Ink, Sex, Magic Pt. 04

"Wow, what is that wizardry?"

"A percolator bong. Gives you a super smooth hit."

Standing together in his cramped kitchen, it finally occurred to me that he could have been hitting on me by offering to smoke me up. I told myself that it was just a kind gesture until I caught Brannon gave me a once over, a gleam of something at once hot and cold in his eyes.

"Why're you moving out anyway? Moving in with your boyfriend or something?" He kept his voice casual, but I could tell what he was fishing for.

"Yes, actually. He's a tattoo artist."

"Isn't that what your father does?"

I was a little surprised he'd both picked up and retained that factoid. "That's how I met him."

"One of his friends?"

"Not quite."

Brannon had filled the bong with iced water and leaned back against the counter as if assessing me. He shook himself out of his reverie and flashed a silly grin. "Ready to spark this beast?"

***

After packing the bowl from his grinder, Brannon took the first hit and I watched bubbles expand and vapor rise through the various tiers, making some areas aswirl with milky opacity. "Here, it's still going," he croaked with his lungs full of smoke. The bong stayed on the coffee table, so didn't have to worry about dropping it- just not choking on the lungful of heady, rarefied air.

"Whoa." I blew out a cool cloud as a rush of low pressure pushed me down into the sofa.

"Right?" He hit it again before asking if I had any tats myself.

I coughed daintily before answering, "A few. Flowers and jewelry mostly, oh- and the White Rabbit. You?"

Brannon exhaled a series of concentric rings. "Just the one."

I giggled, watching the hazy circles waver and dissolve, and I felt like Alice Liddell when she eats a mushroom and her neck grows so long that her head ends up in the treetops. When I took my third silky smooth hit, I felt like a telescope collapsing in on itself. "I think I'm stoned now," I heard myself say.

"You really are a lightweight, huh?" Brannon chuckled, rummaging in his tin.

"Yeah, I guess so cause I feel high as fuck."

"Good. That will make this less painful."

His words had barely registered before Brannon was blowing a white powder off of his fingertips and into my face. A metallic flavor hit my tongue and my muscles seized up, like I was a rusty clockwork. Not only was I in pain and unable to move, other than to breathe, but I couldn't connect with the energy of any of my tattoos- like I was magically numbed as well as paralyzed.

"Couldn't have you playing any of your tricks on me, now could I?" Brannon tipped me on my side and pulled my phone out of my pocket. In an instant, it started to melt and smoke, like it was getting baked too. He also had my keys, but he dropped those on the coffee table. Then he unhooked my charm bracelet, dangled it momentarily to examine it in the light, and tucked it into his back pocket.

"See, Dub underestimated you and rushed in without a plan- and he paid. But I've been patient- even when it looked like that fox was going to run away with you, I waited. I even found a way to keep you from seeing who I really am." Reaching into another pocket, he drew out a hex bag of some sort, which was soon a pile of cinders he was brushing from his hands.

Then I could see that the accursed entity was wearing Brannon's face like a Halloween mask that was just a little too loose, a little too expressionless. His eyes flashed black. When Three Little Birds started playing this time, I didn't find it endearing.

"It's over," he said. Another voice, male but indecipherable, responded. "She won't. I've been planning this for weeks- I spent a fortune on the warding." Brannon turned around before answering the man on the other end. "Well, good luck with that wild goose chase. We'll see who's won when the sky is black, brother."

Brannon tossed his phone down and released a murderous growl. The glass bong burst into a thousand fragments and I closed my eyes as they pelted me in the face.

It's Destruction. Definitely Destruction.

"Let me show you where you'll be for the rest of your stay." Still seething, Dian hefted me over his shoulder, his vessel's enhanced strength evident by the way he handled me like I was nothing.

At first I was relieved that we weren't going to his bedroom, but when he opened the study, my stomach twisted up again. The only thing inside was a twin bed, a bedpan and a shackle with a chain bolted to the wall. And I understood why I couldn't hear my host once he'd stepped inside: The walls and ceilings had been covered with soundproofing foam and the floor felt padded out as well, covered with a plush rug that I actually would have complimented had I the power of speech.

Once I was on the bed, awkwardly frozen in a seated position, Dian put the heavy iron cuff around my ankle. Not only did it look made to fit, but it had been engraved with spells written in Old High Gaelic. I knew that even after the paralytic wore off, I would still be unable to access my tattoos or powers. He stood over me a moment, satisfied by my complete incapacitation, and then ran his hand up my leg, over my side, squeezing one breast before patting my head.

"You know, it took me a while to figure out the best vessel to lure you in and keep you hidden away until the time was right. But when I saw this loser," he opened Brannon's arms wide, "lurking around, spying on you where you used to work- I knew he'd be perfect. This form wouldn't pose a threat, and you wouldn't suspect some hapless stoner just offering to get you high. It was almost too easy, really- all I had to do was guarantee that he'd get you in bed if I gave him one measly tattoo.

"And well," he gestured to me, indeed in bed, "now we've both kept our ends of the bargain. Though why he'd want a stuck up bitch like you is beyond me. I just hope you're a better lay now than you were the first time..." Dian stroked my cheek, but without any affection.

"You stay put now, you hear?" he called behind himself before shutting the door. I heard several bolts and latches being secured, then nothing but my shallow breaths.

I berated myself for being such an idiot, wondering if Sylas would think I'd bailed out on him or if he'd be searching for me in several hours. If he got inside my apartment, he would see that I had been in the middle of packing- he'd have to suspect something had happened before I could finish. But he probably wouldn't think to search the building, other than the laundromat and maybe the hallways. If I'd kept being a stuck-up bitch I might not have ended up in this predicament.

As the drug finally began to wear off, and I could move again, I covered my shivering body with the scratchy blanket. When I fell asleep, I dreamed that Kiernan and I were making love in his bed. But then it wasn't his bed anymore- it was my bed when I was a little girl, and he was raping me in it. And then it wasn't my father, it was Sylas in fox form, his mouth scarlet with my first blood. My mother was by the door, watching, with a buzzing tattoo gun in one hand and a pocket-watch in the other.

It's almost time, Alice. Don't be late.

***

When I was conscious, I started searching for the warding he was speaking of, peeling back bits of the soundproofing foam, checking under the carpet, under the bed. I started to consider how I could get to the ceiling when I hear a key in the door and several latches being drawn. I got back in bed with my back against the wall as Dian came in with a tray of food and a plastic cup, locking the door after himself.

"Hi, Alice, I'm glad to see you're awake," he said in a falsely contrite tone. "I'm sorry I had to be so mean earlier. Here, I thought you might be hungry. But first," he set the tray down by the door, "I'd like to see if I could make it up to you."

I hugged my knees tightly to my chest when Dian sat next to me, his hand resting on my calf. "Don't touch me," I snapped, kicking him away.

He tutted, like a parent disappointed with a child. "I'm trying to be nice, Alice- don't make this any worse than it has to be." Grabbing both of my calves now, he yanked my legs apart, rucking my skirts up and positioning himself so that his body weight kept me exposed. Then he ripped my panties off in one swift move, making me cry out as loudly as if he'd ripped a piece of me away.

"Well fuck me running. You wax your pussy." Dian's fingers were gliding along my parted seam in an approximation of sensuality. "And you're wet. Little Miss Innocent's a slut now, isn't she?"

I bit my lip hard, trying not to moan when he invaded my cunt with three tightly clustered fingers.

"Goddamn, this might be more fun than I thought it wou-"

I spit into his eyes. "Go fuck yourself!"

Brannon pulled his fingers out and struck me across the face. "You like it rough, huh?" I felt my flesh bruising beneath his hands as he forced me onto my stomach, pinning me down while he unbuttoned his pants.

"God no, please, no!" I screamed.

Then I felt Dian deposit several mouthfuls of saliva on my tightest hole. "You know, I'm not supposed to fuck your cunt so it doesn't get any worse down there, but I don't suppose I could do any harm going in the out door."

I swallowed every wail and moan as he mercilessly worked Brannon's cock into my ass, knowing it would only fuel his satisfaction.

"Oh, fuck," he grunted, stroking out quickly before slamming back in again. "Still tight- as a virgin."

Whereas I'd actually enjoyed anal with Kiernan and Sylas, Dian was purposefully inflicting pain. And as he built a cruel rhythm, I didn't try to ignore the sensation, but rather I let it make me stronger. I remembered my father's words: "Pain is the sacrifice we make when we give our bodies to magic."

Pain is the sacrifice we make.

Dian's breath was hot on my ear when he snarled, "This almost makes all the shit we went through because of our mothers' deal worth it. I'll have to thank her, before I kill her."

"Who?" I thought he meant Carman, but she'd been vanquished already.

"Your mother, of course."

"My mother?"

"She signed you away before you were even born. You were planted inside of her to bloom for us... For me..."

"But one of you said- my father had to- keep his end of the bargain," I argued, briefly distracted from being brutally sodomized by a concept I found even more disturbing.

"My brother said Delaney- Tessa Delaney, your bitch mother. Did you really not know? Awww Christ," he muttered, resuming his fuck with increased violence. "That makes this all the sweeter..."

Pain is the sacrifice we make. Pain is the sacrifice we make. Pain is the sacrifice we make.

I didn't want to think about my mother while he raped me, so my eyes traced the curly-cue patterns and filigreed scroll work woven into the midnight blue rug in threads of silver, gold and ivory, like one who walks through a labyrinth meditating.

Pain is the sacrifice we make.

There was something familiar about the patterns though, like I'd been through this maze before. If only I could recall how to reach the heart of it.

Pain is the sacrifice...

Maybe they were more like individual constellations instead of one whole map of the sky. Or hieroglyphs that make up a cartouche. Or symbols making up a Rebus.

Pain...

"Fuuucck, aw, fuck," Dian swore as if in anguish, jerking in short pulses deep inside my bowels, his weight knocking the air out of me. After a moment, he rolled off, releasing a burning stream of cum from my ass. "Mmm, thank you, Alice," he murmured, zipping up his fly. "That was just what I needed. Oh- and here's your food."

He carried the tray over and set it down on the floor in front of me, water splashing out of the cup and broth out of a bowl of ramen. Laughing smugly, Dian left me there, sobbing into the bedspread. He knew he'd broken me. But what he didn't know was that I'd just figured out how he was insulating the room from magic. The seals and wards and been woven into the carpet, which had undoubtedly, like he'd said, cost a fortune. The only thing it didn't cost him was sacrifice. He'd given nothing of consequence in exchange for this magic- for any of his magic.

But he would, because I would make sure he paid.

***

I'd long since picked at the threads of the carpet to no avail, fallen asleep, eaten the cold ramen, tore up my fingernails some more, and fallen asleep again before Brannon returned, this time with a guest. As I could only behold him on the Mortal Plane, he appeared to merely be a diminutive man in a pinstriped suit wearing a pair of black leather gloves, carrying a Gladstone bag like an old-fashioned doctor. The only off-putting thing about him were his silver eyes. But if I knew that if I had my extraplanar vision, I would see that he was void made form, his breath an open grave.

"Are you Alice Rosaleen Delaney?" he asked with superfluous professionalism. When I didn't answer, he continued all the same. "I am Telesius. I have come to inspect you for my Master. I assure you, this will go quickly if you comply."

When Telesius opened his case, a soft, sussurant noise emerged, or rather a chorus of low voices whispering incoherently. I prepared myself for him to bring out any number of gruesome medical devices- a giant hypodermic needle, a scalpel, a speculum- but instead he brought out a long vial with a cotton swab inside. He removed the swab and came near.

"Open your mouth- don't worry, it won't hurt. Wider, dear, come now don't be shy," he said impatiently but not entirely unkindly.

Telesius gently swabbed the inside of my cheeks and returned it to its container. "This is all we need to determine the purity of your bloodlines. Modern miracles, eh?", he commented cheerily, dropping the sample in his jacket pocket. "When I did these tests for my Mistress in the past I had to take about a pint of blood. But you're a lucky girl.

"Now for a brief examination..." He reached out both hands, like a doctor about to feel my lymph-nodes and thyroid gland, but instead the rested them on my shoulders, eyes closed.

I could feel Telesius probing me with his dark form, passing through my body, mind and spirit like a January wind. As he did, I caught glimpses of his thoughts or memories: the funereal carriage he drove, drawn by four horses, to collect the dead; faces of the people he'd devoured and the sounds of their eternal perdition; a red-haired witch carrying a staff of blackthorn, naked under the full moon.

"There, that wasn't so bad," Telesius concluded, squeezing me gently before letting go.

Dian, who'd been leaning against the door-frame, watching, now stood at attention. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

"The girl is strong. Based on my preliminary examination, I'd say she'll withstand the ceremony, though my Master will wait for the test to confirm that. The internal damage is, obviously, still quite extensive. I trust you're still searching for a solution?"

"Of course," he answered acidly.

"Dother says he's found the perfect healer."

"So he says. But I actually have the girl, don't I?"

"Yes. And as long as you make her suitable, you will win his favor. When he rules again, he will give his allies powers beyond reckoning. Those who fail him, however..." Telesius let Dian imagine what sort of punishment would befall them.

"And the girl?"

"To the victor go the spoils. I will return in three days time, so don't lose her."

"I won't," Dian snapped.

"Oh, and the poor dear's anemic. Give her some red meat and vitamins, will you? If she is the one, we don't want her passing out at the altar."

They left together, leaving me to puzzle over all that I'd just learned. For one, the Brothers weren't working together anymore- they were competing in some sort of contest, and it involved delivering me, healed, to the finish line- which was, apparently, at an altar. Also, if I wasn't mistaken, Telesius was Carman's former Factotum, her most loyal servant and assistant. But he wasn't working for her anymore and he certainly wasn't working for any of the Brothers.

Whomever Telesius was serving now was powerful enough to intimidate Dian, which in turn terrified me.

About an hour passed before my captor returned with a burnt offering. What used to be a nice looking cut of beef had been charred on the outside and was sitting in a pool of red juice as if it was still raw on the inside. The only side-dishes were a couple of horse pills and a small cup of water.

"Your steak, madame," he said with false servility, dropping the tray at my feet.

I was too hungry by this point to be proud, though, and I scrabbled to the floor. Then I noticed there was nothing to cut the steak with. "How am I supposed to eat his?" I asked, jabbing my fork into the center and picking up the entire chunk of meat.

"Do you need a lesson on how to take your meat and swallow?"

I ripped a chunk off with my teeth, which was what I wanted to do with his meat, the acrid flavors of carbon and hatred the only things I could taste.

"Good girl. Now, eat all your dinner and maybe you'll get dessert later," Dian said with a wag of his eyebrows before leaving me again.

"No thanks," I muttered to myself, gnawing off another mouthful and chewing noisily in the oppressive quiet of my cell. No longer standing on ceremony, I pulled the fork out to use my hands, feeling more animal than human as I stuffed my belly.

Halfway through, I took a breather, licking the grease and blackened bits off my fingers before forcing down both pills with a sip of water. I looked down through my tears and noticed how the salty drops made the fork appear to sparkle, and then how the metallic threads of the carpet gleamed and glistened as well. Even the lakes of oil on the reddish sea that Steak Island sat on winked at me through my eyelashes. The longer I sat, the clearer it became that I'd just been delivered a way out.

It was tedious work- working a tine underneath each stitch, breaking and loosening the threads little by little, sometimes grinding in bits of the char to put breaks in the ivory patterns. But each time I completed a section, on constant alert for his return, I was one step closer to destroying his safety net. When I thought I'd done a thoroughly sufficient job, and it didn't look tampered with unless scrutinized, I flipped over a corner of the rug to expose the stiff backing. Using the charred meat as judiciously as possible, I drew out a sigil to call blood to blood- in this case, my father.

My powers were hampered by the iron shackle and its spell-work, but Magic still existed, and could now be performed in this very room. I had made the sacrifice, I knew how to invoke the Light, and blood still pumped through my heart. Setting down the mangled remains of my dinner, I used the fork to break open the wound on my palm. The pain was intense, and I held onto that feeling, milking every crimson drop over the crude symbol while I sang a short psalm, inserting athair (Galeic for father) so Kiernan would hear.

Please hear me...

Having put everything back to normal and set the tray next to the door, I huddled under the covers, pressing my palm into a wad of sheets so I would feel the pain and not fall asleep. But it felt so nice to be full, and soon I was having tea with my mother, who was dressed as the Red Queen. Kiernan was the Mad Tatter, Sylas the March Fox and Bruce was the Dormouse, cowering behind a teapot.

I knew I'd been invited there, but they all kept yelling at me: No room! There's no room! And when I pointed out that there was plenty of room, my mother yelled Off with her head!

And the world spun as my head rolled.