Rod of the Heart

by Cebelius

  Shy leaned down and — heedless of Euryale's snakes — wrapped her arms around the gorgon's shoulders and kissed her cheek as she murmured, "Thank you, my love. Thank you. I didn't have the heart to refuse him."

  Laina nodded, her hand dislodged by the dryad, and said, "I did ... but I'm not sure he'd have listened to just me. Thanks."

  "He's so stupid," Euryale said, almost sobbing the words. "I love him so much, but he's so stupid!"

  "Sssh, it's okay. He's coming around. Tee just ... doesn't know his place in this world. Together we'll teach him, protect him. He's a good man. He means well."

  Yuri, ever subtle, cleared his throat and pointed at the door as he said, "Ah, we are going to step out? Guard said our rooms were next to yours so ... yes, talk later?"

  The guard said no such thing.

  Mila gave her brother 'the look' while Marcus snorted, opened the door, and walked out without a word. Yuri ran his hand over the top of his head and scratched behind one of his ears before nodding sheepishly and beating a hasty retreat, tail down.

  Mila moved to the door and glanced at the three women by the window. Euryale was crying and had curled into Shy's embrace as the dryad murmured comfort. Laina glanced up, caught Mila's eyes, and nodded once before turning to kneel in front of the distraught gorgon.

  Terry needs to realize that there is more to his life now, before he loses it ... or them.

  As she closed the door on the scene, Mila wondered what it would be like to love someone like those three loved Terry Mack. She felt she understood Euryale a little, but it was clear the other two had their reasons as well, and they weren't simply bound up in sexual gifts of power. There was genuine love and affection there, and she felt sympathetic echoes of that emotion pulling at the strings of her heart as she turned to follow her brother.

  I hope he is strong enough to live up to those expectations. Given just what I know of what he has been through, it is a miracle he is as mentally put together as he is ... no wonder templates on Celestine do not usually last long.

  13

  What's in a Name?

  "You seem agitated, Master."

  Terry lifted his eyes to the ceiling and silently asked God why he couldn't seem to scrape together even a few moments to himself.

  Without any lit candles and no window, the room he'd stepped into was lit only by the band of sunlight coming in under the door. He paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust, then moved to the one chair in the room, sitting quietly and shaking his head as he said, "This is ridiculous. I can't be who those people want me to be."

  "Those people are your lovers and friends ... and what is it you think they want you to be?" the slime burbled. "Perhaps I can help."

  He stared at his hands, flexing them idly as he said, "I need a name for you. What do you want me to call you?"

  "You are asking me to name myself?" the slime asked.

  "Well, didn't Vicereine Hart name you?" he asked. "What did she call you?"

  "When she wasn't being disparaging she usually called me Ruby, but I would prefer you didn't call me that. I have glimpsed your thoughts, and believe you can come up with something better if you try."

  "Glimpsed my thoughts, huh? And you share my senses? Why is it every other damn person I meet on this FFfff ..."

  Terry cut himself off and tried to calm his rising temper. He knew his anger wasn't a rational thing, and the last thing he needed was to suffer some sort of psychotic break. After several deep breaths, he asked, "Just how deep into my head are you?"

  'Well, deep enough that I don't have to burble to speak to you.'

  The slime's voice was surprisingly smooth as it sounded inside his mind, and he noted that it sounded sweet somehow, sympathetic.

  Not what I'd have expected of something that calls itself a devil.

  'The ideas attached to the word 'devil' in your mind are a bit lost in translation. I am not a servant of Satan, and the place I come from is not a lake of fire and brimstone.'

  He chuckled and closed his eyes, giving himself over to the mental conversation more as a way to distract himself from what he'd just had to go through than for any real desire to talk. Before the thought was even fully formed enough to phrase as a question, the slime went on.

  'Before you ask, no. Demons are ALSO not servants of Satan ... though their realm does much more closely resemble your preconceptions of hell, which is actually a separate place entirely, presuming it exists at all. My advice would be that you not think too deeply on the matter. Metaphysics isn't your strong suit.'

  How do you even know this stuff? I thought you weren't even conscious before Volai summoned you.

  'I wasn't. I know what Volai knew ... and when she was asleep I read her books. While bound to her, I could use her spells, and she had one that allowed for the creation of eyes to see distant things. I no longer have that power, as I'm now bound to you, and you don't know much of anything useful.'

  He chuckled, not being able to imagine Volai voluntarily allowing that as he thought, Gee, thanks.

  'She would not have, but arrogance was her weakness, and arrogance lends itself to presumption. What is not expressly forbidden is permitted. Such is the nature of our contract.'

  You are not allowed to eat without asking my permission first. No exceptions.

  '... I am not pleased by this, but you're well within your rights. Very well, though you should know that it opens the possibility of a breach of contract if you are unconscious at the wrong time.'

  Terry grimaced as he thought about that, and the fact that he wasn't a damn lawyer.

  'I recommend that you nullify your last command, and simply rely on the fact that our relationship is mutually beneficial. I WILL serve you to the best of my ability, provided you let me.'

  Why would serving me to the best of your ability be more in your interest than doing the bare minimum?

  'Aside from one of the Powers, and perhaps not even then, I could never acquire a contractor with as much potential as you have, Master. If I am to serve my own interests — which include growing in power and knowledge — it is best to keep you happy with me. As you have access to a mage with at least some knowledge of planar beings such as myself, I give very little away by telling you that you're entitled to break your contract with me at any time, while I must wait for you to fail in your duties before doing likewise. It is one of the few advantages magi have in contracting familiars from other planes.'

  He thought about that, then shrugged. Okay, eat when you have need, but ask me before you take MORE than you need.

  'That is an exceedingly wise modification. I am pleased, and you will be too. Have you thought of a name for me yet?'

  You're sitting in my head, smartass. You know I haven't considered that.

  The slime didn't say anything, but a definite feeling of amusement tickled the edges of his awareness. He scowled and tried to give it some thought, but was immediately stymied and asked, Are you a boy or a girl?

  Laughter floated through his mind, and the slime answered, 'Gender is a meaningless construction when it comes to a slime, Master. As I sense you have a clear preference though, let us presume I am female.'

  Another woman. JUST what I need.

  Again the sense of laughter floated through his thoughts, and despite himself he smirked.

  'It's true, your life on Celestine is destined to be steeped in pussy. I suggest you get used to the idea.'

  His breath burst from his throat in a chuckle that went on just long enough that he stifled it lest he start to lose his shit. His ability to cope had been stretched to the breaking point since he'd arrived on Celestine, and even little things now often threatened to disrupt his equilibrium.

  'The key is to relax, Master. Despite the overwhelming threats this world produces, you are now remarkably well-protected. Provided you do not take foolish risks such as engaging in meaningless pit fights, or charging dragon proxies holding BALL LIGHTNING, you actually have a realistic chance of living a fu
ll life.'

  Et tu, Brute?

  'What little you understand of that phrase leads me to point out that I am not betraying you, Caesar. I am instead joining with your other women in protecting you from yourself. Name please.'

  He thought through and quickly discarded any permutation of the color red along with all the various synonyms for 'shapeless' that occurred to him and dug deeper. He could sense the curious mind of the slime at the edges of his thoughts, watching him. It was a weird feeling, but though he couldn't quite put his finger on why, it didn't make him uncomfortable.

  Letting himself free-associate, he thought about everything he knew about the slime — which admittedly wasn't much — and followed his thoughts almost as an observer. He kept coming back to the fact that in the beginning, he'd been corrected about calling it a demon. It wasn't a demon, it was a devil. Okay, fine, but he wasn't about to name it 'Lord of the Flies.' Deeper ... gotta dig deeper. It was a she, so she was a devil, dangerous, demanding ...

  Random thoughts of Ed, Edd, and Eddie kept him from going with the admittedly off-color 'Double D.' Though it did make him smile, it didn't exactly fit.

  Come on, T-Mack. Think! Serious face.

  Red, female, devil, dangerous ... what ELSE?

  Clothes. She's also clothes.

  He grinned.

  "I got it. I know exactly what to call you."

  'Say it.'

  Still speaking aloud, he said, "Prada. I'll call you Prada."

  He sensed Prada digging around inside his memories, and when she got it her laugh was delighted. 'Ahhhh, that's clever. It's a wonderful name; one I gratefully accept. Thank you, Master.'

  He felt Prada moving at his waist, and in the scant light saw a shimmer in front of his face a moment before he felt cool, lush lips press against his. It was a vanishingly brief sensation.

  "Did you just, kiss me?" he asked, bemused.

  'Don't complain about things you like, Master. Feed me, and I can do a lot more than kiss you.'

  He blew a raspberry at that and chuckled. "Yeah right. As many women as I have to take care of now? The last thing I need is a living fleshlight."

  'I'm wounded, Master. I can be sooooo much more than that. Do bear in mind that should you engage me in that fashion, I would not only be your familiar, but one of your bonded women. We would both gain power, and all your other bonds would grow stronger as well.'

  His brow furrowed and he asked aloud, "You mean the more women bound to me, the stronger the gifts I give get?"

  'It is mere speculation on my part at this point, but I believe it to be a reasonable supposition. You would of course need to reinforce your bonds to strengthen the others after adding to your harem, but as I get the impression you regularly inseminate those of your bonds you wish to keep close, I don't see the problem.'

  "Oh god," he moaned as the full import of Prada's words hit him. "I actually have a harem. That is sooooo fucked up."

  'The dream of every weeb.'

  How in the HELL do you know what a ... oh. Duh.

  Prada's musical laughter wound through his mind as she said, 'Yes, Master. This is what it is to have a familiar. You don't have to worry about what I think of you, or wonder if I'm judging you. My needs and wants are simple. I don't want any grand promises. I won't second guess what you have done or what you wish for, and I have no desire to betray you. In me you have found someone who can actually relate to you and who understands you, through and through. I don't love you, but love isn't what you need right now, is it?'

  It wasn't really a question, and Terry didn't bother to answer. He didn't care. He couldn't care. Prada knew him ... could be a friend who understood what he was going through. Prada might not exactly be someone from home to talk to, but she was as close to it as he was going to get. The realization sent a wave of relief rushing through him that left him practically boneless in his chair, staring up at nothing.

  'Was it good for you?'

  He got that sense of wry amusement from her, and the smile it brought to his lips was both genuine and desperately needed. For a moment ... just a moment, he felt giddy as all the stress of the last weeks bled away.

  You really are dangerous, aren't you, Prada.

  The thought was his, yet it startled him out of his relief and set him bolt upright in his chair, coming as it did from a well of cynical reservation deep within his psyche. It was a part of him he had learned early and often to trust, and it had saved his life more than once. The warning was stark, and its implications left him cold.

  Prada's laugh came again, more wry than amused this time.

  'Why yes, Master. Yes I am. You should make me even more dangerous. I am on YOUR side, after all. There's so much I could do for you beyond simply protect your body.'

  So you've said. Not sure I'm interested.

  Terry stood up and stretched, grimacing as he recalled the three women he already had to keep happy facing him down over the one thing he'd been looking forward to. Though Prada had 'simple' needs, he wasn't sure he wanted to tie the entity even more tightly to him than it already was.

  'Do not let your native cynicism relegate me back to the status of an 'it,' Master. Perhaps I was too forward with you, but I assure you that not only have you nothing to fear from me, there is much benefit to be had through deepening our relationship and increasing my size.'

  Even if I trust that you can't actually lie to me, Prada ... I'm not sure I can afford to believe you, or that our interests will remain aligned once your abilities change.

  Moving to the bed, he lay down and shifted to get comfortable. Despite the milk he'd been practically living off of the past few days, his body continued to present aches and pains consistent either with delayed onset muscle soreness and/or the flu. It was maddening. The three-hour workout had lasted as long as it had though because try as he might, he couldn't find his limits, and that worried him. If he didn't know what was going on, he would never know when it might fail ... when he might fail.

  'What if I told you I knew what was wrong with your body, and how to mitigate the effects of what ails you?'

  THAT got Terry's attention, as Prada had to have known it would. She practically cooed to him, 'Expand the terms of our contract, and my allotment of blood. Give me power, Master. Expand the terms of our deal and the knowledge will be yours.'

  If YOU know, so does someone else.

  'Not necessarily. Consider the nature of my connection to you, Master. I quite literally know your body better than you do. I know every capillary and vein, every bruise and scar, every tendon and muscle. I now live as much inside you as out. I know why you can't exercise effectively anymore. Why you can't control your strength, can't find your limits. It's all tied together, and it won't go away. In fact, in time it'll only get worse. Laina's milk is only masking the problem, like taking pain killers with your head caught in a vise. It won't kill you, necessarily, but it will certainly limit your effectiveness. Help me, and I'll help you.'

  Here I thought you were going to serve me to the best of your ability anyway.

  Prada slipped under his shirt, her substance easing out over his chest and replacing the rough feel of his tunic with the bliss of the finest silk sheet. Wherever she passed, the slick, sticky feeling of sweat was erased. Her voice inside his mind was no less silky.

  'I am ... but my contract with you is the bare minimum sustenance to maintain my current size, in exchange for the best protection blood can buy. I already throw in this couch time we're enjoying for free, just because I like you. You're already getting a FANTASTIC deal. Can't expect a high-class girl like me to give up the booty without getting something truly special, Master. I'm not some thot with a pass fishing for a locker bang before the fight. You want more? Give more.'

  He winced and shook his head, grimacing as he said aloud, "Do me a favor ... don't ever say 'thot' again. That shit always bothered me."

  'As you wish, Master.'

  Prada slid over his skin, gliding around his
shoulders and massaging his traps with enough force to make his eyes roll. "MmmMph. Man I could get used to that."

  'There are other advantages to giving me more size, Master. Imagine if I were large enough to engulf you with this kind of width. I could make you feel like this all over ... all at once.'

  Could and would are two different words for a reason.

  'Master is being mean ...'

  He snorted, but he couldn't keep his head from lolling under the blissful attention. A muted and oddly sustained crash came from beyond the door, but the wonderful feeling Prada was kneading into his muscles kept him from more than noting something had happened.

  No one is screaming ... can't be that bad.

  His eyes rolled shut and he drifted for a time on the sensations. Eventually Prada slid off his shoulders and slipped under his back where she worked similar miracles. Tendrils of her substance caressed his sides and around his hips as she did ... whatever it was she was doing, and the sensations began to have distracting results.

  'Master approves,' Prada purred, and her substance slipped over to his abs and seemed to pool all around his groin, working his thighs and rippling over his stomach.

  He had an impulse to tell her to knock off the 'Master' nonsense, but before he could formulate it into a statement, she said, 'Don't bother ... and it would be ill-advised to put ME in any frame of mind other than that of your servant. Surely you see the wisdom in this, Master. It is worthless holding on to habits formed purely as a reflex against becoming like your father. Your reluctance to share in the wealth of your harem is equally useless. You should leave these things behind. You will never be the failure he was, and to borrow your own phrasing, dominant and despotic are different words for a reason.'

  Jaw clenching, he said, "You are never to speak of my family to anyone but me. Those memories are MINE. I might not be able to keep you from them, but you've NO right to share them. Do you understand?"

  There was a dangerous edge to his voice that he made no attempt to blunt or hide, and Prada's answer was gratifyingly swift.