by Kim Wilkins
Deborah shrunk back in her seat. Her first impulse was to apologise, but she stopped herself. Amelia should apologise. “I simply want your help. I want to protect my sisters and my father. Can you show me a spell?”
“What kind of spell?” Amelia asked.
“A spell which will turn my sisters’ minds against Lazodeus.”
“I know no such spell.”
Deborah threw her hands up in exasperation. “You know nothing!”
Amelia jumped out of her seat. “Leave immediately! I do not have to listen to your impertinence.”
“Amelia, I —”
Amelia leaned over and grabbed her by the ear, pulled her to her feet. “Go on, get out. When you are ready to give me the respect I deserve, you may return for your key and further lessons.”
“But —”
Amelia was marching her to the door, twisting her ear. “I do not want to hear an excuse, just go home and think about what you’ve done.”
“Don’t you see, this is more important than my disobedience?” Deborah pleaded. “My father’s life is in danger.”
“Oh, rubbish. Your sisters aren’t killers.”
“But he has them so in thrall —”
“I shan’t hear another word about it. Amelia Lewis is not in the habit of putting young women in danger with evil angels.”
The door swung shut behind her, and Deborah was left standing dazed on the doorstep. Her ear burned with pain. Amelia’s pride was too great to admit her shortcomings, and shortcomings there were many.
“She has my key,” Deborah said under her breath. That situation would have to be remedied very soon.
Deborah opened the door to her closet very quietly. That afternoon, she had spent two hours plotting her course down the stairs, finding which floorboards and stairs creaked, which were sound, where to place her feet to create the minimum noise. The last thing she wanted was to be caught by Father sneaking out of the house at one in the morning. At Amelia’s place, things would be different. She would have to be quick, not quiet. But with Gisela away, she trusted she could get in, take back her demon key and escape again without being noticed.
Amelia would notice it was gone, of course, and she would guess who took it. Deborah supposed this would be the end of their relationship, and it made her sad. Even though Amelia often did not know the answers to her questions, she had at least been an ally. Perhaps she was misguided, but she wasn’t wicked. And there had been a time when Deborah had greatly admired Amelia: her vow of virginity, her steely-mindedness, her devotion to knowledge.
She watched her step as she crept to the front door. Father’s study door was closed. He would be in there sleeping, perhaps receiving new dreams from Lazodeus. She could not bear how the angel had inveigled his way into her family. She wished him out, far away from her and her sisters and her father, back to Hell where he belonged. Cautiously she opened the door and in a few moments was out on the street.
Just as she allowed herself to breathe again, a hand caught her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
She whirled around. Mary in her housecoat and bare feet.
“Nothing of your concern.”
“Yes, it is. You are my younger sister and I feel responsible for you.” Mary smiled a snide smile. “I shall have to report to Father of course.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Then tell me where you are going.”
“’Tis no business of yours where I am going.”
“Then what shall I tell Father?”
Deborah drew herself up tall. “You shall not tell Father a thing.”
“Oh, I should quake for fear seeing how tall you are,” Mary said in a mock-frightened voice. “Oh, Deborah, do be kind to me.”
“Mary, go home. I do not come to bother you when you slip out to your secret room, though I am sure you behave outrageously when you are in there.”
Mary mocked Deborah, made her sound righteous and pompous. “Outrageously. Mad mad Mary behaves absolutely outrageously.” She pulled open her housecoat, revealing her thin nightdress underneath. “How outrageous, I am.” This time she turned and pulled up her nightdress, exposing her buttocks to the dark street. “Look, Deborah, even my arse is outrageous.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Deborah said, pushing Mary’s nightdress down and rearranging her housecoat. “I do not want to be your adversary.”
Mary turned back to her and flicked a curl off her shoulder. “A little late for that, is it not?”
“Is it?”
“You declared yourself the enemy to my angel.”
“Your angel? You know, do you not, that Anne considers him her angel withal?”
“Anne is a pinch-faced dope. Lazodeus has no interest in her beyond a sense of charity.”
Deborah pushed her lightly. “Leave me be, Mary. Go home to bed and try not to wake anybody.”
“You will not tell me where you are going?”
“No. And don’t think to follow me.”
“Why, what will you do? Put a spell on me?”
“I should never do such a thing to one of my sisters,” she said, wondering if it were true.
Mary shrugged. “I shall go back to bed, but I shall ask Lazodeus where you have been. He knows and sees everything. He knew you had the demon key.”
Deborah shook the threat off. Mary obviously did not know how easy it was to block Lazodeus’s prying eyes. “Go ahead and ask. I care not.”
Mary turned around and began to walk away. Deborah waited until her sister had disappeared back into the house before she set off once more for Amelia’s. Summer had grown ferocious this year. The usual sunny breezes and balmy warmth of July had turned to blasting winds and blazing days that clung on as though autumn had forgotten she was due. The hot streets were silent and deserted until she reached the wall. She went through Mooregate and headed down through the narrow crooked alleys towards Amelia’s. Here people were still out, lanterns were hung in windows and loud voices swelled from pubs. The houses were built so close together in some places that the upper jetties almost touched.
No lights on at Amelia’s. Deborah stood out the front for a few moments catching her breath. The clouds in the sky had parted revealing a half-moon. In the pale moonlight, the tall trees and the slender building seemed even more attenuated, throwing elongated shadows. The leaves rattled overhead.
“Go in, Deborah,” she said. “Go in and take what’s rightfully yours.” Still, it took ten deep breaths to work up the nerve. She crept to the front door. The latch was on, but it was easy enough to tilt out the window next to the door, reach her hand in and drop the latch. She edged the door open quietly. One of the cats sat in a patch of moonlight nearby, looking up at her with curious unblinking eyes. Deborah stepped around it deftly and made her way into the house.
In Amelia’s sitting room, the quiet lay very heavy over the velvets and silks. She waited a moment or two for her eyes to adjust. She didn’t want to step on a cat and wake Amelia. The demon key was just where she had left it, on the chest under the window. She scooped it up and was nearly out of the room when she heard a groan from upstairs.
She stopped to listen. There it was again, but louder. Was Amelia sick? Deborah hesitated. She should leave; Amelia would be angry with her. But Amelia was alone. Gisela was away, and if she were sick or hurt, who would know? She could die up there, and Deborah would never forgive herself.
She hung the key around her neck and inched towards the stairs, stopping to listen. There it was again, a low groan. Deborah chewed her lip. What if Amelia were just having a nightmare? She couldn’t go barging in there, letting on that she’d broken into her house. Suddenly, Amelia let out a loud yelp. And another. She must be in pain. Deborah firmed her resolve, and stole up the staircase.
Amelia’s bedroom door stood in front of her. The groans were coming louder now. She pushed the door open a crack, Amelia’s name poised on her lips. The sight within stopped her cold.
Amelia lay
naked on her bed, legs and arms splayed in every direction. Three scaly red creatures, distant cousins to the creatures Deborah had seen squashed against each other in her walls, were arranged around her: two suckling at her breasts, the third shoving its unnaturally large member in and out of her quim. It took Deborah a moment to realise what was happening.
Pleasure, not pain. Her groans were sighs of sexual appreciation.
She backed out quickly. None of them had seen her, being so intent on their congress. Deborah felt a sick, heavy disappointment. So Amelia bragged of never having made love to a man? A mere elision of the truth. For she made love instead to demons. Not caring about the noise she made any more, Deborah ran down the stairs and out of the house into the moonlight.
She headed back home through cramped streets. Father had disappointed her. Anne and Mary had disappointed her. Amelia had disappointed her. They had let her down, all of them. She felt very young, very innocent, and very alone.
Her hand went idly to the demon key and she thought about its angelic charge. Did it matter that she knew nothing about love and sex and the congress of man and woman? For she knew about greater things well enough. Loyalty, duty, family. The key was a tool for magic — petty magic. For trifles and baubles and the fulfilment of vanity. But she could use it differently surely. She could find a way to protect her sisters and her father.
She hurried home. Amelia’s amoral recklessness was not for her. She had never been more certain of anything in her life.
Perspiration ran over her stomach and between her breasts, her hair flew in every direction, and her feet were starting to pinch in her shoes, but Anne kept running.
“Aren’t you tired of it yet?” This was Lazodeus, leaning against a tree watching her, a smile playing on his lips.
“No, I shall never tire of it!” Anne cried, and took off once more for a loop around the field, her arms outstretched, laughing. It was mid-afternoon, summery and gusty. A couple cut across the field, but if they thought oddly of the girl running round in circles, or the handsome man who waited for her under the tree, they gave no indication.
Finally, he caught her in his arms. “Come now, Anne. Have you called me just to watch you run?”
Breathless, she laughed. “Yes, for I love it so much I had to share it with you.”
He smoothed her hair down. “It is delightful. You delight me.”
“I love you,” she said, and pressed her lips against his, not caring if someone saw them.
“Sh, sh,” Lazodeus said, pulling away. “We must be more careful than that.”
“But I don’t care who knows.”
“We have to care, Anne. For our love is forbidden.”
Chastened, she took a step back. “I’m sorry.”
He took her wrist and pulled her to him. “Come, let’s go further into the hedge where no one will see us. And I shall cloak us with invisibility so we may do as we please.”
How beautiful, how reckless and delicious to make love in the open, with dappled sunshine on her bare skin, as all those delectable feelings ran through her body. She had wondered on three or four occasions if their lovemaking was wrong. But how could it be wrong? It felt like the most natural thing in the world. And they were in love, Lazodeus would probably soon find a way to marry her so they could be together forever.
She frowned.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I was just thinking about how I’d like to be with you all the time.”
“I’d like to be with you all the time too.”
“Then why do you sometimes not come when I call?”
“Because I am busy.”
Anne thought about the vision of Lazodeus with his peers, talking and joking. She couldn’t bear that he had a whole life without her. “What will happen to us?” she said, not checking the mournful tone of her voice.
He smiled and cleared her hair off her face. “Annie, don’t fret about the future. We have this wonderful moment together, let us enjoy it.” He rolled off her and they lay naked amongst the hedges.
He was right of course. “I’m sorry. I’m simply so unused to being happy that I want to pin it down and make it promise to stay forever.”
“You aren’t to worry. You will be happy. I will always love you.”
Every time he said it her chest seemed to grow wings. “I love you,” she replied. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The words were already becoming worn out, could not express her feelings adequately.
“I know.”
“Deborah said a terrible thing.” She had been anxious to talk about it, to ask whether Lazodeus knew Anne had been watching in the scrying mirror when it broke. She did not want him to be angry with her.
“Deborah is full of terrible things, and so must excise some of them by saying them aloud,” he said evenly. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I should not speak ill of your sister.”
“No, I think you are right. I think that is why she said what she said, for what other reason could there be?”
“What did she say?”
“She said that she had watched you in a secret mirror and had seen you contract with Lucifer to tempt Mary and me into patricide.”
“A secret mirror? No such mirror exists. At least, the figures one sees and hears in it are demons impersonating real persons or beings. One must be careful when using such a mirror, for it can be deceptive.”
“She said you gave it to her.”
“I gave her no such gift. Why would I give her a gift? You know that she and I are at odds.” He sat up and looked down at her, growing agitated. “And why should I wish you to injure your father? I know him not. It is a silly accusation as well as a false one.”
“It made little sense to me, too.”
“Did you believe it though? In some small part of your heart did you wonder if it may be true?” His mouth turned down sadly at the corners, and Anne felt her heart contract.
“Oh no, no, of course not, my love. I merely mentioned it out of curiosity.” She slapped her forehead. “I am such a fool. I should have anticipated such an accusation could hurt you.”
“I am not hurt by the accusation. I am only hurt by the fear that you mistrusted me.”
“No, my love. I trust you more than I trust myself. My life is yours to do with as you will.” She reached a shy hand up to touch his face, and he leaned down to kiss her.
When he drew away, he said, “I think I know why Deborah said such a thing, Anne. But I am uncertain if you will relish hearing it.”
“Tell me,” Anne said. “I would like to know. For Deborah and I were once close and …” She was suddenly sick at heart about how much distance now lay between her and her youngest sister.
“You must promise not to be too angry with her.”
“Why?”
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” she said warily.
“Deborah made advances to me.”
Anne was momentarily uncomprehending. “Advances?”
“Of an amorous nature.”
“Deborah? My sister Deborah? The sworn virgin?”
“I do not think she desired any erotic outcome. In many ways she is still a child. But she had become infatuated with me.”
“But the whole time she was protesting that we shouldn’t call you. Was she … what was she doing?”
“She didn’t want you or Mary to call me again. She wanted me wholly as her own angel.” He raised a finger in warning. “Now you aren’t to be angry with her.”
Anne swallowed her indignation. “Yes, Lazodeus. I promised you.”
“And it is best not to mention me to her ever again. Even in an argument, no matter what she says. You must promise not to talk of me to her.”
“I promise.”
He nodded. “When I turned her down, when I told her that such relationships could not form between angels and mortals, indeed that she was little more than a child and would love again elsewhere someone of her own kind, she grew
enraged. She swore to be my enemy and so she has been ever since.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Before you went away. If you think about it, you’ll see it explains all her animosity towards me from very long ago. Practically right from the start.”
Anne did think about it, and what he said made perfect sense. She would never have guessed it though — Deborah had been so predictable with her urging of caution: wait until we know what he is, do not call him for he may be dangerous, and so on. All the time hoping to save his company only for herself. “I am amazed,” she said.
“Deborah is not all that she seems. Like her father she is a veneer of reason and wisdom. But it is all conceit. It covers a great —”
“Vanity. A great vanity. For Father is so very vain and believes that he is wise and masterful. But he cannot even manage the most basic human dignity to me, and that is not the mark of a wise person. That is narrow and conceited.”
“Yes, yes, you are right, Anne. And Deborah grows more like him every day.”
“She has always been his favourite. She resembles him greatly.”
“Again, where is the wisdom in such favouritism? To prefer a child because she resembles him in appearance?”
“Exactly! Exactly. He is the fool, not I.”
“A fool? You? Why, you have depths which he cannot even aspire to.”
She smiled up at her angel. “I am perfectly happy,” she said.
“And so it shall remain,” he replied quickly. “I shall ensure it. But beware Deborah and your father, for they shall try to undermine that happiness.”
“I shan’t let them. I know my heart and I know my mind, and for the first time in my life I shall trust to my heart and mind, and not assume that everyone else knows best.” She sat up and shook grass out of her hair. “I shall not be a fool any longer.”
A long time had passed since Deborah had been in Mary’s secret room. She was astonished at how lavish it had become. Silk cushions piled high, deep crimson and royal blue velvet curtains sectioning off parts of the room, gold and crystal ornaments. And evidence too of her sister’s carnal involvement with the angel: one whole wall decorated with explicit watercolours, pricks carved out of ivory and gold, and an assortment of silk bridles and velvet ropes whose uses she could barely guess.