," Delilah pointed out. She'd returned with the chocolate mid-way through Coyo's story and had slid carefully onto the couch beside Coyo without interrupting her tale.

When she spoke, her deep, rich voice permeated my addled brain, and I remembered when I'd first heard her last night. And the attack on Joe. And Johnny.

I spoke. "Where's Johnny?"

The room went silent again. I scanned their faces; Ysabelle avoided my eyes, her cheeks glowing a burning red as she squirmed in her seat. Delilah met my gaze.

"We killed him."

"Really." I said it as a statement, not a question. Given what I'd seen them do, I'd almost been expecting the answer.

"Yes. After Ysabelle shot him, I lifted him by the hair and slit his throat over the bucket. He died soon after."

She said it matter of factly, like if I'd just asked her how her trip to the DMV had gone.

"Are you upset?" Delilah asked me.

I thought about it. Johnny hadn't been the worst boyfriend around, and a part of me had loved him, at least a little. Or maybe I'd just loved having someone there with me. I'd been with him for five years and during that time, he'd gotten me to fuck about twenty different guys. Every time he sent me out, he'd said he'd loved me...right before closing the door in my face. I couldn't picture life without him, but jesus.

Hell, there were a lot of things I'd hated about him - his selfishness, his gambling, the way he never seemed to think about me unless he needed something from me - but he'd done some good things, too. Like when I'd gotten sick with a fever, right after I'd moved in with him, and he'd stayed up all night, wiping my forehead with a damp cloth and bringing me water. And when he'd given me presents, like my anniversary bracelet that always caught on my hair....

I lifted my wrist. The bracelet was gone.

"What happened to my jewelry?" I asked. The gold necklace I'd been wearing around my neck last night was missing, too.

"It's a part of your old life," said Ysabelle. "You don't need it anymore."

"Answer the question," Delilah ordered. "Are you upset?"

"No," I answered. I paused, chewing on the word, trying to make sense of it. Why the fuck wasn't I freaked out right now? There was a fucking severed head sitting on the couch in front of me and telling me stories of how she'd been amputated. These bitches had killed my boyfriend! They'd hit me and kidnapped me and taken my stuff. Why the fuck wasn't I screaming?

Nixi took over the conversation. "And when Ysabelle and Delilah gathered the Harvest and killed your friend -"

I interrupted. "Joe wasn't my friend."

"The man you were with, then. Why didn't you run away when he was garroted?"

I shrugged. "I was naked."

Nixi rolled her eyes. "Please. Don't tell me that you're shy."

I frowned, crossing my arms in front of me. "Okay, I'm not. But maybe I was in shock. You fucking murdered someone in front of me!"

I raised my voice towards the end of the sentence, trying to sound angry, but honestly, my heart wasn't in it. It was like, ever since I heard Coyo tell the story about her origins, all of my strong emotions had just been...drained. Sucked out of me, like a voice-activated vampire. All the things I should have been feeling were gone, replaced with this weird...comfort. Complacency. The feeling that I wasn't in danger.

"The only time you fought at all," continued Nixi, "was when they threatened your boyfriend."

"Johnny," I whispered, trying to make the name evoke some sort of emotion, some sort of sadness. We'd been together for five fucking years and I couldn't even get myself to cry over him.

Was our relationship really so meaningless? I was reacting to Johnny's death the same way as when I would accidentally pull an extra Kleenex out of the box. Like it was kind of a waste of paper, but nothing to worry over. Whenever that happened, I'd just wad the extra tissue up with the used one and throw them both away. No big loss. Nothing to cry about....

"And do you understand why you aren't troubled?" Nixi asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I shook my head, feigning confusion, but a part of me already knew the answer, whispering it in my thoughts over and over again with a quiet certainty: somehow I was one of them.

"Yes," said the head, the first word she's spoken since her story.

"What?" Had she read my mind?

"Yes, you are a part of the Sisterhood now. You are mine. My daughter. My sister."

"No, I'm not. I'm...." A whore. A faithless girlfriend, not even mourning her boyfriend when he's been dead for less than a day. A high school drop out. Incompetently co-dependant. Worthless. Useless. Nothing.

I wasn't her sister or daughter or anything like that. She was a fucking Aztec goddess. What was I? What the hell had I accomplished in my life? I'd never done anything important. I'd never been anywhere outside of the state. I'd never created anything. I didn't have any money. I didn't have any kids. My abusive mother could rot in hell before I'd ever let her see me again so, really, I didn't have any family either.

Maybe the reason why I didn't run away from Delilah and Ysabelle during the initial attack wasn't because I was too scared to move, or because I was in shock. ...Maybe the reason had been that I'd wanted to die. Somewhere, in some secret part of me, I'd been quietly hoping for them to raise that garroting wire again and yank it tight around my neck.

Would I have even struggled? Would I have even tried to fight back? Or would I have fallen to my knees and submitted, just like Joe'd had me submit, and both my boyfriends, and my horrible mother, and, well, every fucking person in my life? God, I was such a loser. Such a waste. I'd let everybody in the whole fucking universe boss me around.

"You're wrong, Tamora," Coyo said, her sultry voice low and soothing.

"What'd you call me?" I asked, distracted from my thoughts.

"Tamora. Tamora Black. It's the new name I've given you to accompany you in your new life. Do you like it?"

I started, automatically, to say no, but the words caught in my throat. Who was Baby anyway? Mother'd called me that when I was born just because she hadn't cared enough to think of a real name for me. It hadn't helped me later in life; strangers laughed when they heard it, and the name had given my boyfriends another reason to condescend.

Why did I have to be Baby anymore? Someday, even the most stubborn children had to eventually grow up.

"Tamora...." I murmured, letting the word roll off my tongue. "I like it."

"It is you," said Coyo. "It is who you are. Treasure your name. It is the second gift I've given you."

"What's the first?"

"The honor of joining my worship," said Coyo. Her strange, silver eyes glittered in the sunlight even as the living room filled with the copper scent of blood.

"Worship? Come on, I never even go to church."

"You'll like this church," Ysabelle interjected, looking coy. "Here you get benefits."

"Like not aging," said Nixi. "And amplified strength. Ysabelle?"

The redhead leapt out of her chair and ran behind the couch where I was sitting.

"What's going -"

"Hang on!" she chirped. She bent down behind the back of the couch, disappearing from view, and then I felt the seat jerk into movement. I leapt off of the cushion I'd been sitting on and stared behind me.

Ysabelle was lifting the entire couch high above her head. With one hand. And she wasn't even straining.

"What the fuck..." I whispered.

Ysabelle gave a high-pitched giggle of excitement and casually sat the couch down again.

"Easy peasy," she said.

I gaped at her. She winked.

"All your life you have served others unworthy of your attentions," said Coyo. "This isn't the result of a flaw in your personality, as you believe, or a mark of your inherit weakness as others have claimed.

"No, your very nature makes you long to serve, to please, to attend, because your life has always been meant for greater purpose. For me. To be my priestess and join my Sisterhood." She paused. "There is no greater honor than to serve a god."

By now, the ever-leaking blood pouring from her ragged, fleshy stump of a neck had completely saturated the towel. The excess began to trickle over the top of the platter, staining the cushion beneath it.

I watched, fascinated, at the fall of every droplet, at the widening of the stain.

Drip.

Maybe she was right, after all. Despite all the things that Johnny'd made me do, it still made me happy to cheer him up after he'd had a bad day, or to give him massages and clean up the apartment after he'd trashed it the night before. Hell, I'd even enjoyed sucking his dick. Not because I'd gotten any physical pleasure from it, but because I liked the sounds he made and the way his face looked, all blissed-out and dreamlike, whenever I'd taken him in my mouth.

Drip.

But, despite all that, Johnny'd still been a major asshole the majority of the time. He hadn't appreciated me. True, he'd been the best out of all the main people in my life, but that was like saying that a mostly-rotten fruit tasted better than an entirely-rotten fruit. Compare them as you might, they still all taste like shit.

Drip.

There was only one reason why I'd stayed with any of them - my parents, Scooter, Johnny. It was the main, horribly pathetic-sounding motivation in my life; I didn't want to be alone. I needed and, hell, I'd probably always need at least one constant person in my life. One sun for my little planet to forever revolve around.

Coyo gazed at me, her expression unreadable, her face beautiful, mutilated and compelling.

She was right. Fuck it all, she was right.

"I..." I started to say. "I think I'll... I mean, if you'll have me, I want to...."

"Become a Sister?" finished Coyo. "You needn't ask permission, my Tamora. From the moment you were born, you were already a member. It just took some time to locate you. That's all."

"That's all...." I echoed weakly. I'd just agreed. They were murderers and cult members and I'd just agreed to join them. And fuck if I wasn't feeling the strangest sort of high right now, as though I'd just passed a particularly hard exam with flying colors. I was a cult member and I'd never felt so happy.

Jesus, what a day.

"Come," said Nixi, smiling beatifically. "Are you ready to be baptized?"

She grabbed my hands and began pulling me away from the living room.

"Where are we going?"

"To the bathroom," she said. "I know that Catholics like to use water for their baptisms, but ours are a...little more messy."

She paused, looking at me for a second, and then embraced me in a hug. "I'm glad you could finally join us, Sister. Come on."

We made our way to the bathroom, Carolina walking behind us with Coyolxauhqui's head on the platter. If any of the women there noticed the trail of blood splatters that the tray was dripping, no one said anything.

"Hey," I said as I stepped into the large bathroom, with its gilded mirrors and huge tub in the corner. "Why did you take Johnny's blood? And what was up with the bucket?"

"Oh, that," said Delilah, dismissively, as she entered the bathroom. She was the last person and she shut the door behind her. "We needed the blood for the Harvest."

"And what the hell is a Harvest?"

As Carolina carefully set Coyo into the base of the bathtub and Ysabelle helped me pull off my nightgown, Delilah smiled and told me.

*~*~*

Thirteen months ago, I was a different person, but you know this now. Since then, I have learned many things. Delilah taught me how to fight, Ysabelle how to read college level books, and Nixi how to properly worship Coyolxauhqui, including all of the many rituals involved.

Carolina told me everything she knew about etiquette and good manners, although, listening to her frequent complaints, apparently very little of her lessons have stuck.

I am healthy now. I used to get sick all the time, but since moving in with the Sisterhood, I have never caught a cold or gotten a sinus infection. Come to think of it, I can't recall the last time that I even sneezed.

Whenever I'm wounded, like when I'd gotten stabbed during the course of this year's Harvest, the wound closed up almost immediately. I could watch it heal, like one of those stop-motion cameras. Nixi says that just being near Coyo will cure any disease, any wound, or any infection. Which is, partially, why Coyo cannot be brought with us on the course of a Harvest; the wounds would close up before we'd be able to bleed the sacrifices dry. We'd have to keep stabbing them to reopen their wounds, which I thought seemed a little cruel, but Delilah said that it sounded like a fun idea.

Then again, Delilah's always been a little sadistic when it comes to men. Ysabelle says that it's just a part of Delilah's personality, that she's always been like that, but I don't know.

Before Coyo, I never used to like hurting anyone. All my life, I'd rather be the victim than attack anyone, but now the scent of spilled blood isn't nearly so abhorrent as it once was. These days, I prefer it.

These days, I'm also not bothered by killing people. This year's Harvest I was assigned to be the bait. Nixi'd given me a particularly slutty outfit to wear; one of those ensembles where the skirt is so short that leaning over would have shared with the world whether or not I shaved my pubes. With barely any effort, I'd lured two drunks to a dark alley with the promise of free sex. Once there, Delilah and Ysabelle launched the attack.

I'd slit the second man's throat. It'd felt...fine. Rather gratifying, actually. Like completing a hard project with the pride of doing a good job on it.

We drained the blood into the bucket and took it home to Coyo, who'd fed on it with ravenous hunger. I might have been appalled, once, by the thought of drinking blood. Not anymore.

These days, I'm filled with happiness at the thought of helping Coyo get the sustenance she needs. The joy of serving, if you will.

Part of what Nixi teaches me are stories about the ancient Aztec culture. Back then, before the wave of ruin brought along by the conquistadors, Coyo grew to power from a people who spilled blood to her daily. Her priests would behead young girls to her as annual gifts. Loving mothers would bleed their daughters in an effort to appease.

Since her betrayal by her brother, Coyo now prefers male victims. I wonder if she imagines Huitzilopoctli's face whenever we slit their throats. I know that I would.

To go from having millions of people making painful, bloody sacrifices to a tiny group of five women is a big change for Coyo. She feeds on spilled blood, but the Harvest ritual can only happen once a year.

Luckily, the Sisterhood knows of other ways to appease her hunger.

Today has been a good day. Delilah and I finished cooking the quesadillas and everyone found them delicious. Carolina brought home news of giving not one, not two, but three pamphlets away to a trio of neopagans on the street. She is bouncing around the dining room, absolutely ecstatic. I can share in her joy.

You see, the more minor, non-Sisterhood worshippers Coyo has, the greater she will be. Each whispered prayer will give her a little more power. Each drop of blood shed for her allows her more freedom to explore the world with her godly influence. This will let her search and discover more potential Sisters, living their lives without knowing their true purpose, serving those who do not deserve their obedience.

Nixi never mentioned it, but I've come up with a theory on my own. I think that Coyo has a private goal in mind. Ever since Nixi discovered her head in Mexico all those years ago, Coyo has been slowly gaining power. Drop by drop, prayer by prayer, she's getting stronger.

Eventually, with enough new Sisters and minor worshippers, she might be strong enough to fight her brother again and conquer him.

Maybe she will even regain her body, somehow, if she does this. Or maybe she will slice off his head and steal his headless corpse to use as her own.

Either way, the excitement of getting potential new converts is infectious and soon all of us are dancing in the living room to blasted salsa music. Coyo abstains from joining the festivities, but that doesn't bother us.

I shake my hips with Ysabelle and swirl around the room with Carolina. Delilah starts a makeshift conga line and we all join in, cha-chaing around the room like drunken idiots.

I have a wonderful time.

Soon, too soon, the sun sinks in the west, painting the sky a vivid, bloody red. My elation sinks with it and trepidation invades, filling my heart with questions and self-loathing.

Coyo may have mentioned the Ritual to me earlier, but it did not mean that she would offer the honor to me. Why would she? Every full moon for the past thirteen months, she has chosen Carolina. Nixi would stay to assist, of course, but Carolina was the special one. Carolina was gifted with the task to serve her lady. To feed her.

The other women, not feeling the same pressure I'm feeling - the same grim, awful hope - chatter around the house, entertaining themselves with card games and karate practice. Ysabelle asks me, hopefully, if I would braid her hair into tiny braids as I have done before, but I refuse. I'm too inwardly focused, too consumed with my own dramas, that at first I don't even notice the hurt flashing in her eyes. Too late, I start to say something, but Ysabelle moves away from me and I don't feel like chasing after her.

Darkness sneaks into the sky like a thief. The stars appear, shining little glimmers of hope and majesty. No clouds tonight, a good omen.

The bathroom door opens and Nixi steps out, her face inscrutable. Carolina, who'd been playing solitaire on the living room couch, looks up expectantly. Anticipation glows on her features, her cheeks burning a soft red that I doubt she notices.

Despite the many times I've asked, no one has ever explained the Feeding Ritual to me. I only know that it is an honor, and that it sustains our lady. I have ideas, though, images in my head of Carolina taking a sharpened knife and cutting her wrist with it. Of Coyo being lifted to that bleeding font and drinking deep, all the while Carolina leaning back with her eyes closed, serene at the honor of serving.

I would do it. In a heartbeat, if Coyo asked me to, I'd take a knife and jam it into my heart. Opening a vein is nothing. If Carolina does only that, then I will do ten times as much. I'd carve my chest open and slice out my heart, still beating, so that Coyo could suck it like a fruit.

Whoa. I stop my train of thought, taking deep breaths until I am calmed down. There is no room in the Sisterhood for jealousy. Carolina has been kind to me. I shouldn't be so petty.

Still, when Nixi's eyes sail past Carolina's face and land on mine, I feel a burst of pride. When she calls my name, I glance over at Carolina automatically, and savor, for the briefest instant, the look of disappointment written on her face.

I force my gaze away from her, chiding myself. God, how the fuck did I even deserve Coyo's acceptance if this was how I treated my Sister? Why the fuck did I even think I was worthy of her? Of any of this? What the hell was wrong with me...?

"Hey, Tamora?" A hand snaps in front of my eyes and I look up. Nixi is standing before me, eyebrow raised. "You home?"

"Yeah, sorry," I say. "Sorry."

"Coyo wants to see you."

"Me?" For my horrible thoughts, for my jealousy, I don't deserve to participate in the ritual. I'm not good enough. "For what?"

"For the Feeding," Nixi says.

I want to smile, to grin, hell, to cheer and do one of those football tackle dances. I quell the impulse. Whenever Carolina was summoned before, she would enter the bathroom with a quiet dignity.

I must do the same, if I am to compare.

Keeping my face still, I stand up from the couch and walk to the bathroom door. From the kitchen, I hear Ysabelle and Delilah burst into a flurry of whispered gossip. I ignore them.

The bathroom door opens and the smell of cinnamon incense greets me in a perfumed cloud. Coyo sits at her usual spot in the bathtub, a thin trickle of blood leaving a trail to the drain. She gives me a look of slow consideration and licks her perfect red lips with the tip of her tongue.

"Welcome, daughter."

"Goddess," I whisper. Trying, and failing, to suppress the trembling in my arms, I slowly extend my wrist.

"What in the world are you doing?" Nixi asks, looking at me like I'm the biggest freak ever.

"I'm...well.... You said that Coyo needed to feed!" I replied.

"So what, you think we'd slit your wrists?"

"Well..." I lower my arm to my side, embarrassed. Nixi's not laughing at me, not quite, but it's close. Coyo's watching me with her inscrutable expression. I can't tell what she's thinking. Probably that I'm a fucking idiot who assumes all the wrong things. Probably that she made a mistake, that I don't deserve to be here with her. That she should have summoned Carolina instead....

"Come here," Nixi says and her voice sounds kind. I move towards her and she cups my face with her hands. "That you would willingly offer such a sacrifice only proves your devotion. Don't worry about it."

She kisses me on my forehead. "Really, one of these days we're gonna break you of this. It's a bad habit to get into, blaming yourself. I've been watching you. You do it often."

Great. She'd seen me fretting like an old woman. Now I feel like even more of an idiot.

"I said, stop worrying about it." She chucks me under my chin. "Now take off your pants."

"What?" I gasp.

"Now, Tamora. The moon has already grown high. We need to get the Ritual done sometime before the night's over."

Obligingly, I strip off my jeans and drop them to the floor without folding them.

"Underwear, too," Nixi says.

I hesitate, my cheeks beginning to burn.

"What's wrong, Tamora?"

I mumble the answer under my breath, too low for anyone to hear.

"What? Say again, please."

I try again. "I have my period," I manage to choke out. Embarrassment floods me. "If I take off my underwear, I might..." I force myself to finish the sentence. "I might drip."

God, just kill me now. Cutting my wrist would have preferable to this.

Nixi bursts into laughter and, to my horror, Coyo joins in. "Don't worry about it, honey! Really, really, don't worry. We already know. Just take them off."

Trying to will my red face to fade into my normal, pale complexion, I grab the elastic band of my panties and pull them down. The ultra-thin pad is already half-full and I try not to look at it. Forcing my thighs together, praying that nothing will spill, I kick the panties onto the floor next to my jeans.

"Now, please sit in the tub."

A brief flicker of understanding permeates my brain, but before I can risk allowing myself to get lost in contemplation again, I step into the tub and grab the sides. Lowering myself until my ass touches the cool porcelain, I sit down with my legs folded Indian style. Coyo calmly looks at me as I invade her space. I can almost read her expression now, which is a first. She looks excited. And hungry.

"Now," says Nixi, "please spread your legs."

The previous burst of understanding that flickered in my thoughts before explodes into life. My heart begins to race, a thousand times a minute as I suddenly understand the knowing looks that the Sisters gave each other on the night of the full moon.

The moon does more than merely wax and wane as it completes its monthly course. It also controls other things - tides, animal behavior, gravity...and menstrual cycles.

More women menstruate during the full moon than at any other time.

Coyo would know this. Coyo controls this.

Hearing my heartbeat pound in my ears, loud and out of control, I slowly open my legs, propping one up on the side of the tub and letting the other hang over the edge. The harsh smell of my menstrual blood invades the room, ruining the cinnamon scent.

Resting before me, looking up at my splayed body, Coyo licks her lips.

"Nixi Green," Coyo orders.

Unspeaking, Nixi kneels down beside the tub and gently grasps Coyo beneath her ears. She lifts her up before me, holding her so that her ever-dripping stream of blood trickles down directly over the spot between my spread legs. The droplets fall. And land. Mixing.

We are mating, I think briefly, and the near-panic that would have normally followed is changed into something else; lust, excitement. Desire.

The blood droplets from Coyo's neck continue to fall, hitting me where I am growing warmer, moister, and no one says anything for what seems like eternity. Then,

"Tamora Black, do you offer yourself to Coyo, giving your lifeblood so that Our Lady may feed?" The words resound from Nixi's throat, old and powerful and sacred. These are the words of a ritual and I wonder if they were the last thing the chosen human sacrifices of the ancient Aztecs heard, right before the blade came down.

The blood drops again, falling directly onto my engorged clitoris. I begin to shudder, helplessly, from the anticipation and the answer rises to my mouth.

"I do."

"So we begin," Coyo says, her voice coming out in a low growl. I blink, startled as I realize that she is even hungrier than I thought.

From thousands of Aztec sacrifices a year to this, five women in an old house in modern America. Of course she's hungry. She was used to so much more.

"Priestess," prompts Coyo and Nixi, hearing the implicit order, slowly lowers the head into my waiting opening.

The touch of her tongue brings shockwaves of sensation. It is rough, much rougher than I expected and I grab onto anything I can reach, the shower curtain, the sides of the tub, anything. Her tongue moves quickly, running along my inner lips as she begins to lap up the smears of blood.

From the moment she first made contact, I thought I was going to pass out, the pleasure was so much.

Each stroke of her tongue causes me to shiver. She does not concentrate on one section, but goes everywhere. She inserts her tongue into my hole, swirling it around the sides, putting on delicious pressure as I gasp and try stifle my cries. I am unsure of how I am supposed to be responding - should I be solemn and respectful, acknowledging that Coyo is only taking the least painful route towards gaining sustenance? I do my best, forcing my fist into my mouth so that I can quell my moans, but it is no good. I can't stop myself from making sounds, noises. What she is doing is too good. Too compelling.

The roughness of her tongue and the pressure are driving me insane. She continues feeding, using such delicious pressure that I can't think straight. She tastes at the sides, the back, anywhere that the blood can be. She suckles at my inner folds and issues small, satisfied grunts as her hunger, her need is met. I arch my back and, near helplessly, reach beneath my shirt and begin to squeeze my breast, feeling the painful, hard nipple beneath my hands. I rub it with my thumb, but that accomplishes nothing more than a sharp excitement. God, give me strength.

From somewhere inside of me, I feel something shift and give way. I am familiar with this sensation; it happens right before a new wave of blood rushes down to flood my pads and ruin my panties. I used to hate it when I felt it happen, dreading that my pants would stain and someone would see. And know.

Amazing, I think now, how I could have been so ashamed of something that marked me as a woman. Because of my period, I could make life. I could create a little, baby human being with my own body, yet I was mortified at the thought of anyone knowing about it. How could I have ever felt anything but absolute pride at the gift I'd been given?

Coyo licks and presses and I wonder, why did I ever believe that bleeding could be a curse?

The flood happens, as I knew it would, and I feel the hot seeping liquid travel down and escape me, but not far. The warm, seeping blood exits my body and into Coyo's waiting mouth. I hear sucking sounds, slurping noises. I am not disgusted by this. I am turned on, so turned on. How much of what Coyo is drinking is blood, and how much is my natural wetness, the lubricating indicator of my absolute desire, is uncertain. Her rough tongue slurps against my opening and a loud, unmistakable moan escapes my lips before I can stop myself. The flood finishes, the warmth of the blood fading away as her tongue strokes at the source, thrusting itself as far as it can reach so as to catch all that remains.

Very little blood is left. I'm all out, almost empty. My period is like clockwork, three days of every month, and this is the heaviest day. All is released. All is gone.

Coyo makes a sound and Nixi, her expression carefully impartial as I moan and shudder before her, moves the head further up.

Coyo's lips, her plump and pouty lips, settle around my clitoris. I writhe against the hard, cold sides of the tub, my mind ablaze with anticipation. Coyo does not leave me waiting. She sucks it like a lollipop, like a straw in too-thick milkshake. Hard. Strong. Unrelenting.

I scream, the sound bursting forth from my lips as a shivering, unrelenting orgasm hits me so hard that I slam my head into the tiled wall behind me and almost pass out.

"Holy shit, Tamora! Are you all right?" I hear Nixi ask, her voice amused.

Waves of pain ebb and flow as I rub my sore skull, but I manage to open my eyes. "I'm fine."

She nods, but doesn't reply. Instead she looks down to Coyo, who still rests, mid-air, between my thighs. Her stubby, black dreadlocks glisten darkly in the lamplight. Her skin is dark, clear and lovely, the color of milky hot chocolate. Everything about her is perfect. Everything. Goddess.

"Put me down, Priestess," Coyo says and Nixi leans over and sets her gently at the other end of the tub. The trickle of blood leaking from her stump seems to be coming a bit stronger, I notice. Coyo sees me watching her and smiles at me, a slow smile as she flicks her tongue out and licks the smears of my blood off of her cheeks.

"My lady," I breathe, feeling a fresh wave of desire rush through me.

"Come on, Tamora," Nixi says and grabs my hands. Feeling lightheaded, the pain in my skull already faded into nothingness due to Coyo's healing presence, I let her pull me into a standing position. I bring my foot up to step out of the tub, but my knees buckle and I start to fall. Nixi catches me midway and pulls me back up again.

"Don't worry," she murmurs into my ear. "We were all like this, the first time."

My jaw drops open. "Only the first time?" I whisper back.

She laughs, and hands me my underwear and jeans. "Put these on. You can go to the other bathroom and take a shower, wash up."

"Okay," I say, my mind still spinning, and I pull on my clothes. Nixi opens the door and helps me out of the bathroom. Before she can close the door behind her, however, Coyo's voice rings out.

"The next night of the full moon, Tamora...."

"Yes," I whisper.

"You will join me again."

"Forever," I promise and, reaching out, I close the door completely.

Carolina gives me a friendly, if curious look, no jealousy written on her face and I smile at her. She is my Sister. I think I understand it, now. We may each vie for Coyo's attention, but truly, there is no real competition there.

I walk past the living room and towards the hallway, looking around the house, at my Sisters. At my family.

On my way to the hallway, I go past the huge window that overlooks the backyard. The pale silver rays of the full moon land on my face and a delicious shiver runs through me.

They are all my family, all daughters and Sisters of Coyo. Of the moon.

All lovers.

Feeling the cool touch of the moonlight, I look up to the sky and rejoice, my insides still tingling from Coyo's ministrations, my mind still half-here, half blown away by what had just happened, but the absolute knowledge has been driven into my thoughts, and what I once thought I knew is cemented down into absolute belief.

Finally, I am where I belong. I am where I am meant to be.