Gothic Heat

by Portia Da Costa

  Paper. Flames. Smoke. Something indefinable yet precious, utterly destroyed. Black panic, rare and shocking, woke Michiko.

  She sat bolt upright in bed, shaking off the quilt and the soft, embracing arms of Hiro. For a few seconds, wonder ameliorated the shocking apprehension that had awakened her. How long was it since she'd allowed herself the luxury of sleeping in a lover's embrace, at peace and vulnerable?

  She almost lay down again and snuggled back into his body heat, but the vision of distant fire seemed to strengthen.

  A book? No, just pages ... Someone was burning precious, arcane writings. Sleep fuddled her powers, so she shook her dark head furiously to clear it.

  'What's wrong, mistress?' enquired Hiro gently in their own language. Sitting up beside her, he placed his hand lightly on her arm, offering reassurance. Given the disparity in their powers, it was fundamentally an ineffectual gesture, but that he'd made it at all touched Michiko's heart and gave her a boost of strength and clarity.

  No! Amida, no!

  A vision of Lord André's tower room at Sedgewick formed in her mind and at the centre of it, on the oaken table there, lay the great grimoire, damaged and wounded. Ragged edges of the fine parchment proclaimed its rape.

  The lost pages were already incandescent ashes in the hearth.

  Who? For a moment, she wondered about Balthazar Davenheim, but surely he would cherish such a book rather than destroy it?

  Gripping Hiro's hand fiercely, Michiko summoned every ounce of her concentration to illuminate the vision. There was a blank spot, right at the centre, dark and menacing. She frowned and bared her teeth, crushing her lover's hand. Exquisite stoic that he was, he uttered not a single word of protest as if he sensed the critical nature of her struggle.

  Again, the support of this most unlikely of sorcerer's apprentices strengthened her.

  The blank spot cleared, and the image of a familiar and gloating face sprang into her mind.

  Isidora! But how?

  Michiko bounced up onto her knees on the futon, shaking her head again, unable to believe what she was seeing. The black sorceress was gone, banished to hell in André's freeing ritual. How could she still be alive?

  Clawing at comprehension, Michiko focused her gift as she'd never done before, and the image shifted strangely.

  Isidora? But not Isidora ... someone like her?

  She sensed the black heart of hers and André's great enemy, but it seemed to be in a different shell entirely. Who was this person? This woman who smiled so gleefully with Isidora's smile?

  Michiko didn't know for certain, but as the vision began to fade, too distant to maintain in detail for more than a few moments, she had a shrewd idea whose face she'd fleetingly seen.

  Back in the shadowed whiteness of the bedroom, Michiko blinked, shaken, and drew in a great breath. She had to return to Sedgewick. As soon as possible. This very night. This very minute.

  Turning to Hiro, she saw his face, his suddenly very dear face, crumpled with concern. 'What is it, mistress? What is it? Can I help?'

  Michiko had not yet told her eager and pliant new lover anything about her true nature, but, as she stared into his soft brown eyes, she saw more intelligence there than she'd credited him with. He did know she was special, but not quite how. And he had sufficient wisdom to wait for the answers in her own good time.

  'I have to leave, my sweet,' she said to him, taking the time to lay her hand on his smooth cheek, when every instinct compelled her to spring from the bed, pull on her leathers and dash down and leap astride her motorcycle without further delay. He deserved just a moment of explanation. And farewell. 'Something has happened and I've got to go, this minute. There's no time to delay.'

  His skin was so flawless, so tempting, the feel of it revivified her. The strength she drew from it enabled her to relinquish him and rise from the bed.

  'You can stay here. Relax. Enjoy ... Treat it as your home.' His large eyes looked puzzled, wounded. 'I don't know how long I'll be, but I'll be back as soon as I can.'

  With the grace of a dancer, he bounded up too, and stood in front of her, naked and perfect save for a few lingering pinkish weals from his earlier punishment. Already they were fading, his flesh so wholesome, young and resilient.

  'Take me with you, mistress. Allow me to help. I'll do anything, no matter how lowly. Just let me assist you.'

  The decision took no making whatsoever. 'Very well. Get dressed right now. We leave this instant. Can you drive?'

  There was a luxurious limousine down in the garage. If Hiro were to chauffer her, she could conserve her energies. She had an ominous feeling that she would need every reserve she'd ever had when she reached the Priory.

  When he nodded sweetly and dipped in a bow, she almost loved him.

  'What the fuck!'

  Jonathan Sumner shot up from sleep, clutching his cheek where it stung from a sharp blow. Immediately he turned to Belinda who was thrashing in her sleep, her face twisted in fear and wild distress as she flailed and fought some invisible foe. Swooping down, he scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly against him, trying to calm her half-waking panic.

  She struggled, still muttering and gasping and tossing her head.

  'What is it, sweetheart? What's wrong? Tell me.' He took her by the shoulders, gently compelling her to look at him, dark foreboding stirring in his gut at the terrified look in her staring, skittering eyes.

  'She's here! She's here! We've got to stop her!'

  Even as he tried to hold her, she struggled, scuttling across the bed and trying to launch herself towards the door.

  'Whoah, baby! Slowly ... Calm down.' Jonathan gripped her, stopping her flight. 'Yes, Paula's here, but there's no need to worry. She's a bit upset. She's having nightmares about Isidora, but she'll be OK. When Michiko returns, we'll be able to sort everything out.'

  Not apparently listening to him, Belinda struggled even harder, like a wildcat, almost shaking him off. 'No! No! No!' she shouted. 'Not Paula!'

  Jonathan held on, but a dark pall of dread fell over him and a panic to match Belinda's.

  Oh no, not again? Surely, she hadn't fooled them? He'd been able to detect her before, because he'd been primed and waiting.

  'Who then?' His voice shook. 'Who then, baby?'

  Belinda stilled, as if deflated, the fight in her dying. 'Isidora is here.'

  It was still a shock. And it was impossible.

  How?

  'But she's gone, love. She's gone. The ritual banished her.'

  Belinda sagged, calm now. She shrugged and looked back at him resignedly.

  'She is here. I don't know how but she's here and I think we're too late to stop her.'

  Jonathan released his love and she shot off the bed. When she swayed, he leapt after her and held her up.

  'I think we're too late. We've got to hurry.' Sliding her hand down his arm, she took him by the hand.

  'Where are we going, love?' he asked, following her lead as she drew him towards the door, her nightdress billowing.

  'To André's tower. That's where she is.' Her hand on the doorknob, she slumped, her slender shoulders heavy with resignation. 'But I think she's already done what she was going to.'

  Paula awoke to the sensation of being carried again. As her eyes fluttered open, she looked into Rafe's concerned face and felt herself being set down on a soft bed. There was an unfamiliar perfume in the air, strong and exotic, but it didn't mask a pungent aroma of burning.

  'What's the matter? Where am I?'

  Struggling into a sitting position, her head still carou-selling, she looked around.

  She hadn't the slightest idea where she was. The four-poster bed she was lying on and the dark stone walls of the room it stood in offered no points of reference. Her body was wrapped in a gorgeous silk dressing gown, but she hadn't the faintest recollection of putting it on.

  But she did recognise the woman who stood just behind Rafe.

  'Belinda!'

  Her
friend came forwards and sat on the bed beside her as Rafe stepped back. Even as she was wrapped in a warm feminine hug, she couldn't help but notice a stark look on her lover's shadowed face.

  'Are you OK, love?'

  Still befuddled, Paula pondered her friend's question. She assumed she was still somewhere within the Priory, but she hadn't the first idea how she'd got here.

  'Here' was a poorly lit circular space. Odd shadows crept across the bare stone walls, driven by candle-light and a small fire burning in a sooty grate. The bed she was sitting upon was enormous, swathed in both heavy velvet curtains and voluminous gauze ones, partially tied back. It was luxurious, but it had a forlorn, deserted air.

  'I don't know ... not really.' She drew in a deep breath, then almost coughed at the heavy fragrance of the room. 'Actually, I think I'm mostly wrong at the moment, Lindi. How about you?' She stared at her friend, taking in the Victorian nightgown and the slightly haunted look. The pallor of Belinda's skin was readily apparent, even at the most cursory glance. But there was something else, something that made Paula blink and gasp with astonishment.

  When Belinda had visited her in the hospital, one of the things that had really irritated Paula most had been the fact that her friend hadn't even done her the courtesy of taking her sunglasses off. Now she could see why. And remembering what Jonathan had said about 'side effects', she immediately understood.

  'What happened to your eyes, love? They've turned bright blue.'

  'It's a side effect. Well, that's what Michiko says. I'm hoping they'll go back to normal soon.'

  Blue or not, her friend's eyes were beautiful – but they were also full of shadows.

  Oh, sweetheart, you too?

  She grabbed Belinda and gave her another, harder hug.

  A discreet cough interrupted their feminine bonding and, with a synchronised sigh that made both of them smile despite everything, Paula and Belinda turned towards it.

  Jonathan was standing over an oaken table with carved legs. At its centre lay a weighty, antique book with thick pages covered in dense black writing and what looked like indecipherable symbols. Paula rose from the bed with Belinda at her side, and walked across the room to look at it.

  One thing was very apparent, apart from the alien nature of the book's contents.

  A clump of torn edges indicated that several pages had been ripped out. And from the evidence of the damage itself, a silver cigarette lighter on the table and a small pile of curling ashes still smouldering in the huge hearth, it didn't take a genius to work out what had happened.

  'What happened to the book? Who burnt the pages?'

  Even as she spoke, a slow shiver made Paula clutch at her throat and then her belly. She felt no unusual heat through the silk of the robe but she had no doubt it had been there not too long ago.

  No! Oh, God, no! She's taking over!

  The enormity of what her physical form had done made her knees buckle, but with a supreme effort and whitened knuckles, she grabbed at the table and kept herself upright. She felt Rafe's hand settle supportively at her waist, but she shook him off, not really knowing why she didn't want his touch right now.

  Jonathan broke silence, his usually cheerful voice heavy and serious.

  'I think you set fire to them, Paula love. Well, not actually you ... but, well, someone else ... who's sort of inside you.' He ran his fingers down the torn edges, seemingly oblivious to the danger of paper cuts. 'I can't read all this crap. Nobody but Michiko can. But I've a feeling that something pretty serious just went up in flames.'

  A chill settled over Paula, making her shudder. She turned from the table and walked over to the four-poster and flopped down, the effort of keeping herself standing up suddenly too great. The thing she'd most feared had happened, the thing she'd been expecting, if she was honest with herself.

  Isidora could take over completely now, not just encourage, influence, mock, cajole and goad from the sidelines. I'm just her puppet. What the hell else have I done?

  The mattress depressed as Rafe sat down beside her.

  'Paula, love ...' He hesitated, as if choosing words carefully, then laid his hand over hers. His brown eyes were as troubled as the stormy skies outside. 'I can put you under and talk to her ... to Isidora ... and ask her what this is all about.' He made a sweeping gesture towards the book, his eyes not leaving hers.

  For a moment the words didn't make much sense. All Paula could seem to hear was the ring of sorrow and regret, a silent anguish that burnt in Rafe's eyes.

  You've done something, she thought. What the hell have you done? I thought you cared.

  The words were silent, but Rafe winced as if he'd heard them, clear as day.

  Jonathan lunged forwards. 'What the fuck do you mean "talk to her"?' His normally gentle eyes were blazing. 'You never said anything about this? Talk to her ... Do you mean to tell us you knew Isidora had ... had "infected" Paula and you brought her here and didn't tell anybody?'

  Jonathan was a slight man of middling height while Rafe was tall and broad, but he still threw himself at his adversary like an avenging angel. Only Belinda's timely intervention forestalled actual fisticuffs. She grabbed her boyfriend by the shoulders and hauled him away.

  'Johnny! Fighting isn't going to solve anything. We don't even quite know what's happened yet.' She turned to Paula, her brilliant-sapphire eyes pleading. 'Do you know, Paula?'

  Paula closed her eyes for a moment, trying to listen. She didn't want to hear Isidora's voice, but they had to know what was going on.

  But all was silence. Perverse silence. Isidora was either deliberately lying low or simply elsewhere.

  Paula squared her shoulders, looked around at the faces. Belinda, confused and alarmed. Jonathan still seething and casting black looks at Rafe. Rafe ... oh, Rafe ... confused, guilty, remorseful and at the same time full of a grim determination.

  'Well, it seems that this "possession" or whatever has happened to me has taken a quantum leap that I wasn't aware of.' She drew in a huge breath as if the very air might hold some answers. 'I thought this bitch Isidora was just lurking around inside me, murmuring stuff and cajoling me into being a bad girl and whatnot.' She looked narrowly at Rafe. He held her gaze, his expression hard to read. He looked subtle, handsome and complex, and strangely glorious for it. If she hadn't been so angry with him, she would have been turned on. Maybe she even was still turned on? 'But it seems she's taken on an autonomous life of her own for part of the time.' She smiled bitterly. 'Apparently, when Paula leaves the building, Isidora is in the house ... And you –' She slid to her feet, reached out and prodded Rafe's chest. 'You've been aware of that fact and didn't see fit to tell me!' He didn't wince and remained rock solid, staring back at her. But there was guilt in his eyes. 'When were you going to put me in the picture, Rafe? Or have you entered into some kind of pact with her? Some secret deal to further your own ends?'

  10 True Confessions

  She expected him to look away, to the left, to the right, at his feet. Men were like that, they could never meet your eye when they had something to hide. But Rafe kept looking straight at her. His eyes were pained and she knew the answer even before he gave it, but he didn't evade her. Instead, he rubbed his hand over his short hair, thinking.

  'No deal as such.' He paused, his mouth twisted. 'But I was offered one, and it was tempting, very tempting ... I was still thinking about it. That was why I'd been out running, trying to decide.'

  The words were stark and Paula had difficulty absorbing them, although they were much as she'd suspected.

  Jonathan, however, had no difficulty processing Rafe's confession and sprang at him anew, his fists flying. 'You fuck! How could you? You bastard!'

  Rafe blocked him easily and Belinda grabbed at Jonathan, manhandling him off with a surprising strength given her pallor and general wan appearance.

  'Stop it, Johnny, this will get us nowhere,' she said softly, and immediately the younger man seemed to calm down. Paula suppressed an
inner pang of jealousy. They were so close, so attuned, and all she had was this duplicitous but beautiful man who may or may not have been going to sell her down the river.

  Rafe was still looking at her, strangely placid given Jonathan's histrionics. He had the face of a death-row prisoner who'd owned up to his crime and had accepted that there would now be just retribution.

  The words were difficult to frame, but Paula knew she had to.

  'Did you fuck her, Rafe? Did you fuck Isidora in my body?'

  Without hesitation, came the stark answer. 'Yes ... yes, I did.'

  'You fucking, despicable bastard!' Jonathan's usually witty vocabulary seemed to have deserted him, but this time, at least, he didn't try to land any blows.

  Paula spun around to him. 'You're one to talk, Johnny! You did more or less the same thing.'

  He looked mulish. 'But that was in a higher cause, Paula. It was necessary.'

  She chose to set aside the possible inadvertent insult. 'OK, I believe you. But still ... Don't start judging Rafe until you've heard the whole story.' She turned back to Rafe, her heart twisting, her mind befuddled. Somehow, despite this perfidy she dreaded hearing about, she saw a man she still wanted, desired and illogically cared for. 'And you? When you were with Isidora, did you know it was her? Did you still fuck "me", knowing it was her?'

  Rate's eyes looked hectic and he took a long breath. 'Not at first. At first I thought it was you. That you and I were making love.' The soft way he said the two words was a knife twisting in Paula's heart. 'Then I realised ... but it was too late. I... I couldn't stop.' He paused again, his face almost a mask. 'And I didn't want to.'

  'Why?' was all she could manage. All breath in her body seemed to have been siphoned away, leaving her empty.

  'Because I'm weak. Because I'm a man. What does it matter?' He scowled, showing anger for the first time. She wasn't sure whether it was at himself, at Isidora, or even her, for putting him in this strange moral place to start with. 'Look, I fucked up and I've hurt you. I think it's best I clear off. You should let your friends help you. Maybe this Japanese sorceress woman can exorcise you or whatever ... I've just caused you more problems and I need to get out of your life before I screw it up even further.'