Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  Isabella gasped as Briar nibbled her way up the column of her throat then nipped at the corner of her jaw. She strained against Briar, pushing into her. Briar tugged the hem of Isabella’s shirt out of her trousers then skimmed her way over Isabella’s abdomen. She loved to feel the play of the taut muscles beneath her hand. She loved even more the softness of Isabella’s breast and its comforting weight in her palm. There was only one problem: there was fabric between her fingers and the nipple she could feel straining for her attention.

  Briar pushed herself up, holding her weight on arms that trembled while she settled between Isabella’s thighs. The pressure of her mound against Isabella’s was almost more than she could handle. She closed her eyes to force herself to slow down. They should come together, a quiet corner of her mind said. That would have the best results.

  Too much logic and not enough skin. Isabella seemed to be of the same mind. She bit down on her bottom lip as she worked on the ties of Briar’s corset with single-minded concentration. Briar reached behind Isabella and unfastened the brassiere. They exhaled in concert when Isabella’s breasts were finally freed. It wasn’t enough. Luckily, Isabella’s shirt was loose and it was the work of mere moments to get it over her head and somewhere out of the way. Isabella’s brassiere followed quickly behind. Her breasts were tipped with rosy nipples whose taste Briar remembered all too vividly. Unable to resist them, she bent her head to lavish first one nipple, then the other, with elaborate attention. Her tongue teased Isabella’s nipples into peaks that rose proudly from the hills of her breasts. Beneath her, Isabella writhed and moaned, grinding their centers together and fanning the flames of Briar’s lust to ever-increasing heights.

  The pants had to go. Reluctantly, Briar left behind her assault of Isabella’s breasts and turned her attention to the trousers that blocked access to her ultimate destination. She undid the top button and couldn’t help but sample the delights that awaited her. She slid her hand down the front of the trousers. Her fingers tangled briefly in the thatch of hair that guarded Isabella’s entrance, then she was sliding through slick folds. Isabella’s gasp turned into a low keen and she thrust up to meet Briar’s questing fingers. They slipped past her entrance and Briar felt walls of velvet grab hold of her fingertips and refuse to let go. She wiggled them experimentally and Isabella almost levitated off the bed. There was no question that Isabella was ready. Her arousal was at a fever pitch. It twined through Briar, brushing against parts of her core that tightened in response. The pressure was overwhelming. The pressure was intoxicating. The pants were still in the way.

  With deep regret, Briar removed her hand and undid the remaining buttons. She rolled over, gripped the waist of the trousers and pulled them from Isabella’s legs in one movement. Isabella didn’t seem to notice the disappearance of her pants and drawers. She arched her back, thrusting her pelvis into the air, demanding a return of Briar’s affections. It was a demand Briar was only too happy to accommodate. She pulled off her corset and made her way back between Isabella’s thighs. There was nothing between them now but skin. Isabella’s emotions consumed her. They wrapped around her both inside and out and with such vividness that Briar could almost feel on her own body where she touched Isabella’s.

  The void inside Isabella summoned Briar. It needed to be filled as much as Briar needed to be the one filling it. She straddled Isabella’s thigh, painting the speckled skin with the juices that flowed copiously from her own entrance. She rocked back and forth, seeking the friction that would elevate her to Isabella’s level of need. Isabella bent her leg slightly, moving her thigh against Briar. She threw her head back at the arousal that rocketed through her, seeking release, only to be turned back and come crashing back inside her. Briar reached down and grabbed Isabella’s patch of red hair. She tugged slightly, getting a surprised rock of the hips in response. Pleasure chased the barest hint of pain far away. Isabella grunted and rocked her hips again, demanding mutely what Briar knew she wanted.

  It wasn’t long now. They were both at such fevered levels that the slightest thing might set one or the other off. They should come together, Briar briefly remembered, though not why. She shifted her hand, resting the tips of three fingers against Isabella’s most intimate place. She left them there, teasing Isabella, enjoying the coil of their shared arousals within them as they tightened until any further ratcheting of tension was impossible.

  Isabella shifted her hips forward, impaling herself on Briar’s fingers. Briar felt them slide inside as if they had entered her own body, as if she were the one stretching to accept the digits. Bolts of sensation flashed through her groin, or maybe it was Isabella’s. She couldn’t tell anymore. She couldn’t tell anything except that everything was about to give. The pressure built through them, past their skin and out, scattering Isabella’s awareness until all that remained was sensation. Pleasure, pure and unadulterated by any other emotion, crested through Isabella and crashed into Briar. She gritted her teeth and threw back her head, staring unaware at the ceiling above. The pleasure kept coming and coming as their shared orgasm stretched on and on, rolling from one to the other and back again. Briar felt like she was drinking light, her body was weightless and hung suspended between this world and the next, Isabella poised there with her.

  That wasn’t supposed to be happening. Briar toppled to one side, breaking their connection before she drew Isabella all the way over. It was what she’d been worried about, that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself and she’d drink up so much of Isabella’s life energy that her heart would no longer have the power to beat. She felt great, reenergized and ready to take on the world, but what about Isabella?

  Isabella was stretched out on the bed, thighs still spread, though she’d released her grip upon the blanket. Twin mounds remained where she had grabbed the covers and held on for dear life while consumed by the most powerful release she’d ever experienced. Briar could sympathize. She’d never felt one that strong either.

  Isabella’s naked chest rose and fell in the gentle rhythms of sleep. A smile haunted the corners of her lips. Briar leaned forward and kissed one curved edge. Isabella would be fine. She was fine too; Isabella had seen to that.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The air was foul, even through the mask. He’d thought the air in the engine crafting room had been rank, but when all those imps were crammed into tighter quarters, it was almost unbearable. Holcroft snarled at the nut he was trying to crank down, but it resisted his efforts. It was damp down there, and corrosion must have gotten into the bolt’s threads. The need to hide was hard enough on him, but when his equipment started to suffer, it was difficult not to take it personally. If only his grimoire hadn’t been taken. He’d managed to redeem himself by getting it back, but the Prince had still insisted they move their operation. Had she understood how much work it would take to do so? Of course not, nor had she cared.

  He leaned back, stretching out his back where it ached from wrestling with machinery all day. Half the point of summoning a demon had been so he wouldn’t have to work as hard. The other half had been riches and glory. That meant he’d achieved a bare quarter of his goals. He was forced into hiding and was working harder than ever thanks to Beruth. If her plans didn’t pan out, he was going to have to figure out how to send her back to her world.

  It wasn’t as simple as telling her to leave. The summoning spell crafted by Holcroft’s idiot master had been much too open. Not only had he not specified which order of demon to bring before them, but he also hadn’t set the circumstances to return it. That meant Holcroft would need to develop a spell of banishment. Those weren’t nearly as plentiful as one might think. It had only recently occurred to him to wonder why it was so much easier to find a spell of summoning than it was to find one to undo the summons.

  Since his current plans were on hold until he got some more bolts, Holcroft carelessly dropped his wrench to one side. He mounted a set of three shallow steps and grabbed two spokes of the large ha
ndle on the vault-like door. Laboriously, he cranked on the handle, transferring his grip to first one spoke, then the next, until the bolts released in a set of clanking thuds. He hauled back on the heavy door until it was wide enough that he could slip through, then pulled it to behind him. He repeated the process on the next door. It wasn’t until he’d pulled that door shut behind him and shot the bolts back home that he removed the mask and breathed deeply of the unsullied, if slightly stale air.

  The room was small, barely wider than he could reach with outstretched arms and scarcely longer. His desk, piled high with books and strewn with plans, was crammed in here along with the grimoire that he rarely let out of arm’s reach since the incident. A bedroll was snugly rolled up in a far corner. There was not nearly enough room to put it down in the space between the desk and the opposite wall, not that he’d had much time to sleep. Once the outer room was ready, he’d sleep on the bed in there, but until then, this was the better option than trying to get some rest in the ever-present demon miasma.

  The bricks that lined the wall down here had already started to crumble in the damp underground air. It was a good thing they didn’t plan on staying long.

  This was the one place he could breathe for any length of time without the intrusion of the imps’ reek. His books were safe from the curiosity of the imps, but there wasn’t nearly enough room to work in here. This had probably been meant as a broom closet, and the room outside some sort of office or perhaps a lounge for the foremen. Beyond that, past a warren of cramped hallways and storage rooms, the imps still worked on finishing up as many more engines as they could.

  Today’s work was supposed to allow him to separate the old lounge from the rest of the sub-basement so he could get back to his work. Being able to stretch his legs without worrying about interruptions from Beruth or her minions would have been nice as well. Since he apparently needed to replace the bolts on the door frame he’d constructed only the previous day, today wasn’t the day the project would be completed. Perhaps he could put the time to better use, like coming up with a spell of banishment.

  Holcroft pulled out a sheet of vellum and dipped his pen into the inkwell. There was no way he could put this in the grimoire. Beruth had access to it, used it to refine his inscriptions and to make rude comments upon the work of the magicians who’d come before him.

  Opening a door between this world and hers wasn’t the problem. He’d done that before, many times now, but the trip through the rift was a one-way affair. He needed one that would go the other way, which should be easy enough to conceive of. All he needed was the proper words. Perhaps he could even reverse the runes of opening. No, that would create a spell of closing. That could be important, however. He didn’t need her reversing the portal and coming back through. And there was the matter of keeping her in that world and making sure she couldn’t come back to punish him. There was no doubt that she’d try something like that if he crossed her.

  He scratched away, designing new circles and plotting out the runes, then drawing harsh lines through them and starting anew. He lost himself in the work. It was far better than creating a device. This was so much easier. All it required were words, blood, and ritual. It was elegant, without the sweat and strain actual construction required.

  When the bolts in the door clanged open, Holcroft knew his free time was at an end. The other advantage to the heavy doors meant it was impossible for someone to sneak up on him. He folded over the vellum, hoping the damp ink wouldn’t smear too much and pulled a set of schematics over the pages.

  These were almost complete. They took the concept upon which he’d based his engines in a different direction. Instead of simply overlapping one point in his world and a demon in the other then allowing one to bleed into the other, this one opened a large rift on that point. Beruth hadn’t been satisfied with the infernal battery. She claimed there was little point in saving up energy here if it couldn’t be used on something. The portal was the answer, and he was so close to finishing it. All that remained was translating the power from the battery to the device, then running tests.

  The inner door clanged open. Beruth strode through, clad in tails and top hat. She swaggered about with a cane only a little too tall for her. Holcroft had seen her use it to devastating effect among the imps. He was always surprised the cane wasn’t lumpy black from the accumulated blood of her subjects.

  “Are you working on it?” she asked. She placed one hand at the small of his back as she leaned around him to check out the schematics. “Good. It’s almost time.”

  He sought out her eyes, but she was too busy looking over the drawing. “Time? I thought your plan was to wait until we were closer to some feast of your people.”

  Now she met his gaze. Her eyes gleamed ferally in the light of the gas lamp and she dug the tips of her claws into his back. “That had been the plan, but since you allowed your grimoire to be stolen, we need to move more quickly. I have enemies, it would seem.”

  Holcroft bridled at the injustice of the accusation. Not only had her imps been the ones to allow the book to be stolen in the first place, but they wouldn’t have found it without his efforts. She wouldn’t admit to the first and only grudgingly acknowledged the second when he insisted. It was a losing battle, one he was tired of fighting.

  “It needs testing.”

  “There’s no time. Who knows what forces are being arrayed against me while you tinker? If this is going to work, we need to move to the next phase soon. What do you need yet?”

  “Supplies, as always.” He still wasn’t sure if the design would work. On paper it seemed feasible, but there was a big difference between the design and the application. He would have to test as it was built, which was less than ideal. “We’ll need a lot of help to build it. This one is dangerous and there will likely be casualties.”

  Beruth waved her hand. “Your engines will provide strong workers. Bring some of them through.”

  “How many? I know you have plans for them.”

  “No more than one-fifth. The remainder should do for what I have planned.”

  “Very well. I should have the schematics completed to my liking in the next day or so.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Her hand rubbed small circles on his back, brushing up against the puncture wounds she’d just gouged in his skin. With every touch, pain jangled along his nerves. Beruth’s smile widened as his discomfort grew. “And now you’re in the mood for a little reward, yes?”

  His own smile was more grimace than grin. He knew who was being rewarded here, and it wasn’t him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The weight of the covers seemed to drag at Isabella, enticing her back to somnolence. Nothing sounded better than burrowing into their yielding warmth and going back to sleep. Why was she even awake? Oh. That. A hand on her elbow shook her again. She moaned in protest, too tired to make the attempt to tell whoever it was to sod off.

  “Isabella.” The voice reached deep down inside her and woke a hunger at her core. “You need to get up, darling.”

  “Briar?” She cracked one eye open. A wide smile split Briar’s face. That was enough to force her other eye open. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Briar look so happy.

  “Who else would be naked in bed with you? Don’t answer that question.” The corners of her eyes scrunched up even further to show she was teasing. This was definitely a different Briar than the one she’d known the past weeks.

  “Right.” No wonder the covers felt so good. Isabella loved to sleep in the nude, but rarely did so as it completely scandalized her mother’s maid. How the woman could attend to Althea and still be put off by a little flesh was always a wonder to her. “How are you feeling?”

  “As right as rain. My exhaustion is quite remedied, thanks to you.” She tweaked the end of Isabella’s nose. “But we should get you into your own bed before your parents return and have inconvenient questions for us.”

  “Very well.” Isabella knew the
importance of not being discovered in Briar’s bed, yet the call of the covers was near-impossible to overcome. Her eyelids drifted shut again and she forced them open. It felt like someone was trying to drag them down with their fingertips, but she prevailed. The room swam out of focus, but after a few determined blinks she could see well enough.

  “Come on.” Briar pulled her unresisting form upright. She was much stronger than she looked. “You’re going to have some fatigue for a few days, but it should pass quickly enough with rest.”

  “Good to know.” Isabella leaned back against the headboard when Briar let her go. She had an excellent view of Briar’s lovely backside while she pulled on her dress from the previous night. For a change, Briar forewent the corset, probably knowing Isabella was in no shape to assist her with the ties. In fact, she’d donned the barest minimum amount of underclothes for modesty before pulling on the dress.

  “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not wearing anything.” Sleeping starkers was one thing, but parading around the upstairs hall without so much as a stitch was quite another.

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to wrap you up in the sheet. Once in your room, I’ll get you your nightgown.”

  Isabella frowned slightly. She didn’t relish the idea of being hustled out of Briar’s room and into her own wrapped in nothing but a thin cotton sheet. On the other hand, getting dressed for a ten-foot walk, only to disrobe and change into something else at the end of it sounded like far more work than she thought herself capable of at that moment. Briar waited patiently for her as she deliberated. “Very well.” Isabella pushed herself up from the bed and managed to get halfway to a standing position before gravity reasserted its hold on her. She flopped back onto the bed.