Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

a crime scene. Taking it slow, she wandered the ground floor.
    In the kitchen, she checked the refrigerator and pantry. Empty, except for a few cartons of instant soup. The drawers contained towels and silverware, and an assortment of pots, pans, and dishes filled the upper and lower cupboards. She pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, her hands palms down on top. She closed her eyes . “Talk to me , ” she said.
    A strong sensation told her that people had eaten there in recent weeks. After a few minutes, she rose and strolled through the rest of the rooms on the first floor. No impressions. Nothing.
    Climbing the stairs to the upper level, she stood for a long time outside the room with the drawings. The air was thick and heavy, and she found herself gasping to fill her lungs. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. She inhaled deep breaths before venturing inside, avoiding the wall with the diagrams. A small bed covered by a light blanket hugged the far wall. She sat down and closed her eyes. Someone had occupied it recently, maybe two people. Could they have slept in shifts?
    The wall beckoned her. She cast her gaze on it, mesmerized by its satanic symbols. Diana’s interest in the supernatural evolved as a natural extension of her psychic gifts. As a child, she’d been labeled a witch and a collaborator of Satan because of her uncanny abilities. People found it easier to associate her powers with the black arts than to believe they were a gift bestowed by a higher power . Even though she’d led police to missing persons ― some living, some not ― and her finds offered closure for the respective families, a few still claimed she was a conduit of Satan. The accusations inspired her to delve into the occult, if for no other reason than to disprove what they said about her.

    S he studied the drawings: the Sigil of Baphomet , the official insignia of the Church of Satan; the upside down cross, symbolizing the mockery and rejection of Jesus; and the pentagram, used in occult rituals to conjure up evil spirits. The sensation of malice enveloped her like the devil’s cape. Dark impressions had been commonplace as a child, but the atmosphere in this room triggered an unprecedented reaction, a s if fire sear ed her skin.
    Get hold of yourself, Diana. Don’t lose focus. They’re just drawings .
    With forced purpose, she viewed the other signs defacing the wall: the seeing eye , believed to be the eye of Lucifer ― control it and you control the world’s financing. The goat’s head, mocking Jesus as the “lamb” who died for our sins. And last, the hexagram, a potent image of darkness and magic. There were more symbols , she knew , grateful they’d been omitted.
    At age seventeen, when she expressed an interest in the occult, her parents thought she’d crossed over into another realm , that her psychic gifts had become rooted in the netherworld. H er father considered an intervention to release whatever evil spirit had entered her body , but h e dismissed the idea when he thought of the publicity it would garner. Diana’s fascination passed, but not before she ’d immersed herself in the history and culture of the mystical.
    Ultimately , she determined her visions were granted for a reason . Now, shrugging off the visceral effects of the symbols before her, she thought of the past, thought of the present . Of the babies . And she knew why she was there .
    She turned her back on the symbols and walked across the hall into the blue room, then the pink, with their cribs and sunlight and colorful mobiles floating over where babies once had lain. The babies in these rooms were fed and nurtured and yes, loved. F or what? An offering to Lucifer ? A donation to the god of darkness?
    She sat in the rocking chair, and a sense of innocence overwhelmed her. Before long, she was rocking back and forth, embracing a weight so light it barely kissed her skin. She felt her breasts as never before, hard and full, and when she looked down, damp rings stained her blouse. Tears filled her eyes and fell down her cheeks. In the pure room. In the evil house.

Chapter Twelve
    Transformation

    L ucier rang the neighbor’s bell and waited patiently until a teenage boy answered. In the middle of his asking if the boy’s parents were home, a middle-aged woman came to the door.
    He flashed his badge and asked about their neighbors in the pink house without mentioning the reasons for his interest .
    “I’m Marjorie