by McGill, Brie
It was impossible to wrestle free. “You’re an old and ugly aurochs!”
A grizzly hand smacked her ass. “Stop squirming!”
“Don’t touch me!” She pelted him with balled fists, kicking her feet into his stomach. “I’ll squirm if I want!”
“If you dare to disobey, it’s back to the closet!” Aleister adjusted her weight on his shoulder and marched out of the room.
Aleister dropped Ninkasi on a hard bench and removed her hood.
She blinked, eyes adjusting to sunshine pouring through the glass: this side of the building received a brighter slice of daylight. She sat in a workshop, with long benches stretching before banquet-sized work tables cluttered with beakers, burners, metal shavings, strange clippers and coils, copper and crystals, curious alien devices that resembled weapons.
“What is this place?” Ninkasi peered over her shoulder, gasping at the length of the room—a giant hall—and the number of tables, the quantity of bizarre experiments littering the room.
Aleister threw his hands into the air. “Welcome to my lab!”
She slouched against the table, adjusting her bulky skirts. “Why does this not surprise me. . .”
“There will be no talking back!” Aleister jammed his finger in her face.
Ninkasi’s eyes settled on his index finger, scarred and crooked. Had he suffered a bizarre personal injury?
Or, was Aleister tortured? Neither would surprise her.
The latter would explain his bizarre personality. She sighed. “Aleister, why don’t you take off that mask?”
The deformed hand slapped her.
She bit her lip.
“I brought you here because you need to understand one fundamental rule in my chateau.” He towered over her, lecturing in a nasal voice. “A fundamental rule of the universe.” He lifted his hands above his head.
Ninkasi rolled her eyes. “And you want me to ask, ‘What? What could that possibly be?’” She propped up her head with an arm on the table.
“No food without work!” Aleister smashed a palm against the table. “This is a collective. My collective. Everyone is fed, and everyone contributes. You want to eat, you have to work.”
“You brought me to your lab to help you work?” Ninkasi’s eyes fell on the table behind her, cramped with flasks, tubes, separatory funnels.
“Precisely.” Aleister lit a small burner beneath a black kettle. He roamed to the vast strip of decoratively carved wooden cabinets against the wall, and twisted a crystal handle. Retrieving a hefty burlap sack, he hauled it to the table.
“Aleister, when am I going home?” Ninkasi stared at a crazy mess on the table that resembled half a shotgun, gutted, impaled with copper rods and tangled with wires. “I'm sure my dad would give you any amount of money, if you asked.” She rested her forehead in her palm. "If money is what this is about. . ."
"Buttercup." Aleister put his hands on his hips. "Since we couldn't kidnap your father directly, we have to use you as a bargaining chip to influence his vote. The next vote isn't for several weeks, and beyond that, I'm an extremely busy man!" He swiveled his neck from side to side, in a strange birdlike movement. "My point is, you have to sit tight!" He clapped.
Aleister lifted the burlap sack, dumping a cascade of rough, shiny rocks, peach-tinted with a pink sheen, into the kettle. “Now we wait for the resin to melt.” He rapped the side of the kettle with a wooden spoon. “I hope you’re prepared to work. You have an odious debt to repay.”
“Debt?!” Ninkasi dug her nails into the bench and lurched forward. “What debt? If anything, you owe me an apology, for wrecking my entire life—”
“You!” Aleister pointed a haggard finger. “And don’t think I don’t know.” He tapped his head. “You’ve been drinking my wine.”
“Your wine?” She brought a hand to her forehead.
“Everything here belongs to me.” Aleister stared at her from behind the kettle. “Everything! It’s my wine, and you drank it.”
“You’re going to punish me with slave labor because someone else gave me some of your wine.” She lifted an eyebrow.
“I am harmonizing your coexistence with the collective!” Returning the sack to the cabinet, he slammed the doors shut.
An earthy scent, something like cedar, pine, the forest wafted through the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Colophony.” Aleister nodded at the kettle. “Pine resin. Orion gave you the wine.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, he’s a wayward one.” Reaching across the table, Aleister pushed a variety of silver moulds before Ninkasi. “See those two bowls with the metal filings?”
Ninkasi reached for the bowls, pulling them closer to herself.
“When this resin is ready, I will start to fill the moulds. After I pour, I want you to sprinkle a thick layer of mixed metal shavings on top of the resin.” Aleister stirred the kettle.
“O. . . kay. . .” She blinked, bewildered by the weirdness of the situation.
“Back-breaking work, I’m a vile slave-driver, I know.” Aleister shook his head, the horns on his mask commanding a great aura. He slapped the wooden spoon against the kettle. “Orion is like a damned rat in that wine cellar!”
Ninkasi dug her fingers into a bowl of metal filings. “Does Orion drink a lot?”
“He likes to drink.” Aleister shrugged. “Sometimes I catch him drunk—which is hilarious—but I rarely see him trashed. Or, he holds his liquor well. They say alcohol is a social lubricant.” He tilted his head back, laughing. “I should goad him to drink more.” He paused. “I don’t get drunk, personally. My regressions are unbecoming.”
Ninkasi frowned. “My mom is always wasted.”
Aleister stared at her.
“She says she drinks to cope, that it helps her.” She shook her head. “She’s blind to the way it robs her. She’s missed so much of my life, of Noah’s life. . .”
He sauntered to her side. “Your brother?”
She glanced at him with a bitter scowl. “Yeah. . . my brother.”
“That’s the problem with any lineage.” Aleister sat on the edge of the bench, his back to the table.
The bench creaked.
“Your parents’ problems are also your problems.”
Ninkasi tried to see the eyes behind the mask.
“You have to figure out how to fix them, or how to compensate.” He stared at the floor. “And the worst part of it is, no matter what decisions you make, no matter how successful you become, no matter what you do with your life, those problems, those pains and shortcomings will be the fulcrum for every decision you make. Those problems will rule your life, no matter what.”
Ninkasi sat silent, dumbstruck. It pained her to think about her mother’s broken heart, the way she cried when she was drunk, the way she talked to the dog because she felt too defeated to communicate with a member of her own species.
“I grew up with a family addicted to power,” he spoke earnestly. “My ancestors were kings and feudal lords. Everyone was in it for the power, and they’d burn cities, bomb countries to get it. They never needed to accumulate or control more—power was a compulsion, a perversion. It fucked up my upbringing, and it’s a part of my genetic code. I exist, thanks to centuries of conquest.”
Grabbing a crystal with a pair of metal clamps, Aleister fitted it into the mould. “I can try to live differently. I can fight against what they’ve done to the world, I can try to atone for their murders, but even if I don’t follow their wretched footsteps, my life is dictated by this dichotomy, this conundrum of accumulated power.” Slipping an alligator oven mitt over his mangled hand, he lifted the kettle, pouring a gob of resin into the mould.
Ninkasi followed with a spoonful of metal shavings. “What does that mean for the rest of your life? Are you saying we’re doomed to exist a certain way, and that’s it?”
“I don’t know.” Aleister slugged the kettle onto its holder above the burner. “This is the reason I
’ve devoted my life to ceremonial metaprogramming, the rewriting of my own genetic code.”
“What do you mean?” She grabbed a pinch of silvery filings. “Like genetic therapy?”
“No, something far more exacting than approved medical science.” Aleister removed his mitt, and set his hands neatly on his lap. “It’s a shame you’re only visiting, because if you became a serious addition to the collective, I would invite you to our bonfire ceremony for the equinox.”
“Nice try.” Ninkasi shook her head. “But no thanks.”
“That’s too bad.” He tilted his head. “You’re a good worker.”
She rolled her eyes. “This is hard work. Aleister, what are we making?”
“Weaponry.” He pointed at the moulds, and then to the dissected shotgun on the table. “Replacement anzein accumulators for my line of modified energy rifles.”
“What the hell kind of weaponry do you make with crystals and pine resin?!” She pointed at the gun; it gave her a bad feeling. “How does it work?”
“A device such as this is harmless to you.” He patted the gun. “It’s wise if you don’t get too close to, well. . .” He tilted his head and gave a perverse laugh. “Pray you never find yourself face-to-face with any of the creatures these guns were built to open fire upon.”
Fed up with entertaining the anxious thoughts of whether or not anyone would ever find her, Ninkasi retreated to an invisible space beneath the feathery comfort of her duvet.
It was time to blow off some steam. Time to get off.
She was ready to die of boredom and there was nothing else enjoyable to do.
Steady circles of her fingers moved her mind and body toward relaxation.
She tried to think of Toby, of all the bad, naughty, forbidden things he could do to her, acts that once, in her mind, provided paramount excitement.
The truth was, Toby would never have sex with her. Toby would never have sex with anyone and he was likely dismal in the sack.
It was a pointless fantasy. She might even be stuck here forever and never see Toby again.
It would be hot if there were a man who knew how to take control of her body. Someone older, someone experienced. Someone like. . .
Orion flashed through her mind.
Ninkasi wanted to squirt a gallon of bleach into her ear and scrub the thought from her brain for eternity.
No, no, no.
NO.
Clearing her mind, her fingers furiously worked her body. This time, she imagined hands without faces, pure sensation. She imagined the mechanics of penetration, deep inside her, a perfectly sized cock thrusting in and out, pushing her, owning her, commanding her, threatening her resolve, challenging her ability to keep a clear head.
It felt wonderful. She imagined hands on her body, rubbing her, caressing her, and rocked her hips to meet the perfect cock.
She thought of many hands. . .
And then the bathtub, the women.
She went cold, unable to shake the fact that Orion had arranged the baths.
It annoyed her when her mind wandered—she wanted to get off.
Ninkasi imagined nonsense, perverted things she would never dare to do in real life, anything to push her over the edge, seeking pure orgasm.
She concentrated on the imaginary sensations, bodies pressing into her, against her, the taste and touch of a man.
Her body responded with a surge of blood, a tinge of energy, a rush of dizziness to her head—
It worked. She dangled on the precipice, rubbing, rocking furiously toward an equalization, a revelation.
Her muscles clenched. She was there—she felt it—one more second, and—
Someone knocked at the door.
Ninkasi ripped her fingers away, bit her lip, and rolled onto her side. She felt the heat between her legs, the moisture in her panties.
She closed her eyes. She pretended to be asleep.
Her breath was heavy. Her body yearned, ached for release. Cruel frustration!
The knock came again. Only Orion knocked twice.
She ignored him, angry. Sweating, heart pounding, she clamped a fold of blanket between her legs, sensitive to the soft fabric brushing against her inner thighs.
God, she wanted to come.
She wanted to cry.
“I’m entering.” His spoken words had a magical quality, a dire purpose and gravity, like a wizard’s incantation.
Ninkasi owed him no response. She was on fire—
She was asleep.
Asleep.
She heard the tick-tack of his leather shoes against the stone floor, approaching the bed.
She had a rotten feeling in her stomach like he had watched her, like he knew precisely what she doing. How else could he know to knock at the precise moment she was about to—
“Ninkasi.” A hand squeezed her arm through the blankets. Long, sturdy fingers. Firm but gentle touch. He grasped her bare arm, constraining her, possessing her.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she forced a leisurely stretch, falling onto her back, rolling her head over the pillow, letting out a lusty moan.
The moan slipped out. She meant to yawn.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that he had watched her. Subtly slipping her dress down over her hips, she shifted stealthily, minding the rustle of blankets, disguising her movements with opulent yawns and stretches.
Orion sat on the edge of her bed, his face fully obscured behind a round, fat ogre mask. The skin was red with lightning yellow bloodshot eyes and terrifying pupils. Plump cheeks scrunched with a mean nose, revealing yellow, jagged teeth erupting from the mouth in every direction. Scraggly hair bristled from the chin, beneath the nose, at the eyebrows, around the head.
What an ugly mask! Why would anyone keep such a thing?
His hand lingered for a moment against her arm, before pulling it away.
She felt a twitch in the furnace between her legs, the raging inferno that burned up through her stomach, into her chest, seeped from her every breath.
“You have color in your face.” The mask, made of wood, dampened his words.
Ninkasi batted her eyes with languor, pushing herself up with her elbows, hanging back her head. Her long hair swept over the mattress, and she felt her nipples press against the blanket on top of her. She swiveled her hips to adjust disheveled frocks. “I was resting.”
Her eyes fell on his shirt, black and silken, with billowing sleeves. A sharp slit ran down the front of the shirt, allowing a glimpse of flesh from his throat to his solar plexus.
It was a nice chest, with ridges of healthy definition.
The sudden urge to run hands over his chest struck her, and her face grew hot.
“You ought to rest more.” He sat motionless on the bed, studying her from behind the mask, beyond accountability or recourse. “This look suits you.”
She hoisted herself into a seated position, securing blankets over her legs, around her waist. “Your mask is hideous.”
“I apologize for this solitude you must endure.” Orion revealed a trio of books clamped beneath his arm, and set them on his lap. He angled his body toward her.
Ninkasi smoothed her hair, feeling the cool jewels beneath her fingers. She wanted to punch a wall to relieve her frustrations.
This was the first time Orion came to see her since arranging for the baths: she had no idea what to say to him about the dead countess’s clothing, the Sapphic baths, the lingerie they both knew she wore but refused to acknowledge. She narrowed her eyes.
He played a weird game with her. It was their secret. Aleister had no idea.
She doubted that he knew Ninkasi knew that Aleister didn’t know about the dresses—let alone the underwear. Maybe he thought he was being smooth.
This made her distrust him even more.
“Come.” Orion motioned for her to join him at the edge of the bed.
She reluctantly cast the blanket aside and shimmied to the edge of the bed, yanking at her petticoats.
“In the absence of visitors” —Orion opened the first book and placed it on her lap— “I thought you might appreciate some intellectual stimulation.”
Glancing out the window, she gave a hopeless laugh. “At this point, I’d appreciate any kind of stimulation.”
She wanted to slap herself across the face.
“Aleister’s library is vast.” Orion waved his arm. “But these are three of my favorite books. I never tire of them.”
Ninkasi closed the book, staring at the blue, beaten cover, the worn spine, and flipped it open, examining the pages. “These are. . . the constellations. . .”
Orion looked over his shoulder, away from her.
She admired his flowing hair, the contours of his twisting neck.
He shrugged. “I thought it would make you more comfortable.”
“What?” She blinked, accepting the books. “Thank you. I think. . .”
A moment of silence passed between them.
She laughed in spite of herself. “I can’t believe you have a book like this.” She leafed through the pages, studying the archetypes in the night sky. “I appreciate it.” She faced him. “It gets unbelievably boring, locked up here, all alone—”
Ninkasi felt an unexpected swelling of emotion in her chest. Knowing she was bored to death, her gave her something to pass the time, to entertain herself, to educate herself. She felt a surge of insane relief, gratitude, much like the afternoon Orion delivered her first meal.
Now he delivered her mind.
“I know.” Reaching into his pocket, he inserted a cigarette through the ogre’s mouth and sparked it. “Believe me, I know.”
She observed the desperation in his ritual and laughed.
“What?” He turned to face her, smoke puffing from the ogre’s mouth, escaping the edges of the mask.
Biting her lip, she looked away.
He leered at her, shiny gloves pinching the cigarette as he took a long draw.
She gave in, turning to face him. “I’ve never seen an ogre smoke before!”
“Well, you’d better believe it.” He reached across her lap, setting a second book beside her, moving closer to her as a result. “Ogres smoke all the fucking time.”
She felt the subtle friction of his paisley leggings against her dress, smelled his body’s catacomb perfumery of copal and a rainy forest floor. “I’ve never met an ogre. You’re the first.”