Victoria’s Demon Lover

by Alia Bess

  Chapter Nine

  Her book lay propped open on the nightstand. Victoria had lit a candle and turned off all her lights. A glance at the clock told her that she had only a few minutes before she must begin the incantation. She lit the bundle of herbs, let it kindle a small flame, then blew it out so the wispy smoke would curl upwards around her head. She waved the bundle until the room was infused with its fragrance and the sharp smell of smoke. The clock cued her at midnight and she began reading from her book in the somber monotone she imagined was appropriate for this kind of work.

  As she read her eyes would flick up between sentences, looking for him. She had followed all the instructions to the letter. There was a chalk circle on the floor. There were the appropriate candles burning in the appropriate colors for a summoning. She went on to the next paragraph, intoning the Latin words with little understanding of what she was actually saying.

  She listened for the wind outside her window. Sometimes the wind would whip the branches of her trees against the panes just before he appeared. Tonight it was calm. She felt her eyes burn with tears of frustration. The irony was painful. For months she had lain awake in fear and dread that the monster would appear and force her to pleasure him. Now her chest was tight with the fear and dread that he may never appear again.

  She put her book down and wiped at her eye. “I am very foolish.” She said aloud. She sniffed and closed the book. “He does as he pleases. Isn’t this what I have learned?” She did not say the next thought aloud. The idea that he no longer wanted her caused her to shake her head in amazement. “How can I be disappointed that a demon has left my life?”

  She blew out the candles and sat on the edge of her bed, fingering the sheets.

  Victoria heard a crash of glass and a roar like gasoline on a fire. A branch from the oak punched through her window and its barky fingers snatched her around the waist and lifted her from her bed. She was yanked hard and thrust outside, twenty feet above her patio, held tightly by the tree. Victoria’s eyes went wide. She kicked and dug at the twisted twigs that wrapped her waist. Her air was cut off or she would have screamed. She could hear the sound, now, of the wind in the trees. They were all swaying. The wind blew her hair away from her face and tangled it in the branches. The tree was angry. No. Something else was angry.

  Red smoke swirled from a knothole and coalesced into a face bent and gnarled. Sharp teeth made from pointed branches and slanted eyes pressed themselves close to her and the stink of Hell was in its breath when it growled, “Who dares summon me?”

  This was not her demon. Victoria could not speak because the grip on her middle was too tight to get enough air. She blinked rapidly and opened her mouth, trying to signal that she would very much like to answer, trying to signal that one minute more and she would not be able to answer.

  The demon’s grip loosened. She slid a little. The branches snaked along her arms and ankles instead of her chest and stomach. She took a few tentative breaths, painful breaths. Her ribs hurt. She looked at the smoky demon and answered, “I am Victoria. I am summoning another demon. Not you. There has been a mistake.” This was true. She had expected a demon to appear. But not this one.

  The demon turned her in the air and its eyes seemed to examine her. She was turned upside down and around. A smoky tongue wriggled from its mouth and tasted her. Another twig prodded her. Her hair was pulled and her clothes ripped. When the examination was over she was turned right-side up and positioned before the hard slanted eyes. They glowed red. Not yellow.

  “You have to get the name right,” it grumbled.

  She nodded.

  “You say the wrong name, or say the right name the wrong way…” it paused and the bark bit into her arms and legs. “And you will get something you did not expect.”

  “I see that now,” she whispered.

  It looked at her for a long moment. “You feel familiar,” it said. The branches that bound her squeezed a little tighter. She felt the leaves and twigs stroke her legs and arms. “I have felt you before. But you did not look like this. This form is different.” The red eyes closed as the twigs slid over every part of her body. The movement stopped and the eyes opened again. “You are looking for someone. Yes. He is looking for you.” The tree demon’s smoky mouth widened in a grin. “He desires to pollinate you.”

  Victoria felt the first glimmer of hope. She had only desired that this demon return her to her bed. She planned to get better at summoning. This encounter at least had shown her that such a thing could work. She was already making plans to try again. She always got better with practice.

  “Can you call him for me?” she asked hopefully.

  The smoky tree face frowned. “I could.”

  “Would you?” she rephrased the question, understanding how literal one must be when communicating with demons.

  “There is a price.”

  Victoria paused. She could try again for free tomorrow night. She might have to try many times. She narrowed her eyes in thought. This demon might bring her demon, but he might not. He might bring the wrong demon as well. Something bigger, or something even more evil-tempered. The tree demon had said that she must know the name. She sighed, hanging in a barky clutch outside her second-story window in the wee hours of the morning. She didn’t know his name.

  “What is the price?”

  “I wish to pollinate you.”

  This demand did not surprise her. She did not have to consider the offer. “No. Only he shall pollinate me.”

  The branches tightened. “I do not have to ask,” it threatened. She felt one of the branches slide up her inner thigh and stop at her cleft.

  Victoria was not afraid. “He will know,” she warned the tree.

  The branch immediately withdrew. She had played that card right.

  “If he knows I have you, why does he not come?” This was not a stupid demon.

  Victoria did not have a ready answer, though now the idea formed in her head that if she were in danger, perhaps he would appear. She may not know his name, but her book contained the names of many demons. She might summon them one by one until her demon felt compelled to put a stop to it. Does he care? Would he save her?

  The tree demon pushed her back through her window and set her on her bed. The gnarled branch withdrew and her window rematerialized, every glass shard flew back into the panes. She sat there in the dark for a moment before realizing it was all over. She turned on the bedside lamp. The room filled with the scent of new mown hay that gradually dissipated.

  Her book was open to the bookseller’s business card. The one that had no number or address. She picked it up. “Albert Magnus,” she said aloud.

  Her phone buzzed on the table by the lamp. She picked it up. The screen read, Albert Magnus. She pushed the button and put it to her ear. “Hello?” She whispered.

  “You called?” She recognized the old man’s voice.

  “Ah!” Victoria blinked rapidly. “Yes.”

  “What is it? Did you finish the book? Do you need another one?”

  “Ah.”

  “I see,” Mr. Magnus said. “There is a trick to that. It cannot be taught, but only learned through practice. You are not ready for the next book. Keep trying.”

  “Uhm,” she mumbled.

  “That’s right. Next time roll the r’s. Do not slur, but it helps to pronounce the words as though you are singing. Make your voice work with the sound. It is all in the vowels. Extend the vowels longer.” The line went dead, like a dropped call. Victoria set the phone down gently on the table. She stared at it for a moment then picked it up and touched calls received. The number wasn’t there. Nothing was there since her sister called yesterday. She set it down again and stared into the room.

  Obviously he thinks I should continue. I didn’t get to ask all my questions.

  She picked up the book. Part of her wanted to try again immediately. Part of her still hurt from being squeezed by a tree. Most of all, she did not want another day to go by
without him.

  Why didn’t he try to save her from the tree? The tree had been concerned that he might. The tree was afraid of her demon. It put her back as soon as the possibility presented itself. The tree did not want him to appear. She tapped her lower lip. The book was warm in her other hand.

  She flipped the pages to the list of demonic names. He had never told her his name. He would not. According to the book, a demon’s name held its power. Naming one gave you the power to summon it, and if you could hold it, you could demand a favor. If you could not hold it, then it might take you to Hell. This was the reason most folks did not care to play with demons. They did not play fair, and you never knew who might show up if you mispronounced an ‘e’.

  She stood and held her book against the moonlight coming through her window. The pages nearly glowed, and she could read the words easily.

  She was careful to draw out the vowels and to sing them loudly. She was careful to roll the r’s. She was careful to keep one eye on her chalk circle.

  “Not careful enough.”

  The voice was heard before she could see the demon. It did not materialize in her circle, but on her bed. She snapped the book shut. The voice was wrong.

  This demon was in the form of a woman. Victoria looked again. A harpy. Not a woman. This demon had leathery black wings that protruded from each shoulder blade, and when the demon smiled, her lips were black and her teeth pointed. She crouched on the end of her bed, perched like a cat on a limb, her long black hair hung down over each naked breast.

  Victoria sniffed delicately. The harpy smelled like rotten eggs being burned on the stove. She tried to smile back. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I am a beginner at this.”

  “Obviously”

  “I am looking for someone. He is hard to find.”

  “I know.”

  Victoria brightened. “You do?”

  The harpy nodded as she looked around Victoria’s bedroom. The leather wings slowly unfurled, and though the harpy did not fly, she used the wings to move herself from the bed to the floor with one flap. Victoria stood.

  The harpy opened one of her drawers and pulled out a nightgown. She shook it with her taloned fingers and examined it with interest. She put it down and fingered the perfume bottles on the dresser, then moved to the closet with little click sounds of claws on wood and began to rummage through Victoria’s shoes.

  Victoria cleared her throat. “Uhm. Well. I am looking for him. I don’t exactly know how to find him.”

  The harpy did not turn around. A silver pump flew over her shoulder and landed on the rug, followed by another. “You have to know his name,” came the muffled reply.

  “I know,” Victoria sighed. “It once was ‘John’ and ‘Jack’ and ‘Marcus’ and …I don’t know. He was a Viking. Maybe ‘Thor’ or something.”

  The harpy cried, “Ah!” and stood up straight. Her wings unfurled again in pleasure and she held up Victoria’s old pair of red trainers. “This is the price!”

  Victoria couldn’t help but glance at the demon’s feet. The harpy’s legs ended in birdlike claws. Hardly the kind of feet to fit into athletic shoes.

  “Well?” The harpy looked at her with eagle eyes.

  “Of course,” Victoria agreed. “They are yours.”

  The harpy did a little birdlike happy-dance on her talon feet and hugged the dirty gym shoes to her breasts. Then she bent down and put them on. The talons became human feet and she slid them into the shoes without socks. The harpy tied the limp laces and stood straight, admiring them. She lifted them one and then the other. Victoria could not help but think that now the harpy would not be able to land on any trees.

  When the harpy was finished, she looked straight at Victoria and said, “If you do not know his name, you cannot summon him. You have to go look for him.”

  Victoria opened her mouth and closed it again. “Go?” She asked.

  The harpy pointed a sharp finger at the chalk circle. “You want him?”

  Victoria did not hesitate. She had already weighed the possibilities. She thought the blacksmith and the Roman, not the fiery ram horns. She thought of the sad Viking with scar on his neck. She thought of how he looked at her when she was a slave girl and how tenderly he touched the small of her back when they watched Jack and Maggie on their wedding night. She remembered every shuddering orgasm. She remembered the way his voice sounded when he called her ‘Maggs’. She remembered how he had said, “help me”. She stepped into the circle.

  The harpy had her by the upper arm and jerked her painfully away from the yawning canyon that opened at her feet. “That one often gets the newbies,” she said. “It’s good to have a harpy or other winged demon to help at first.” She nodded meaningfully at the chasm.

  Victoria took a deep breath and looked around. Hell appeared exactly as she imagined, like parts of Arizona. There was not a green thing to be seen. From horizon to horizon there was nothing but red and black rocks, mountains and canyons. The sky was red and black as well. It was hot. She grimaced. The harpy nodded.

  “You are doing this,” she said. “Hell always looks like what you imagine. I am surprised yours is unpopulated. Usually that means the person doesn’t believe in an eternity of punishment. When I bring Christians down here they imagine one crowded with people, like a Hieronymus Bosch painting.”

  Victoria looked sat the harpy demon. “You mean I can cool it off in here? With a thought?”

  “I wish you would.”

  Victoria concentrated on ice and snow and it appeared. The harpy shivered. “Maybe not that cold.”

  She closed her eyes and imagined a spring day. Not too hot, not too cold, with a light breeze. She opened her eyes and the red and black were not so harsh. She even saw a tree in the distance now, and the ground was soil instead of rock.

  The harpy nodded. “Good. Much better.”

  “How do I find…Jack?”

  The harpy raised its eyebrows. “I negotiated a trip, not to be a guide. What? Do I look like Virgil? You will have to find Jack yourself.” The harpy’s wings spread and with two heavy flaps she flew off across the canyon, the red trainers visible dangling beneath her as she disappeared.

  Victoria spread her hands in disbelief. “Fuck.”

  “OK.”

  She startled. Down by her knees was a tiny demon, more like a monkey than anything else. It had big round eyes and long spidery fingers. Its skin was black and shiny and it had hair where monkeys have it and nowhere else. Between its legs was an erect penis, way too big for its body. It smiled at her. “You offered,” it said.

  “A figure of speech,” Victoria countered. “It was not a suggestion.”

  The penis wilted. “I saw the harpy. She has new shoes.”

  “Yes. She does.” Victoria began to walk toward the tree in the distance. The demon trotted beside her.

  “I can show you around. Did you bring more shoes with you?” it asked hopefully.

  “No.” The tree was as good a place to start as any. She wondered if it was any relation to the one that grabbed her through the window.

  “Oh.” The demon was silent for a moment then added, “I work for other things.”

  “I am not going to fuck you.”

  “Oh.” He trotted silently beside her until they reached the lone tree.

  Victoria looked up into its branches. There were no leaves. It appeared to be an oak based on the bark and the way the branches spread. She saw no face on the trunk, or any sign that it might be alive…alive in a demon sort of way, not a tree sort of way. The little demon beside her looked up at it as well. The stood there in silence for a long time then the little demon spoke.

  “My name is Jasper.”

  Victoria looked down with surprise. “You are just going to tell me your name?”

  He nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I saw the silver pumps in your closet.”

  Victoria turned from the tree and looked closer at Jasper. “And?”

&nbs
p; “Give them to me and I will help you.”

  “I don’t have them with me.”

  “Give them to me when you return.”

  “Done.” She held out her hand to seal the deal, but Jasper frowned. She said, “You shake it to agree.”

  “Oh.” Jasper looked at his own tiny hand with the spidery fingers. “We usually use blood.”

  “Oh.” Victoria looked at her hand. “How?”

  Jasper took her hand and bit her pinkie finger with his needle teeth. It hurt. He bit his own finger and smeared the two fingers together. Victoria felt his demon blood mix with hers and it burned like lemon juice in a paper cut. She winced.

  “There,” he said. “I get the silver shoes.”

  “I find Jack, or Marcus, or Thor. Whatever his name is.”

  “Right.”

  “Now,” Victoria looked around Hell. “Do we walk?”

  “Never.” Jasper squeezed her hand. “Tell me what Jack looks like.”

  “He is tall. His hair is dark brown…he is strong with broad shoulders and arms like…” Victoria stopped. Her demon changed form constantly. “He is also a Roman soldier. Shorter and sturdy. His thighs are thick and corded from marching and climbing and running. His arms are strong from fighting and rowing and digging. He is dark, tanned from the sun, has dark hair and dark stubble that never seems to be shaved smooth.” She sighed, “And sometimes he has lighter skin and blond hair and icy blue eyes looks like he lives in Valhalla. That one is sad, and each of them has a large scar here…” she touched her neck.

  Jasper jumped. “A scar there?” He pointed to his own neck.

  She looked down, hopeful. “You know him?”

  “There are many with scars from their human lives. Most erase them or change form to hide them, but I know one who openly wears a thick scar on his neck.”

  “Show me.”

  Jasper squeezed her hand and the landscape around them disappeared. They reemerged in a more earthlike setting, wind and sky and trees…and a battle.