Gothic Heat

by Portia Da Costa

  'But you're not useless,' Paula insisted, and was about to elaborate when she was interrupted.

  'I'd let him, if I were you.' They all swivelled towards Balthazar Davenheim. 'The guy looks as if he's got a pretty strong constitution. He'll be much easier to bring back afterwards.'

  'Bring back?' whispered Paula, her hand creeping into Rafe's again as they waited for clarification.

  Bring back made die seem marginally less frightening, but she realised she was still holding her breath.

  'Yes, the marker host only has to die long enough for the spell to shake Isidora free.' Michiko took the floor, standing square, her hands on her hips. She'd returned from the city dressed in the most extraordinary way. In her crisply tailored suit and killer heels she looked like a businesswoman about to give a marketing presentation.

  'And once she's gone, I can bring you back,' said Balthazar almost casually, leaning back in his chair. 'I've done it before. More times than I care to remember.' He shrugged his large shoulders. 'I might have sold out and become little more than a high-priced cosmetician nowadays, but I worked my share of A&E when I was a young doctor. I still know my way around resuscitation and we've brought the equipment.'

  Paula frowned suddenly. Was the technology even necessary?

  'But can't you do it with magic?'

  Michiko laughed and sat down in a chair beside her. 'Magic is a fickle thing and it doesn't follow a rationale. Some things you can do, some things you can't. The "yeses" and the "nos" of it aren't always logical.' She paused, tipping her head on one side. 'What we have ahead of us is what you might call a "hybrid" procedure.'

  'I still don't see why it shouldn't be me who goes through it.' Paula frowned, feeling the tension in Rafe's grip and his entire body at her side. She could sense him about to protest again when Michiko held up her hand.

  'There's another reason why Rafe would be a better candidate,' the Japanese sorceress said, her voice intent. 'He has powers of his own. He has a more developed sense of mind-control than you, Paula. And Isidora is going to fight tooth and nail not to be banished. Rafe has latent psychic powers, he can hit back against her much better than you can.' Paula felt her other hand taken hold of, the grip soft yet redolent with power. 'If she were to get the better of you during the enchantment, it might be for ever. And you both might end up insane, or worse.' Michiko put both hands around Paula's now, squeezing quickly, then releasing her. 'Let him do this for you. It's safer and the chances for success are immeasurably greater.'

  Silence fell in the room. Paula's mind whirled. There was too much to take in. She felt so overwhelmed that all she wanted to do was run, far away, as fast as she could – as if the sheer act of fleeing might leave this completely unreal situation far behind.

  Tears welled in her eyes but she bit down hard on her lip, screaming at herself inside for being a wimp and at the horrible thing in residence for even existing. She wanted to shout and rage at life and fate for getting her into this mess. Why the fuck had Belinda and Jonathan pitched up at this stupid priory in the first place? Why the fuck had André Von Kastel dragged them all into his centuries-old conflict without so much as a by your leave? Why couldn't I have met Rafe in some other context without all this stupid baggage? Without all my troubles we could have dealt with his troubles better.

  As if he'd heard her, Rafe's arm went around her, pulling her close, and she threw her arms around him in return. He was solid. He was real. He was no fantasy or magical apparition, and the heat of his body shored her up and gave her strength.

  For a moment, she leant against him, absorbing what he offered, then she straightened, squared her shoulders and dragged in a great breath.

  'OK then, let's do it. And the sooner the better so we can all get back to normal. Whatever that is.' She slid her hands up to Rafe's face. Looking squarely into his eyes, she hoped that those latent psychic gifts of his were working and that he could read the things she couldn't say in front of Michiko and Balthazar. 'And you,' she said to him, making her voice mock-disciplinarian, 'you'd better make with the primo mind mojo and get shut of that bitch completely. Because I've had sex with her once and I sure as hell don't want to have to do it on a regular basis. I'm sticking to two in a bed from here on in ... not three!'

  Rafe's eyes popped open wide. He looked stunned. Then he started to laugh, shaking his head. Smiling back at him, Paula found herself giggling too. Almost insanely, the whole thing was so absurd.

  'So, what do we have to do?' she asked eventually, when they'd both settled down and the hysteria was over.

  But it started to bubble again, but not from mirth, as Michiko quietly explained.

  The first stage of the preparation was both awkward and slightly hilarious. Paula would have got the giggles again if things hadn't been so serious. As it was, she had to hide her smiles when Rafe complained about being tickled.

  'It should really be a tattoo but we haven't got the time,' pronounced Michiko, leaning forwards and staring intently at his naked belly, while Hiro knelt backwards, wiping his brush carefully on a rag. 'This should suffice though.' She inclined in closer, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinised what was displayed between the open flies of his jeans. Then, with a nod, she glanced at Paula and at the faint freckle-coloured lines and whorls of the sigil that were visible above her lowered knickers, reflected in the mirror she'd been holding against her abdomen.

  'Well, it looks the same to me,' the Japanese woman said, touching a fingertip very lightly to Rafe's belly, 'and it's dry already.' With a satisfied smile, she turned to her lover and gave him a lingering kiss, full on the lips, her slender hand cradling his cheek. 'Well done, my darling. You're a true artist.'

  Hiro smiled, looking far more sure of himself than he had at any time since Balthazar Davenheim had appeared at Sedgewick, and they all took time to study his finely wrought calligraphic handiwork. Rafe now had the mirror image of the Thousand Hour Marker painted on his abdomen, an exact, reversed replica of the hateful image that Paula had on hers.

  'Can I zip up now? Or will it rub off? I'm not exactly enamoured of walking around with my dick almost hanging out, you know?'

  Poor Rafe, thought Paula, giving him a hug. Despite the fact that he was a sensualist who was comfortable naked and seemed to enjoy using and displaying his body, he really hadn't liked the experience of having another man draw things on his belly.

  Michiko frowned. 'One moment...' Slowly, elegantly, she made a complex pass over the painted sigil and suddenly it rippled as if it were a serpent. A second later, a small section of it morphed.

  Another hour counted off the thousand.

  'I think it would be safer if you were naked or wore a soft robe. We can't take any chances.' The sorceress's pointed chin came up and she fixed him with a beady look. 'And remember, you will have to be unclothed for the ritual.' She turned to Paula, her eyes steely. 'Both of you. Maybe you should get used to that. There's precious little time to waste, and I'm sure Balthazar has almost completed the preparations in the chapel.'

  As if he'd been given his marching orders, Hiro picked up his ink pots and brushes and prepared to leave, but Michiko swept her arms around him and gave him another kiss. 'You've done beautifully well, my sweet boy. We couldn't have done this without you. But now you need to come to our room with me and help me prepare. Then go to the library and wait until this is over. Will you do that?'

  Accepting his praise and dismissal with an admirable grace, he nodded, then bowed elegantly and left the bedroom.

  Michiko hung back. 'You understand what has to be done?' Her gaze flipped from Paula to Rafe, from Rafe to Paula. 'Very well. I will leave you alone, but in thirty minutes we will all assemble in the chapel.' Her expression softened. 'It will be just Balthazar and me. And Oren too, for his strength and his knowledge of first aid and healing. The others will all wait in the library until it's over.'

  Rafe laughed, and Paula squeezed his hand again. At least the audience would be limited. 'Well,
that's not so bad, is it?' He flashed her a roguish wink. 'Just two blokes I barely know and a Japanese sorceress watching me while I make love to you. Piece of cake.'

  She grinned back at him, but it took a great effort.

  And when Michiko had gone, they sat in silence, just holding each other until it was time to meet their fate.

  Dark unease stirred in Rafe's gut as they entered the old chapel.

  Oren led them down a narrow winding staircase at the back of the house and across a small courtyard towards their destination. Halfway across the cobbled area, they'd been waylaid by Belinda and Jonathan, and the flurry of hugging and tears had only added to his growing sense of foreboding. Especially when they'd looked at him sorrowfully as if he had a death warrant hanging around his neck. Which he still had, he supposed, even if this strange night went well.

  When the great studded door of the chapel swung closed behind them, under other circumstances he might have burst out laughing. The place was a cliché, an amalgam of every spooky, haunted crypt he'd seen in a thousand horror movies and television shows. He half expected Count Dracula to come creeping between the pews. The walls were tall and ominously festooned with carvings and gargoyles, and the flickering light came from candles of all different shapes and sizes, set in sconces and candelabra scattered around the room. It was all very kitsch and gothic and medieval except for what looked like some pretty high-tech medical equipment set to one side of a great wooden table that stood in the centre of the nave. He noticed vaguely that there was a weft of electric cabling snaking away from it and out through one of the open windows towards the main house, and digital indicators and tell-tales were flashing reassuringly. The lights and paraphernalia of modern medicine seemed incongruous in the gloomy bygone setting but he was bloody glad to see it all.

  Two figures were waiting for them.

  Balthazar was hovering by what looked like a resuscitation unit, observing readings and apparently going through a checklist of its functions.

  And Michiko looked so different it was hard to recognise her.

  The Japanese sorceress was dressed in the full geisha finery of an exquisite, multi-layered kimono, elaborate wig and white painted face. Her lips were a tiny crimson cupid's bow and her eyes finely outlined with a precision line of kohl. She inclined her head as they approached, her hand resting on the grimoire, which lay open in pride of place on a heavy lectern that stood to one side of the table.

  'Perhaps you two need a moment?' She gestured gracefully towards the end of the front pew. 'There are still one or two final preparations to make.'

  Rafe slid his arm tight around Paula and guided her to the cushioned seat. Once there, he pulled her close, just holding her. There didn't seem to be much more to say that they hadn't already said. He tried not to think, to do nothing but enjoy the closeness and the faint perfume of her body against him. This was their last moment of intimacy, this was very possibly their last embrace. Not the joining that lay ahead during the ritual.

  A soft cough fractured their silence. Rafe looked up to see Balthazar Davenheim standing in front of them, holding out a porcelain beaker filled with a dark murky-green fluid. It looked like a pretty disgusting concoction, and there was a little frill of bitty froth clinging to the edge of the cup.

  'It's not that bad, actually,' said the big man with a quirk of grin.

  'What is it?' Paula reached out fearlessly for the weird brew, and Rafe took a grim satisfaction in her courage.

  'A potion. Part of the spell,' said Balthazar gravely, then his big face lightened. 'And there's a spot of aphrodisiac in it too. A sort of herbal Viagra, only more controllable. It'll smooth out your inhibitions.' He nodded to the table.

  'Do I need it?' Paula wrinkled her nose.

  'Don't worry, it works for girls too.' Flashing her a wink, the tall man stepped away and returned to his equipment. 'Drink half each,' he added over his shoulder.

  Fear surged in Rafe's chest. Fear for Paula. As she lifted the beaker to her lips, he stayed her hand. 'Let me taste it first.' He took hold of the white porcelain container, drew in a deep breath, then drank down half of the contents in one gulp.

  The brew was slightly bitter but not really unpleasant. There was a perfumed quality to it, and he recognised rosewater and cinnamon in a muddy, earthy base.

  'So?' Paula quirked her eyebrows as she took the cup back from him.

  'Well, it'll never be recommended in What Wine but it's better than the paint stripper they serve in the Raven. Take a sip.'

  As he watched her wrinkle her nose again and pluckily drain the cup, a warm glow started to spread through Rafe's chest, radiating outwards from his throat and his stomach and sinking down through his torso, his belly and then his loins. Astonishingly, his cock twitched suddenly, then thickened, glowing too, just like the rest of him. He felt a sudden, thudding urge to touch himself, or reach out, take Paula's hand and bring it to his body to assuage his growing need.

  'Holy shit! It works,' he whispered, unfolding the long dark robe he was wearing and glancing down at the solid erection pushing hard at the thin white cotton trousers he'd found to wear. It was deforming them so much that the light drawstring at the waist was pulled downwards, exposing the painted sigil on his belly.

  'Crikey, so it does.' As she put aside the beaker, Paula's face was already flushed, her eyes glittering. The pink glow in her skin had already extended to her neck and throat, almost as if she were fresh from an intense orgasm, and he could see her nipples dark and erect through the thin cotton of the button-through dress she wore. He watched her shimmy, as if in pleasure, then frown suddenly, her soft mouth hardening in a line.

  'She feels it too. She's stirring.' She placed her hand over her belly, to the sigil.

  'Then the sooner we do this, the better. I want that bitch out of you now, and out of this world for good!' He gave her a quick, hard kiss, then drew back, looking into her eyes. They were still Paula's, but troubled as if a storm were approaching. 'Come on, love.' He drew her to her feet and they approached the table.

  Michiko had thrown a thin futon over the hard surface. 'We must begin,' she said, inclining her head elegantly, her neck looking extraordinarily slender beneath the dark bulk of her complicated wig.

  Rafe looked around. Davenheim was studying the readouts of his equipment with a ferocious intensity. Oren was standing by the window, gazing out into the moonlit park. Obviously these were attempts to provide them a modicum of privacy.

  Michiko moved to her lectern, her steps tiny in her geisha footwear. She began to chant softly, and suddenly the air in the immediate vicinity became warm, almost steamy.

  For their comfort.

  Rafe had planned that they would couple still with some clothing on, to preserve Paula's modesty. With his long robe shielding their bodies, at least she was protected.

  But now, in the strangely balmy atmosphere, that seemed unnecessary, and Paula was already unbuttoning her dress and slipping out of it. Low on her belly, the sigil was prominent, and even as he watched it seemed to swirl, and she gritted her teeth, fighting for control.

  'No, you bitch! No! We do what I want!' He could see her fists clenched, ready to strike out at the thing that was within her, then with no further hesitation, she climbed gracefully onto the table and held her arms out to him.

  Shedding his robe and his trousers, he followed her, intensely excited despite the strangeness and the danger. As Michiko softly intoned words in a language he didn't think was even Japanese, it seemed like the simplest thing in the world to move between Paula's warm thighs and enter her. For a few seconds, the old qualms about unprotected sex flitted through his mind, but those considerations seemed a thousand miles away now, and the least of their problems.

  Immediately and sweetly, she coiled her arms around him, pressing upwards, moulding her belly to his, matching her sigil to its inverted mate on his skin. For a few moments, they lay joined, still and quiet. Was anything happening? Where was the magic? A
ll seemed normal, or as normal as it was possible to be when you were fucking your lover in an abandoned chapel, before an audience.

  But then, simultaneously, the air seemed to crackle and Paula began to moan and thrash, her face twisting in alternating grimaces of anger and distress. Around his penis, she felt like a furnace, hot and volatile, her flesh rippling as if in orgasm.

  'No! No! No!' she ground out, struggling in his grip, then letting fly with a stream of foul obscenities and incomprehensible growls of rage. Rafe tried to look into her face, to see who he was lying with – his beloved, or her nemesis – but Paula's eyes were rolled up in her sockets, just the whites visible and shining fluorescently.

  Dimly he felt the cool hand of Michiko at the small of his back. She pressed on his spine, grinding some faintly gritty substance into his skin, and yet at the same time drawing upon him, her touch electric and tingling like a magnet.

  Astonishingly, and against his conscious will, he felt his body gather for climax, his loins jerking, ready to ejaculate and fling his semen forth.

  And then he heard it, not the fierce cries of the woman beneath him, not the oaths, not the strange high hum of some kind of electrical field gathering around their joined bodies and the stinging heat that burnt his painted belly.

  No, it was an angry, bitter litany of protest and threat and menace that suddenly seemed to echo right inside his skull. In that instant he understood the horror of what his beloved had been subjected to, and as his body seemed to orgasm at a distance, experiencing a pleasure that was almost pain and nothing holy, he felt her surge and jerk beneath him as that awful presence left her.

  Paula reached her peak, then collapsed away beneath him, limp and spent. And inside his mind the scream of fury rose to a crescendo.

  Lifting himself clear of the stunned woman beneath him, he flung himself back on the table, hugging his own naked chest, holding the invasion within himself, separating himself from Paula's body and setting her free.