Beneath the table cloth the hand carved oak quivered. Perpendicular, a medium height, slim built twenty something male lay.

The young man had a wide, flat face shaped like an American football, southern blue eyes and short cropped hair of that mousy color which is neither light brown or dark blonde. He wasn’t unattractive. Average. Human. Passing him in a high street you’d know you were in a clean, middle-class area which believed the greatest problems in society were unemployment, immigration and rising age brackets for public pension claims.

Faith, wishing she wouldn’t, immediately imagined he probably had a degree, not science, maybe history, had done some back packing, probably visited Asia to come back flauntingly enlightened and was one of those who, although saying the right thing was disingenuously, beyond your ability to evidence it, sneering at you from their internal, clean-cut pedestal. 

An oblique, spikeless choke pear with a pretty, flowering bronze handle corked his mouth muffling panic stricken, inquisitive grunts. In candy red the rune Fehu, which looked like an F whose parallel lines had been kicked up vertical, was painted inverted over his sinewy, probably a cyclist, body. Inverted the rune meant bondage. The cast which hummed from the grainy pigment was one for paralysis.

The rune could also mean failure, burn-out, atrophy, slavery, possible death.

Oddly the rune Uruz, which looked like a lowercase n whose left side was a little higher, had also been painted on him. It was, and so was the charm hovering upon it, for healing.

He smelt  like caramelised butter and garlic salt.

“Starter” Faith jumped at the scratch of Marc’s bristle against her ear

“Eight courses, no nine, I believe” Gremory murmured 

Nine. His moles, freckles, that fat little slug sheathed by its wrinkled, over-sized stocking of a foreskin. Close up, the flawed, ugly reality of him; he was grotesque.

His loved ones. Rose tinted cookie cut moments. Montage westerner cliches. He felt like a park and picnic man. Life. Lost. Feel bad. Faith tried.

She didn't. It wasn't to do with him at all really. What made this hard was the battle of whether she would do anything because she knew that to do nothing said something about her. Faith hated herself.

Catherine had unfurled from Gremory’s arms slinking on elongated limbs and blackened talon lengthened nails transfixed on the paralysed man. Faith could feel Gremory and Marc’s attention on her. For the next nine courses one of the main displays of interest was going to be her reaction. Faith couldn’t decide what the right reaction even was. Gremory must have done this to Marc. Marc and Gremory to Catherine. 

Was she supposed to be enjoying it in some sort of sadistic turn on? Was mortal Marc really that deranged by this point in his own timeline? Did she go indifferent? She wasn’t indifferent. She wasn’t happy he was going to die. She could do nothing about it. She’d have rather she’d have been able to do something about it because playing the hero would have been a lot easier. 

The position his death put her in. She thought this would be easier. 

“Relax, mon cher” Faith’s head crawled up and she instinctively glanced at the door “It is natural that you should feel this way”

Something caught Faith’s eye. In the mirror several feet behind Gremory's shoulder Blair was slamming her balled fists against it’s internal surface mouthing Get. Out!

Opposite Faith Catherine, who appeared to have grown pointer at the tips and blackened at those, was caressing the boy’s penis pinching him between her ring and middle fingers “Sweet heart” she hummed

Catherine’s eyes moved slowly from Faith’s to the boy and back up again “He likes it. They sometimes do. Before you get your teeth in. Before they realise. Better for us. Tastes best pumped with blood, almost all meat, straight through,” Catherine actually snapped her teeth at Faith.

Faith commendably holding herself together tried “I need to go to the bathroom”

“No you don't” Marc kissed her neck

Blair hit the mirror so hard Faith was certain she’d seen it tremor.

Faith’s mouth moved confused at which stream of thought to deal with. She wanted to tell Blair to shut it. She wanted to tell Marc to stop touching her. She wanted to tell Catherine to stop abusing the boy. Faith felt tears sting eyes.

With a wet smack from her pursed, red painted lips Catherine rose releasing the tip of the boy’s hardening erection “Come try”

Faith released a shaky breath which was meant to be an obscene profanity but to her credit she dowsed it. The sharp, muscular tip of Catherine's tongue crept the underside of the boy’s full erection. Faith’s foot went flat against the floor involuntarily ready to push off Marc and out. The twenty-something was trembling violently his eyes knotted tightly. Faith imagined this must be unbearably humiliating. To Faith’s surprise Catherine lent back smiling. Catherine shot forward like a demonic cat. Faith yelped watching as tiny, double rows of teeth sank around the man’s right testicle tearing it clean off. Faith slammed back against Marc violently “I can’t”

Marc had hold of her like a vice “Yes you can. Ye need to see it Faith. 'Til ye don’t recognise it any more”

Catching Gremory’s eye it sank in Faith that she’d just failed. Worse still he didn’t look angry but satisfied. Catherine fell back in her chair giggling insanely and covering her mouth as seed and blood spat between her lips as though she’d bitten into an over-ripe plum. More blood than Faith could have imagined pooled between the boys legs. Faith grimacing and breathing hard looked at his face wondering why he wasn’t screaming. He was. His whole face was contorted his mouth wide, his head lifted, tendons in his neck a webbed scaffolding beneath his chin. Gremory had muted him.

Faith reached blindly behind her clawing at Marc’s shirt before turning in on him drawing her legs up with her. Marc wrapped her tightly in his arms one hand finding the back of her head “Shh” he pressed his lips hard into the side of her cheek “I’m here”

From the other side of her Marc scented, warm hiding place Faith heard a chair scrape roughly on the marble floor “Give her to me”

Faith’s head shot up to find Gremory towering over them. To her doubled horror Faith felt Marc’s hold on her lessen reluctantly. Marc swept the hair from the side of her face holding her to look at him “He’s not going to hurt you, Faith”

Faith gaped at him. She wanted to scream but Blair had it fully under control. Traitor!

Marc scraped his chair back to allow Gremory access to her “I'll have ye back in a moment”

Faith glanced at Gremory unable to look any further up than his lapel. His hand curled around her upper arm pulling her off of Marc. It took every ounce of her control not to kick at him. Gremory dropped casually back into his seat pulling Faith on top of him very much like a granddaughter he was preparing to have quality time with. Faith visibly hunched knotting her eyes against the haze of his red velvet willing herself numb from the neck down. Gremory straightened behind her, she could feel him against her, smell him, feel the warmth coming from him. Faith’s hands knotted in her lap her nails dragging the skin sharply together at her knuckles.

Somebody get me out of here she thought

Behind them there was a thundering slam. The glass of the mirror trembled reverberating weakly after the impact. All at the table glanced at it with the exception of Faith who couldn’t bare to open her eyes. Marc met Gremory’s eyes seriously.

Faith wasn’t certain whether it was behind her or inside her but Blair screamed.

Gremory’s touch was so gentle it was more obscene than if it he’d been rough with her “Faith, mon amour, you know I would never hurt you” at the semi-moons behind Faith’s nails the skin has gone lilac. Gremory’s smooth chin found the side of Faith’s face and she pulled away until the table edge dug soothingly beneath her ribs “Open your eyes. Look at the boy. He no longer bleeds. His pain is eased. He is charmed to heal”

Faith opened her eyes “To make him last longer”

Opposite them Marc blinked throwing his smirk elsewhere.

“Your stomach can hold the meat of a man”

Faith gaped. He wasn't. Faith watched Gremory pick a steak knife from his table settings. He wrapped her fingers around it “Is there a particular part which takes your interest?”

“Marc” Faith’s eyes had closed again.

Marc’s nostrils flared. He could have taken it if she’d cried. Fought. Screamed.

Pleading for him. She had to go through this. If it wasn’t Gremory it would be himself. Gremory had already begun to stop him now would be to undermine him and Faith needed to grow attachment, find obedience, submit, to all members of their house.

“Faith. This is your future. You must eat. Shrinking from this now only postpones the inevitable” Faith's skin crawled as Gremory's lips moved against her ear.

“You will take the knife and take a piece for yourself” Gremory reached forward and as though plucking the cork from a wine bottle and removed the pear from the man’s mouth smashing his front most teeth. Gremory pinched his tongue holding it painfully out of his mouth “Go on”

Faith’s eyes danced “No”

“If you say no to me once more I will punish you for it”

Faith opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it "No"

“Faith” Marc barked. She’d take it. She’d take the consequences because they were less painful than hurting the boy. This wasn’t why they were here tonight. 

Faith's eyes shot open to stare Marc down.

To her horror and Marc’s great satisfaction, she felt herself concede. What option did she have? Take the punishment things got worse and the boy still died. Faith lifted the knife. Gremory cupped her hand. With his strength behind her the single swipe was over in an instant Faith felt should have endured longer for what it meant to the poor boy. Blood fountained from the his mouth and he gagged with sobs and saliva. Faith felt tears slide warm down her face. Gremory held the thick, pink slice of flesh out to her.

Trembling Faith took it only leaving her eyes open long enough to make sure it was going for her mouth before chewing twice and swallowing hard. Once down Faith had to draw the back of her hand up to her mouth to keep it that way. She wasn’t out of control. She wasn’t an animal driven beyond her sense, which was a shame, because facing it like this Faith wondered very seriously whether her long term future if damned was to starve to death.

“Fidget should honour the lamb’s sacrifice” Catherine was lent towards them near parallel with the table. Faith searched her face. 

Faith heard Gremory’s breath of amusement “kiss him, Faith” the planes of Faith’s teeth audibly grated “Catherine is right. He has given to you. Give him your thanks”

Faith got it. She was now evidently the plaything.

She’d failed one test tonight. How many more? Did it still work if you knew their game? Yes. The mortal Marc would have seen it. It would work because even if she got out of De Gaul, out of France, they’d find her and she’d want them to. Because some part of her would always find greater priority in them than the boy on the table. Because afraid, the only person she wanted to comfort her, to find safety in, was the very same turning to meant she was losing her soul.