Sword of the Butterfly

by Scott Carruba

  “And then what?”

  “Well, then God passed sentence and evicted them from Heaven and earth, throwing them into Hell,” he tells, putting forth a small shrug at the end.

  “Do you believe that?” she asks, boldly, no accusation or judgment in her tone, merely a sincere bid to know if that is, indeed, what he thinks.

  “No,” he says, then he emits a slow exhale through his nose, “I don’t know, really. There is obviously more out there than our world and that of which we are aware, and we Hunters are able to do things that seem supernatural, magickal, but from where does it all arise? I don’t know. What are those things we fight? Are they fallen angels, demons from Hell, aliens, some other sort of supernatural or transdimensional being? I don’t know.”

  She nods to this, the motion so slight as to almost elude notice.

  “What we do know is that these creatures, the Demons and Devils, operate differently than we do, and they are rather more resistant to harmful efforts than the average human. We are not sure if the ‘killing’ of a Demon really is its mortal end, or if we’re just somehow forcing some part of it to return to its home dimension. When they come here, are they bringing physical matter from their plane, or are they somehow using the material of this world to give themselves form?”

  “That’s all very confusing,” she comments.

  “It is, but in keeping with the biological concept I mentioned earlier, their strength of mortality may keep them from being prolific breeders, like humans.”

  “We have numbers on our side,” she concludes.

  “We do, but it all goes back to reproduction. If you just look at the basis of the tale of the Grigori, ignoring the religion and morality, it could have just been an effort to find a way to create offspring.”

  “I don’t suppose they expected to produce their worst enemies,” she says, flatly.

  He smirks, emitting a single, exhaled chuckle through his nose.

  “No, I don’t suppose they did.”

  She stands then, stretching. He watches the movement of her form, a smile growing on his lips. These motions come easily to her, such is her flexibility. She finally notices his observation, and she returns his expression.

  “It’s getting warmer,” she observes.

  “It is.”

  She fixes a look on him, her grin taking on a subtle shift in tone. She then pulls her t-shirt over her head, bypassing the high ponytail with ease, dropping the garment to the blanket. He drinks in the sight of her, the sport bra clinging tightly over her enticing bosom. She is not often this forward, but he likes it very much when she is.

  Using that flexibility, she bends over, undoing the laces of her combat boots, then slipping them off deftly. She shimmies out of the somewhat dark cargo pants, finally standing before him in just the bra and tanga. She goes to him then, and thoughts of their conversation are gone for a sudden, spiking need.

  *****

  Her fingers move rapidly over the sleek laptop’s keyboard. She holds her hands atop it, poised, no movement for a moment save her eyes as they scan the various, small windows on the screen, picking at the information as though searching an orchard for ripe fruit. Her fingers go to work again, a deft economy of motion. She finds something of interest, using the small pad to move the pointer, clicking it open and then larger, eyes moving more intently now.

  Absently, her right hand reaches for the nearby mug, and she drinks of its cooling coffee. It is still strong, bitter, and that is all she cares about. As usual, she plays with the left hoop of her snakebites, the tip of her tongue like a dowser of her thoughts, pressing at the jewelry as one might try to caress fortune from a crystal ball.

  She scans over information regarding the recently murdered journalist, Michi. Like her, he had been an investigator, a private detective of sorts. Like her, he had found himself in a life-threatening situation, but his luck had gone sour. Twice the vigilante had saved her from what would have presumably been her own murder at the hands of the city’s criminals. She wonders why this man was not rescued, but then, the vigilante is only one person, incapable of stopping all crimes in this large, eclectic metropolis.

  She is part of the complex network that feeds information to other contacts, which eventually finds its way to the crime fighter. She suspects her contact is the vigilante, and she also has her very strong suspicions as to whom that is. She knows the vigilante is a woman, she is sure of it, and that is limiting enough. She thinks the crusader is her self-defense instructor, Lilja Perhonen, and if one were to think she is merely grasping at the straws in front of her face, she only became part of this network after she first met the woman.

  There is a child prostitution ring in the city, and that sickens her. She is trying to find information on it at the behest of her contact, hoping to feed good intel to the vigilante, so that much more able person can proceed to do the job in trying to thwart it. She had also been obliquely working with the now dead blogger, and she shakes her head, quietly cursing Michi for not staying out of it and letting others handle the more dangerous tasks.

  And yet, she ended up caught two times last year.

  She sighs heavily, still holding the mug in her propped right hand, her elbow tucked into her lap as she sits here in her ‘office’, the tiny kitchen area of her small apartment. She is taking the self-defense classes much more seriously now, and she feels much better accomplished now that she has been at it with some regularity for several months. Still, she will do her best to henceforth stay out of the risky situations.

  She noisily scoots the chair back, deciding to make more coffee, glancing at the clock as she does, and just then, there is a knock at her door. She narrows her eyes, suspicion instantly in her aspect, looking again at the clock. Of course, no time has passed, but now she wonders at who might be calling on her at this hour. She pads over on her bare feet, black-painted toe nails like a shiny beacon in their reflection.

  “Who is it?” she demands, forcing the words out in a bit of a gruff, deeper tone, the same she has been taught in those self-defense courses.

  “Akua, Therese. Open the door.”

  She blinks, rapidly, then unlocks the various mechanisms to find her girlfriend standing there.

  “Hey, pale and creepy.” The dark-skinned girl smiles. “Long time, no see.”

  She leans in, going for a kiss, but Therese instinctively pulls back. Akua smirks, noting the movement, which happens to create an opening, so she takes it, walking in.

  “When’s the last time you went outside?” she asks as Therese closes and locks the door, “Seen the sun much at all lately?”

  The hacker folds her arms over her modest chest, her eyes narrowing as she leans back against the door, looking at the other slim woman.

  “What brings you by, ‘Kua?”

  “You do.” She lets the smirk hint toward seductive, but she still keeps her distance.

  The two are girlfriends, lovers, but it is very much an unconventional arrangement. Days, weeks more often, may go by where they hardly speak, if at all. Not because they may be upset with one another, but merely because that is how they are. They each have their own lives, and they occasionally intersect, almost always by will. Akua might like more regularity, more commitment, but she knows how Therese is.

  “You could’ve texted or emailed me.”

  “I could’ve.” Akua keeps up that playful grinning.

  “Why did you bring a bag?” Therese asks, noticing the item Akua totes over one shoulder in addition to her normal purse.

  “You, Therese, dear, need to get out. You’ve been stuck in this cave too long, so I have come to rescue you. Let’s go clubbing.”

  Therese snarls a bit, lip curling. “I don’t want to.”

  “Shut it, brat,” Akua is quick to say, then she sets the bag down, retrieving a dark red dress, simple, short, tight, one she knows Therese likes, then, as she begins to also set out a small, clear plastic bag of makeup, “Well? Go get in the shower, stinky.”<
br />
  “Where are we going?” Therese asks once she is done with her wash, hair still wet, in a disarray that will likely not change much before heading out.

  She cranes her head upwards, letting Akua apply the heavy eyeliner, some dark eye shadow. Therese is not much for makeup, usually leaving it off or going for something messy of the goth or punk variety. Akua likes to give her a more polished look, and she allows it sometimes, so long as it remains dark.

  “Where do you think?” she retorts, dabbing on a few finishing touches.

  The other girl scoots away then, finding a pair of impossibly tight black jeans to struggle into, adding to this a matching black t-shirt, heavy black boots, and finally reaching for her leather jacket.

  “It’s not cold out, Therese, and could you maybe add more black? Why do you hate that color so much?”

  Akua gives yet another smirk, adding a little jaunting shift of her hip, her own lithe body looking quite the contrast with her mocha skin and the feminine red dress accentuating her curves. Therese gives her a dry expression, but she leaves the weighty jacket on its hanger, instead opting for a black hoodie, which she makes a point of zipping up nearly all the way, eyeballing Akua the whole time.

  “Where are we going?” she persists.

  “Collections. Where else?”

  Collections is a mainstay of the subculture, making it something of an irony in its own right. Many nightclubs have come and gone, and the more underground scenes like to throw raves that shift from place to place, sometimes only announcing that hours before the event, but this one has been around long enough to make it immortal in relativity.

  It is not a very nice one, being mainly comprised of a large, open warehouse-like space, but that is just how its clientele likes it. There are a few smaller chambers adjoining the main area, even a partial second floor and small outside section. A couple of billiard tables hold court off to one side, though the majority of the place is just a large, slick floor that may be as easily used for dancing as loitering. There is also a decent stage, which is generally used for live music, though some other types of performances have seen display on the black-painted wood surface.

  It’s still somewhat early when they arrive, but they don’t concern their selves too much with trying to be fashionably late. Therese doesn’t care much about “fashionably” anything. She gives a quick blink, a sidelong glance of surprise, but she doesn’t pull away when Akua takes her hand, especially as the other girl releases it once they get up to the bar.

  “Hey, Jaska,” Akua greets the bartender, smiling brightly.

  The young man looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties, tall, lanky, his blond hair spiked out every which way, giving him the look of a hedgehog. He smiles readily in return.

  “Hey, ‘Kua, Therese,” he greets them both, “What can I get you? The usual?”

  Therese opens her mouth as though to say something, but Akua leaps with an eager affirmative. The other girl sort of rolls her eyes, slitting them, looking away to the right, as the bartender sets out four glasses, pouring them their ‘usual’ cocktails along with two shots, all based in cheap vodka. Therese is not really in the mood to get drunk, and the hangover from the swill here can be pretty brutal. Judging from the twinkle in Akua’s eye, she is eager for a lot this evening.

  The drinks don’t last long, as time moves at something like a blurry crawl. Therese just feels like she cannot get into the mood of the evening, and though this causes it to drag, the lights and music and people still make everything seem somewhat surreal. Her thoughts are also a culprit.

  She and Akua talk to some friends, well, it is more Akua doing the talking. Therese finds herself sort of sizing people up, especially male strangers, wondering if she could take them in a fight. She then corrects herself, just wondering if she could escape them if a threatening situation arose. She then thinks of Lilja, and a tiny curl dances at her lips, unnoticed by herself and others, as she figures the instructor could easily handle the guys in here.

  She sees one in particular, a rather large metalhead, wearing lots of leather, denim, spikes, and he looks to carry himself with that same inflated self-importance that is often on those who are trying to compensate for something. She finds herself feeling aggressive toward him, wanting to go over and subtly start something, just to test herself, to maybe prove something to herself, even to Lilja. She then blinks, holding her eyes closed for moment, shaking her head. Why is she taken with such thoughts?

  “Come on, Therese.” She feels herself being pulled. “Let’s get ano-,” and then Akua stops, peering, leaning forward. “Why are you drinking so slow? Drink up, girl!”

  “I’m fine,” Therese practically growls, and though the dry, almost challenging aspect would put off most, there is a reason Akua is as close as she is.

  The taller, darker girl just chuckles to herself, then grabs her partner’s free hand, pulling her back toward the bar. Therese refuses another round, but Akua is insistent, even to the point of grabbing the half-finished cocktail in her date’s hand and downing its contents, then turning to a grinning Jaska to order more. Grins all around as Akua turns a satisfied, lustful and happy one upon Therese, unleashing its full force. Therese responds with held closed eyes, lips parted, a shaking of the head, and then the release of a pent-up exhale. Akua just keeps grinning, sauntering closer, leaning in.

  “Come on, Therese,” she bids, whispering, her need practically emanating from her. She draws out her voice, her plump lips so very close to the flesh of Therese’s jaw and ear, “Relax.”

  She pulls away, though, before making any contact, leaning on her elbows on the bartop as she watches Jaska finishing up. Therese looks aside for a moment, noticing the metalhead guy not too far away. Did he follow them over here to this part of the expansive club? He moves in place, grooving on a heavier tune that blasts through the myriad speakers. She then peers, eyes narrowing. Is he staring right at her? A blink resolves focus, and now it looks like he is back to his general observance.

  He’s putting up a front, and she knows that well. She does it, too. She tries to come off as gruff, cynical, tough, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, but she has seen her limitations. She knows that much of her persona is from fear. She thinks again on Lilja, realizing that the woman possesses a strength which she finds worthy of envy. If Lilja were here, she’d not be worried about Mister Metalhead maybe coming over and trying to force himself on her. Of course, there are many other people here, including security, so why is she still stuck on such thoughts?

  She looks back over to see an expectant expression on Akua, the young woman staring at her with a Cheshire grin, holding up two shots.

  “This is it for me, ‘Kua,” she declares, accepting the shot.

  “Santé,” Akua practically purrs, clinking the small glass against the other, her eyes holding Therese’s.

  “Cheers,” Therese manages, dryly, then also downs hers, wincing.

  “Ha-ha, Therese! You can do better than that.” She laughs, taking the empty glass and setting both on the bar near the larger cocktails.

  She slides those two over, nestling them on the edge of the countertop, somewhat obscuring the glasses between the two of them, then she roots around in her small handbag. Therese takes a moment to notice this, more intent on her thoughts, but she finally watches her girlfriend with some curiosity. It dawns on her what is happening just as the other retrieves her right hand, holding it open, two, tiny white pills resting in contrast on the dark skin.

  “No, thanks,” she mumbles, grabbing her drink and moving it away before Akua can drop the pill in it.

  “Therese,” she pouts, that boisterous grin finally having disappeared for the first time this evening, “What’s the matter? You’ve never turned down drugs before. Is something wrong?”

  “No, everything’s fine. I just don’t feel like it,” Therese quips, then brings the drink up, gazing away as she sips, finally looking back to see expectant eye
s on her. “What?”

  Akua just continues staring, then shrugs and drops both pills in her drink, the tablets beginning to dissolve quite quickly. Therese almost says something, but then opts for her usual emotionless gaze, watching as the other girl gulps down a decent portion of the drink. She wonders if this has turned from Akua just wanting to hang out and probably have sex to her now trying to get a rise out of her due to concern at her reckless behavior. Therese won’t bite on that.

  They end up heading home before the place closes, which is just fine with Therese, and though it doesn’t seem fine with Akua, the other girl decides to turn her remaining energy back to seducing her friend. They are barely inside the small apartment when she kicks off her shoes and slinks easily out of the dress, displaying herself in bra and panties to Therese.

  “’Kua,” she begins, readying a protest, and the other girl steps over, draping arms over her shoulders, leaning in for a kiss.

  This goes on for a short time before Akua pulls back, trying to focus, head perching forward.

  “Therese, what’s wrong?” she asks, exasperation in her voice, and when little more than a blank stare results, she drops her arm away, stepping back.

  Silence descends, spreading like a haze. Akua finally turns, reaching for her things.

  “Well, if you aren’t in the mood, I’ll just head home,” she says.

  Therese watches her back, noting the telltale signs of the continued high. They aren’t amateurs when it comes to illicit consumption, but those two pills and all the drinks will take time to work through the system. She figures Akua could make it home just fine, but there is still something vulnerable about her state, especially with her back shown like that, and just as she is shaking her dress out to step into it, Therese moves in, grabbing the other girl’s left wrist, gripping it tightly, forcing her to turn with a pull.

  Akua blinks, reeling back a bit, and in that moment, Therese grabs her other wrist, then shoves both arms behind and up, effectively pinning the girl, stepping in close, their bodies mashing together as she presses in for an aggressive kiss. Akua emits a stifled noise of surprise, then melts into the exchange, feeling the powerful aggression of her partner. Therese then breaks from the kiss, her face an expression of forceful dominance, which seals in the lust shown in open surprise on Akua. Using her hold on the girl’s slender wrist, she turns her again, then pushes her toward the bed, controlling her movements, bending her. Akua reaches out with her free left hand, propping herself up somewhat, but Therese forces her down, her face burying against the duvet, even as the other girl uses her sudden eagerness to grab at the hips and raise the girl’s rear into prominence atop bent knees. She then veritably rips off the panties, a breathy gasp escaping lips, and she proceeds to give Akua the sex she wanted, though in a decidedly different fashion than she may have had in mind.