by Lena Loneson
Was that all he was, then? Guilt? Memories from a marriage when a woman’s pleasure was seen as dirty, as unnatural?
“I am so sorry, Jaime.” Dionysus’ voice was filled with regret. She turned to look at him. Tears ran down his cheeks. His beautiful dark lashes glowed wetly in the dim lamplight of her bedroom. “This is my fault.”
“I don’t get it. How was my creepy hallucination your fault?” An hallucination—that’s all it was, James, she told herself. She waited for him to confirm it.
“I’m afraid the creature you saw was real.”
Was it possible for blood to freeze instantly, but a body keep working? If so, Jaime’s did, upon hearing those words. She wanted to ask him to take it back. To admit that there was no such man in the faucet, that she was just crazy.
She’d rather be plied with drugs and stuffed in a straight-jacket than admit it was real.
“His name is Iblis. From your description it can be no other. He is the djinn who cursed me and trapped me in that bottle over two thousand years ago. Giving the bottle my soul in exchange for his, he is now free to walk the human world and incite others to new heights of evil. Prior to that, for millennia he was cursed to serve a master, the owner of the bottle, and the world was protected from him.”
“Sounds lovely.” Now there’s an understatement, Jaime thought to herself. “Why you?”
“What do you mean?” Dionysus turned his head from her, and Jaime had the sudden sense that he knew exactly what she meant. He was hiding something from her.
She trusted him, but to what extent? Better figure it out fast, James. She let his hand go, wanting the time to think without his influence. She didn’t meet his eyes—better to not fall under that wild thrall again, at least for now. “I mean, why did he choose to curse you? If he was living in the bottle for thousands of years, why suddenly capture you?”
“His prison was such that he could not replace himself with just any hapless soul. He needed someone with magic, such as another djinn, an angel, demon, titan, spirit, or, in my case, a god. And he needed someone whom the fates would feel deserved the punishment.”
“So why you?”
“I did something that I am not proud of.” His voice was so serious that she risked a glance at his face. The sparkle was utterly gone from his eyes. They were focused on the blanket covering their laps. His face had paled and his cheeks looked gaunt now. His appearance seemed to change slightly with his moods. Every piece that made him so attractive to her was still there, but dulled and hesitant. The confidence had left him.
It scared her, knowing that something could affect him this much. Jaime realized she only knew a tiny piece of the story. Did she dare to find out more?
“Will you tell me about it?”
He nodded, then inhaled deeply and pulled back from her. Dionysus left her wrapped in the blanket and moved to a wooden rocking chair beside the bed; it had belonged to Jaime’s grandmother. It was the oldest piece in her house, and seeing him sitting in it made her realize that no, now he was the oldest thing in her house. The oldest person. It might not be strictly accurate, but she preferred to think of him as a person.
“I was foolish,” he began. The god stared at the ground between his chair and her bed. Curly locks, now dry, hid much of his face from her. “Foolish and selfish, and if I could take it back I would. As I mentioned when we first met, women are attracted to me. I have power over them, when I want to, and sometimes when I don’t. The djinn’s human mistress was one of my followers for a time. He treated her badly, which was no excuse—but it is a part of the tale.”
“Go on.” Jaime tried to keep her voice encouraging, but she couldn’t look at him. She listened, her eyes drifting across the bedroom, taking in the faded strips of wallpaper she’d been meaning to strip since Keith had left, the mahogany chest of drawers that needed refinishing. The room must have looked dingy and uncared-for to the god on the chair beside her.
“Many women, in those days, came from abusive families or husbands, fleeing to my places of worship. Some of my temples were in the wilderness, forests and marshes. Some were in cities, the buildings open to the sky. Women would flock to my priestesses for initiation into the Mysteries, a place where they were treated as equals. My maenads and I would dance for hours under the open sky, naked, painting our bodies with crushed grapes, the women loving freely as they wanted.
“This temple in particular was high in the mountains of Crete. Her name was Agathe, the woman who fled Iblis. I remember her. She was plain and timid, with marks of his fingers still fresh around her neck, but the sorrow in her eyes made her beautiful.”
Jaime wondered if Dionysus saw her that way as well. She’d never been abused, thank the gods, but was sure her gaze held its own form of sadness. Did it make her beautiful? She fingered a lock of blonde hair. She’d kept it waist length at Keith’s request. It was brittle and dry. She should really cut it.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror facing the bed. Her blue irises stood out, their light emphasized by a mosaic of blue and purple stained glass surrounding the mirror—a gift from several of her artist friends upon graduation. She remembered telling them she planned to dye her hair purple to match, she loved the color so much. It had never happened.
She’d rather be beautiful on her own merits, by her own choice, than out of pity, Jaime realized.
“What happened to Agathe?” she asked.
As the god took in a breath to answer, Jaime saw her blue eyes in the mirror change to green. The same bright green as the djinn’s in the tub earlier.
Jaime froze in horror. She felt herself pale in fear, her pink complexion turning ashen. She began to shake.
Dionysus swore in Greek. Jaime didn’t speak Greek, but she understood the tone completely.
“It’s him?” the god asked. She nodded.
“What do you see?”
She stared transfixed at the mirror. Flames materialized out of nowhere and lapped at the glass. Jaime’s own face vanished. She could make out parts of the djinn’s visage behind the flames—the mottled skin, white flashing, pointed teeth in a mouth widening beyond all human capability, the teeth taking up most of his face. Even the molars were sharp like the tines of a fork. There were dozens and dozens of them, flickering in and out of view behind the flames.
“You can’t see him?” she whispered.
Dionysus shook his head. “He can make himself visible to whoever he chooses. What do you see?”
“There’s flames—everywhere. They’re pouring out of the mirror like it’s a 3D movie but nothing’s burning. What do I do? There’s an extinguisher in the kitchen.”
Dionysus gripped her arm with his hand. “No, don’t move. The flames are an illusion. He’s trying to scare you, but he can’t hurt you. I don’t think.”
“You don’t think?” Her voice was hysterical now.
“Keep your voice to a whisper so he can’t hear you. Stay calm.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Breathe deeply. Move slowly. Don’t look at me—keep fixed on him if you can. I’m going to get in behind him. Don’t look at me. He won’t be able to see me if I move slowly enough.” The god carefully rolled up one of the quilts at the foot of the bed, carrying it close to his chest.
Jaime shook uncontrollably and tried not to watch him. She counted the flames in her mirror, naming the colors of each of them to keep herself from crying out. How would she paint them, if she had her brushes? Tangerine, goldenrod, lemon mixed with olive, deep carmine, indigo in the hottest center of the flames. Flickers of white.
From the corner of her eye she saw Dionysus by the mirror now, holding up the quilt.
She plotted the flames as web colors, determining the hexadecimal code for each as if she were building a style sheet from scratch, developing the perfect contrast between the page background and header fonts. The djinn’s stare bore into her.
And then the god broke his slow creeping walk with a w
ide sweep of his arms, throwing the blanket over the mirror, and as suddenly as they had appeared, the flames and djinn were gone. The mirror’s surface was completely covered with the bright red log-cabin pattern of the quilt.
Jaime heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Dionysus shook his head. “It’s not over yet. What do you have that’s dark and opaque? More blankets?”
“Yes. Garbage bags? Will black plastic do?”
“Perfect. We have to move fast. Cover every mirror in the house.” As he spoke, he tossed a blanket over the makeup mirror by her bed.
They exited the room together, carrying blankets. One went over a freestanding mirror in the hall. Jaime sprinted in the lead to the kitchen. The djinn’s green eyes stared at her from the dull metal reflection in the sink. She turned her back to it, not wanting to see. “Bags are under the sink, left drawer.”
Dionysus reached under and pulled out a box of large plastic bags. He tossed some to Jaime, then covered the sink with two of his own.
Systematically they mirror-proofed Jaime’s small house. Bags went over anything reflective. When they wouldn’t stay on their own, Jaime taped them down. Her windows were covered, the taps, the television screen, the reflective handle on the stove, the bathroom mirror, the computer monitors in her small home office where she did web design work for a living.
It couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes, but by the end, Jaime was panting with exhaustion. She sat on the couch, taking deep breaths. Dionysus stood in front of her, his expression filled with worry.
“He won’t be able to watch us now,” the god said. “That’s good.” But there was no cheer in his voice.
Jaime shuddered at the thought that the djinn could have been observing them all this time. How long had he been watching them in the bath together? What else could he do? “Can he hurt us?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“This has never happened before. I’m sorry. I wish I had more to tell you.”
“What do you mean this hasn’t happened before. Never? In the past thousand years you’ve been bottle-bound, you’re saying—”
“Two thousand years.”
“In two thousand years of you being trapped and pleasing women or whatever it is you do, I’m the first one to get stalked by this demon?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Why me?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Great. Awesome. That’s fan-fucking-tastic. So what do we do about it?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. His eyes were dark and had lost that little piece of mischief she’d come to rely on. “He’s contained within the mirrors in this world, so if they’re covered, he shouldn’t be able to watch you. He can’t get out—since I’ve taken his place in the bottle, he’s free in the spirit world, so I’d think he should be content with that.”
“But he isn’t.” Jaime rubbed her forehead, thinking. Was there something different about her, compared to the previous women Dionysus had pleasured in the past?
Ugh, now there’s something she didn’t need to think about. The idea of him with other women, and the idea of Jaime being one day in the past.
Great. She was being stalked by a demon, and now she was jealous of a god’s past and future lovers. Get it together, James.
That she could do. Fake it ’til you make it, right? Tomorrow is another day? Any more clichés you can throw out there? You’re safe for now, right? So sleep on it. You’re totally fucking exhausted.
Hesitantly, she asked the god, “Will you stay with me tonight, in the bed?”
A smile blossomed on his face, and she smiled back. Her request had restored his good cheer. He took her hand in his, rubbing her palm lightly. “Of course. I’d be honored.”
Even with it covered by the blanket, Jaime knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep with a mirror in the bedroom. It took both of them to move the stained-glass mirror attached to the bureau into the hallway. It was her favorite piece in the house, one of the only things that truly belonged to her and wasn’t something she considered that stuff Keith left behind. She hoped she could return it to the bedroom soon. They stashed the makeup mirror, now covered with a garbage bag, in the bathroom, then curled up in bed together.
Dionysus seemed to sense that she was still freaked out from the djinn’s two appearances, so he didn’t make any moves. Jaime was content to lie next to him, their thighs touching lightly through pajamas. She found the warmth of his body soothing.
How different from the nights she’d slept alone over the past year. It had taken her a while to get used to it and to stop startling at every noise on the roof, but after that she’d loved sleeping alone. She’d felt luxurious in the sheer space of the queen-sized bed, stretching out her legs yoga-style so that one foot hung over each side. Rolling over whenever she wanted, cocooning herself in the blankets, piling three pillows on top of each other simply because she could, and there was no one to complain.
She let her breathing slow.
Did gods sleep?
The answer was yes; his breathing quieted and she focused on his face. It was peaceful. She leaned forward to rest her chin on his shoulder, softly so she wouldn’t wake him. Though maybe she wouldn’t mind waking him for another fantasy. A grin played at her mouth and she suppressed it. Come on, James, you’re getting soft. One orgasm and suddenly you’re all goopy over the mystery man?
Maybe just a little. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, through the fabric, and inhaled his scent. There was a woodsy depth to the musk of him, but he was also bright like sunshine, crisp and fresh. He reminded her of a vineyard, of course. Jaime let a small smile creep onto her face. Would it be anything else for the god of wine?
Funny how she’d taken what he was for granted so quickly.
She rolled over to her back and stared at the ceiling, tracing imaginary paths through its grooves. Yeah, the ceiling is a metaphor for your brain now, James. Beat the maze and suddenly all your thoughts will make sense.
It didn’t work.
It was well after midnight now. There was no way she’d fall asleep any time soon.
Jaime quickly crept out of the bed, making her way to her home office. While she couldn’t use her laptop or desktop computers (their screens were covered with black plastic now) she had a non-reflective tablet that she used for writing copy outdoors. Its screen wouldn’t reflect the sun. She hoped that also meant the djinn couldn’t gain access.
And if he does?
She grabbed a sweater out of the closet just in case. An opaque knit one with no fancy lacing, so she could cover the tablet quickly and let nothing shine through. Then she could yell and wake up Dionysus. What, a man in your bed and suddenly you can’t protect yourself?
A few moments later she had a fork from the kitchen. The knives were too reflective; she left them in the drawer. But a good fork in the eye could still hurt a demon, right?
Jaime had no idea what could hurt a demon. Maybe she would wake up the god for help. But only if she had to.
She made her way back to the bed, carrying her treasure. She’d seen the pain that telling the beginning of his story had brought the god, so she’d leave the majority of her questions for information that only he could provide. The rest, well, the internet was a wonderful thing. She pulled up a search engine and started typing, fingers flying across the touch screen of her tablet. Light padding sounds filled the room as she worked, no louder than her own heartbeat to her ears.
Some of what she read disturbed her. She learned that Dionysus was indeed a god that attracted women, and gave them freedom in a world where they had no rights and no vote (while the ancient Athenians invented democracy, it was for male citizens only). He gave them the chance to live amongst each other as sisters and sometimes lovers, to write, paint, be spiritual, commune with nature, and take pleasure where they saw fit. Sounds a bit like undergrad, Jaime thought, smiling in memory of drunken late-night
painting sessions with her friends. She thought of Liv with her riotous brown curls hanging out the studio window, catcalling to undergrad boys asking them if they’d like to model nude.
Jaime’s brow furrowed as she kept reading. The pit of her stomach turned cold.
The maenads, Dionysus’ hordes of female followers, were often driven to madness, running through the woods for hours until their feet were bloody, chasing down a stag and tearing it to pieces, eating the meat raw with their hands. The articles she found referenced further atrocities, and the word cannibalism appeared more than once.
How could she reconcile that with the man who lay beside her? He had shown her kindness and respect, and made it clear that anything they did together was her own choice. She’d felt a piece of the madness in her own heart, but he had told her how to counteract it by simply closing her eyes. The wildness she’d experienced was wholly freeing and pleasing, not dangerous. Was it? These were just stories. Stories and myths, which were always exaggerated. Right?
He hadn’t finished the story about Agathe. What had happened to her? What had happened to him in the past two thousand years as a slave to the djinn’s bottle? Had it changed him, made him more cautious and empathetic than the impetuous young god in the stories?
She didn’t know. She hoped so, but she couldn’t be sure.
Jaime didn’t sleep until the sun began to rise.
Chapter Three
A loud thud startled Jaime awake. She shot up in bed and the tablet hit the ground beside her. She grabbed at the fork still by her hand and held it out in front of her like a sword.
The room was bright with sunlight—it had to be close to noon. Dionysus stood in the doorway wearing his own bellbottoms and one of Keith’s green button-up shirts. It didn’t suit him, but the tangled curls and scruff on his face definitely did. A warmth rushed over her and straight to her pussy. Her body, at least, had forgotten the previous night’s fears. Her mind raced, knowing that something was wrong, but as she held eye-contact with him, her inhibitions melted away. She wanted him, bad.
