Lucifer's Lottery - Edward Lee [77]
“And lastly, Lucifer’s commode-chamber, which you in your modern parlance would call a bathroom . . .”
The head-formed walls here are circular, presumably so that all may watch the Morning Star’s elimination. A beautifully cut mosaic of amethysts make up the actual toilet bowl but the rim of the seat is made of more Human heads. The oddest adornment here, though, is a gilded, flat-topped stand, and on top of it sits a lone Human head on its side. The head is not connected or mortared to anything; it’s just sitting there. You squint at it. It’s that of a blonde woman, slightly chubby-faced, with an expression of utter revulsion.
“What’s with the single head on the stand?” you ask.
“Surely you’ve noticed a disheartening absence of toilet paper, Mr. Hudson,” Howard says. “The unfortunate blonde belle’s face serves the purpose . . .”
Your facsimile for a stomach sinks, then sinks further when you suspect you’ve seen the face before in some entertainment magazine but you can’t quite recall her name.
Howard puts the hectographs away and rehoists your head-stick. “The main house has obviously been completed, but constant additions are in perpetual progress.” He points down an empty street—Mephisto Avenue—as a queue of clattering steam-trucks and monster-drawn wagons approach, all manned by various demonic workmen. Several wagons are heaped high with heads while others haul sacks of occult cement. At a certain point near the house, two hooded Bio-Wizards depart from the mansion’s entrance. They touch a pair of crooked wands together, then draw them apart to a distance wide enough to permit passage of the construction crew. After said passage, the Wizards reverse the odd procedure, and return to the entrance.
“What was that all about?”
“They were opening and closing the mansion’s impenetrable defense perimeter. Nothing may gain entrance without proper clearance.”
“Perimeter? I don’t see any perimeter.”
“It’s a Hex, Mr. Hudson. It’s called an Exsanguination Bridle. Ah, and how convenient! Watch what befalls this gaggle of very unwise insurgent ruffians and ne’er-do-wells . . .”
You look up and see a spectacular white Gryphon flying urgently toward one of the mansion’s towers. Saddled to its back are several very determined-looking Imps and Humans, each hefting a keg of explosives. But when the Gryphon’s swift wings take it past a certain point—
FFFFFFFFFFWAP!
—white feathers fly as the beast and its riders are immediately stricken by an energy that causes their blood to fire out of their bodies through every orifice. Then the bodies, and a rain of blood, hit the street. The kegs burst harmlessly, poofing billows of something akin to gunpowder.
“Wow,” you say, impressed. “That’s some security system.”
“The very latest Senarial Science. And anyone who is granted entrance is thoroughly screened by Prism Veils operated by Warlocks with the Psychical Detection Regiments. They’re able to read any and all negative or anti-Luciferic thoughts.”
Then you look back at the obscene house; even in the utter evil of its design, you have to be impressed. But your confusion couldn’t be more intense. “So this is the clincher? This is the final sight that’s supposed to make me accept the Senary—a house of heads?”
Howard unreels a high, nasally laugh. “Goodness no, Mr. Hudson. This is the final sight that’s intended to fully evolve your awareness of the totality of Lucifer’s power and forethought. The clincher shall arrive later . . .” Howard pauses, then adds, “But the tour is nearly at an end. I dare say a minor respite is in order . . . before our final debarkation.”
You’re taking a final glance at the ghastly manse, at the innumerable living heads facing you, all those lips mouthing silent horrors, and all those eyes shock-wide by the excruciating particulars of their Damnation; and the millions