Gothic Heat

by Portia Da Costa

  She remembered the state of total confusion, total incomprehension she'd felt. The inability to take in the wild tale her friends had told her, and the sense of deep, irrational hostility she'd felt when they'd asked her what she remembered. 'I got angry with them. I said it was all stupid bullshit and they'd been boozing too hard and/or smoking too much weed or something ... and they'd dreamt it all up.' She'd felt shame too. A sense of dirtiness, of being used. Had it all been her own fault? Had what been her own fault? If she could only remember what that bitch had done to her. 'I told them to fuck off, and that I didn't want to see them again. And I never have done since.'

  'Was there anything else they told you? Can you remember?'

  Paula's head came up. Rafe's voice was subtly sharper, more insistent somehow. It was obvious that he wanted to know what had happened too, but some kind of inbuilt radar told her that suddenly his interest was slightly less altruistic. Or was she just imagining things? Again.

  But a slight frown puckered his brow and he was leaning forwards in his seat, his brown eyes intent. 'What about the immortal man? Did they say how he came to be that way? What was the source of his longevity?'

  'How the fuck should I know! They didn't say, and I was too tired and too angry and embarrassed to ask. And now they've disappeared. I can't contact them at their workplaces or their home.' Suddenly, she rubbed at her eyes. They felt gritty, almost as they had done last night from the dry ice. Her mouth opened of its own accord in a massive yawn.

  'You're exhausted, aren't you?' He took her hand in both of his, smoothing it, his finger circling in her palm. 'Why don't you rest for a while? There's no one else due in here today. Try to get some sleep. You'll feel better for it.'

  Suddenly the idea of sleep was blissful. Would she be safe from the dreams here? Positive vibes and all that. She shrugged. Inner Light was supposed to be just that, a haven of light and peace, but Isidora had definitely been in the ascendant back in the treatment room, so there was no reason to think she was safe from her here.

  But still, she was so damn tired.

  Rafe's fingers were subversively sensual. There was a faint sexual edge to his slow circling touch, but it wasn't aggressive. He could be a friend, couldn't he? Not just a fantastic lover. And God knows she needed someone on her team right now. Belinda and Jonathan were probably the only people who could shed any light on her situation, but they seemed to have vanished into thin air, not to be found, or reached by any means. And as for the 'good' sorceress, their Japanese buddy? Who even knew if she actually existed?

  Paula tried to look into Rafe's face, but her eyelids were incredibly heavy and she could barely focus. The upholstery beneath her was a cradle and she shuffled down into it.

  'Get some rest now.' Rafe gave her hand one last squeeze before he released it and, as she began to drift off, she felt him gently lift her head and slide another pillow beneath it. 'Get some sleep and then, later, we'll get to the bottom of things. We'll find out what's going on, and we'll find those bloody friends of yours and get a straight answer out of them!'

  We?

  That sounded so nice. She was a part of a 'we' now. She wasn't alone with her demon any more.

  Rafe's heart thudded as he looked down at the sleeping Paula.

  It would have been so easy to put her under and question her in more detail, but he hadn't and he didn't know why he'd held back. There had been plenty of times in the past when he'd never bothered with such scruples. He'd used his acquired talents and his natural gifts less than ethically without thinking twice. His mouth thinned as he remembered, disliking himself.

  Paula looked so innocent, so vulnerable. Not a bit like the hungry seductress who'd literally floored him back in the treatment room. And yet still, she was sweetly desirable. His cock stirred and he imagined waking her and coaxing her into sex again. He could do it, even if she wasn't interested. But something new in him, some dormant shred of decency that both disturbed and cheered him, prevailed.

  He threw himself down in the armchair and watched her, his fingers steepled, their tips pressed hard together as if that might keep him from going back on his decision.

  God, there was power in her though. It had felt like a thousand volts flowing into him as they'd fucked, a real force that was capable of anything and everything if only it could be channelled. Her story about a possessing 'demon' was pretty far out, but he'd heard of stranger things, and she seemed to believe in it utterly. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn't. If he was honest with himself, what she really needed was the help of a reputable consultant psychiatrist to help her work through this, and a long course of intensive treatment, not just the self-serving ministrations of a second-rate hypnotist charlatan like himself.

  But one word rang in his mind, again and again, and he found himself leaning forwards again, as if getting closer to her could summon its secrets from her sleeping mind.

  Immortality.

  Her friends had spoken of a two-hundred-year-old man and a Japanese sorceress.

  A two-hundred-year-old man? How did that happen? If such a person truly existed, there must be a way to extend life. Could anyone do it, with the right spell or whatever? Or did you need to be a sorcerer or a sorceress to achieve it? Like the Japanese woman, or even the creature inside Paula?

  Into the melee of his thoughts came the image of his father. Skeletal, dead at 42, having gone out in a hard, hard way. You're nearly forty, man, he thought, and, if you've got what he had, you need some kind of magic mojo – and you need it fast.

  Staring hard at Paula's sleeping form, he sat for a long time, turning thoughts and possibilities over in his mind, grappling with inner demons of his own, ones that were real rather than just supernatural notions.

  Was there a way to get her secrets, and still not use or hurt her?

  It started to rain outside as the same thoughts revolved, repeating endlessly.

  Longevity, possession, magic, Japanese sorceresses, again and again and again.

  Michiko Asaka stared out of the window of her newly acquired apartment and frowned at the dirty London rain. What had happened to the sun? And to the peace and golden contentment that had settled upon her after André's leaving? She had been happy for him then, and for Arabelle, but now she missed him. Great Amida, how she missed her old friend!

  But it was more than just that. All was not right, she sensed, and there were things not quite done, left unresolved. After staying a couple of weeks at Sedgewick, counselling her friends Belinda and Jonathan, she'd become restless again. So, after leaving the Priory protected by magic, she'd returned to the city. But now the metropolis oppressed her and, suddenly, the urge to sling her leg across the back of her motorcycle and just leave for the country again was almost irresistible.

  Maybe tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow. At least tonight she had a diversion to alleviate her restlessness.

  Looking back into the room, she scanned the stark white walls, so newly washed and painted. There was very little furniture in the apartment, just a few mats, low tables, the necessary futons and the usual electrical appliances of modern living. Everything else had been stripped out and destroyed, burnt to ashes – taking with it all reminders of its previous hated owner.

  Maybe that's it, thought Michiko, clutching her quilted man's dressing gown more closely around her. Maybe it's impossible to completely eradicate her after all.

  But it had seemed a waste when Isidora Katori had disappeared, presumably into the black pits of hell, not to take advantage of her smart apartment in a prime London location. Ever the pragmatist, Michiko had simply located it, moved in and taken over. It had been effortlessly easy to delicately 'persuade' everyone, through the force of her mind, that she had a right to. Isidora's human employees, apparently unaware of her true nature, had just disappeared to other jobs when there had been no one to pay them.

  And still the rain clattered down, rattling a tattoo on the narrow balcony. Michiko drew the long velvet curtains she'd just had hung a
nd, abandoning the sitting room, followed the delicate smell of incense to her bedroom.

  The lover she'd left, tied up on the bed, was motionless.

  Insolent young pup, thought Michiko fondly, admiring his buttocks.

  In the days since André's freeing, she had sampled many men and women. In fact, in between stripping out this flat and making it over, she'd done little else but fuck in one form or another. New friends. Old friends. Friends who she wasn't sure were friends at all. She frowned, thinking of one invitation she hadn't yet answered.

  Balthazar Davenheim had often sought her company over the years. He was a physician, trained in many fields of medicine as well as being proficient in magic. Currently a professor of plastic surgery, his accomplishments were many and his charms considerable, but she'd never succumbed to him. They were too alike. They both liked to dominate and take control in the bedroom.

  That he should approach her now troubled her. Did he think that with André no longer around she would turn to him? Or had he been in league with Isidora and was now seeking revenge on her behalf? Either way, Michiko had declined his invitations, even though she knew he had a hoard of magical treasures that interested her. Instead, she'd played and fucked with all manner of partners who were not of the craft, sleeping and partying her way across half the city of London and resigning at last from her assumed life in the Takarazuka Revue.

  The board had at first been astonished and vexed to lose their principal otokoyaku, their top star, right in the middle of the Star Troupe's prestigious world tour, but they had quickly found themselves 'persuaded', without their realising it, that Michiko's exit was mutually agreed and amicable and a great chance for a new star of the all-woman review. An unprecedented and hugely generous resignation bonus had been immediately forthcoming.

  With a slow, appreciative gesture, Michiko stroked the padded silk of her luxurious dressing gown. The board had even found themselves gifting her some of her costumes. Most of the suits were too flashy for everyday use, of course, but some items were eminently wearable.

  Enjoying the slide of the silk against her body, she walked slowly to the bed.

  Hiro was a new prize, one of her countrymen, picked up at the hairdresser's of all places. Michiko stroked her own neatly barbered hair, freshly coal black, thanks to Hiro's skills as a colourist. She supposed she could have done the job herself, by magic or more conventionally, but a whim had driven her out to a salon when her bleached, orange-tinted locks had begun to bore her. And serendipity had handed her Hiro with his nimble fingers, his artistry and his sexy, camp, but still deliriously heterosexual style. His large doe eyes had adored her from the very first instant they'd alighted on her. He was no Davenheim, laden with a cluster of degrees and dazzling intelligence, but was cultured in his own way, fond of the art and literature of their homeland, and precociously skilled in drawing and calligraphy. His first gift to her, apart from his body, had been an exquisitely wrought scroll glorifying her name and his regard for her beauty.

  Hiro was a gem, and chief amongst his charms was his willingness to be her happy slave without the need for magic or mind control.

  As she joined him on the futon, those big dark eyes snapped open and the look of worshipful terror in the depths made her sex moisten and her blackberry nipples pucker hard in a way that was almost painful.

  'Where were we?' She slid her hand down his sleek thigh for emphasis. His body was as yet unmarked tonight and, though it seemed a shame to interfere with the caramel crème of his skin, the untouched canvas was intimately tempting. How delicious it was going to be to adorn him with blotches and streaks of pink. That was one of the many things that added to his appeal for her. He both marked up beautifully and healed with remarkable speed.

  With a hard shove on the side of his hip, she forced him onto his back, with his bound hands trapped awkwardly behind him. His superb cock, thick and dark, seemed to leap up and reach for her. He squealed like a baby when she slapped it for its insolence.

  It was hard to know what to do with him first, he was such a treat, but she took hold of his penis and tugged on it lightly. He moaned, flirting his narrow hips up, following her like a pup on a leash, then shouted out loud when she struck his lean thigh a hard crack with her free hand.

  'Your cock is mine, boy. You don't move. You don't make a sound. I play with this –' she pulled on him again, then pressed the sturdy flesh against the flat smooth surface of his belly '-and you stay still and good and quiet.'

  His near-black eyes widened, but he held himself magnificently in check, his sweet face and sweeter body as still as she demanded of him.

  For several minutes, she amused herself, holding him by the very tip, inclining his fierce erection this way and that, smoothing the delicate under-groove with her thumb, sometimes even leaning forwards to lick at his thickly dripping pre-come. He was salty and ripe with musk, utterly delicious, but she didn't take him fully into her mouth, merely sampling his fluid without giving him any pleasure.

  When she looked up at him again, his rosy mouth was working and a silver stream of tears was trickling from his eyes.

  Sliding up his body, she licked at those too, before rising to her feet.

  Standing over him again, her sense of ennui returned.

  His skin was too honeyed, his hair, streaked with electric magenta, too dark. His eyes, though pretty and soft and expressive, simply weren't blue.

  Irrational anger surged in her gut. It wasn't supposed to be like this. For a moment, she imagined making him over. Making him appear, at least, to be a simulacrum of her dear departed friend. It was a simple matter to do, and her fingertips twitched, ready to make the necessary passes, but then stilled.

  Life must go on, for her at least. And with such a long life ahead, she must adjust.

  So now, she had a distraction. Why not enjoy it?

  After padding silent and naked across the room, she lifted the lid of a large rosewood chest and looked inside, tapping her chin, deciding, deciding. Finally she smiled, lifting out several items that she held up for Hiro's perusal. When his eyes widened fearfully and his lips trembled, she knew that she'd made an apposite choice.

  On her return to the futon, her pet was shuffling towards the edge, cringing away from her. She knew that much of his cowardice was artfully feigned, a ruse to increase her enjoyment and ingratiate himself with her because he'd deduced she was wealthy, but still the sight of him trembling made her sex clench with delightful anticipation.

  The surge in her body produced a surge in her spirits. Glands and hormones pumped and pulsed, physical electricity tickled her nerves and her pleasure receptors. It felt like magic, but the kind anyone could wield.

  Setting out her toys, she lunged forwards quickly and kissed Hiro on the lips. He'd been drinking sake earlier, and its flavour was pungent yet familiar. She licked the last traces of it from his mouth and then subdued him with the force of her hungry kiss. Gently domineering him, she forced him backwards, reached for his balls and cradled them delicately, stroking his perineum with her thumb as she fucked his mouth with her tongue.

  Oh, the game was sweet, and it would pass a little time.

  5 Going Under

  'Do you live here alone?'

  Rafe's voice sounded very close as he followed Paula into the flat, so close that she could almost feel his breath on the back of her neck and the heat of his gaze on her waist and on the curves of her bottom. She'd caught him watching her stuffing her knickers into her bag before they'd left Inner Light, and knowing that he knew she was naked beneath her skirt made her feel doubly bare. Despite her worries, she smiled, feeling naughty.

  'Yes, there's just me. I like it that way.'

  As she spun round, his eyes flicked up to meet her face, and she just had to grin. Men were so hopelessly transparent.

  'Sorry, it's just I saw you put them in your bag. And us men just can't help but dwell on these things.' He paused, his eyes levelling on her. 'Especially as you were
so insistent on keeping everything covered up before.'

  Paula laughed. It surprised her that she could, but it was good to be out in the open with him. Particularly now, while Isidora was sleeping, or in Hell, or whatever happened to her when she wasn't lurking around whispering and taunting. Pressing her hand lightly to her belly, Paula felt only coolness, not the strange subcutaneous heat of the mysterious mark.

  'Well, you know why I wanted to be covered up. It's this thing on my belly. I didn't want you to feel it.' It was a difficult thing to get her head around. The fact that she wanted to both hide herself and fuck, virtually at the same time, didn't make sense to her so how could she explain it to him. She narrowed her eyes. Who was he to talk about underwear anyway? 'But what about you? You don't seem to bother with underwear at all. What's that all about? Easy access?' Unable to help herself, she glanced at his groin. The denim of his jeans was well worn there, and it was easy to imagine his large and undeniably impressive cock just beneath it.

  Broad shoulders shrugged beneath the leather jacket. 'What can I say? I just like the feeling of freedom, of having unfettered equipment.' He gave her a roguish wink, and advanced further into the room, looking around. 'It's nice here. Cosy.' He turned to her, his brown eyes narrowed, assessing. 'No man around to share it?' He shrugged. 'I suppose not, or you wouldn't be seeking help from a reprobate like me.'

  'It's a tip,' said Paula, swooping to snatch a pile of magazines and a cardigan from the sofa. 'And there have been men. But there's no one around at the moment, that's all.' She thought briefly of Jonathan, who she'd had a painful crush on at one time. 'Look, I don't think I'm ready for a mind probe or anything just yet. I don't want to stir "her" up. Do you fancy a glass of wine? Or something to eat? Or both?'