Cherry rose off the bed and shut the door behind George Frumt. New Oklahoma's sheriff or not, Frumt, or Georgie as he wanted her to call him, needed to learn how to close doors after himself. It wasn't a barn, and she wasn't an animal. But it sure felt that way, at times.

Not for long. Soon she'd be more than just a brothel girl. She yearned for more. The King could give her more—had given her more. Scratch seemed to believe that her vision spoke of the future. Cherry wasn't so sure. Nothing had come of her vision. That had been weeks ago. She began to doubt what she saw. The séance involved drugs. How could she be sure her vision wasn't her own spun-out imagination?

But she'd seen the miracle with Moe. As had everyone else. Of course no one had seen Moe lately. But there was no denying Scratch's connection to the King. He'd worked other miracles before. Healings, feats of strength, impossibilities. She longed to know more of the King, the one who bestowed such power. Cherry needed to learn more of who this figure was, the man in yellow tattered robes. She needed to connect with him again.

But Scratch had not come to see her this week at all. And only once last week. He stopped in briefly, exerted himself, and then left without so much as offering small talk to her, let alone inviting her to another sacred meeting to the inner circle.

Well, if she wanted something, she might as well go find it. Quickly she slipped into a vermillion dress that hugged her figure, stepped into a nice pair of laced high heels, tugged on her cute grey gloves, the ones that matched her simple purse, and topped it off with an Edwardian style hat, one that made men halt where they stood. After locating her umbrella, she went out for a stroll through town.

She casually checked several saloons, leaving when she did not spot Scratch and the catcalls grew too numerous. She batted her lashes, acknowledging the men, even blowing kisses as some of the handsome ones, before moving on. Cherry didn't think Scratch would be in any of the laymen saloons, not since he'd been invited to the high rollers club. The Taj Diwan—fanciest hotel casino in all of Rubrum—hugged the Noctis Labyrinthus canyon wall, built right into it in fact, hanging over the precipice, and draped down the side for seven full stories so that whether you lounged, drank at the bar, or stayed in a room, you had a stunning view of the layered beauty of the inspiring canyon.

The Terran Native American tycoon who owned the casino had hired an Iranian architect— a student of two thousand years of historic Eastern architecture— to design the extravagant and exotic resort in hopes of attracting the oil emirates and other clientele drowning in too many creds to count.

Cherry stepped into the high vaulted iwan entrance, strode through the open-air courtyard framed by a colonnade of smooth ivory mosaic tiled pillars covered in pleasant but mind-boggling geometric patterns. How they kept it clean in spite of the dust storms beyond her, but it spoke to the immaculate quality of the place. It was only visited by the bullet train tycoons, the oxygen and water plant owners, and the Arab oil company sheikhs, and entrepreneurs from Terra on holiday. The richest of the rich. And Scratch. Serpents were less shrewd. Scratch's charismatic personality and religious affluence gained him access that a man of his class would not normally attain.

Being a woman of a specific trade granted Cherry access as well.

Dealers turned over cards and collected chips or awarded them in games of Faro at the many tables basked in low amber light. It reeked of e-cigar fumes, which she hated. She wanted to gag, but grew accustomed to it.

And there sat Scratch on a leather chaise, seated by himself, but not alone. He held the wrist of a woman who's beauty dropped jaws.

Roy flirted with the woman, laying on the charm thick.

Seething, jealous anger boiled under Cherry's cheeks, turning them redder than any blush she owned. Her lips pursed together and she brushed her bangs away out of habit.

Cherry hated to admit it, but not only did she recognize the woman Roy spoke with, she knew her by name. Miss Coraline, they called her. She was the new woman in town that all the men raved about and other women gawked at. If Cherry turned heads when she strode by, Cora turned men to stone statues. The woman was a goddess in the flesh. That's how she got a job in a place so fancy. And the worst part about it? The woman had apparently lived a sheltered, quiet, and naïve life. Cora didn't even realize how beautiful she was, nor did she understand the power she held.

Cherry's fingers tightened on the closed umbrella handle, her long fingernails digging into the palm of her hand until it hurt. She'd love to rake her nails across Cora's face. Who would find her gorgeous then?

With nothing to say, and not wanting to make a foolish scene, Cherry left. With every step towards the door, she pondered—why did this bother her? She knew plenty of men around Noke'la, but she never thought less of them when she found them with other women. That was her job, to offer pleasure without strings attached.

The flushed heat in her cheeks traveled up into her eyes. Cherry tried to blink away the hot tears, but she could not hold them back. Sniffles overwhelmed her. Why was she crying about it? Had she believed she could keep a man like Scratch all to herself? That was silly. She knew Scratch saw other women, most of whom she worked with. So why did Cora enrage her?

Cora's perfect face filled her mind. That woman did not even need to wear makeup. Cherry had seen her up close. She did not believe that Coraline wore a speck of powder, blush, foundation, or even eyeliner. She was perfect. And she didn't have to flaunt it. She didn't have to put on a show.

Now she realized why she hated Cora. She didn't have to work for men's attention like Cherry did. And whenever she garnered men's attention, it was for one thing and one thing only. After they were done with Cherry, they paid her and turned their attention elsewhere. The attention Cherry fought so hard to get was dismissed moments after she had it. Then she became invisible again, until the next customer needed her.

She wanted Scratch to need her, and she wanted the power he held. She wanted to share his life and his influence. She wanted others to notice her, to desire her always, and to respect her.

She removed a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes. Black liner streaks stained the cloth. Pulling out a little mirror and liner pencil, she reapplied the makeup quickly, lest anyone notice.

"Hey there, girlie. Whatcha crying about?"

It was Scratch.

"I ain't crying," she said, but it came out too fast, too defensive.

"And I ain't the Reverend of Noke'la. Come now, you can tell old Scratch."

Cherry finished and replaced her tools back in her purse, masking her face with a fake smile.

"It's nothing, really, Scratch. Nothing at all."

"Well, it must be something? I only ask because I care."

Cherry hesitated. She couldn't tell him about Cora. But she could ask a simple question.

"You ain't been to see me, Scratch. I was starting to miss you."

Scratch leaned in and kissed her cheek. "That's mighty sweet of you, girl. I've missed you too. Old Scratch has been busy as a spider, spinning a web. Problem is, the web is too good and the flies keep getting trapped in it before I can finish the web, see?"

Cherry didn't see. But Scratch often spoke like that. It amused her as much as it confused her. It was part of why she liked him, trying to understand him.

"You still meeting with the inner circle?"

Scratch looked about as if he didn't want any prying ears to overhear. "I am. In fact, I'm glad I ran into you. Can you attend tonight's meeting? I'd sure miss yah if you weren't there, girl."

So Scratch still needed her after all. And he'd been busy. That's why he hadn't come to see her. Cherry hadn't lost his attention. She'd gone and let her emotions get her all tangled up, like a fainthearted fool. She giggled at herself for being so silly. "Sure. I'll be there, Scratch."

"Good." He put a hand on her arm. "I need you, Cherry. So much. And the King needs you too."

She withheld a gasp at his touch. Her heartbeat quickened.

"I'll see you when the moons are high overhead. Now, you'll have to excuse me, girl. I've got some business here to attend to."

"Okay, Scratch. I'll catch you later."

Cherry strode off, sighing with relief. Scratch wanted her tonight for a meeting of the inner circle. She was one of the few. One of the privileged.

As she crossed the street and turned the corner, she looked back. Scratch leaned against the building, looking cool, casual, and dangerously handsome. At the same moment Cora exited the resort and Scratch called out to her. Cherry couldn't hear what they spoke of, but it ended with Roy driving off with her somewhere in his speeder, alone.

They were going off to do one thing.

Her vision swam in red rage. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks again. She stormed back to her living quarters.

Along the way, she picked up a drunken stalker, a sweating man with a borg jaw and leg.

"Hey sweetie. What say you and me find a room?"

"Back off bot brain."

"Hey, ain't you a whore? I seen you at the brothel. Come here and gimme something good."

He cornered her, pressing her up against a back-alley wall.

"My, you're a cute little thing, ain't ye?"

Cute . It burned her ears.

He was so drunk she easily pushed him away. He stumbled into a puddle of oil and waste, swearing.

He clambered to his feet, enraged.

Cherry didn't even hesitate. She pulled the snub nose coil pistol from her purse and pulled the trigger five times. With each flash at the end of the short barrel she imagined Cora's face contorted in pain.

The end of the gun shook until she stilled her hand.

Without a second glance she placed the pistol back in her purse and left to prepare for the moonlight meeting.

***

Roy began the séance session as he always did. Reading from The King in Yellow , penned by the great prophet Chambers himself. Surrounded by a circle of the true followers cloaked in tattered yellow mantels, they sat on pillows on the floor while Roy stood. Though he spoke from behind the pallid bronze mask, his voice rang true, enunciating the blessed words of the near religious play with emphatic fervor.

Cherry knelt on her knees, resolved not to sit. How could one full of contrition and devotion sit lazily while the words of the King were read aloud? She felt it showed severe disrespect for the cryptic text.

As with every reading, the text livened her beating heart, quickening her pulse, and her breath. Her need to take action grew stronger with each syllable. Smoking incense permeated the small room, filling it with a thick pleasant haze that both soothed and tickled the nostrils. Those around Cherry rocked back and forth on their pillows, offering otherworldly chants of guttural sounds, dog-like yips, and serpentine hisses, or repeating phrases of the passage aloud as Scratch read them, mirroring his exact inflection, responding however they were led by the King's spirit.

Candlelight flickered off of Scratch's mask as he read from the text, his voice practically howling now as he reached a crescendo, the climax of the second act.

In one voice they cried out, wordless, for no words could contain their unbridled emotional enlightened nirvana.

Scratch felt moved that night to continue reading from other supplemental sacred doctrine, texts added later to the canon. He preached from the prophet Wagner's River of Night's Dreaming, and after he continued with prophet Carter's Tatters of the King . Cherry barely heard the words from the additional texts. The original revelation was enough for her.

A man's hand lifted her chin, raising her off of the floor, where she'd collapsed sometime during the reading.

With the tome closed and tucked in one arm Scratch held Cherry's hand.

"Now prophetess, read the night visions and speak for your King. What word doth he have for us this night?"

By now those words were ingrained in Cherry's mind. For only after they read from the tome could they even dare to contact the King. Incense sticks were lit, in addition to the yellow fungus.

Scratch coaxed her with affirmations of voice and gentle touch. "Sketch what you see, prophetess."

The yellow light dawned in her mind's eye, the culmination of her intangible experience reached.

Cherry peered into the beyond. Her vision swirled with indescribable geometric colors, isometric smells, and tangible slick notes of a faint song only she could hear, along with feelings of warm mirth.

Images took form. "I see you Scratch." She dragged the charcoal stick over the paper.

"Go on."

Behind him, she drew shadow men stalking her reverend. Roy remained unaware of their approach. She scowled. "Two shades bearing ill will stalk at your back. One holds a pair of scales, testing weights in the balance, and the other brandishes a crooked knife dipped in poison."

"Do I not know they approach?"

"No. You are unaware. They—oh," she gasped as the vision turned violent. She trembled, afraid of what she must explain next.

"Yes? What?"

"They plunged the knife into you and dropped you in the canyon. Now one stands on a stage behind a pulpit. The other shade holds out a bag and people from all around drop precious stones into it, rubies, sapphires, and pearls."

She hurried her sketching to match the speed of the vision as it came faster. "The sun sets again and again, day after day. With each passing of the heavenly flame, the church building falls into disrepair and ruin. It burns now, tumbles, and crumbles to ash."

Scratch's hands tightened, almost crushing Cherry's.

"Who? Who are the traitorous vermin?"

In the vision Cherry metaphysical self stepped through the archway of the church building, the only piece still standing. Gallows stood in the place where the stage and pulpit had been. Two men hung from nooses, their corpses bloated and in decay. Cowled hoods draped over their faces hiding their identities.

Cherry hesitated. Something inside her held a reservation. She did not want to look at their lifeless faces, the masks of death.

Roy snarled. "Who?"

She must obey. With determined strides she approached the bodies and lifted the hoods one at a time. Though the faces had swollen, she recognized them and gasped. She knew these men. They were like brothers to her. But just because she held sorrow at seeing them dead, that did not mean that they were innocent. She'd seen their intent. The King showed her plainly what they planned to do in their hearts, even now. Though they had yet to act on their plan, Cherry saw the ruin and destruction they could cause if left unchecked.

She sighed as she prepared for the immediate ramifications that would take place once she uttered the names. Scratch's hands squeezed hers, reassuring her that what she was about to do was just, and right.

Cherry retreated from the vision, descending back into her body, opening her eyes. "The shades are Curly Joe and Tharsis Bill."

Shocked gasps broke throughout all of those in the inner circle. For it meant the inner circle was broken.

The two men in question stood in the circle with them. How they had infiltrated this far, Cherry would never know. What she did know was that Scratch would handle this now.

The two men in question glanced at each other, then made a run for the stairs. An overwhelming amount of hands caught them, dragging them back to kneel before Scratch.

"What is this you have plotted?"

"Ain't true. That witch lies. She didn't see us?"

"Are you calling the priestess of the King a liar?"

Tharsis Bill gulped. Curly Joe scowled. Neither had an answer.

Himura offered a wise suggestion. "If she's telling the truth, there should be evidence."

"Search them."

Hands invaded the men's personal space. On Tharsis Bill's person they found the knife.

Scratch held it up to his face. "Exactly as Cherry described."

Curly Joe's was less apparent at first, until someone got the bright idea to pull out his comm unit and check the cred transactions. They noticed that the church offering box had given several generous donations to Joe.

"Pilfering from the charity box, eh Joe?"

Sweat beads rained down his face. "It was just a few hundred creds. Nothing I can't repay."

"Oh. You'll repay."

Joe fell to his face pleading. Bill followed suit.

"Do you realize who you plotted against?"

"Yes, Roy. We transgressed against you."

"You don't understand the magnitude of what you've done. I'm a prophet of the sultan of sulphur. King of the chasm. I stand at the end of a direct line of prophets stretching back almost five hundred years. From the first scribe Ambrose who penned the words uttered to him by Bayrolles the medium, who himself spoke straight from the spirit of Hoseib, giving us transcendent visions of Carcosa. Then after came the prophet Chambers, granting us hidden knowledge of the King himself. Then, as if that were not enough, the King moved on more prophet scribes to arise, Wagner, Carter, and later even Pizzolatto, crafter of visions. A legacy passed all the way down to me. That same power, the same mysteries, have been granted to me. They flow through my veins."

"Give me a second chance. I faltered, Roy. I know I done wrong. Let me prove myself."

"You've not just transgressed against me, the mouthpiece for the King, but you've transgressed against the King himself. He hates weakness. He demands fealty."

"I'll do anything."

Scratch handed him the knife. "Remove the traitor, Curly Joe."

Bill grew still as a statue. Joe did not even hesitate to plunge the knife into his co-conspirator. Cherry wanted to look away, but knew she must not show weakness, no matter how grim the situation devolved.

Bill's gasps stopped after a time.

Panting, Joe wiped his stained hands on his tattered cloak.

"Did you obey Joe?"

"Yes, Roy. I done what you asked."

"Did you?"

Joe gazed at Bill's body again as if the corpse might get up and make a run for it.

"I said, remove the traitor."

Joe eyed the dripping knife, seeing his own reflection painted in scarlet.

"Can you perform your final act of obedience?"

Joe's gaze traced the razor-sharp edge of the crooked knife. He hung his head in shame and defeat.

"No? Okay then."

Scratch stormed forward, eyes ablaze with an amber glow piercing from behind the mask, and clasped Curly Joe by the scruff of his neck.

"Have mercy, Roy. Please."

Scratch dragged him to a far corner, then pressed a button. A panel on the ground whisked open, revealing an even deeper chamber. Though she could not see it, she knew what lingered in the blackened depths of the pit under the church. She heard the tentacles slap against the walls and each other and the thing grew excited, eager to devour whatever was thrown below.

With a final heave, Scratch tossed the would-be traitor into the pit. His screams were silenced before his body even thudded against the bottom of the pit. Terrifying wet chomping and cracking sounds echoed in the dark. The panel slid shut, cutting off the noises of terror below.

Sighing, Scratch returned to the summoning circle.

A chair was brought for him, which he slid into, lounging.

The remaining loyalists knelt around him.

At length he noticed Cherry. He brushed his fingers across her face.

"You saved my life from certain betrayal."

She blushed. "Not I, great mouthpiece. I but relayed the vision. The King saved you."

Scratch nodded. "That he did," he said. Leveling a finger at the remaining cloaked followers he ushered a warning. "Let this night stand as a testament to those of you that might be tempted to turn against the King's mouthpiece. For lo, the prophetess sees all."