By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)

by Crandall, John

  “I...” then he paused, perplexed, “I may be a while. There’s usually a line. I said in the note that it would take me a while and that I could meet you somewhere else if you wanted...”

  “I don’t mind waiting. Go ahead,” Cinder said. Dirk did leave again, but rushed suspiciously back into the room. Cinder was still standing there, smiling expectantly, her hands folded politely before her.

  “Good-bye,” Dirk said, shaking his head in puzzlement. This time he went downstairs.

  Cinder walked to the door and peeked out: he was gone. She went back to the bed and pulled the covers down, then she knelt, smelling it. It smelled of him. She remembered his scent from the first time they had made love and it excited her. She climbed onto the bed, rubbing the cool sheets. She lay there sad and lonely for several minutes, her imagination simply not enough to hold her until Dirk’s return. Minutes passed. Then more, and she could no longer wait, the anticipation driving Cinder mad with desire; she needed to be away from his room, his bed and his scent. Cinder cast open his window shutters and inhaled the less exhilarating smells of human civilization.

  In time, her mind cleared, Cinder returned to his bed to wait. When Dirk entered his room, Cinder leapt up with Elven quickness and she was standing beside his bed as if she had not moved during his absence. It took Dirk a few moments to notice that his bed had been messed. He turned to face Cinder, hands on hips, head cocked, as if saying ‘now what?’ Cinder shrugged, blushing, and ran quickly over to straighten his sheets before sitting on the bed, long legs drawn up beneath her.

  “I have to get dressed now,” Dirk said, laying his dirty clothes on his dresser. “Do you want to wait outside?” Cinder looked at him as if he spoke in tongues. “I’d feel better,” he added sincerely, obviously thinking it was the proper thing to do.

  Cinder whined with disapproval. “I have seen you with your clothes off. You have nothing to be ashamed about, believe me. Please,” she literally begged, “I won’t look,” she added excitedly, as if it were a game, which to her it was.

  “Fine,” Dirk said angrily. “Fine. If that’s what you want. I’m not embarrassed,” he assured her insincerely. Dirk pulled his clean clothes from their respective drawers, turned away and removed his towel. Cinder gasped and Dirk pulled the towel quickly back on, turning his head. Cinder covered her mouth, giggling. He removed his cover again, watching her closely. Cinder’s eyes grew wide, her mouth still covered, this time with both hands. She lay on her side on his bed, legs curled up, watching intently as Dirk unwittingly tantalized his friend, hoping to do just the opposite.

  Never taking his eyes from hers, Dirk slid on his trunks. He paused when Cinder rolled to her stomach, legs kicking, chin in hands; gawking. He could see down her dress, but forced himself to ignore it. Dirk stepped into his pants, still watching her. Cinder, this time, bit her lip and he pulled his pants quickly up, causing Cinder to elicit an audible sigh of appreciation, one meant more to tease than one unintentional. “All right!” he yelled, “stop it! You make me feel like...like a...like a tramp...or a hussy.... Don’t!” Cinder rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, arms folded, pouting, and Dirk hurriedly finished dressing, donning his shirt. He slapped on some cheap cologne then brought his socks and boots over to the bed, where he sat and pulled them on. Cinder looked at him.

  “I like your bed,” she said softly.

  “I like yours, too,” Dirk said abstractly and she smiled. “Do you want to go?” he asked as he finished dressing.

  “Well...” she paused, “there’s no hurry...is there?”

  “I just got dressed,” gasped Dirk impatiently.

  “I know; and bathed.” Cinder knelt up behind Dirk, arms around his neck, hanging on him, though as light as she was, he hardly noticed her weight. “And you smell so good.” She sniffed just to prove her point, her elven senses attentive.

  “Is that all you think about?” Dirk asked, standing up, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “No...well, yes...sometimes,” Cinder whined, releasing him to kneel up straight and face him from his bed. “I can’t help it. I like you,” Cinder blurted.

  “I just hope that you’re not like this with everybody.”

  “No, I’m not,” she pouted. “Not everyone is you. That’s a dumb comment. You’re not just anybody, Dirk. And I’m not...not like that.”

  “So you only like me for my body?”

  “No, that’s not it,” she assured him, giggling, which of course upset Dirk even more. “You are nice, considerate, hard-working,” she pressed, trying to be serious, though his behavior seemed so irrational to her that she could barely keep from laughing hysterically. Cinder had not met any man so modest, so decent in Andrelia. He seemed like the rustic human folk living in the old elven settlement of Falondell that she had visited many times growing up. Knowing that he had been born and raised in Andrelia broadened her appreciation and understanding of humanity. “I do not know you very well yet. Of course your looks caught my attention...did I say strong?” Dirk sighed and Cinder giggled again, exaggerating her desires just to make him laugh, mirth beloved of the Elves, though Cinder’s carnal sense of humanity was a trait more common to the rare half-human/half-elven breed. She just could not describe her feelings for him in the human tongue. Her speech lessons had never been in formal language, and she had honed her mother’s teachings, basically, with the talk of the street as taught by her father. “Give me a chance to know you and I’ll tell you if you have any other good qualities. Just understand that I’ve been studying people for a while, and you seem nice...and honest. I can trust you.” She got up. “Let’s go,” she said. When Dirk still seemed forlorn for reasons Cinder just could not fathom, no matter how she tried, she blurted: “Smile.” Cinder pushed his mouth into a smile. Dirk laughed and, placing an arm around her slim waist, led Cinder out.

  Dirk took Cinder to The Shield, a fine, classy establishment famous for its fowl and in-house bakery. He had reservations for nine bells, or about forty-five minutes after sunset. Dirk also bought new clothes that day from Bessemer’s so that he did not look out of place with a woman as fine as Cinder. They ate dinner and, opposite of Melissa, Cinder ate very little. But she did drink; heavily. She loved wine, especially brandy and by the time dinner was over, she had had four glasses of wine and two of brandy. It cost Dirk more than a month’s pay and he wondered why he conceded, even while looking across at Cinder’s glamour. Was she worth taking out every two months and being broke in between? Probably not, but he didn’t want to think about it right then. He decided that he might as well enjoy it as his money raced from his purse. After dinner they shared one more bottle of wine before heading to a tavern for entertainment. Dirk took her to the Raging Bull where they drank some, gambled only a little, and won even less.

  Cinder had seemed preoccupied, anxious and unhappy, and Dirk thought he knew why. Finally, she spoke up. “Come on. Let’s go,” she pleaded after only an hour, tugging playfully on Dirk’s arm.

  “Where?”

  “I know a place.”

  “Isn’t this nice? It’s expensive,” he complained, wondering how his plans had failed to please her, especially since he had spent so much gold.

  “Yes. It’s real nice, just not very fun. Come on, I know somewhere we’ll have lots of fun.” She dragged him, by the arm, giggling still. He stumbled along behind her, dragging his feet. “Come on,” she urged. “It’ll be great. You’ll see.” Dirk moved up alongside Cinder and she took his arm, contentedly slowing down, happy to be with him, though she held him as if he might fly off into space if she were to loosen her grip.

  They turned a corner and walked down a dark street, or maybe it was a wide alley, Dirk couldn’t tell. Cinder went deliberately slow and moved in long, sweeping steps, kicking her legs out gracefully. Dirk looked down at her. She was returning his gaze, a seductively playful grin on her face: she was being sly about something. Then past her, Dirk caught a glimpse of movement in the shad
ows. He stopped and as he watched his eyes made out two forms writhing in an amorous embrace. Then, with a ‘whoosh’ of cloth, they fell to the street, kissing and pulling at each other’s garments.

  “Lewd,” he scoffed contemptuously. Having delivered on every street in Andrelia, Dirk finally realized where he was. It was a lover’s lane of sorts, where those without a room or time to travel to one could lie in love, with plenty of their neighbors.

  “What?” Cinder asked as if shocked. She looked to where Dirk’s gaze was glued. “Oh them. Dirk, relax. Why are you so reserved? Let’s find our own corner.” She tugged playfully.

  “Never,” he said, looking around, seeing others in the shadows, all in lascivious pursuits. He pulled her along and this time it was Cinder dragging her feet. “If you want...that so badly, we can go to a room,” he said with distaste.

  “Dirk,” she pouted. “It’s just playing. I want to play. Kiss and hold and touch. It doesn’t always have to end in…well…doesn’t have to end in.” He turned and Cinder’s look softened him: her luscious appeal and innocent wantonness. She smiled, realizing she was about to get her way, again, as she always did. Dirk sighed and looked up at the stars as Cinder led him into a dark alcove and pulled him toward her so that she was pinned in the corner. Then she warmly threw her arms about his neck and fervently kissed him.

  They remained for half-an-hour, kissing, touching, and caressing. Dirk finally blocked out the thought of where they were and the presence of their amorous neighbors, losing himself in Cinder’s passion. Quite suddenly, Cinder pushed Dirk away and, laughing, ran down the street.

  “Was that so terrible?” she called out gaily, rushing with a speed seeming unnatural to a woman so feminine.

  Dirk followed as Cinder led him through back streets and alleyways, eventually emerging again on a street lit by the common, weak orange lamps. Dirk realized then that they were heading toward Cinder’s apartment, but that was not their immediate destination. They went just next-door: the sign read The Spittoon. Cinder paused outside to pull her dress down over her shoulders and remove the ribbons from her hair, fluffing her massive tresses up and out wildly, shaking her head from to side to side. She grabbed Dirk’s hand and jerked him in the door.

  The Spittoon was loud and well lit, red-lens lamps alternating with white, bathing the place in a hellish glow. Dirk noted the smell of some strange tobacco and his head soon began to ache. The immediate room before him was full of people yelling and swarming around an assortment of game tables. “Pigs at the trough,” he murmured. Off to his right was a darker room, lit solely with the red lamps. People sat within, drinking more quietly, some smoking from the water pipes on each table, many of them watching something at the other end of the room currently out of Dirk’s view. He guessed it to be, having been in such places on a few occasions, seldom by choice, an exotic dancer.

  When he turned back around, Cinder was slipping off through the crowd, like wind through the leaves, as if she was not even touching anyone, normally an impossibility in such a crowd. Dirk pushed after her, and though he made quite a wake, no one seemed to care. He found her leaning on a table, hair back over one shoulder and throwing dice, for which everyone else around the same table let out screams of excitement and glee. He watched Cinder for a while but she never paused to look at him and he noticed her subtly dip her hand into her hose periodically; he could only guess as to the reason. But he didn’t think the owners would appreciate whatever the excuse she would give if caught.

  Cinder slowly began to accumulate a small pile of coins, but it was gone after tipping generously and taking Dirk for one trip around the room, snacking, gambling and drinking. Then once again she slipped away unnoticed. Dirk thought to look for her in the other room. He walked in and saw that there was indeed a dancer as entertainment. She was draped in a gossamer gown, through which everyone could witness her gyrating form and she moved slowly to music that played only in her head, seeming in some kind of trance. Dirk was tapped on the shoulder by a fairly attractive, scantily clad serving girl, tray in hand. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and she looked right through him in a mindless stare, her hair tousled and her dress askew. She held the tray up higher. Dirk glanced down at it: it held three mugs of beer and several bowls of oddly shaped pills. He took a beer and when he tried to pay, the girl simply winked and walked away. Dirk shrugged and took a sip: fittingly, it was warm and flat.

  Dirk didn’t see Cinder, but before he turned to leave, one of the patrons sitting toward the front stood and began to dance in concert with the entertainment. He reached up under her gown and fondled her, to the somber cheer of many in the room; others sat silently with no change on their lethargic faces. The dancer writhed on, oblivious to her assault and Dirk left, disgusted, to once again search for Cinder in the other room. Dirk found nothing so he stepped outside to catch his breath. He hadn’t noticed how hot it had been inside, but it was noticeably cooler there on the street. He looked next door, to Cinder’s, to see if there were any lights on in her windows, but there were not. When he turned back again to reenter the festhall, Cinder came walking toward him up the street, looking down as she dumped the contents of a pouch into her own purse. She bumped into him, spilling coins on the street. She looked up angry but smiled when she saw Dirk.

  “Oh hi!” she squealed, and then bent over to pick up the coins. Dirk knelt down and helped her.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Picking these up,” Cinder said giggling, obviously very drunk.

  “I mean, where did you get this?”

  “Oh. Him,” she said, motioning over her shoulder. Dirk went quickly to the alley where a man, richly dressed, lay motionless. Dirk stepped forward for a closer look and noticed a pool of liquid next to him. Cinder staggered up behind. The liquid was not what Dirk feared: the man was snoring; certainly not dead, but passed out in his vomit. Cinder had at least not done anything too wicked.

  “You stole money from a passed-out drunk?” Dirk gasped.

  “No,” Cinder insisted. “He was throwing up when I took it,” Cinder said quietly. “He didn’t pass out until after I had taken it.”

  “Cinder!”

  “Oh, he won’t even remember what happened, let alone what happened to his money. He’ll think that he had a wonderful time and spent every silver. Really.” Dirk said nothing. He didn’t like it, but it all seemed to make sense. The rich controlled everything. Dirk had never stolen, had never lied, had never broken the law, and allowing Cinder to lift the man’s money before someone else did would normally have seemed wrong.

  “Whatever makes you happy,” he said halfheartedly.

  “You make me happy.” She leaned forward and gave him a long, open-mouth kiss, then trotted back inside. Dirk blissfully, if not ignorantly, followed along, placing a hand on her soft, round backside, feeling a little wicked with his hand placement but finding that he enjoyed the sensation. Just after they got back in, Dirk noticed a burly guard dragging a pant-less man to the door and with a shove he sent him tumbling into the street: the tumbler was the man Dirk had seen up on stage. Cinder went back to the same dice table.

  A crowd followed and soon, to their cheers, Cinder was winning again: big. She turned the retching noble’s purse into ten times its original amount. Dirk had not ever held so much money in his hands and with their new wealth the duo had quite a night. Dirk did not, however, let Cinder consume any more debilitating liquor. She split her winnings with Dirk, more than reimbursing him for his expenses and leaving him enough to do it two dozen more times. She, on the other hand, now had enough money to buy a couple of articles of clothing she had been eying the last few days, as well as to drink and carouse and party. Cinder always spent her money the day after she won it, if she had not already lost it by then.

  After several hours, Cinder’s gambling, dancing, and drinking urges had been sated, and she turned to more carnal pursuits, if that was possible. She licked and blew in Dirk’s ear,
rubbed her feminine parts against his body, gasped, cast him bedroom eyes and otherwise made a sexual nuisance of herself. And it worked. Dirk, though not to the extent of Cinder, had been thinking about and waiting for their evening-ending encounter and with her room right next door, neither had long to wait.

  Dirk began a little teasing of his own: he made Cinder choose the time and presently she did, whispering in his ear how she was ready and what exactly she was ready for. He took her hand and led her out into the cool moonlit night, then to her room where she unlocked the door and led him into the dark. The smell of perfume and laundered clothing, as well as the very faint trace of a pleasant aroma Dirk never would have guessed to be elven scent, took his mind back to their first encounter and it was as if he had never left, still in the midst of lovemaking with her.

  Cinder could barely keep herself from squealing with glee: she jumped out of her dress just by the door and threw her arms around his neck, kissing Dirk fiercely. He whisked her up like a child in his arms, cradling her, then carried Cinder to the bed, placed her on it then dropped his clothes off onto the floor in the next hurried motion, bursting with the desire to touch every part of her tremendous form. Cinder, had other plans and crawled away, giggling, to the headboard.

  While Cinder had become infatuated with romance as she explored her human side, her elveness was still clear and present. The type of sexuality humans sought in their lives was taboo to elves like Cinder, and the thought of such carnal acts was much like asking a noblewoman to swill ale down on the docks with sailors; very distasteful indeed. But Cinder’s combination of half-human blood and infatuation with exploring that side of her heritage, thrust her over the edge of elven morals and worked, in a way, to make her even more risqué than the average human. She possessed not only the elven attribute to feel emotions extremely deeply, but the lust of humanity and urges for sexual gratification. To Cinder it was natural and there was nothing lewd about her passion; especially with Dirk.