The Magician's Blood

by Linda G. Hill

  Herman was surprised. “Never?”

  “Never had the need before.” Bracing herself, she waited.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “We’ll give you a minute or two to recover before we come down the hall,” he said, and with a whistle, she was gone.

  He turned toward the bed. “We should probably turn him around and lay him on his side so he doesn’t suffocate.”

  Herman stood, untangling herself from the sheet as she did. She took her father’s feet while Stephen lifted the top half of his body, and together they shifted him so his head was on the pillow. Herman covered him with a spare blanket. Then she wrapped herself up in the sheet again, and they left George snoring on the bed.

  It occurred to Herman that had she been completely sober, she might have been embarrassed to walk down the hall wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a sheet.

  Stephen knocked on their own door and Margaret opened it. “That was weird,” she said, stepping back to let them in.

  “You okay?” Stephen asked as he walked past her, seeming unconcerned.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “You can’t,” Herman said. “The bed is big enough. Sleep with us.”

  Stephen let out a groan. He stood beside the bed, clutching the hair at the back of his head like he was trying to pull it out. “What the fuck are you trying to do to me?” he growled. “Do you have any idea what condition I’m in? I don’t even …”

  “So why don’t we just get it over and done with then?” Herman yelled.

  “Do you want me to fuck her?” Stephen looked stunned and angry.

  “Of course I don’t! But if you’re going to do it anyway, maybe by doing it now you’ll save my life!”

  Stephen shook his head. “How does that even make sense?”

  It was Margaret who answered. “If what Herman saw in her vision is inevitable, and it’s only going to happen once, then by doing it now, it won’t happen because Herman’s already … gone. And it would solve your other problem.”

  Stephen and his best friend stared at each other, their reading of each other’s minds almost visible. And then he moved. Faster than humanly possible, he had Margaret facedown, on her knees at the edge of the bed. His hands dropped to his fly. Herman turned to leave, but he grabbed her by the arm.

  “Oh no you don’t.” His voice wasn’t his. It vibrated in a low thrumming baritone. She looked into his eyes; red as they were, she could see all of his anguish. “It’s because I don’t want to hurt you that I’ll do this.” He let go of her arm to push his jeans down. With a sigh, he looked up to the ceiling as he released his erection to the air. His eyes rolled back in his head and a growl came from deep in his throat.

  “I can’t watch this,” Herman said, glancing at the prostrate form of Margaret. She lay with her face pressed to the bed as though she couldn’t move if she wanted to. Herman knew she would lose control of her emotions if she didn’t get away.

  “You don’t have to watch, but you’re not going to leave,” Stephen said. With one hand he gently cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. His entire body jerked with whatever he was doing with his other hand. Herman was unable to tear her gaze away from his smoldering-red orbs.

  Suddenly dizzy and disoriented, she found herself wanting him, her anger and revulsion for what he was about to do melting into desire. “I want to watch,” she whispered. “I want to feel her pleasure.”

  “Good girl,” Stephen whispered back. He smiled with a leering, horny grimace and Herman wondered at the sight of his canines, now slightly sharp. They made him more beautiful. Beautiful enough that she would do anything for him.

  In a fog of desire, she joined him as he dropped to his knees beside the bed. She licked her lips as he peeled Margaret’s panties off. Herman spied the white string poking delicately from Margaret’s vagina, and as though disembodied, she felt her cheeks stretching into a grin when Stephen pulled on it. The tampon gone, she watched as his tongue rolled from between his teeth, flicking and licking at the soft wet spot between Margaret’s legs. When he plunged his entire face in, slurping and snorting like an animal, Herman returned suddenly to her senses, released from the trance of his eyes. She struggled to get away, but he held her to him. He pulled her between himself and the bed so that his stiff prick pressed up against her hip, and again she felt lost, dizzy, desiring. She bit his shoulder, and he shuddered. He stood then and lifted her with him, by magic. He placed her without effort on top of Margaret so that she sat lightly, levitated by his will, on the other woman’s raised ass. Herman realized that they were, all three, suddenly naked. Stephen looked down to where his cock was poised, where their openings were lined up. Pink drool ran from the side of the ugly-beautiful leer that spread across his face. Instead of choosing a vagina to plunge into, he pressed his hard dick up against them both, rocking his hips in a slow steady rhythm. He gazed lovingly into Herman’s eyes; his eyes now showing only remnants of his humanity.

  “I can barely stand this,” he hissed, so close to her mouth that she could taste his saliva. “Please forgive me.”

  The head of his penis disappeared from her vagina. She felt him back up slightly and his entire body stiffened. He grasped her hair and cocked his head to kiss her. Even as she felt the powerful thrust of his hips, his presence absent from her own body; even as she heard the cry of pain that escaped the throat of the woman behind her, she felt a dizzying, consuming, swallowing need for him. A choking anguish came from between his lips as they took her mouth, as he possessed the other woman’s sex with the uncontrollable need of the demon: the incubus that stole his blood and replaced it with its own poisonous liquid.

  He held her tight, her breasts squashed against his chest, her hips rocking with the movement as he pounded into the woman beneath her. Margaret’s cries soon became screams. Stephen was relentless, callous, and yet with every breath came an apology in the form of his kiss. His rhythm built, harder and faster; the three of them rocked until Stephen grunted with the effort. He squeezed Herman tighter, until she couldn’t breathe. She wrapped her legs around his waist and crushed him tighter to her. Her nails dug into his back until she thought she might draw blood, and with a cry, Stephen gave one last thrust. Margaret screamed shrilly. He pulled out and backed up as much as he was able, and, still spurting out the fluid of the demon that consumed him, he entered Herman. Slick from his semen he thrust all the way into her, coming and coming, squeezing wetness from the corners of his eyes.

  He kissed her again and again, whispers of regret coming with each breath. Finally, he lifted her from Margaret’s body and pulled out of her. He placed her on the bed and staggered away to the bathroom.

  * * *

  Aftercare.

  Stephen knew Margaret would need it. But so would Herman.

  Aftercare, aftercare.

  He took two washcloths from the towel rack and ran them under warm water, wondering how he had gotten himself into this mess, and how he was going to get out of it. He turned off the tap and glanced in the mirror, down at his still-hard cock. Blood everywhere. He wiped himself quickly with one of the cloths and wet another. He stumbled back into the room feeling weaker than he ever had. Juggling two women with different needs was going to be a challenge.

  The scene in the room hadn’t changed. Margaret was still bent facedown, kneeling on the bed, and Herman sat beside her, staring across the room at nothing at all. In shock. He stood in front of Herman, blocking her view of the wall. With the hand closest to Margaret, he placed one of the wet cloths between her legs, making her groan.

  “I can’t move,” Margaret said.

  Stephen looked down at her. “I know, babe,” he said. He felt Herman’s eyes on him. She was paying attention now.

  “Herman,” he started, but he didn’t know what to say next. The expression on her face told him nothing. She was blank. He suspected that it
was only a matter of time before she came to her senses and slugged him, or worse, left. Putting the other cloth against her pussy, hoping to soothe her, he looked deep into her eyes, searching for the solution to how he would not chase her away. “Help me,” he said finally.

  “What do you want?” she asked, frowning.

  “Before I can make love to you, I need to look after Margaret. Can you help? Please?”

  Herman looked down at his penis, stiff and throbbing to the beat of his heart.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “Lie beside her and look at her. Just look at her face and talk to her.” With both of his hands he stroked Herman and Margaret with the cloths. Herman nodded but didn’t move. He bent to kiss her. She didn’t kiss him back.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  She nodded again and crawled around Margaret so that she faced her. She lay down and curled into a fetal position.

  “Are you okay?” Stephen heard Herman ask.

  “No,” Margaret whined.

  Stephen dropped Herman’s cloth and massaged the small of Margaret’s back. As gentle as he was, he elicited another groan from her. “I have to get the blood flowing again,” he said. With one hand he rubbed the length of the muscles on one side of her spine, and then the other, from the top of her buttocks to the middle of her back. With the other hand he continued to massage her vagina, rubbing in circles with the cloth between her and his fingertips. Her hips began to move in circles concentric to his. Little by little she was loosening up. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation of the pressure she put on his hand. Instead he watched Herman. Beautiful and pale, he admired the length of her thigh, and the little thatch of brown hair that poked out from between her legs. He reached over to touch her lightly, and his cock bounced in response. Though the urgency from before had left him, the passion was building again. This time his mind and body agreed: he wanted no one but Herman.

  She spoke quietly to Margaret, brushing the older woman’s hair from her temple. When Margaret closed her eyes, Herman looked up at him, and he smiled. She glanced down to see that he wasn’t making love to Margaret, and, seeing he wasn’t, she thrilled him by turning onto her back, and spreading her legs for him. At the same time Margaret arched her back, presenting herself to him where he still stood, erect, behind her. There was no question in his mind where he wanted to be. He stepped around Margaret’s leg and held out his hand for Herman. Without touching her, he levitated her body from the bed. He extended his free hand, and she rose up to straddle his bicep, her wetness gently resting on his skin. He kissed her belly, and she held his head between her hands. She rocked her hips on his arm, and he lowered her down so she sat lightly in the crook of his elbow. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked. Aware that Margaret was approaching orgasm he dropped the cloth and inserted two fingers into her. Herman, absorbed in her own pleasure, squeezed his arm with her legs. As he sucked and plunged, the two women moaned, and, together yet independent of one another, climaxed.

  Stephen lowered Herman to his waist. He took his arm from between her legs, and she wrapped them around him. Without a word, Margaret rose, went to the bathroom, and started the shower. Stephen lay down with Herman beneath him. As he entered her he kissed her and there, he made love to her, knowing that he was at once and finally home.

  * * *

  When Herman awoke the next morning, the first thing she saw again were her father’s white roses. The memory of him staggering into Margaret’s room—the thought that his blood gave her the power to predict Stephen’s betrayal that she herself had suggested—made her nauseous. She promised herself the flowers would be in the garbage before breakfast. Had it been possible to burn them, she would have.

  Stephen was curled up behind her, fully erect. She rolled over to face him.

  “Where’s Margaret?” She vaguely remembered the other woman crawling into the opposite side of the bed as Herman dozed with Stephen holding her tight in his arms.

  “She left a while ago.” He put his hand on her hip and pulled her closer.

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “I apologized,” he said, looking her in the eye. “But Margaret has put up with all kinds of behavior from me in the past. It’s not her I’m worried about. It’s you.”

  “What are we going to do about this? I don’t want to have Margaret in bed with us every time you’re … like that.”

  “We won’t,” he said, squinting as though the memory of last night caused him pain. “I’ll work with you to condition you. So if there’s a next time, I won’t hurt you. If that’s what you want.” He swallowed. “If you still want to be with me.”

  Herman watched him agonize, unsure she could take any more agony of her own. The truth was, she didn’t know the answer. Rather than give it, she got out of bed and into the shower, leaving him to stew.

  CHAPTER 18

  Herman and Stephen were on their way down to the lobby in the elevator with a uniformed porter, their cases on an old-fashioned cart with four brass upright handles, when Herman first thought about her father.

  “What are we going to do about my dad?”

  “He’ll be fine. Housekeeping will wake him up.”

  “Won’t he miss his plane?”

  “If he does, it’s his own fault for getting so drunk. I’m sure it’s not the first time. He’s a big boy, Herman. Don’t worry about him.”

  “I have to talk to him.” She needed to know more about the power of sight she seemed suddenly to have.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Stephen assured her.

  They arrived on the ground floor and the porter took their bags to the front desk, saying they would keep them there until the couple had finished dining. In the restaurant, they found Margaret already sitting by the window at a table with a dozen red roses in a vase, talking on her cell phone. She ended the call when she saw them coming. She was dressed in a clean white blouse and dark blue skirt and heels. Her dark hair was down and silky smooth with a curl at the ends; she looked every bit like a heroine from a 1920s film noir. Beautiful. Like Margaret. Herman didn’t know what she had been expecting. She supposed it would take a while for the memory of the other woman facedown on the bed being brutally fucked by the man she loved to fade from her mind.

  Stephen pulled out the chair opposite Margaret for Herman to sit. Neither of them seemed fazed in the slightest at seeing each other.

  “These are for you,” Margaret said, handing Herman the card that sat amongst the roses.

  Herman opened the little white envelope with her name written on it in a strange hand and read the card.

  Herman, You are my life, my love, my world. Forever yours, Stephen.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you,” she said tersely, feeling unappreciative.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. She didn’t look at him long enough to see his expression.

  “That was the other hotel on the phone. They’re ready for you whenever you want to go,” Margaret told him. Regardless of whether George’s attempt to take Herman was a decision made out of drunkenness or whether he had discovered more about Stephen, her boyfriend had decided that he didn’t want to take any chances. They were moving for their final night in Edmonton, in case George didn’t leave town. It rankled Stephen that he had to move into a hotel that wasn’t part of his father’s country-wide chain, but he seemed to accept it without too much lingering ire.

  “I also spoke to Charlie,” Margaret continued. “She’s sending the latest ultrasound to you by e-mail, and she wanted to let you know that she has already found an OBGYN for Nina in Antigua. He’ll see her as soon as she arrives there.”

  Stephen thanked her and they opened their menus. After a few minutes the waiter came over to take their order.

  They began their meal in the atmospheric rigidity that Herman had become used to whenever they ate in a high-class restaurant. Though lately, when it was just h
er and Stephen, she hadn’t felt it as keenly as she did now. The occasional clink of cutlery against dishes melded with the ambient murmur of the diners. Outside the window the sky was blue with big fluffy clouds; all was right with the world except here, at the table, with the fragrance of roses and a tension that hung in the air, born of not knowing what to say.

  Finally, Margaret broke the silence. “Oh! I almost forgot. You need to do a photoshoot for the Halloween show posters. Jill is free, if you want her, or would you rather someone local?”

  “Shit,” Stephen said. “I’d rather have Jill.”

  “Who’s Jill?” Herman asked.

  “She’s Stephen’s favorite photographer,” Margaret answered. “But of course, as always, there’s a drawback. Have you ever seen any of his old photos, from before Japan?”

  “A few, yeah.”

  “Noticed anything distinctive about them?”

  “They were beautiful, but I’m not sure I saw anything distinctive.”

  “Which is why Stephen likes her so much. She’s subtle, but she gets the message across.”

  “What message?”

  Margaret sighed and looked down at her plate.

  “Do I even want to know?” Herman asked.

  “That depends. Do you want to go to the photoshoot?” Margaret turned to Stephen. “Maybe Jill will let Herman give you a hand, so to speak.”

  “Doubt it,” he said. “Maybe we should get someone else.”

  “No,” Herman said. “If you’d rather have this woman take your picture, then do it. What’s the big deal?”

  “She likes to have her male subjects fluffed,” Stephen answered. “And she prefers to do the fluffing herself.”

  “You mean she only takes your picture if you have a hard-on?” Herman asked. She wondered abstractedly why she should be shocked.

  “That’s the gist of it, yes.”

  Herman put her knife and fork down and moved her hands to her lap. “Does it ever end with you?” she asked him, staring down at the table.