'Yes, I found them and I put them in a secure place. I guessed you might need them.' He held his breath. 'What are they?'
'A spell, delicious man. A spell to prevent those who are jealous of me banishing me for ever. Cruel people would do that even though I have a right to live.'
Lying cunt! howled the raging spirit inside Rafe as he fought the instinct to crush the delicate bones of her foot with his bare hands. The spell she'd preserved was the one to banish Paula, not herself. With a supreme effort, he kept the caresses light and worshipful, knowing that it was his beloved's body he'd injure if he lost control.
'It's safe, dearest... perfectly safe ... and so are you ... Relax now ... all will be well... all will be well...'
His voice was honey while his rage curdled inside and burnt his gut.
She shifted slightly on the bed and sighed with all the feigned innocence of a selfish child lapsing into unconsciousness. Rafe checked her vitals cursorily, then leapt from the bed, hurtling for the bathroom, his innards churning.
Crouched over the toilet, heaving and vomiting, he felt filthy and polluted.
I'll get you, you bitch, he swore inside as he retched. I'll really get you! I'll set Paula free of you and banish you for ever if it kills me.
Slouching against the pedestal, he panted for breath, feeling the chill steel of dark determination grip his heart.
Staring at the shiny black-painted door, and its well-polished knocker, Michiko seemed to see Hiro's face, not her own fuzzy reflection. His soft brown eyes had been a picture as she'd left him, the pain and acceptance in them only making her care even more for him.
She'd deliberately spoken to Balthazar Davenheim on the phone with Hiro in the room. It had seemed important that he knew exactly what she was planning and what she'd have to give in order to receive what Paula needed. Why, she didn't know. She'd never revealed so much of herself to her lovers before, not even André, but somehow the urge to share with Hiro was almost natural.
Share pain, share pleasure, share secrets. She hadn't told any of the others what Davenheim wanted. She'd just taken off while the others were still in their rooms, leaving a written message with Oren saying she'd be back as soon as she could.
Time was of the essence. Even Davenheim accepted that. He'd agreed to take just a little taster on account, and Michiko had driven like a maniac to London, relying on the fact that she could bewitch her way out of any speeding ticket she might incur.
Breathing in deeply, she pressed the bell push and waited. Far inside the elegant house, she heard a chime. The doorstep felt hard beneath the thin soles of her shoes and, looking around the elegant Belgravia square, she focused on its routine activities to calm her unexpected nerves. A courier sped by on his motorcycle, dark leathers and visor making her wish she were dressed for biking. People hurrying to offices, ready to fit themselves into various hierarchies and levels of subservience. A woman in a shiny black mackintosh and high heels, who could just conceivably have been a dominatrix.
Michiko suddenly wished she too was about to assume that role, then felt astonished at herself for feeling fear, because she wasn't.
Why are you so craven, Miko? she quizzed herself, as activity beyond the black-painted barrier made her heart surge. Surely you can take what you dish out? Don't be a weakling.
The door swung open to reveal a large figure, clad in black and smiling.
Balthazar Davenheim had aged a little since she'd last encountered him. But not as much as a normal man should have. His hair was thickly grizzled with grey, but if he had been a normal man the hair itself would have all but disappeared by now. If he'd been a normal man, he'd have been rotting in a box.
'Do come in, Madame Michiko,' the tall, broad man said softly, stepping back into his spacious hall to let her pass. As she moved into the cool, airy space, Michiko caught a waft of rather delicious men's cologne, green yet spicy, and, despite the seriousness of her mission here, she felt a smoky twist of lust.
'Would you care for a drink first?' His voice was low, even and cultured, the sort that inspired confidence and trust. She supposed he might have trained it to be that way, for the benefit of his patients. Or perhaps for others that he consorted with for pleasure. A pleasant-speaking voice was such an asset in a master.
It crossed Michiko's mind to refuse his hospitality and stress the urgency of getting on with the matter in hand. But suddenly the idea of a social moment with this man she barely knew became appealing. His manner intrigued her. It wasn't at all what she'd expected.
'Of course. That would be lovely. Thank you, Balthazar.'
In the shadowy hall, his dark eyes flared. Had she made a mistake? Were they already playing? But in their hazel depths she saw humour, and a definite hint of respect, and, as he nodded and indicated that she precede him through an open door beyond him, her interest gathered and her heart began to thud.
This is just business, she told herself as they entered an elegant, tall-ceilinged sitting room. Not pleasure, definitely not pleasure. But as her spirits began to rise, she felt a pang of guilt amongst them. Although she'd said nothing to him, she'd made an unspoken promise to Hiro she wouldn't enjoy this. But now, she suspected she would. And that was surprising.
She eyed Balthazar slyly as he made his way to a silver tray on the sideboard and, without consulting her further, poured two glasses of what appeared to be dark rich sherry.
He was a big man, tall and burly, broad of face and chest. A little heavy in the paunch, but just on the right side of the line between stocky and fat. There was an overpowering aura of substance about him that would have been there whether he had powers of magic or not, but as a surgeon she suspected he was capable of pinpoint delicacy too.
Which may or may not be a good thing.
He brought her glass to her and put it in her hand, sipping almost greedily from his own as he did so. Taking it from him, she noticed that his eyes were glittering with a strangely boyish enthusiasm.
She took a sip, and almost grimaced. The sherry was incredibly sweet. And yet after the first shock of its caramel-like flavour, she felt an intense warmth bloom in her throat and then her belly.
Have you dosed me?
Balthazar gazed back at her, his broad face insouciant, as if he'd read her thought and was giving her the 'who, me?' treatment. With a graceful gesture he indicated that she sit down on one of his deeply upholstered sofas.
So it was to be social civility before the dark games, was it?
Balthazar took a seat on a matching sofa across from her. The cushion sagged as he sank down, his considerable body apparently relaxed as he lounged back and sipped his sherry.
'So?' he enquired lightly. They'd made their deal over the phone. There wasn't really any need for these pleasantries.
'So?' She lifted her chin and met his frank gaze. Why on earth was she so nervous? She'd played a thousand games in her long lifetime, so why be anxious now? It wasn't even as if she'd never taken the sub role before. She'd tried it, and found it diverting, even if she'd secretly not succumbed in the slightest.
But with Balthazar, she suddenly didn't feel as if she wanted to fake anything. For the first time, piquantly, she wanted to be what he wanted of her. Especially now she had these delicate feelings for Hiro bubbling inside her.
She studied her companion as he studied her. Balthazar wore black. A fine-knit turtleneck and jeans, a classic understated master's choice. Especially with the shiny black-leather belt at his waist. Even as her eyes flitted over his broad shoulders, his sturdy thighs and his truly enormous hands where they rested lightly against the creamy-pale upholstery, they kept returning again and again to that belt.
His bright eyes narrowed as he lifted his glass. Apparently savouring the sweet drink, he didn't once look away from her. 'So,' he repeated, setting the glass down again with a soft clump, 'shall we get down to business? I'm anxious to begin.' As he spoke, he ran his fingers over his belt buckle.
Michiko sipped h
er own sherry, liking the glow it fired in her belly more and more. She couldn't remember the last time she'd ever felt afraid of anything. Her powers made her hyper-confident, maybe as invincible as it was possible to be in the modern world. But here in this quiet room, with this man she'd previously dismissed as inconsequential, she felt anxious. And she realised she'd miscalculated.
Balthazar Davenheim was redolent with consequence, exciting in his palpable machismo and raw strength. In which case she had to hold fast to her mission, her own requirements.
'I need to see the grimoire first. I need to know that I'm going to get what I came for.'
Snagging his full lower lip, Balthazar grinned.
Laughing softly, he steepled his fingers, still watching her.
14 Show Me the Grimoire
'Show me the grimoire, eh?' mocked Balthazar lightly, licking his lower lip as if a drop of sherry lingered there.
'It's why I'm here, Balthazar.'
She had to maintain an equilibrium here. Even though she had to submit to him sexually, she couldn't afford to forget her true purpose in coming to the city.
Moments stretched out, as did Balthazar's long, solid legs in front of him. He seemed to be having a wonderful time already. Deep into his games, although technically the proceedings weren't yet open.
'Very well. Fair enough,' he said with sudden cheerfulness, leaping to his feet, his large form making her jump. 'I'll get it. Why don't you have another sherry while you're waiting? Won't be a mo.'
After moving swiftly across the room, he paused at the door and winked at her, then was gone, presumably to the safe place where he kept the precious grimoire, a book, which like André's, was beyond any estimation of monetary worth.
This man isn't at all what I expected.
Michiko sprang to her feet too, strode to the drinks tray, and refilled her glass as he'd suggested.
And I'm not at all what I expected I'd be around him.
Again, Hiro's sweet face swam into her mind's eye. He and Balthazar were about as unlike as two men could possibly be but, to her surprise, she realised that there was something about their eyes that was similar. Both very beautiful, and full of knowledge and inner character.
As she drank down her sherry, and refilled again, a new image grabbed her imagination.
Herself, with Hiro and Balthazar.
Balthazar and Hiro together, as she looked on, touching herself.
Could that work? Could she get these two special men together?
Ideas, dark and deliriously perverted, swam in her mind. When this was over, both tonight and the more serious and difficult task beyond that, she would engineer the fulfilment of her fantasy. She stepped away from the drinks tray. From slightly despising the heavy sweet wine, she'd moved to suddenly having quite a passion for it.
Much like Balthazar himself.
There was a tall mirror on the wall, she noticed, smiling. Part of the games paraphernalia no doubt. Maybe to allow his subs to watch themselves being whipped or fucked or whatever else he liked to do with them. Striking a pose in front of it, Michiko appraised her appearance. She was dressed according to Balthazar's specifications. Part of his price for allowing her access to his priceless book.
How strange she looked to herself in a slim-cut grey business suit, sleek of skirt and sharp of jacket. The fine silk worsted skimmed her body only lightly, without a wrinkle or deviation in its streamlined elegance. Though her physique was slender and athletic, the crafty suit somehow seemed to imply femininity and corporate curves without revealing anything in the way of gross displays. Even its length was conservative and modest, the kick-pleated skirt lovingly skimming the mid point of her knees.
The shoes were also Balthazar's choice, and slightly more sexualised with their high slim heels and classic court shape. They were shiny dark patent, embracing the foot like a lover, their fetish perfection enhanced and augmented by her fine-denier hose the colour and texture of wood-smoke.
She looked serious, professional, hardcore, in total control of herself.
And that was what Balthazar wanted – so he could shatter the image and crumble her composure in his hands.
As a way of reassuring herself, she patted her hair, so smooth and black, part of the real her, not the payment package she'd made herself into. Pursing her lips, she assessed her make-up. Understated as the rest of her, apart from the red-stained lips, but for a moment she seemed to see a layered image in the glass. Her own reflection from this moment, but also the picture of herself from another time – as an exquisite geisha, her face white, her kimono sublime, her hair elaborate.
A manufactured construction to please a man for money, just as she was now, in some ways. Only now it was goods and services for which she would perform.
She sensed his presence approaching long before she heard his heavy steps. Moving soundlessly, she settled on one of the sofas, crossing her legs to show her narrow ankles to advantage.
Balthazar entered, toting his grimoire.
The book was bigger than André's prized volume, and far shabbier-looking. Much like its owner, thought Michiko with a hidden smile.
'Would you like a quick look-see before we ... um ... get down to business?'
His voice was bland, but there was real excitement in his rich brown-green eyes. For a moment she got an impression of an overgrown schoolboy, jigging about in anticipation of receiving a long-cherished prize. There was a definite aura of enthusiasm about him, and she hoped, she really hoped, that it wouldn't get the better of him during their proceedings.
'Of course,' she said smoothly, rising to join him at the heavy desk where he'd set down the book.
Its appearance, close up, made her frown. There were nicks in the dark stained leather of the cover and she could see that some pages had torn edges. What if the relevant spells were missing from this one too? What the hell could she do? The critical thousand hours were even now speeding by in a dreadful countdown, and she couldn't imagine how she would cope with Isidora on her back for the rest of her days, never mind an ordinary ungifted woman like Paula. It was unthinkable. But if the spell wasn't here, there wasn't sufficient time remaining to seek out yet another copy.
Anxiously, she nicked through the discoloured pages, then gasped with relief when she found a section dealing with markers. Ah, there it was! The banishing spell, as well as the assimilation hex that Isidora had stolen. And yes, other related enchantments too, codicils that weren't even in André's grimoire at all. She licked her lips, leaning over and becoming absorbed in these 'extras'.
Until a soft but pointed cough, right beside her, wrenched her attention from the arcane world and back into the real world of here and now. And her situation.
'Has it got what you need?' Balthazar's eyes were even brighter now, and his mouth looked shiny as if he'd been licking his lips again. Perhaps he had. She'd been so absorbed in the venerable book that, behind her back, he could well have been admiring her legs and her bottom in the trim skirt of her suit.
'It's perfect. Just what I need.' She hesitated, about to casually call him 'Balthazar' and treat him as an equal. But suddenly she realised it was time to pay the price.
'Thank you, master,' she murmured, bowing her head.
Even though she wasn't looking at him, the great wave of his exultation hit her. Joy. Glee. Sexual excitement. That boyish enthusiasm that rather worried her, but which also seemed strangely appealing in a man of apparent middle age.
'Very good, very good...' There was a smile in his voice, though it was obvious he was trying to sound stern. 'But one thing before we start.' He paused, reached out and cupped her cheek with his large hand, making her look at him. 'No magic, eh? Just us. I don't want any tricks. You have to play fair or no deal.'
He still looked happy, but there was a hint of seriousness, of direct dealing. Touching his mind lightly for what she acknowledged had to be the last time for many hours, she sensed just what she'd expected. He knew she was the greater magic
ian and that, playing by her own rules, she could easily outspell him and make him believe he'd received his payment, even if he hadn't had as much as a sniff of her.
'Of course, master. As you wish, master.'
Dropping her gaze to the carpet and the polished toes of her shoes, she threw an invisible psychic switch inside her brain. And suddenly felt utterly naked inside her suit and her carefully chosen underwear. She was just Michiko now, a submissive woman, not an all-powerful Miko.
She could no longer even tell whether Balthazar had sensed the change.
'Good. Now we understand each other.' His voice was low and firm, quite thrilling in a way, and Michiko idly wondered if he had sensed the 'off' switch after all. 'Move to the centre of the rug, slave, if you would. And then stand there, facing the mirror, hands on your head.'
A delicious, shivering sensation sluiced through Michiko's innards. As she walked to the specified spot, and took up her pose, she sent her mind back over the decades to the few occasions when she had played the sexual submissive to a man's mastery. How in great Amida's name could she have forgotten the excitement? How could she have forgotten the delicious, weakening rush of lust?
As she raised her hands and set them on the top of her head, as prescribed, her breasts lifted subtly inside her jacket. The crisp lace of her bra was scratchy against the sensitive tips and sent little flags of sweet dark feeling to her sex. Almost immediately, she felt moisture soaking her thong.
Not having been instructed to look up, she kept her gaze firmly on her shoes and the fine Persian rug beneath them. Balthazar was a successful surgeon in the straight world and he liked nice things. She found it rather endearing that he still liked to earn his living in a non-magical way. Much like she'd done for a while in the Takarazuka.
She felt him come up behind her, his presence huge. He really was one of the biggest men she'd ever been around, and his sheer physical bulk only added to his ability to master. He didn't have to do anything, just to be.
The room was very quiet, apart from the crackle of a small fire burning in the hearth. The day was unseasonably cool, but the cheerful blaze seemed to be more about fostering the ambience of a mentor's study, harking back subtly to schooldays and traditional discipline. She had to bite back a smile, imagining Balthazar in a mortar board and gown.
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