by HP Mallory
“If by ‘won’ you mean Persephone had to stay with him, then yes and no.”
“Yes and no?” I repeated, trying not to sound so irritated, but there it was.
“Persephone became the Queen of the Underworld; although, every year, she escapes from Hades and returns to Earth, bringing springtime with her, or so the fable would lead us to believe.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “Do you like the painting?”
Glancing back up at it, I studied it as though seeing it for the first time. Somehow, I managed to glean much more from the artwork now that I knew the story behind it. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
“As I commented earlier, it is my favorite,” Alaire said as I stared at the painting, still not sure what to make of it. “I believe Persephone looks quite a bit like you.”
“Me?” I replied before scoffing and shaking my head to let him know he was way off base. When I turned around to face him again, I noticed at least four more Luis Royo paintings in the room. “Are all of the paintings depictions of Greek mythology?”
“No, not all,” Alaire replied with a secretive smile as he leaned back in his chair, and resumed his incessant rocking, back and forth. Finding the paintings easier to look at than Alaire, I honed in on the next one. It portrayed another blond woman with curly hair who wielded an enormous sword. The end of the sword was dripping with blood, which also appeared all over the bottom of the woman’s white dress. Her breasts were clearly displayed as she held her hand up to her face, wearing an expression of pity. A hideous creature lay dead or dying beneath her. A few seconds later it dawned on me that her piteous expression was merely a façade since it was obvious she was the one who had dealt the death blow.
“What’s the name of this one?” I asked.
“Immaculate.”
“Why? What’s the story behind it?”
Alaire shrugged. “According to Royo, Immaculate covers herself with her victim’s blood. She’s a demon hunter.”
“Oh,” I said before my gaze landed on the creature below her. The horns on its head, and its long, pointed teeth, combined with the talons at the ends of its fingertips and its horned wings, definitely resembled that of a demon.
“Did you notice the demon’s erection?” Alaire inquired.
“What?” I hiccupped, feeling embarrassment going all the way down to my core. Forcing my attention back to the painting, I immediately spotted the enormous erection between the creature’s legs and wondered how I’d missed it earlier.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Alaire asked.
“What?” I asked, the heat of my embarrassment still fanning across my cheeks. When I glanced back at Alaire, I found his attention unapologetically fixated on the painting. “What’s ironic?”
“That Immaculate is represented as such a tiny, curvaceous and lovely woman; yet she is the one responsible for slaying the repugnant, dominant beast whose primary intention was to ravage her.”
I didn’t respond as I approached the next painting on the wall. It was of a woman with enormous breasts, which were obscured by her hair. She stood naked except for a black swath of cloth over the junction of her thighs. The fabric was held in place by a dreadful, winged, black creature that stood behind her. His other hand rested on her thigh, with her hand atop his. It was quite clear that the woman wanted the creature’s hand on her—and that the two were involved, in some manner of speaking. “And this one?” I asked.
“The Chapel of Darkness,” Alaire responded. “Perhaps a true ‘Beauty and the Beast’ story?”
I just nodded as I headed for the next painting. I wasn’t at all sure about my true feelings in regard to any of the paintings. Dark and frightening, they were also erotic and perplexing. They were paintings that the onlooker couldn’t simply look at. They made you think.
The next painting I saw depicted a brunette with one of her breasts exposed, and beads of sweat dripping down her body. “Royo seems to really like enormous breasts,” I muttered.
Alaire chuckled. “You will find, my dear, that most males do.”
I decided not to comment but chose, instead, to interpret the painting. From the brunette’s slightly bent-over position, and her closed eyes, as well as the blissful expression on her face, it was obvious she was in the throes of passion. Behind her, an old, troll-like man with a long cape was having sex with her. He gripped her forcibly by her waist and spittle dripped from his open mouth. The two were surrounded by candles and smoke. It took me a second longer, but I made out the shape of a skull, rising up in the smoke emitted from myriad candles. The sign of the pentagram appeared on the skull’s forehead.
“This is my least favorite,” I said with blatant distaste as my gaze settled on the old, troll-like man behind the gorgeous woman.
“Furtive Signal,” Alaire responded.
“What?” I asked, turning around to face him as I crossed my arms over my chest.
“The title of the painting,” he replied with a secretive smile. “Though I prefer to call it ‘The Devil’s Due.’”
After deciding I’d seen enough dark, raunchy artwork for the evening, I returned to the table. “You have bizarre taste in art,” I announced before sitting down.
“Perhaps,” Alaire answered, “but of one thing I am certain: I have very good taste when it comes to white panties.” He raised a brow and I realized with horror that I’d completely forgotten to hide my backside while viewing his paintings. “And of one thing I am certain, you have a lovely ass, my dear,” he finished as he eyed me knowingly.
“Made entrance downward by a path uncouth”
– Dante’s Inferno
NINE
“Do you care for dessert?” Alaire asked when the sliding door to the dining room opened again. A silver platter of cakes, cookies and pastries appeared in thin air, moving toward us as if being carried by invisible hands, which it probably was.
“No, thanks,” I answered, anxious for our dinner to be over and done with as quickly as possible so I could get back to my apartment in Edinburgh. I felt more than sure that Bill was probably beside himself with worry by now. Actually, in truth, he was most likely in a drunken stupor after partying it up for nearly a week.
“No?” Alaire repeated as the tray of desserts arrived at his side. It set itself down on the table in front of him. He scanned the pastries quickly, as if he were counting them, his index finger itemizing each one. Then he glanced up at me. “I’m disappointed in your decision, Ms. Harper. I specifically asked that one of my less fleshy employees serve the dessert course since it appeared you were rather uncomfortable with Boris.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled, even though I was truly grateful for that. Ghosts were much less scary than Boris, or his equivalent.
Alaire just nodded before anxiously returning his attention to the platter of sweets set out before him. He reminded me of a little boy trying to decide which candy to select from an assortment. He chose a wedge of what looked like chocolate cake by pointing at it. Then a serving knife, that was previously sitting lifelessly, rose up and slid beneath the piece of cake before depositing it on Alaire’s plate. “Are you certain you’ll not have anything?” he asked, looking at me with an arched brow.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I answered, taking a deep breath as I wondered what might await me at the end of our … date?
No, this is definitely not a date! I mentally scolded myself. This is a simple meeting with Alaire in order to keep you from getting an infraction. Don’t you dare start thinking of it as a date!
“I must admit, Ms. Harper,” Alaire said, interrupting my internal diatribe as he forked a bite of his chocolate cake and brought it to his lips. He began making all sorts of sighs of pleasure and moans, which, I was more than sure, were intended to punish me for refusing dessert. Not that he was successful in his attempts …
“You must admit what?” I asked, frowning because he was intentionally taking way too long in finishing his mouthful.
“I must admit that it
surprises me to find,” he started and then took another bite, taking four seconds to swallow it. “That you did not dig very deeply concerning a few of my remarks earlier. I,” he interrupted himself with another bite of cake and another equally long pause before swallowing it. “I thought you would have exhibited more intrigue in our discussion.”
“What are you talking about?” I grumbled, irritated when he speared another bite of chocolate cake on his fork.
“What I am talking about,” he started again before pausing dramatically again as soon as the cake entered his mouth.
“Oh my God!” I rolled my eyes and groaned.
“What?” he asked, looking dumbfounded.
“You and that damn cake!” I replied in a loud voice. “Are you going to keep interrupting yourself by taking bites, which take you way longer to chew than it would take any other person?”
Alaire immediately started to chuckle as he picked up a coffee cup from the table in front of him. Previously, it had been empty. He brought the white ceramic mug to his lips and took a few sips of whatever now filled it. When he put it down again, I noticed it looked like tea. “I apologize if my table manners upset you in any way.”
“They don’t upset me,” I snapped and then thought I should explain myself. “It’s just irritating to try and have a conversation with someone who continually interrupts it by eating and taking an extra-long time to swallow!” Inhaling deeply, I realized I had more to say. “And your slurping sounds aren’t exactly music to my ears either.”
“Anything else?” he asked with a smile that indicated he wasn’t offended.
“Nothing that occurs to me at the moment,” I replied with a huff.
“My apologies,” he said with another wide grin, pushing the remainder of the uneaten cake away from him as if it were suddenly abhorrent. Placing his napkin onto the table, he apparently meant to convey he was finished with his meal. I was more than sure the whole charade was devised to make me feel guilty.
“What was your question?” I prodded him, annoyed that I did feel a smattering of guilt.
“With regard to my announcement that the Royo painting titled ‘Furtive Signal’ should be titled ‘The Devil’s Due,’ you had no comment,” he said, eyeing me with interest. “Your reticence surprised me, as I felt most certain my observation should have provoked you in some way.”
“Did I have to comment?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders and frowning at him. “Maybe I had nothing to say.”
“Certainly, you did not have to comment,” he started, lifting his eyebrows as he leaned back into his chair and regarded me curiously. “But as to you having nothing to say, I fail to see how that is even possible. You, Ms. Harper, strike me as a woman who must speak her mind. In fact, that particular attribute is the one that impresses me most.” I thought that was debatable, given how many times he’d stolen glances at my bust but decided not to say as much.
“Thanks, I guess,” I managed.
He sighed and cocked his head to the side, appearing as if he were in deep thought. “Yes, I must admit, I never imagined our conversation would have ended as abruptly as it did,” he said as he glanced over at me again.
“We’re back on the Royo discussion?” I asked, sounding less than enthusiastic.
“I thought you would have asked me why I supposed Royo’s painting should be re-titled ‘The Devil’s Due,’” he continued, making it clear that he didn’t care if I wasn’t thrilled about this topic of conversation or not.
“I didn’t ask you because I sensed I already knew the answer,” I responded dryly, irritated with Alaire’s smug arrogance. I’d never encountered any man who was as self-centered and self-impressed as he was; well, that is, if he even were a flesh and bone man ... Now that was a topic I found to be much more interesting.
“Fascinating,” Alaire said as he started to bob back and forth in his chair, lifting the chair’s front legs in the air again. I had half a mind to reach over while he was mid-rock and offer him a generous push. “And what did you suppose the answer was?”
I sighed and wondered when this tedious dinner would end, as well as what would happen to me from there. If Alaire granted my departure, and the Tesla drove me back to the gates of the Underground City, I’d still have to endure a four-day journey out of the Dark Wood, which I’d never survive without my sword. Unless Alaire were willing to lend me the next best thing in air travel, also known as the shade …
“The answer, Ms. Harper?” Alaire nudged me, reminding me that I still hadn’t responded to his question.
I cleared my throat and frowned, irritated at having to contribute to his already overinflated sense of self. “Maybe, in some way, shape or form, you identify with each of the male characters in your Royo paintings, which is probably why you like them so much,” I began. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as a smile seized his lips. “And as to the painting depicting the devil ravishing the brunette, as the Keeper of the Underground City, I’m sure you draw your own parallels between yourself and the devil.”
“Perhaps,” Alaire admitted with a slight nod, indicating there was no perhaps about it and I was dead on.
“So you figure the devil should have whatever he wants, just as you, no doubt, should possess whatever you want. Well, in your own mind anyway,” I corrected myself, not wanting him to get any ideas where I was concerned. I cocked my head to the side as I further studied him. Judging from the wide smile on his face, and the way he kept bobbing up and down in his chair with excitement, I figured I was right on target.
“And in the case of that particular painting, what is the devil’s due?” he quizzed me.
“The beautiful brunette, even if she is decidedly out of his league,” I answered immediately. “But I imagine the devil’s due must extend beyond sex with the brunette.”
“Go on.”
“I believe you meant it to encompass everything. That is, whatever the devil wants, he gets.”
“And whatever I want, I get,” he added, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. It was beyond obvious that he was directly applying his comment to me. That grim realization made my throat feel like it was shrinking.
“Or so you hope,” I said as frankly as I could.
“You are quite astute, Ms. Harper.” Allowing the front legs of the chair to rest on the ground again, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs as he studied me. “And what of the other paintings? How do you suppose those relate to me?”
“They don’t relate to you,” I corrected him, my eyebrows furrowing in obvious frustration. Alaire’s ego knew no bounds!
“Well, in my own mind, then, how do they relate to me?” he rephrased the question, appearing as eager to discuss himself as a Pointer is anxious to retrieve a dead duck.
“In the example of the black, winged creature appearing behind the blond woman,” I started.
“The Chapel of Darkness,” Alaire interrupted.
“Right,” I continued with little interest. “Anyway, the creature reveals his strength and his possession of the woman by covering her most vulnerable of places with his hand.”
“Yes,” Alaire said, hinting that I was off to a good start.
“So, again, even though the creature is hideous by anyone’s measure, its ugliness is of little concern because it clearly possesses the beautiful woman in some fashion.”
“In both instances, you distinguish between the male’s ugliness and the woman’s beauty?” he asked and I immediately knew where this topic was headed.
“I haven’t pointed out anything that isn’t already obvious. Royo chose to paint his characters that way.”
“But regarding the paintings’ associations with me, is it possible you find me as unattractive as the devil and the winged creature?” Leaning back into his chair, he crossed his long legs at the ankles, as if he were eager to show off his entire body to aid in my assessment of his obvious masculine beauty.
“Stop fishing for compliments, Alaire,” I mutter
ed as I shook my head and wondered how much more of him I could stomach.
“Fishing for compliments?” he repeated in a tone that said he could never even conceive of such a thing. “I’m not, my dear, I’m simply inquiring as to whether you find me physically attractive. You have never said though I have given you countless compliments.”
There was no way in hell I would continue to feed his ego, the enormity of which already had no limits. “Maybe the association between the ugliness of Royo’s male subjects and you is not so much skin deep.”
“Ah, then does the hideous beast dwell inside me?”
“I would say so.” I nodded, all the while wondering if I was taking this whole conversation too far. Maybe I should have just played it safe and fed Alaire the BS he wanted to hear from me. But I knew myself well enough to know that I could never do that, impending infraction or not.
Alaire’s expression failed to suggest if he were offended or not. “And ‘The Hand of Three Circles’?”
“Is that the Hades and Persephone one?” I asked, to which he nodded. “Then, that comparison is pretty obvious.”
“Is it?” he scoffed as if it weren’t apparent to him at all.
“Yes,” I replied. “You probably have more in common with the God of the Underworld than you do with the devil.” Taking a breath, I glanced around myself. “The Underground City strikes me as just another name for the Underworld.”
“Perhaps,” Alaire answered with a nod that admitted nothing. “And how does Persephone fit into your analogy?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly before an idea struck me. “Maybe she’s the tie to the real world that you so desperately wish to return to.”
Instantly, the smile fell from his face and I realized I’d struck a soft spot. The slight worry that his sudden ill humor might affect me adversely began to recede the longer he sat still and made no move to kill me or reward me with my first infraction.
“Why do you say that?” he asked after a protracted silence. I didn’t answer right away because I had a feeling I was treading very deep water. “Well?” he persisted.
