by Bryan Smith
Then the creak of a door opening roused her from the dream state, and her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head and saw Ms. Wickman and a coterie of followers enter the room. Ms. Wickman, as always, was elegantly attired, wearing a simple black dress with a hemline just above her knees. She wore black stockings and black heels. A single strand of glittering white pearls encircled her throat. The last time Giselle had seen Ms. Wickman she’d worn her long brown hair down, but now her hair was gathered in a bun at the back of her head, the way she’d always worn it during her time as the Master’s top servant and de facto second-in-command.
Two of Ms. Wickman’s entourage were muscular men clad in black, militaristic uniforms, complete with gleaming black jackboots and crisp black caps. These men flanked her. Both were armed, one with a machine gun, the other bearing a sidearm in a holster. Giselle felt a faint flicker of amusement. In so many ways Ms. Wickman had exactly resurrected aspects of the Master’s former regime. Behind the guards was an assortment of Apprentices and servants, among them the bare-chested slave Giselle had sent to fetch Ms. Wickman.
Giselle stifled a giggle as Ms. Wickman paused next to the pedestal and stared at the shattered bust. There was a subtle atmospheric change in the room, a gathering of energy sensed by all present. No one said a word, but some of the Apprentices were smirking, sensing what was coming. Even Giselle felt a surge of excitement as she felt Ms. Wickman’s always considerable anger build and build.
Ms. Wickman at last lifted her gaze from the shattered bust and looked in Giselle’s direction. She smiled. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, dear, but I need to address a housekeeping issue first.”
She turned and brushed past the armed guards, her head down like a bull’s as she strode purposefully toward the cowering, bare-chested slave. He shook his head, whimpered, and held his hands out in a beseeching way. He backed away, but Ms. Wickman moved fast. In a moment she had the man’s head locked in her strong hands. Then there was a sickening snap and the slave fell dead to the floor.
One of the Apprentices, a young girl with pale skin and golden blonde hair, applauded. “Bravo.”
Ms. Wickman smoothed her dress and smiled at the girl. “Thank you, Gwendolyn. Could you get rid of this…mess for me?”
Gwendolyn smiled. “Of course.” She unfurled a whip and snapped it at two nearby slaves, barking strident instructions at them as the whip peeled away strips of their flesh. The slaves worked together to hurriedly haul the dead slave from Ms. Wickman’s quarters. Gwendolyn and two other Apprentices followed them out.
Ms. Wickman made eye contact with Giselle now, holding it as she circled the bed and came to a stop on the side nearest the French doors. Giselle shifted position slightly, rolling to her left a bit to better observe her adversary.
“I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished, Giselle.” Ms. Wickman’s tone was even and devoid of any hint of emotion. Amazing. The woman’s self-control was remarkable. “Clearly you possess magical capabilities far beyond what I suspected. In retrospect, I should’ve had you killed immediately.”
The guard with the sidearm moved toward the bed.
“Should I execute this woman, Mistress?”
Then Ms. Wickman smiled again and said, “No, Captain. This…girl…presents no threat. Stand back, please.”
The guard nodded and retreated to his former position.
Ms. Wickman said, “You puzzle me, Giselle.”
Giselle arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Oh, yes. I suppose I should have you killed now, as the Captain suggests, but my curiosity has been aroused.” She licked her lips and allowed her gaze to slowly travel the length of Giselle’s naked body before again settling on her face. “I would like to know some things. For instance, with your level of ability, you could easily have escaped this place already. Instead you summoned me. Why?”
Giselle smiled. “Because I do not wish to escape.”
Now it was Ms. Wickman’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s surprising, given the nasty things that have been done to you here.”
Giselle raised one of her restored hands, bending it at the wrist for better display. “Nothing that was permanent, as you can see.” She lowered her hand and smiled again. “You’ll want to know about that, of course. A god assisted me. Do you have any direct experience with the death gods, Ms. Wickman?”
Ms. Wickman’s gaze hardened. “I do not.” Her terse manner indicated this was an admission she was furious to have to make in front of her followers. “But I know a death god would not assist you without a suitable offering…”
“A sacrifice, you mean.” Giselle moved a hand over the empty patch of bedsheet next to her, enjoying the feel of the smooth silk beneath her restored flesh. “Yes, a death god granted me temporal transport to a location far from here. There I made the required sacrifice by killing one of the men instrumental in the Master’s demise.”
Ms. Wickman grunted. “How very fitting.”
“The Master should never have died,” Giselle said, the sincerity in her voice surprising even her. “I’ve changed. And I’ve seen the error of my ways. I want to serve here with you, Mistress, to honor and exalt you. I want to kill for you. Torture for you. Anything you desire…”
Ms. Wickman continued to regard her coolly for several long moments, her expression giving away nothing as she mulled over Giselle’s words. Then she said, “Is there anything else you want, Giselle?”
Giselle patted the smoothed-down silk sheet and said, “I would like for you to lie here with me for a while.”
Something subtle sparked in Ms. Wickman’s dark eyes. Giselle felt a deep satisfaction at having prompted it. Without moving her eyes from Giselle’s face, Ms. Wickman barked out a single command:“Leave us!”
The others in the room reacted as if slapped. They scurried almost as one out of the room, even the guards, responding to the undeniable imperative in their Mistress’s tone. The big door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the large room for a moment.
They were alone. At last.
Ms. Wickman held Giselle’s gaze a short moment longer. Then she turned her back on Giselle, dipped her head, and said, “Unzip me.”
Giselle got to her knees and moved to the edge of the bed. She took the tiny zipper tab at the collar of Ms. Wickman’s dress and began to slowly draw it down, unveiling a wedge of flesh nearly as pale as Giselle’s own. Then a surprise, a hint of color as she pulled the zipper further down. Then further still, Giselle’s breath catching in her throat as she slid the zipper all the way down to Ms. Wickman’s waist.
“Oh, my…that’s…beautiful.”
She gripped the flaps of the dress and pulled them farther apart to better admire the illustration. Ms. Wickman had a large and intricate tattoo of a dragon etched into the flesh of her back. Its scales, nostrils, teeth, talons, and glaring eyes were all stunningly rendered. Giselle touched a forefinger to the back of Ms. Wickman’s neck. Her flesh was cool and marblelike, but warmed nicely to her touch. She drew the tip of her finger down the length of her spine, moving through the dragon’s mouth before stopping at the small of her back. Then she splayed her fingers and moved her hand slowly over the bared flesh. Ms. Wickman made a soft sound and reached behind her to undo the bun at the back of her head. She shook her hair loose and turned around.
Giselle’s excitement level rose yet again. They were no more than a foot apart. Ms. Wickman placed a hand between her breasts and shoved her backward. Giselle fell into the plush mattress and watched as Ms. Wickman pulled the dress off and tossed it to the floor. Then she stepped out of her heels and climbed onto the bed, moving toward Giselle on her hands and knees, stalking her like an alley cat about to pounce on its prey. Giselle squirmed backward, toward the headboard, then stopped as her head met the pillows. Ms. Wickman reached Giselle and climbed atop her, one leg to either side of her waist, hands braced on the pillows above Giselle’s shoulders. She lowered herself slightly and her erect nipples brushed Gis
elle’s soft breasts. Giselle placed her hands on Ms. Wickman’s waist and urged her even closer. Their faces were only inches apart now. An electric sensuality tingled within her as she looked into Ms. Wickman’s wide, hungry eyes.
Ms. Wickman let out a heavy breath that was almost a moan. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by this. You have always been such a resourceful little whore.”
Giselle caressed Ms. Wickman’s back before allowing her hands to settle on the woman’s upraised ass. “And you have always been a consummately evil cunt. We were made for each other.”
Ms. Wickman’s eyes flared again, and this time the carnal need was unmistakable. She abruptly lowered her mouth and kissed Giselle with a hunger Giselle met with equal enthusiasm. They squirmed against each other, hands grasping and probing, wet tongues thrusting between cries of pleasure. After several minutes of this, Ms. Wickman moved lower, her mouth drawing in each of Giselle’s engorged nipples in turn. Giselle moaned and squirmed, running her hands through Ms. Wickman’s long, unfettered hair. Then Ms. Wickman moved lower still, Giselle spreading her legs as the other woman’s tongue found her clit and began flicking at it energetically. Giselle thrashed on the bed as waves of intense pleasure crashed through her. She grabbed the iron bars of the headboard behind her, arched her back, and let out a piercing scream. And after Giselle had been made to scream and pant several more times, Ms. Wickman eased away from her throbbing pussy and laid down next to her.
Giselle let out a feral grunt and rolled on top of the woman. “Your turn.”
Ms. Wickman made a growling sound and scooted toward the headboard, better positioning herself for Giselle’s attentions. Giselle kissed Ms. Wickman lightly on the mouth before sliding down and taking a nipple into her mouth. And now it was Ms. Wickman’s turn to moan, writhe, and pant. After a little of this, Giselle moved south, her tongue tracing a wet trail down Ms. Wickman’s flat belly. She laid a hand flat on Ms. Wickman’s stomach.
“I made you want me, you know.”
Ms. Wickman moaned again and said, “Mmm?” Her eyes were closed and her mouth open, her lips curled back to bare her teeth. She writhed slowly and clutched at the bedsheet with both hands. She arched her back and lifted her pelvis, her thighs and stomach muscles quivering with the force of her need. For Giselle, that need was a lovely thing to behold. It was gratifying to see the cold and merciless Ms. Wickman reduced to this helpless animal level. She was a prisoner of overpowering desire—just as Giselle had planned.
Giselle moved her hand in a slow, circular motion over Ms. Wickman’s stomach, drifting to a stop at a spot just below her prisoner’s sternum. She brought her fingers together, forming a wedge of flesh that pushed against Ms. Wickman’s soft abdomen. “You’ve forgotten some things about me, cunt, beginning with how adept I was at sex magic when I served under the Master. Haven’t you wondered why you were so quick to dismiss all your lackeys and leap into bed with me?”
Ms. Wickman’s eyes fluttered open and her gaze floated lazily toward Giselle’s intent face. She wasn’t quite alarmed yet—the erotic charge sizzling through her body was still too powerful—but Giselle’s words stirred a part of her mind that had been sleeping. “What is this?” She grunted and lifted her pelvis again. “Please…”
Giselle sneered. “Pathetic. You want me to penetrate you? Okay.”
She leaned forward and thrust her hand forward with all her considerable strength, the wedge of fingers splitting Ms. Wickman’s flesh as easily as if she’d shoved them into jelly. Ms. Wickman’s eyes opened wide and her mouth stretched to issue a scream, but Giselle slapped a hand over the opening and muffled the sound. Her other hand delved further into Ms. Wickman’s body, pushing aside organs and digging through layers of muscle to reach for her heart. Ms. Wickman thrashed in agony. She scratched and flailed at Giselle’s face. But Giselle held on with ease. She was stronger than Ms. Wickman now. She pressed her face against Ms. Wickman’s, staring into her bugged-out eyes as her questing fingers found the throbbing mass of muscle. She held that gaze a moment longer, savoring the mass murderer’s agony and terror. Then her hand closed around the heart, gave it a savage twist, and yanked it from her body, her dripping red hand emerging from the hole beneath the woman’s sternum with a moist plop.
Ms. Wickman went still at once. She was dead.
Ding-dong, Giselle thought, and giggled.
And without her heart, this particular wicked witch would never rise again. Again, Giselle felt satisfaction, but there was no righteousness attached to the feeling. She had not done this thing to avenge the thousands of deaths Ms. Wickman had been responsible for over the decades. Her role now was that of usurper. The dead woman’s kingdom would belong to her now.
She brought Ms. Wickman’s dripping heart to her mouth and tore a chunk out of it. She chewed it slowly, enjoying the tough, raw taste of meat and muscle. A groan of satisfaction escaped her lips as the morsel slid down her gullet. Then she tore another chunk out and devoured it more quickly. Followed by another chunk, and then another, until it was gone, until she’d symbolically eaten the woman’s essence and her magic. This Giselle did to preserve the work Ms. Wickman had done with this place. Otherwise this magically constructed edifice and the fiery realm beyond would turn hazy and wink out of existence. Giselle licked her lips and sighed with the satisfaction one derives from a fine meal.
Now that the deed was done, she allowed herself to marvel over how easily it had been accomplished. If anything, Azaroth had understated how amplified her abilities would become with the sacrifice of Eddie King. The power coursing through her was such that she felt like something so much more than a mere sorceress. In the past, even the simplest magic had required some rudimentary form of spellcasting. Now, however, she was able to wield magic merely by focusing her will, thinking about what she wanted to happen, and directing the core of magical energy within her to make it happen. That Ms. Wickman had succumbed to sex magic spoke volumes about the staggering intensity of that energy. Giselle had long been able to manipulate normal people by amplifying the automatic sexual response to certain scents given off by her body, but other practitioners such as the Master and Ms. Wickman had been immune to this brand of magic. No longer. She felt capable of absolutely anything—and of everything all at once.
What she felt like, actually, was a goddess.
She decided to experiment. She flexed her will and heard the large doors at the far end of the quarters creak open. She thought of the people who had accompanied Ms. Wickman into the room earlier and focused on one of them. A few moments later, one of the black-clad guards came staggering into the room, his legs propelling him forward jerkily as if he were a puppet on a string. He pawed at his holstered sidearm, but his hand twisted painfully away from the weapon with a sound of grinding bones. His eyes popped and jittered with the helpless terror of one not in control of his own body. Then he saw the limp form of his dead Mistress and let out a squeal of fear.
The man Ms. Wickman had referred to as “Captain” came to a swaying halt at the foot of the bed as Giselle relinquished much of her physical control over him (though she kept his hand twisted away from the pistol).
Giselle licked blood from her fingers and smiled at the terrifed man. “Tell me your name.”
In a trembling voice the man said, “I-I am…C-Captain Girard of the B-Black Brigade. The military wing of the M-Mistress’s …organization.”
“I see.” Giselle tongued the last of Ms. Wickman’s blood from her fingers, then wiped them clean on the bedsheet. She climbed off the bed and approached the trembling captain. “As you can see, you no longer serve Ms. Wickman. I am Mistress of this place now, and you will answer only to me from now on. Is this clear?”
Captain Girard appeared to be too stunned by the inexplicable coup d’etat to immediately supply the only acceptable answer. He kept glancing at Ms. Wickman’s body, perhaps expecting her to rise from the dead and reassert her authority. Which, given the condition of her body, was
just stupid. Impatient, Giselle snatched the 9mm pistol from his holster and shot him in the face. By the time his corpse struck the floor more black-clad armed men had stormed into the room. Giselle usurped control of their minds in a millisecond. They stood there, terror shining in their eyes, mouths hanging open in shock, their fingers frozen over the trigger guards of their useless weapons.
Giselle stepped over the fallen Captain and advanced to within six feet of the nearest trembling man. “Ms. Wickman is dead. I rule this place now. Captain Girard is dead because he could not accept that. He was a stupid man.” She eyed each of the men in turn before saying, “Are the rest of you as stupid?”
A chorus of muttered denials brought a very slight smile to her face.
“Good. Then know this. I do not wish to kill any more of you. Nor do I wish to upset the essential order of things around here.” She clasped her hands be hind her back and strode slowly back and forth in front of them like a marine drill sergeant addressing a rank of fresh boot camp inductees. “This is a change of command, nothing more. Your Black Brigade will remain intact. If anything, you will have more power than before.”
Giselle allowed a moment for that to sink in. A new, hungry gleam stole into the eyes of several of the men. Giselle supposed the message was getting through. These men had been something of an elite force before, but now they would be backed by power far greater than that wielded by their deceased Mistress.
Giselle said, “I need to speak with your top officer privately. The rest of you go about your business at once.”
All but one of the men hurried out of the room. The big door slammed shut yet again. The Black Brigade officer who remained with her was a tall, thin man with cold blue eyes and close-cropped steel-gray hair. He glanced briefly at the bodies of Ms. Wickman and Captain Girard. Giselle watched him closely, but his eyes registered nothing at all. He was over any shock he’d felt at this turn of events.
