To ignore their taunts, I focused on Shakira lyrics in Spanish, then in English, then in Spanglish. Halfway through "Suerte," the hands threw me forward. I crashed to the floor, only slightly gratified that the stones beneath me were smooth; it still hurt like a bitch when I landed.
"A light, my delight," boomed a voice, "give us a light."
Torches sprang to life around me, their sudden illumination stabbing me. Wincing, I shut my eyes, orange motes swimming behind my lids.
"She dresses so pretty. Hides her true form, more's the pity."
Biting my lip, I slowly opened my eyes. Gray swam around me, focused into a pattern of stone. Okay, that would be the floor. Get up, Jesse. I planted my stinging palms on the ground and hoisted myself up to my elbows. When I raised my head, I looked up at a hairy elf pointing a black weapon at me. No, not a weapon. A… camera?
He said, "Smile."
Flash!
A thousand suns burst before me. I jerked my head back, squeezed my eyes shut. Powder rained over me, settled onto my skin. In the wake of the dust, colors shot through my head—hot yellows blending with cool greens, swirling with bright oranges and haughty reds, a whirlpool of tinted light, dazzling me, drowning me.
"The portal, the portal," the elf chanted, his voice warped, tinny. "Let's make her immortal."
Hands lifted me, moved me as I swam through the colors, trying to break free from their weight. I shouted for them to stop—I needed to find Paul. My voice filled with pigment, colored my words.
"Need, indeed. Always about need. But let's see what she wants."
The hands set me down, held me upright, turned my head forward and pried open my eyelids. Through the haze of streaming color, I saw a mirror.
"Reflect, but circumspect. A want is not a need."
In the mirror I saw a gray room of cold stone.
"Choose and lose. Let's see which you heed."
And in that room was a door, and I knew that behind that door was everything I'd ever wanted, everything I'd ever dreamed of, in the deepest, blackest pit of my heart. All I had to do was open the door…
The hands released me, and I stepped through the mirror.
My hooves clack against the stone floor like high heels on linoleum, tapping out a beat as I approach the plain wooden door. The air is thick against my body, as if I'm cutting my way through a cloud. I stretch my arm out, ready to push open the door, and I notice the golden bracelet snug against my wrist. It winks at me, an old friend sharing a secret. It clicks in my mind what that secret is, and just before I touch the bare wood I command myself to find Paul.
Find Paul. Bring him home.
My fingers touch the door.
Find Paul. Bring him—
The door swings open…
Find Paul—
… and the smell hits me, a combination of chocolate and sex, and then the sounds of running water and eager laughter and the oohs of caresses and soft moans of passionate touches stolen in the moonlight…
Find—
… and I walk through the door…
… and step into a pool of chocolate. It hugs me, forms a second skin around me as I wade into the liquid confection. Submerged up to my chin, I move my arms back and forth, kicking my feet until I'm floating in the blissful stickiness. Its rich scent seeps into my nose, delights my senses.
The bathing room, resplendent in obsidian and ruby, gleams from the heat of the chocolate pool, the walls slick with condensation. I walk the length of the pool, murmuring greetings to the creatures dotting its lip, all prostrating themselves as I pass them before continuing with their foreplay. Nymphs and satyrs, gods and demons dressed as humans, all tangled in intricate lover's knots, their bodies pulsing, their sounds of pleasure echoing in the large chamber—moans harmonizing with coos, sudden gasps a staccato in the air, their pants keeping time.
"Lady."
I smile up at Joey, who is bent over double, naked save for his black necktie, presenting me with a goblet of hot chocolate. I take the drink, my fingers lingering against his, enjoying the shudder that plays over his sweat-slick muscles. I thank him for the beverage, and he smiles his appreciation as he bows, his tuxedo tie hidden as he bobs his head in deference. One of the incubi grabs Joey's hand and leads him to the back of the room, already nibbling on his ear, stroking his shaft. Joey's groans blend with the music of sex, bodies slapping a backbeat.
Sex and chocolate. All is right with the world.
I take a small sip of my drink, humming my glee as the taste dances over my tongue, slides down my throat. Sinful without sin. Yum.
A demon in red approaches, knuckling his forehead in the manner of the truly old ones. "Is the temperature high enough, Lady?"
"It's fine, Zepar," I say, motioning with my free hand. "Go, have fun."
"Damnations, Lady." The Seducer bows, his red armor resplendent in the candlelight. "Until the Gathering." Touching his fist to his forehead, he backs out of the bathing room.
Mmmm. I'd nearly forgotten about the Gathering—a small appearance to the hordes of Hell before the Great Orgy. The thought brings a smile to my lips. Nothing like a lot of fucking to lack off the festivities.
"Lady," says Caitlin, her voice a caress, "you should come out and dry off. The Gathering begins in a half hour."
I pout, splashing the liquid chocolate. "You're too young to be my mother."
She smiles, used to the old jibe. "Old enough to keep you on schedule."
"You're right, you're right." I quaff the rest of my drink, then hand her the empty cup.
Caitlin inclines her head as she takes the goblet. "You should eat something. More than chocolate, I mean. You need the four food groups. Especially beef."
"I'm fine."
She frowns at me, as only a sister can, but all she says is, "A half hour, Lady." She bows as she exits the room. I don't try to stop her. Even after all this time in my entourage, she remains uncomfortable with nudity. I shake my head. Poor Caitlin.
Time to get dry. I swim across the pool, slowly ascend the stairs and step onto the tile floor. Three women approach, carrying huge white plumes stitched into elaborate fans. Dripping chocolate, I extend my arms. Candy, Circe, and Faith wave their fans, catching the air and directing it onto my wet body. The chocolate slowly dries, encasing my form in thick sweetness. When the chocolate is completely solid, I nod. The three dancers step back, melting into the other attendees writhing around the edge of the pool.
I stand, head thrown back, hands raised in supplication: a chocolate sacrifice. Daun approaches from the left and Angel from the right, each taking one of my candy-coated arms. They begin with soft nibbles, their saliva shining on my flesh, their teeth gently working through the shell until my fingers waggle free.
Slowly they work their way up my arms, eating me, releasing me, polishing my body with their lips and tongue. Daun sucks chocolate from my nipples, his growls of pleasure echoing my own. Angel kisses chocolate off my back, consuming it with love and adoration, and I quiver from her soft touches. They work their way down my form, Daun laving my front and Angel buffing my rear. My groin tightens with every feather kiss of Angel's, her delicate lips trailing down my buttocks, the backs of my thighs, sluicing the chocolate from my skin. Daun is more aggressive, slurping the candy from my flesh, my purrs goading him on. As Angel sucks my toes, Daun tongues my clit until my wetness fills his mouth, replacing sweetness with sweetness as an orgasm pulses through me.
Yes, my dears. Polish me with your reverence. Rain your adoration over me.
Love me.
Daun kisses my nub one last time, then stands back as the dancers move forward. Faith stands ready with my outfit. I step into the ruby garment, and she pulls it up, wraps it around me and cinches it tight—gauzy genie pants with a broad sash around the crotch and over my chest, with more of the diaphanous material swathing my arms and coming to a point over the backs of my hands. Beneath the opaque strip covering my genitals and breasts, my skin peeks out, shell
pink against the crimson fabric. Clothing still feels odd to me, but I recognize its importance. Especially here, in my seat of power, I understand that flaunting something all the time is the quickest way for everyone to grow used to it, complacent. In Hell, complacent malefic entities meant bored malefic entities. And that meant a constant migraine for me. Power should be hinted at, displayed only when necessary.
And sex is one of the strongest lands of power. Thus, I wear clothing when I'm not fucking.
Candy hands red slippers to Angel, who places them on my feet. Circe reaches up and pulls two long pins out of my hair. My black locks tumble free, crashing over my shoulders and down to the small of my back. As she fluffs the strands around my face, movement by the doorway catches my eye. A man, tall, human, watching me, his sea-green eyes sparkling, a smile crooking his lips. Sandy brown hair teases his ears and neck. His work shirt and jeans are completely out of place here in the bathing room—here in the Abyss.
I stare at him, wondering who he is.
"Lady," Alecto says from above. I tear my gaze away from the stranger to look up at the Fury, her reptilian tresses undulating around her blackened face. "The hordes of Hell await your pleasure in the Courtyard."
A glance at the doorway tells me the stranger has disappeared. Something about him nags at me, a dream I can almost remember. Frowning, I try to place his face, his eyes.
"Lady?" Daun touches my shoulder. In my ear, he whispers, "Babes, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," I reply, my mind searching for the man's name. "It's nothing." I raise my arms, and magic washes over me, transporting me to the dais in the Courtyard. Around me, the legions of Hell crash to the ground, prostrating themselves until all I can see are multicolored backs and limbs intertwined, like a carpet of flesh on the floor of Abaddon. Their reverence fills me, thrills me, and it's with a smile on my lips that I address the denizens of the Underworld.
"My brethren." I let my voice ripple over them, my power touching them, caressing them with love. "I will not waste your time with pretty words and false threats. Know that I commend your work with the damned. With every shriek of agony, with every plea for mercy, the damned are that much closer to repentance. With every creative use of tortures that humans cannot begin to imagine, you continually entertain the Nameless One."
I pause, allowing the weight of that Name to settle over the Courtyard. "Its gaze has been pulled from the mortal coil, is once again fastened here in the Abyss."
Murmurs through the Court. A few of the elite dare to glance at me before cutting their gazes back to the ground. I note those looks, remember those faces. Those are the ones to watch, to keep close or possibly to destroy.
"But we must continue in our work," I say, my voice reverberating, "lest the Nameless One grow bored. If Its touch falls again onto the mortal coil, humans will lead themselves to destruction. And then Hell will be no more."
By the back, over the bodies of millions of the nefarious, I see him again, leaning against the wall: sandy brown hair falling over his face, his arms crossed over his chest, his unbuttoned shirt flapping in the hot wind. Even from this distance, I see humor dancing in his stormy green eyes. He smiles at me—familiar, amused.
Why isn't he falling over himself to show me his adoration?
Who is he?
Ignoring him, I continue my speech to the demons of Hell. "So I say to you all, be Evil. Show your charges what it means to fear. Lavish them with pain. Play with them. Give them hope, only to extinguish it brutally."
The Berserkers among the multitude chortle their appreciation, their bodies thrumming with the urge to do violence. But what I say next murders their glee. "And when their spirits are broken and their Sin has been repented and their souls are again pure, release them. Let those redeemed find their way to the Sky, and make room for those more worthy of your attentions."
A buzzing among the infernal—angry whispers, quiet hisses. They still react poorly when they hear of Heaven as if the place itself has any power over them. I bite back the urge to roll my eyes. Sometimes I forget that damned and demons alike can be such children. Even now, most of them don't understand that we're all on the same team.
So I cater to their nature, speak a language that even the simplest of them could understand. "Fill the Pit with the screams of the damned. Fill the air with the sounds of their cries. Rock the rim of Creation itself with your laughter."
I reach out, embracing the millions of creatures before me. "You are Hell. You define it, reshape it with your every move. Be true to yourselves and to your land. Be Evil."
Grinning, I release my power, raining Lust onto the demon hordes. "Let the Orgy begin!"
As soon as the words leave my lips, the infernal open their arms and their legs, and soon the Courtyard is filled with the grunts and thrusts of fornication.
I walk among them, watching their bodies writhe, listening to the sounds of their fucking, my fingers dancing over them as I pass by. With my touch, the nefarious grow more passionate—their strokes become frenzied, their pumping a tumult of wild abandon as they lose themselves in the joys of sex. From the gelatinous forms of the Gluttons and the Lazy to the taut shapes of the Proud, from the green-tinted desire of the Envious to the golden wants of the Greedy to the barely contained rage of the Berserkers, they all mimic the movements of the Seducers. Goading their brethren on, the succubi and incubi encourage the others to discover new pleasures of the flesh. In one fell swoop, the nefarious bond under one Sin: all creatures of the Pit, from the least of imps to the mightiest of gods, radiate Lust.
All but one.
I wind my way to him, my gaze fixed on his, ignoring the moans and cries of my brethren, my children. He winks in and out of sight as the revelers spill across my path, and I gently push them aside as I move forward, seeking his form, searching for his sea-green eyes. Someone grabs my hand and pulls me back; I stagger into Daun's arms. He kisses me, thrusts his tongue down my throat. I cup his balls, flicking the tip of his shaft before I shrug out of his embrace. Craning my neck, I see the stranger, still loitering by the far wall of the Courtyard, waiting beneath an arch.
Waiting for me.
I approach the arch, my brow furrowed, a frown on my lips. He looks, feels, so damn familiar that it's infuriating. An amused smile plays on his face as he watches me, and I'm torn between wanting to slash that smirk off his face and plant a serious kiss on those sensual lips.
Alone with him, the sounds of copulation fading to white noise, I ask, "Who are you?"
"A white knight, lost on the path." His deep voice fills me, kisses me until my nipples pebble and my core vibrates with need. I reach out to him, intending to pull him onto me, into me, but he steps backward into a gray room just beyond the archway. He asks, "Will you help me find the way?"
Aching to touch him, I walk beneath the arch, leaving the trappings of Hell behind me. My slippered feet whisper over the smooth stone floor as I step into the gray room. The man waits for me, poised beneath a large mirror as if ready to dive through.
Sweet Sin, I've never wanted anyone, anything, the way I want him right now.
A want is not a need.
From the archway behind me, I hear the sounds of Hell's orgy: the panting and gasping of demons screwing and reaching heights that God Himself never imagined; the laments of the damned, wallowing in their sorrow and fear, balanced on the cusp of personal salvation.
Standing before me, the stranger smiles. Worlds shine in his eyes.
"Jezzie."
Behind me, standing beneath the arch, Daun reaches out to me, beckoning. "Babes, come back. Hell's not the same without you."
Choose and lose.
"Help me find the way," the stranger says, then steps through the mirror.
"Jezebel," Daun says, my name a plea. "Jesse. Come back."
Let's see which you heed.
I'm sorry, Daun. A wordless cry on my lips, a name trumpeting in my heart, I dive through the mirror—
—and in
a crash of silver, I burst through the frame.
My arms shielding my face from the spray of shattered glass, I fell to the stone floor and landed hard on my side, the name in my heart buffering my body's pain.
Paul.
With a grunt, I pulled myself up, shook my head to clear it from the sounds of Hell fucking, the smells of heat and sweat and sex. As I brushed the glass shards from my arms, my eyes stung with dust and unshed tears. I bit my lip to keep myself from sobbing.
I could have stayed, could have ruled the Abyss with firm hands and open legs, could have amused the Devil Itself with sexual delights that would have inspired Anne Desclos to write new chapters in Histoire d'O.
My heart tightened, as if wringing the last drops of lasciviousness from my heart. How could I mourn something that never was?
It was real, Peaches whispered. If you had chosen to stay in the mirror, it would have been real to you.
But not truly real.
Does that matter? You wouldn't have known the difference, wouldn't have cared. If you'd chosen to stay in that reflection of Hell, you would have remained there forever.
Staring at a jagged piece of glass, I saw my face distorted, warped. Be Evil, I'd told the denizens of the Abyss. Being lost in a reality of my own making was about as evil a punishment as I ever could have imagined. Ghostly hands ran up my body, invisible teeth nibbled chocolate from my flesh. Just a memory, I told myself. A yesterday that never was.
Off to the left, a groan. Dropping the broken glass, I turned to see a hairy elf crawling away from the ruins of the mirror, his camera a smoking heap on the ground. I stormed over to him, my hooves grinding the shards into powder. My mouth twisted into a snarl, I yanked the elf up by the scruff of his neck. He squawked, flailing in my grip. His greasy pelt slick in my grasp, he nearly slipped free. Then my talons found his flesh beneath the matted hair and dug in. He cried out, then hid his face in his furry paws.
My voice a growl, I said, "Where is he?"
"He?" The creature lowered his hands, blinked wide eyes. He looked about as innocent as a wolf in pigskin. "He? Who is he?"
The Road to Hell Page 19
