Beladonna Grove

THE BATON ROUGE TIMES

"It is with deep sorrow that we announce the passing of Mr. Vladan Petrovic, of Belladonna Grove, whose lifeless body was discovered on the banks of the Mississippi River yesterday afternoon. According to reports from the authorities, Mr. Petrovic had taken his own life by throwing himself off the balcony of the main house, plunging several stories to his death into a small tributary of the great River before washing several miles downstream to where he was found by local river habituees. Mr. Petrovic left behind a note, the details of which remain confidential pending notification of his next of kin.

"The circumstances surrounding Mr. Petrovic's suicide have raised many questions among the community, however. Mr. Petrovic, a lifelong bachelor, had been seen with a feminine figure on the grounds of the estate, but the woman neither come forward nor been identified. The person's relationship with Mr. Petrovic is unknown, as is whether she has information that could assist the authorities.

"Mr. Petrovic's passing had led to many rumors within the community, but to date no authoritative evidence has come to light that would shed any doubt on the authorities' conclusions. Whatever the case may be, the community mourns the loss."

The article contained an artist's rendering of Belladonna Grove, which I found to be the estate itself, not the town near which it lay. The lawyer who had sent me the article, along with the summons to Louisiana to claim my inheritance, had been skimpy with details. As I stepped into the main house of the plantation, the grandeur of the place was immediately apparent. The walls were adorned with oil paintings, each one depicting some possible European nobility in dramatic poses. Some of the paintings featured noble men standing tall with their hands on their hips, exuding an air of power and authority. Others showed both men and women reclining in luxurious settings, surrounded by beautiful scenery and overflowing cups of wine. The furnishings were all antique and of the highest quality, clearly indicating my uncle's--or his decorator's--expensive tastes. In one room, I found a stunning chandelier made of crystal that cast a sparkling light across the walls. In another, I came across a massive four-poster bed with carved wooden posts that looked as if they had been painstakingly crafted by hand.

Under one of the portraits in the main hall, a placard read "Baron Viktor Petrovich, 1595-1652" and depicted a hawkish man wearing a ruffled collar, close-fitting embroidered hose, and a cape made of velvet or silk, trimmed with fur. The cape was fastened at the throat with a large engraved brooch, embellished with precious gems. In one hand, at his hip, he held a plumed beret. In the other, a rapier's hilt, with the scabbarded blade to the floor.

Next to the portrait, a beautiful woman stood before an ancient ruin. She wore an equally ruffled collar with a black bodice over a long bell-shaped skirt, embroidered and decorated with lace. Her blonde curls were piled high on top of her head, topped with a large lace headdress. The plaque read "Baroness Karina Petrovich, 1652." Examining the beautiful woman, I wondered whether she was Viktor's wife or his daughter. Her age would suggest the latter, but I assumed that 17th century daughters didn't necessarily get their father's titles, which suggested wife. In which case, good for you, Viktor. Must be nice to be the nobility.

The landscapes in the paintings were equally impressive. They depicted towering mountains and frozen wastelands that seemed completely at odds with the swampy flatlands that surrounded the plantation. The images were jarring after having traversed the countryside just outside, as if the painting were windows looking onto another world than the one from which I had entered the house.

The library was the most astonishing room in the house. I knew immediately I would be spending the most time there. It was both vast and cozy, with overstuffed armchairs and a large fireplace, cold now, but a clear image of a crackling fire filled my head when I saw it. The bookshelves were lined with volumes of every shape and size, and I couldn't resist running my fingers over the spines as I walked through the room.

Some of the titles were familiar to me, classic works of literature that I had read in school, Chaucer and Dante, but many were unknown to me: The Book of the City of Ladies by Christine de Pizan, The Blazing World by Margaret Cavendish, The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers. The books dated back to the 1400s. Others were mysterious and intriguing, with names like "The Book of Eibon" and "The Key of Solomon."

One book in particular caught my eye, a thick leather-bound volume with an ornate gold-leaf cover. The title was in a language that I didn't recognize, but the pages were filled with strange symbols and diagrams that seemed to hint at secret knowledge. I chuckled, imagining that the book was a wizard's tome of spells, unimaginably powerful...if only I knew how to read whatever language that is, I thought.

The library contained its share of portraits, landscapes and still lifes. One caught my eye and I caught myself saying, "Well, hello again, Duchess!"

"Baroness, actually," said a voice from behind me. I gasped and spun, to see a genteel looking older man standing behind me. At my violent turning, his eyes widened, but he recovered and apologized for startling me. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you," he said. "I'm Embry Carlisle, Carlisle & Higgins." I recognized the name of the law firm from the letterhead on the summons.

I caught my breath. "No, I'm sure I overreacted," I said. "I didn't think anyone else was here, and I guess being in a strange place has got me overanxious." I looked back at the painting. "Baroness, right. I remember that from the plaque out front."

"Difference baroness, actually," said Carlisle. "Note the date." The placard read: Baroness Petrovich, 1780. "I noticed the resemblance myself," he continued, "while were inventorying the property. She's too young to be the same person. Must be a daughter."

"So daughters inherit titles back in the old country?"

"I suppose it was possible for daughters to inherit their father's titles, especially if there were no male heirs," said Carlisle, "but I'm no expert. No doubt it depended on the specific laws and customs of the region and the family in question. But speaking of inheritance, I have some papers for you to sign and then I will let you get back to exploring."

As he arranged the papers on an elegant wooden table, I inspected the portrait. The resemblance was uncanny. The artist was, however, even better than the first. The subject's beauty was more pronounced in this painting. I thought to myself, I bet the Baroness was no doubt the 18th century's version of a Cardassian. Rich and beautiful and everyone wants to take a picture. I grinned at the idea of the paparazzi all having to carry paints and easels around and try to catch the celebrities sitting still for a few hours to get their pictures.

Carlisle and I finished our business. I intended to stay on the plantation, so I made to show him out. As I turned to leave the library, I noticed a small door under the spiral staircase in the corner. The stair led to a balcony surrounding a second level of the library. God, I'll never run out of books, I thought. But the door intrigued me.

When I returned to the library, I tried the door, but found it locked. None of the keys I'd been provided worked the lock, but I felt no grief. After all, the place was mine now. Plenty of time to get the door open later. One call to a locksmith, and whatever secrets were behind it would be mine. I chuckled.

I decided to look more closely at some of the papers, which felt like the proper thing to do, after all. I made myself comfortable in one of the plush chairs and began to inspect them...and promptly fell asleep.

The dream was vivid: I stood in a vast, misty landscape that seemed to stretch on forever. It was difficult to see much detail in the fog, but in the distance, I could make out a figure sitting on a stone bench. As I walked closer, I realized that it was the woman from the painting in the library, or her ancestor. Or a combination of both, dreams being what they are.

Her long, blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a flowing dress of white silk that seemed to shimmer in the faint light, giving her an otherworldly cast. The setting was similar to of the paintings in the house - a rocky outcropping overlooking a bleak and barren landscape. She looked up at me as I approached, and I was struck by the depth of her piercing blue eyes.

Without a word, she stood up and walked toward me, her dress trailing behind her. She took my hand. I could feel the coolness of the air and the roughness of the stone under my feet as she led me to a nearby archway. She passed through it, and I followed her into shadowy passage.

As we walked, I began to feel a sense of unease, even dread. But I couldn't resist the pull of her beauty and the mystery that surrounded her. The sway of her hips in the filmy garment she wore drove any worry from my mind. I felt my breathing quicken in anticipation as she steered me to a stone walled room with a large stone pedestal in the center. The pedestal was about waist high, eight feet long and five deep, covered with a thick velvet tapestry or covering. The covering was adorned with embroidery and tassled at the corners.

She turned and our eyes met again. Hers seemed to glow in the dim light, which came from a source I could not see, but the illumination seemed more like moonlight than candles. She put one hand on my neck and pulled my close. I licked my lips.

And then her mouth was on mine. Our lips pressed together, hers soft and cool against mine. I moaned and felt her tongue enter my mouth. The taste of her was so sweet. My hands went to her hips almost on their own, and I felt her sway towards me. She pressed into my crotch, and I was feeling her body as she gently rubbed my now engorged member through my pants. My hands slid around to her round firm buttocks as we kissed, pulling her tight against me.

I felt her lips curl into a smile, and she reached one hand to the thin tie that clasped her garment at the neck. She pulled the string, and her dress opened, revealing and expanse of creamy white flesh above the swell of her breasts. I gasped. She pulled away from our kiss, her chest heaving, which only made her breasts seem to swell under the thin gauzy dress. With an almost casual shrug, the dress fell from her shoulders and slithered down her body to pool at her feet.

Her skin was given a bluish tint by the light, so smooth and cool that I couldn't resist pressing my fevered lips to her chest. I kissed her at the collarbone, then moved my head lower, to nuzzle her breast and feel her soft mound with my lips and tongue. Then I reached her nipple, and I heard a gasp as I gently pinched the nub in my teeth. She pressed my head into her chest, and I eagerly took the cue to suck.

I felt her bend as she pressed against the stone table, letting her torso fall back until her back was on the ornate cloth. I leaned over her, mouth to her breast, then trailed kisses down her belly to her waist, then her hips as I lifted her gently until she lay on the stone, her legs hanging from the edge. I found myself between her luscious thighs, the glistening crevice of her sex before my face. What man could resist?

I tasted her, tentatively, earning a gasp and a sweet soft moan. Then my tongue slid into her folds, her delicate taste and scent driving all thoughts from my mind. I wanted only to taste her and breath her in, and hear those delightful moans and sighs. She began to writhe against my mouth, her hands pressed into the tabletop, gripping fistfuls of the soft fabric that overlay it. I stroked her thighs, her hips her belly, then my hands reached for her breasts and her arching into them. I caressed and squeezed and she rewarded me with notes of pure pleasure from her lips. I felt as a musician, playing her body like an instrument that produced the most sensual music I had ever heard.

Then suddenly, she arched violently, her head and hips on the stone as her body went first rigid, then began to tremble. I felt quiver run through her thighs and down to her feet as I devoured her, lust and the desire to bring her ever more pleasure controlling every lick, kiss and suck. As my lips closed on her clit, I did not hear her scream, but I felt it. Silently, she stiffened and shook as if seized by a paroxysm of pleasure. I sucked and her hands came to my head and pressed me into her sex, grinding against me.

Just as suddenly she collapsed on the table. She brought her hands to my jaw and tilted my head up from her drenched crotch. I saw her smile at me, her teeth a brilliant white as she hissed--

Yessssssss. With a jolt, I woke up, sweating and gasping for air. The papers had slipped from my hands, and I was back in the library, surrounded by the dusty shelves and antique furniture. But the memory of the dream stayed with me, and I felt I could still hear the echo of her voice in the cavernous chamber. Yes. For several minutes, as I panted myself back to normal, it was the only word I could summon to my mind.