Two Polluted Black-Heart Romances

by Kevin James Breaux

  Moselle had often wondered if the thing held some form of ancient magic: a spell that mesmerized all who gazed upon it.

  Do all cursed undead feel the same about their sarcophagus? She knew her mother and father did. So strange that our curse is also our comfort.

  Moselle sighed as she turned around and came face-to-face with the was sceptre.

  “How did this get down here?”

  She palmed its shaft. It felt at home pressed to her flesh, the same way her sarcophagus did.

  This was not mine. It was Amenemhet’s, I’m sure of it. So why does it feel like it belongs in my hands? Why do I feel like I should hoist it up, hold it high? Power… This—this has ancient power. Power I could use.

  Frustrations Come and Go

  Sabrina woke up alone. She may not have liked it, but she had gotten used to it.

  Last night, Peter had told her he was going to work early in the morning and would be home by dinner. He’d also told her he wanted her to take the day to write another song or two. “Walk the gardens, swim in the pool, explore the house; whatever’s needed to get in the creative mood.”

  Sabrina reached down between her legs and cupped herself soothingly. Oh, I’m in the mood, Peter…

  “Weston, you out there somewhere?” she asked but figured he wasn’t. Yeah, he’s probably long gone. Back to Europe.

  Sabrina kicked her sheets off. If it meant going solo, she would go solo the best way she knew how.

  “Breakfast first?” Sabrina asked while she gently rubbed her fingers over her panties. “Hmmm?”

  Last night, she’d dreamt of sex; she often did. She read once, in a book that was written by a fellow fairy and later banned by her father, that all fairy-kind dreamed of sex. The author believed it was part of their nature, something meant to promote reproduction and help increase the population of the race.

  Sabrina figured differently. She often thought her desire was linked to her need for physical activity. Her parents had labeled her hyperactive once. Sabrina hated that term. Sure, she was restless at times, but she was not out of control, as people often labeled those who were hyperactive. She simply enjoyed staying active and thoroughly enjoyed running, swimming, dancing, and—most of all—sex.

  All fairies are horny—at least all the ones I’ve known. But do they dream of sex as much as I do?

  “That damn dream last night. That damn persistent dirty, filthy-fucking hot dream.” Sabrina punctuated her statement with a groan. “Fuck! If I knew where to find you, Jake Gyllenhaal, I would ride you so hard you’d forget all about those little starlets you used to date and dump.”

  Saying it only added to her sexual frustration though. Soon her light touch turned to a hard press into her clitoris.

  “Damn it.”

  Sabrina yanked off her panties and threw them across the room. She sat up on her knees and inserted one and then two fingers. While she pushed them in deeper, she rocked her hips and pretended to fuck Weston. She wanted his ability to fill her right now…desperately.

  “Yes. More, larger…” she said as she pushed a third finger in.

  Sabrina unfurled her wings, wanting to feel the outmost extent of pleasure. With them out, and heating her skin, she began to tingle. Fuck…yes… With her free hand she tugged on her nipple. But the tingle suddenly dulled and was quickly replaced with a new and stronger sense of yearning. No. No. No. Sabrina stopped, and let out a long sigh.

  “Damn it!”

  She felt like she could cry.

  She had had days like this before. Long ago. Days she got so worked up that she fantasized about inserting all sorts of crazy household things into herself in search of relief. Is that where I am again? Sexually frustrated, like some sort of incredibly awkward virgin. No, I’m better than this.

  A moment passed and she cleared her head and filled it with a new and powerful thought.

  “What would Jackson do if he were here, Sabs?” she asked herself. “What would he do if he walked in here right now and saw you like this? Nude. Touching yourself. In such horrible need of release. In such—such…pain?” She snatched up her pillow, folded it up tight, and then straddled it on the edge of the bed. “He’d sit down on the bed, pull out his hard, hot cock, and…”

  Sabrina ground herself hard into the pillow, back and forth, faster and faster. Nothing.

  Pinched by the corner, Sabrina pulled the pillow out from under her and flung it across the room.

  The shower in my bathroom has a pulsating showerhead. That might work, but I still want something inside me. I need something inside me.

  “Damn you, Jake Gyllenhaal!” she shouted and then began to sob. “Damn you, Cade Robert Lawton. You promised me. You promised me…”

  A knock on the door launched her heart into her throat.

  “Miss London?”

  It was Jules, Peter’s… Sabrina was unsure exactly what to call him: butler, personal shopper, assistant. How long had he been outside the door, she wondered.

  “Miss London?”

  “Yes, Jules?”

  “Good morning, Miss London. Peter asked me to get you a new cell phone. I have it here. The same make and model as the one you dropped in the tub.”

  “Oh?” Sabrina lit up. “Great!”

  She heard him rustling with a bag. “I will leave it outside the door for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Also, there will be paninis available for lunch in an hour.”

  Sabrina smiled. “Thank you.”

  “If you need anything, just seek me out.”

  “I will.”

  Sabrina walked to the door and listened. She waited a moment, until she heard nothing; Jules must be gone. Not that Sabrina minded being caught naked. It might have been a welcome thrill, but her wings were out, and she did not want to have to explain herself again.

  Sabrina peeked out into the hallway, saw no one there, stepped out, and grabbed the small paper bag that her new cell phone was in.

  Sabrina wanted so much to lift off and ride the wind over Peter’s estate. She had never done that before.

  I could glide on the breeze, round and round, all day here. Sabrina smiled and opened her eyes. Amazing.

  The warm air felt wonderful so she allowed herself to hover in the doorway, high enough that she nearly scraped her head. Suddenly the winds shifted. Someone had opened a window somewhere or perhaps one of the many balcony doors. She could feel the pressure increase, and letting herself go, she was sucked back into the room and up into the vaulted ceiling where she spun in a full circle.

  “Wooo!” she laughed.

  The door to her bedroom slammed shut behind her and before she could turn to face it, she felt the air current shift again.

  This was no air vacuum. “Weston?”

  There was no answer. But she knew he was there. She was sure of it.

  “Weston?” she called out again, dropping herself slowly to the floor. “Trying to scare me? I’m already soaking wet. Come feel.”

  She pulsed her wings, hoping the light would have illuminated his outlines somewhere, but her invisible guard was doing his best to stay invisible—or maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t there at all.

  “Weston?”

  The bag in her hand began to vibrate and the cell phone inside squawked with an awful default ringtone.

  “Yuck. That needs to be changed immediately,” she sneered at the bag as she fished out the phone. “Sabrina at your service.”

  Peter’s voice made her smile.

  “Sabrina, good morning. How do you like your new phone?”

  “Peter! I love it. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, but you will have to reprogram it with your old number and contacts. Jules could not do that for you. My apologies.”

  “All that matters is that you know the new number, Peter.” Sabrina figured there was no one who would call her anyway.

  “And clearly I do.”

  She smiled. “How’s work?”

&nb
sp; “Ah, and here I thought I was checking up on you.” Peter chuckled. “All is fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Tell me, have you begun to write that new song?”

  “Well…no.”

  “Oh. Is there something wrong? Anything you need to help the process?”

  “I’m a little frustrated to be honest,” she admitted.

  “What can I do to help you, Sabrina?”

  “It’s what you could have done. Should have done,” Sabrina mumbled. “Peter, why didn’t we have sex last night? I was offering, you know? Did you not realize?”

  His voice sounded somber when he answered. “I realized.”

  “Are you afraid to mix business with pleasure? I’d understand if that was it, but I swore I felt something, some…some other tension…” She smirked. “You know, I’ve been told I’m really good at releasing a man’s tension.”

  “Yes. Well. Sabrina, this is a conversation best left for later, best meant to be had in person. You understand, right?”

  She understood. “I do.”

  “Listen to me, Sabrina London. You are a beautiful woman. Any man would be lucky to have you. I can only imagine the pleasures you could unlock…” he paused. “I just need to…to…I will explain later tonight.”

  “Okay.” She frowned.

  “Very well. Then I will see you tonight, around seven or eight.”

  “Tonight.”

  She listened to Peter hang up. She was no clearer on his intentions than she had been last night.

  “So this is what it feels like to get mixed signals,” she said to herself as she gazed at the phone. “Sucks.”

  She walked through the room to the back and saw the balcony double doors were open, even though she was sure she’d shut them before bed.

  “Weston, I know you’re here. Hiding, just staring at me. Stop messing around, you creep. Say something, already.”

  Sabrina stared out the doors to the cliff and the ocean beyond it. It was beautiful, and that, along with the warm breeze and the inherent heat from her wings, made her want to space out.

  She sighed as she sat in one of the two wicker lounge chairs on the balcony. “If I only had a mimosa, this would be perfect.” Sabrina smiled, and then corrected herself. “Two mimosas…and someone to share them with. That would be perfect.”

  Boiling Point

  Jackson waited outside for Moselle’s driver to bring the limousine around from the garage. Moselle hadn’t told him where they were going. She’d been quiet and withdrawn since he showered. He wasn’t sure if she was still mad at him for not coming to bed, or if it was something worse. In fact, Jackson was unsure of a lot of things, but one thing seemed clear; he felt increasingly foreign and out of place surrounded by otherworldlies.

  The winds picked up, and it reminded him of those days he’d played street hockey in high school, the breeze cooling him as he skated circles around his friends.

  I miss my friends. My human friends…

  “Jackson.”

  Weston’s voice startled Jackson but prepared him for his sudden appearance.

  “Hey, I was just thinking about how nice the wind felt, and then whoosh you—”

  “Appear right out of it?”

  “Pretty much.” Jackson chuckled. “Where’ve you been? You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks to you. I was just with Sabrina.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Not ten minutes ago.”

  “Where is she? You never really said before,” Jackson asked.

  “She’s at her new boss’s home in Santa Barbara.”

  “New boss?”

  “The record producer, Peter Rubie,” Weston grumbled.

  “Oh…” Jackson felt lost. He’d obviously missed a few details of Sabrina’s life. “So she’s fine?”

  Weston vibrated. Although his face was undefined, Jackson could have sworn the spirit looked annoyed.

  “I’m not so sure. Honestly, I don’t trust this guy. There’s something weird going on. Like too perfect.”

  “Too perfect, huh?” Jackson smiled and turned his gaze to the limo as it appeared at the end of the driveway. “Sounds like you might be jealous.”

  “No,” Weston snapped. “She’s in danger. I know it. But she’ll never listen to me. Not now.” He pointed at Jackson, his hand no more visible than an eye floater, something that needed to be concentrated on but seemed to move when focused on. “You—you have to tell her. You have to go see her and warn her.”

  “Me?” Jackson did not understand. “Why me?”

  “Yeah…she’ll listen to you,” he said, but seemed distracted.

  Jackson scrunched up his face in query. “Why? Why will she listen to me? We barely know each other.”

  “Why?” Weston sounded more irritated by the second. “’Cause she wants to fuck you, man.”

  “She what?” Jackson blurted out.

  “She wants to fuck you,” Weston repeated with more clarification. “I heard her say so.”

  Jackson crossed his arms and shook his head. “She shedding her wings again or something?”

  “No, this is real,” Weston continued. “She’s horny as hell and was riding her pillow—”

  Jackson huffed. “Now, you’re just screwing with me.”

  “No, I’m serious. You need to go see her. Talk to her. Do whatever is needed to get her out of there. I don’t know, tell her to come here. It’s safe here.”

  “Not really,” Jackson whispered as the limo came to a stop a few feet from him. “This place is not as safe as it looks.”

  Weston remained silent but he was shaking.

  “Okay, what if I do go see her? What all should I say?” Jackson pointed at Moselle’s home and then off to the distance. “I’m not telling her to come here. And she can’t go home.”

  “You can—”

  “And what the hell was that outside the sinkhole? What attacked me?” Jackson grew more anxious as he spoke. “What made you sick?”

  “Pollution.”

  “Pollution,” he repeated. “What do you mean ‘pollution’?”

  “Look, there’s a lot going on here. Our top priority is to make sure Sabrina is safe. The princess must be protected.”

  “Weston, you’re freaking me out and I already have enough to be freaked out about.” Jackson pointed at him. “One minute you want me to talk to her; the next you make it sound like you want me to fuck her; now you want me to save her. Which is it?”

  “Jackson?” Moselle called from the front door as she walked out with two guards.

  “Do not say anything to her,” Jackson said. “You understand?”

  “She could help. She might be able to convince her friend—”

  “Stop,” Jackson commanded. “Stop talking and…and vanish.”

  Weston paused mid sentence and did as Jackson ordered.

  “Jackson, were you talking to someone?” Moselle asked as she approached.

  “Me? No.” He shook his head. “I was singing.”

  “Oh. How delightful. Perhaps you can sing to me as we drive?”

  Jackson took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Moselle, I was hoping to go get Sabrina and—”

  “Jackson, Cade and the others will arrive soon enough.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I think I should go to her now,” he said. “You know, a bunch of hungry vampires after a long car ride… That sounds like trouble to me.”

  “They are searching for Sabrina, darling—that is why they are coming here.”

  “Sure, but who knows how those vampires will react when they finally find her. Or how she’ll react. Maybe she won’t want to go with them, Moss. Maybe they’ll end up taking her without her consent. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  Moselle held silent a moment. It was obvious she was thinking about his suggestion. “Fine, let us go to Sabrina now. You are right. It would be easier for all if she were warned first. And it would be even better if she is here and res
ted before Cade and his clan arrive.”

  “I was thinking I should go alone. You said you have places to be today. You can go do what you need to do, and I’ll go get Sabrina. Where do you need to go, anyway?”

  Moselle looked at her guards and then Jackson. “I-we, we were going to the airport.”

  “Airport? Why were we going to the airport, Moselle?”

  “To get on a plane, my love. Is that not obvious?”

  “Why were we getting on a plane?”

  Moselle crossed her arms; she looked annoyed. “To leave.”

  “Leave. You mean run away?”

  “Not permanently. A few months. A year perhaps.”

  “Not permanently,” Jackson repeated. “You know that means something totally different to me. You don’t age. I can’t just go run off for a year.”

  “Consider it a vacation, my love. You and I, nothing to do but relax and share our bodies with one another.”

  Jackson took a deep breath to calm himself. “Where?”

  “To a former home.”

  “To a former home.” He covered his face with his hand and sighed. “You’ve had a lot of former homes, Moselle. Which one? London? New York? San Juan?”

  “Marrakesh.”

  “Marrakesh?” Jackson repeated in a sharp tone. “I don’t even know where that is.”

  “In Morocco, darling.”

  “Morocco, as in Africa?”

  Another one of Moselle’s guards left the house with something long wrapped in red cloth and tied carefully with twine.

  “Yes, Morocco is in Africa. I lived there for a short time after leaving Libya. Few know of this.”

  “Morocco…”

  “It is a beautiful land, and so close to Spain. You would love Spain, Jackson. Once in Marrakesh, we could plan some trips.” Moselle broke eye contact only long enough to nod to her guard who had loaded the wrapped item into the back of the limo. “At some point, once we have established our safety, we will charter a boat to Egypt, travel the Mediterranean Sea to the Great Nile and—”

  Exhausted, Jackson simply said, “Moselle.”