those neighborhood pubs that catered to families and young couples rather than hardcore drinkers. He said it had a warm, rich decor that made you feel comfortable as soon as you entered. It was virtually deserted, which wasn't that strange considering it was early afternoon, but there was one other patron sitting at the bar.
He said she was gorgeous. To hear him describe her, she had Rachel Welch's looks with Anna Nicole Smith's body, back when she posed for Playboy, before she married that gazzillionaire and went to pot. She also wore a rather tight sweater and slacks that left little to the imagination, if you know what I mean.
Well, Ted fancied himself a ladies man, and while no lothario, he nonetheless was always on the lookout for a good lay. He had plenty of time to kill that afternoon, and he liked the look of her, so he figured what the hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
He remembered every exact word of their conversation. I don't have his memory, so I'm going to paraphrase, but you'll get the gist of it.
He walked up to the bar, about one seat from her, and ordered a drink. She sat on the stool leaning back against the counter with both elbows propped up beside her. She didn't look at him, but neither did she try to avoid him.
He kept trying to make eye contact without success, but once he got his drink he sidled up beside her. She still didn't look his way, so he decided to initiate contact.
"Hey, baby, what's your sign?" Ted never was very subtle.
The woman finally glanced his way, an irritated look on her face at first, but her expression softened as she looked him up and down. He got the feeling she was examining him, like some scientist studying a specimen, trying to determine if he would measure up.
She must have liked what she saw, though, because she finally smiled. "The pentagram."
"Huh?" For a really intelligent guy, he sometimes wasn't the swiftest boat in the race.
"Never mind. Care to buy me a drink?"
"Yeah, sure." He signaled the bartender and she relayed her choice as Ted sat down on the stool beside her.
"So, what do you do?"
He described his job and why he was in town. She listened in an interested manner; not hanging on his every word, but not bored either.
"And what do you do? I'll bet your model, or maybe a dancer."
She flashed a grin. "As in exotic? That's flattering, but actually I'm a witch."
Ted laughed, thinking she had made a joke, but when she didn't join in, he stopped. "You're serious."
She nodded. "Of course; what did you expect? This is Cairnsford, 'the Salem of the West'."
"You mean, pointed hat, broomstick, black cat, cauldron, casting spells, the whole shtick?"
That time she laughed. "Not quite, but close. I love cats, and I do create spells and make potions, but I don't need a broom to fly, and I worship skyclad."
"What?"
"Nude; I perform my rites in the nude."
"You don't say. I'd love to see that."
"I'm sure you would, but most ceremonies are serious rituals, and done in private." She then paused and eyed him again with that appraising look. "Of course, one of the more enjoyable things about being a witch is we're heavy into fertility rites, which we perform with a partner." She laid her hand on the inside of his thigh. "You like fertility rites, don't you?"
The thing about Ted was, he had a one-track mind. Whereas her boldness would have made you or me nervous, he got excited. That must have turned her on as well, because when she put her hand on his crotch and felt his hard-on, she grinned.
"I guess you do. I haven't done one in awhile, and I'd love to perform one now. My place is only a block away. What do you say, care to assist me?"
"Yeah, sure! But, you're not a Satanist, are you? I wouldn't want to wind up a sacrifice to the Devil."
She laughed again. "That's a myth. Witches don't worship Satan, anymore than practitioners of Voodoo or folk magic."
"I suppose it's some kind of nature goddess, then."
"No, I'm a follower of a different sect. My deity is a Great Old One; that probably doesn't mean anything to you, does it?"
"Not really, no."
"The Greeks called him Mycotaes."
"Him? It's male?"
"In a manner of speaking. Why? Jealous?"
"Does he ever manifest himself?"
She flashed a wry sideways smirk. "Sometimes; at which times he demands consummation, but he doesn't do it often enough to satisfy me. That's why I need human partners; preferably male, but I'm not particularly choosy."
"What does he look like?"
"Mmmm, it's hard to say. The closest analogy would be a fungus."
"You mean, like bread mold?"
"Ehhh, you could say that, yes, or something like a slime mold."
"Uhg. And you let him...uh, sleep with you?"
"Certainly. It's an act of devotion, like communion or a pilgrimage to Mecca."
"He won't be joining us, will he?"
"Not for what I have in mind, no."
"Good! Then, what are we waiting for?"
I should say at this point that I have no idea what Ted thought of all that garbage at that time; he didn't tell me, and by the time I talked with him in Cairnsford he believed it was all true. Personally, I think that crazy witch meant she used mushrooms like dildos, but knowing him as he was, I believe he just humored her so he could get in her bed.
Speaking of which, they ran through the rain, so it took them almost no time to reach her brownstone. Still, they got soaked, so as soon as they went upstairs to her bathroom they stripped and spent a few minutes toweling each other off. She gave him a glass of some thick, golden liquid that had a tangy taste, and insisted he drink it all, while she drank some herself. Then she threw him on her bed and jumped on top of him, and they got started with practically no preliminaries. He went into pretty explicit about what they did. I won't bore you with the details; suffice to say, they performed just about every act in the Kama Sutra, plus a few new ones they invented on the spot.
He couldn't remember falling asleep, but it was well past midnight when he woke up, and he found himself alone. At first he thought she was in the bathroom, but after waiting for ten minutes he got up to take a look.
The bathroom was empty.
Puzzled, he went looking for her. Her bedroom sat on the third floor, so he headed down, but couldn't find her anywhere. He started to wonder if she might have gone out again, when in the kitchen he found a door to the basement. It stood open a crack, and he could hear her down there moaning, sighing, and gasping like she did when they were having sex, except more intensely. He got an erection just listening to it, so he decided to go down and see what was going on.
From "Rhapsody in Orange"
The sight of Differel looking up from her desk stopped them in their tracks. She sat hunched over, leaning on her arms braced against the desktop. For a moment she almost looked like a zombie. She was haggard and disheveled, with heavy bags under her bloodshot eyes, her stringy, lifeless hair ragged and unkempt as if she hadn't showered for several days. It wasn't simply a matter of letting herself go; they had seen that before. It seemed indicative of a failure of will, as if she didn't care anymore. Eile glanced at Sunny, and from the look on her face she could tell she understood just how bad a shape Differel was in.
The aristocrat leaned back in her high-backed chair and rested her head against the padded leather. "What are you two doing here?" She looked and sounded weary, as if she had very little energy left.
"We haven't seen much of you lately, except in the Dreamlands," Sunny said as she closed the door, trying to sound airy, "so we just decided to drop by."
Eile decided to go along with her. "Yeah, Dracula was kind enough ta give us a lift."
She closed her eyes, as if the effort to get irritated was too much for her. "You two never were good liars. Aelfraed sent for you."
"Aw, cripes. Yeah, yer right, but he's worried about you. They all are, and now that we've seen you, so are we. Gee
zus, Diff, what's happened?"
She opened her eyes a crack. "That's none of your business."
Eile could feel herself getting angry, but she reflected that if she could a rise out of the blue-blood, that might snap her out of her malaise. "Like hell it is. We wanna help you."
Differel leaned forward and removed a cigarillo from the desk's humidor. Eile knew she used smoking as a defense mechanism, so the fact that she was getting one seemed a good sign. But she didn't like the way her hands shook as she lit it with her father's lighter.
"Everyone's been trying to help me." She stood in a slow, cautious manner. It was almost painful to watch.
"I don't need help." She walked around the chair towards the back windows, pausing for a moment to steady herself. "I need understanding and acceptance," she concluded before continuing on.
Sunny walked around the desk to be with her, and Eile followed. "That's what Eile meant," she said in a soothing tone.
She turned to face them, her visage grim as death. "No, you're like the others. You won't believe me either. You'll just laugh, or feign sympathy as you plot to have me committed."
Eile finally lost her temper. "Dammit, Differel, do we hafta spell it out, again?! We're yer friends! We're not gonna laugh at you, or question yer sanity; we will try ta help you anyway we can. But you hafta level with us. Now, come on, what's wrong?"
She gave them a desperate look, as if she really wanted to believe them. "I...don't know--"
A lilting, child-like voice wafted through the air. "Aw, go on, tell them." It was followed by a
The Adventure of a Typical Friday Night Page 7