“You’re a bright boy.”
“I take it there’s a reason that you’re not fucking him instead.”
Alexandra nodded and wiped a spot of sauce from the corner of her mouth. “We tried.”
He got a rather gruesome picture of the satyr hovering over her. He then realized he and it made love to the same woman. He fought away the mental pictures before his gag reflex could take over. “And?”
“We had three children. None were a satyr.”
“But, you don’t have any kids.”
“No, I don’t.”
He had a good guess what happened to them. “But, you think the two of us will be able to have one?”
“Yes. We know Sebastian, for some reason, is not passing along the gene.”
“How?”
“Our children had the satyr line in their blood, but if we had both passed on the gene, our children should have been born satyrs.”
Tim nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. And since I have the satyr in my blood, you’re hoping the two recessive genes will match up and our child will be a satyr?”
“I just can’t keep up with you, can I?”
His irritation disintegrated through the conversation, turning into a sort of fascination. He never would have predicted he would be tying mythical (or so he thought) creatures to modern genetics in conversation. He pictured Sebastian firing up an electron microscope in some lab secluded amongst the trees before he realized they probably accomplished the same thing with their magic.
“Let me ask you something,” he began. “In pictures and stories and so forth, the satyrs are always male. Have there been any female satyrs?”
“Not that we can think of.”
“Okay. Women always supply an x chromosome. Men, however, can provide either an x or a y chromosome. If there are two x’s, the child is a girl. If the y comes through, then the child is a boy. You follow?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. What if I pass you a y chromosome, buy my y isn’t carrying the satyr bloodline. We’ll have a normal son every time.”
She cocked her head, eyes narrowed in consideration.
“Thus, if the x chromosome is the carrier, we’ll have a female satyr.”
“No!” Alexandra’s eyes widened, suddenly struck by a realization. “We’ll have nymph!”
Tim blinked. “Isn’t that just a woman?”
“Essentially, nymphs are the female satyrs. They live in the woods or the sea or what have you, and seduce men.”
“Do they exist, too? Do they look like normal women?”
“We haven’t heard about any in recent history, but yes, they look like normal women.” In the back of her mind, she wondered if Sebastian passed along the trait in the x chromosome. One of the three children she gave birth to was a girl. Was it possible she had been a nymph? She would have to bring this up to Sebastian. They should have thought about this possibility long ago.
“But if I do pass it along in a y chromosome, and the y chromosome takes during conception, our son will be a satyr. Our girls will be normal.” This magic he understood, whether his guesses were correct or not.
“And, maybe you’re passing the gene along in both chromosomes. Maybe either of our children could be one of Gaia’s Children.”
“Come again?”
“Gaia is the Earth Mother. If you’re more comfortable with science, call the trait the Gaia Gene. Regardless, she is responsible for the creation of the satyrs and nymphs.”
“That was her in the flames last night?”
“In a sense, yes.”
“Sebastian is her child. Is this is why you love him?”
“Love in the traditional sense is not necessarily the best word, but yes, it fits.” She did feel something for Sebastian, but it undoubtedly stemmed from her yearning to continue the Earth Mother’s heritage on Earth.
“Didn’t we once have a conversation as to why men were evil?”
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. “We were speaking of mere human males. Descendants of the Goddess are another matter.”
“But I have the blood. Am I not one of her children?”
“You carry the blood of one of her children. Do not presume to be any different than any other man in this town or the world.”
Tim shook his head. “Hypocrite.”
“What?” she demanded.
“I said you’re a hypocrite. By your own definition, unless you are a nymph, you are only carrying the blood and no better than I or any other woman in the world.”
She shook with fury, but only for a moment. “Maybe so. But having one of Gaia’s Children will be a great honor.”
Tim suppressed his shrug impulse. “Whatever.” He downed a few mouthfuls of spaghetti before getting himself a glass of milk. As he did so, he wondered how chatty Alexandra would be this evening. Specifically, he hoped to confirm a suspicion.
“Let me ask you something else,” he said as he returned. “Who built this town in the first place?”
“Sebastian did. When he came to this valley, it was desert, just like the land outside. By then he was very skilled in the Earth Mother’s magic, and he used it to change things. He made the earth fertile and the climate more attractive. The valley offered him seclusion as well as being an attraction to bring in settlers. They came slowly at first, and my parents were among them. Sebastian was always careful, making his presence known slowly. When I first met him, I was sixteen. He was the most attractive man I had ever seen in my life. It wasn’t long after that he discovered I was of the Earth Mother’s bloodline.”
“Was he your first?” Tim asked with a wry smile.
She shot him an evil look.
“What about your mother?” He hoped the question would make her forget his remark.
“She passed the blood on to me. In fact, she also tried to have a child with Sebastian.”
A shudder went down Tim’s spine. “That’s disgusting.”
“Not necessarily. By then she already taught me everything I know about Gaia and magic. When I caught them, I understood.”
“You didn’t…join them…did you?”
“No!” she replied, almost as disgusted as Tim. “It was the seventies, but please, give me some credit.”
“Where are your parents now?”
“My mother was killed during the violence years ago. My father couldn’t handle it. He got out of town.” She consulted her watch. It neared six o’clock and the sun started to disappear behind the valley walls.
“I have something to take care of,” Alexandra said. “Put your plate by the sink when you’re finished.” Without further comment she pushed away from the table, stood, and went out into the garage.
He looked down and considered his half-plate of spaghetti. It cooled quite a bit by now, and most of the sauce congealed in lumps on the surface of the plate. Behind him, the wall shook with the familiar rumble and roar of his Camaro’s engine. He listened as she backed out of the garage and drove down the street. He doubted she intended to meet with Sebastian, or she would have probably walked.
He wondered whose life was about to get more miserable.
He attempted to finish his meal but his appetite disappeared. He dumped the remainder in the trash can and set the plates and utensils in the sink. He convinced himself he did so because he had nothing better to do, not because she told him to.
Afterward, half-empty glass of tepid milk in hand, he went into the bathroom in search of aspirin for his aches and pains. As he did so he wondered why Alexandra had suddenly told him so much. He figured it did no harm after stumbling across the ceremony and Sebastian.
But in the back of his mind he admitted it was quite possible that she explained everything to him simply because he would never be given the opportunity to tell anyone else. Whether she intended to kill him or keep him in captivity forever remained to be seen.
And what if she wanted to breed a whole army of the little monsters? He shuddered at the thought.
&n
bsp; Chapter Twelve
The weeks gave way to months, and as Tim’s shoulder healed he found himself doing more and more work. Alexandra started by having him do more average housework, like laundry and vacuuming. He protested at first by saying he was not a maid, but Alexandra countered by threatening to put him in a coma for a few months.
Reluctantly, he went to work.
Next thing he knew he painted rooms, rearranged furniture, and re-upholstered the sofa. He continued his exercises when possible, concentrating on getting his arm back up to strength after being immobilized for so long. At night, more often than not, he went to bed exhausted.
He never mentioned Sebastian aloud and Alexandra never brought up the incident again. Nevertheless, some nights he sat at the dining room table, staring out into the trees behind the house and replaying that night’s events in his head. From time to time, he caught himself expecting the satyr to come wandering up to the house to finish him off. The beast’s sheer size shocked him as much as its appearance. Built like professional weight lifter, he threw Tim around like a rag doll. His broad chest may as well have been a brick wall. Next time they squared off, Tim wanted nothing less than an M-1 Abrams tank on his side. Then, maybe, he would stand a chance.
The mere existence of the beast, and what he saw in the fire in the clearing, shook the very spiritual foundations he was raised on. His Catholic upbringing told him paganism was a false religion, that the Greek and Roman religions were myths and legends. He wondered how his parents, their faith in God unshakeable, would react if they ran across Sebastian or witnessed Mother Earth materializing out of a flame.
Such considerations often made him question his faith in his teens. He never thought satyrs were real, of course, but the way the old gods simply disappeared following the spread of Christianity and the other modern, monotheistic religions always bothered him.
The Greeks and Egyptians, even the Mayans and the rest of the American Indians, all based their religions on gods and heroes and legendary beasts. The Chinese, before communism, worshiped many gods. In modern day, the Hindus remain polytheistic, and their history far predates the Crucifixion. Only the Jews at the time of the Exodus were monotheistic in a world of many gods. Who was to say for certain that the Greeks, the Romans, et cetera, were wrong? One true God made sense in the modern world, but he had to wonder how much culture and socialization had to do with that feeling.
Next came the way Christianity spread largely by the sword. God taught us “Thou shalt not kill,” yet four very bloody Crusades, started by Popes, killed millions of people in the name of God. The Spanish Inquisition followed suit, this time torturing people to death in the name of God. Missionaries came to the New World bringing the Word of God to the “primitives” of ancient America. Who were the true primitives? The relatively peaceful Indians, or the conquering English and Spanish?
Tim by no means considered himself a pacifist, but the idea of belonging to a religion founded in bloodshed did not appeal to him. When he moved out of his parents’ house, he stopped going to church. At first they were so angry he thought they would disown him. In the end, however, they felt he would once again hear the calling and return to the fold.
For years his spirituality wavered. Though he could not bring himself to love God, he did not hate Him, either. He decided instead he would respect God and His wishes, but would not worship Him. To Tim, God appeared to be a negligent Father. “You ate the apple, you murdered my child, you’re on your own,” He seemed to say. If your child beats up another in the school yard, you scold him. Yet God let His children slaughter each other for millennia.
He thought he had things figured out. Now evidence the Greeks or pagans may have been right after all nearly killed him.
When he finally gets out, he knew he would have a lot of thinking to do.
* * *
Once he got mobility in his arm back, Alexandra never left him home alone. If she left the house, one or two extra women took up a post at the table or on the living room couch. Tim often tried to strike up a conversation with them, but most either snubbed him or flat out ignored him. The one or two that did talk to him refused to share anything of interest, and they made it perfectly clear they ultimately thought of men as inferior, just like Alexandra.
Alexandra began to show before long, even beneath the folds of the heavy bathrobe she frequently wore around the house. Occasionally she would sit at the couch for hours, staring into nothing, one hand resting on her belly, the other holding a cup of hot tea. She never moved, and only broke her concentration once every half hour or so to ask Tim to refill her cup.
Many a night Tim laid in bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling and considering whether or not he should make another attempt at escape. He pictured himself sneaking past the guards again, or this time fighting his way through them. But then Sebastian would be there, chasing him down and beating him to death with club, hoof, or bare hands. Months passed before the memory of that night stopped haunting his dreams, and he never quite managed to gather the courage to act on his newer schemes.
However, an incident late in the last month of Alexandra’s pregnancy forced his hand.
* * *
A thunderous roar shook the house, startling him out of his sleep. He sat bolt upright, heart pounding, straining his ears to identify the sound. It did not take long.
That suddenly beautiful sound was his only possession, his Camaro. It roared heartily as Alexandra revved the engine. The roar faded to a husky purr as the engine slowed to an idle that vibrated the ceiling above him. The purr then rose to a receding growl as the car backed out of the garage. The automatic door clanked and squealed as it dropped back into place. He faintly heard the squealing of tires spinning on asphalt out front.
The clock radio displayed 6:43am. As he laid back down, Tim wondered where Alexandra took off to so early. She rarely left the house before noon, and he suddenly realized she never took the Camaro before. He first thought she was sped to the hospital to have the baby, only they discussed before that she planned on giving birth here at the house, with most of the coven (including Sebastian) in attendance. If something went wrong, if she hemorrhaged and raced to find medical help, he hoped she died on the way.
“Just let the car survive,” he whispered as he laid back down. He stayed there for a few moments, staring into the darkness, deciding whether or not he really wanted to get up just yet. He felt rested but had nothing better to do. Sure, he could do his morning exercises, as usual, but then what? After breakfast it would be just another one-sided conversation with whichever uptight bitch Alexandra left sitting at the table.
The basement door opened then, and dim gray light streamed down the stairs. He heard the sound of rain on the windows and walls upstairs. Somebody’s shadow cascaded across the steps, a very large somebody who blocked most of the light.
Tim sat up and slid himself closer to the wall. A sweat broke out across his brow. The other women never dared to come down the stairs, and the only person he could think of capable of casting a shadow that size was the satyr.
Could this be it? Had they finally gotten sick of keeping him around? Or was there something wrong with Alexandra and the baby, and Sebastian thought he had something to do with it? Cornered in the basement with nothing to use as a weapon, the beast-man would make short work of the job. Being pummeled flat into a mattress would not be a pleasant death, either.
Time seemed to stretch on, the shadow in the door motionless. Tim dared not move, fearing he would ruin whatever kept the satyr in check. He dearly wished he could see the top of the steps so at the very least he could cast off the anxiety of not knowing for sure who he dealt with.
The shadow moved, the shape twisting as the unidentifiable figure turned to look over a shoulder. The shadow descended, and heavy footsteps pounded the wood. The third step down, normally a bit squeaky, screamed as if in terrible agony. He knew it could not be Sebastian, as his hooves would have made a dist
inct clopping noise. These footsteps, though extremely heavy, sounded cushioned, perhaps by soft-soled shoes. The door clicked shut, cutting off the light.
Tim reached over and turned on his lamp. The figure on the steps froze. The shadow reappeared, this time throwing itself behind the thick legs that came down far enough for Tim to see. It had to be one of the women, and though he was relieved it was not Sebastian, he wondered what she wanted with him that she would dare to break Alexandra’s rule of not coming down into his room.
After a brief, uncertain pause, the woman came down the stairs. Slower this time. Her wide feet threatened to burst the seams of the blue canvas shoes she wore. Her thick calves and thighs conspired to bury her kneecaps deep beneath folds of flesh. She wore a black pair of shorts stretched tight around her massive hips. A sleeveless, strapless yellow top made an attempt at keeping her rolling gut and breasts in check. Her arms dwarfed her small, stumpy hands. Beyond fat, she leaned toward disgustingly obese. And when she came fully into the light, Tim felt himself go pale. She looked to have three, maybe four chins, and wore a very heavy layer of makeup. She tied her thin, stringy hair back into a pair of pigtails with little red bows.
Thankfully she stopped at the foot of the stairs. One hand at her hip, one hanging free, she stood in an attempt at a sultry pose, her lips pursed. Obviously she thought very highly of herself and her beauty. Tim, however, thought she looked like a perverted kewpie doll, the prize in a sick carnival game nobody wanted to win. He bit back a giggle.
“Hello, Timothy,” she said, her voice piercing. “Do you remember me?”
He shook his head. If Alexandra managed to change one thing in him, it had to be his sleeping habits. During the first few weeks he lived with the witch, he began to sleep in the nude to make things easier all the times she came down to his room or called him up to hers. He got so used to it that he started to enjoy it. Now, he regretted this new habit and badly wished that he had, at the very least, slept in his briefs. He self-consciously pulled the sheets closer around his side to cover a half-exposed buttock.
Deadliest of the Species Page 16
