Gothic Blue

by Portia Da Costa

  The resulting melange was dark and murky, an indeterminate mud-like dark brown. André agitated it carefully with the point of his black-handled dagger, stirring in all the magic symbols that he had used with each ingredient, while repeating the appropriate chant with each separate shape. Beside him Michiko whispered in Japanese. The last step was to apply a flame to heat the flask.

  Slowly, very slowly, as the contents became tepid, then warm, then hot, a startling transformation took place within the vessel. What had been a dirty, odiferous blend of disparate constituents very gradually took on a hue of beauty, and by the time it was bubbling steadily it had changed nature completely. Within the glass now there was a clear, jewel-like liquid of the most intense lapis blue – the same brilliant colour as André’s own eyes in the mirror.

  ‘It is ready,’ he said quietly to Michiko, as they both gazed at the contents of the flask. He was glad that they had achieved the transmutation so successfully, but he still felt a slight pang of uneasiness. Although it had not been precisely this mixture that Isidora had added to his wine that fateful night two hundred years ago, what he had before him now was only a variant of the potion that had damned him.

  ‘It will not work unless you believe that it will, my lord,’ said Michiko softly from beside him. ‘Your faith is the most potent of all ingredients.’ She slid her slender arm around his waist, beneath his robe, and gave him a squeeze.

  ‘I hope you are right,’ he replied, still gazing at the enigmatic fluid.

  ‘Of course I’m right.’ Michiko’s voice was confident but tender, and her slender fingertips slid down across his hip. ‘And now, my lord, I am going to make love to you.’ Her hand cupped the muscled curve of his buttock. ‘– because this could well be the last chance we’ll ever have.’

  Realising she was right, André turned to her, his throat choked at the finality of her words. He would miss his old friend – miss her spirit and her loveliness – and he would miss the closeness that their strange condition had forged in them. Opening the folds of her kimono, he pressed her naked body to him, then brought his lips down on her mouth in a long kiss.

  Her face was wet, but were they her tears or his?

  * * *

  The sun was high in the sky when Belinda woke.

  Shifting Jonathan’s arm from across her body, she slid as quietly as she could from the bed and padded to the window, naked. The grounds and the garden looked as ordinary as they had looked at any time during their short stay at the priory, but what caught her eye was an express delivery van trundling along the drive towards the house. It was the first real sign she had seen of an interaction taking place between the inhabitants of this strange place and the outside world – but instead of reassuring her, it made her feel nervous.

  The problem was, while she was completely cut off from her everyday life, with its patterns and its artefacts, she could believe in things like magic, extreme longevity and discarnate spirits trapped in bottles. But when evidence of the commonplace and the mundane presented itself, the veracity of the supernatural world wavered. And when she thought of what she had done – and what she might do – she felt ridiculous. And frightened.

  As the delivery van pulled up outside the house, she saw Michiko and Oren walk down the steps to meet it. The driver opened the back and pulled out several large white cardboard cartons – which Oren took and carried back inside – then proffered a clipboard, which Michiko signed. The whole transaction was so utterly unremarkable that when the van sped away, Belinda wondered whether she had dreamed it. That was until Michiko looked upward and gave a wave.

  As Belinda waved back, the Japanese smiled broadly and blew a kiss.

  ‘Who were you waving at?’ enquired the waking Jonathan, when Belinda stepped away from the window after Michiko had gone inside.

  ‘Michiko. She was outside. Taking delivery of some packages.’

  Jonathan said nothing, but climbed out of bed and wandered towards the sideboard, on which – Belinda noticed for the first time – was a tray containing their breakfast.

  ‘This looks nice,’ he said, lifting an immaculate white napkin. ‘Brioches, butter, preserves.’ He flipped up the lid of an insulated jug. ‘Mmmm. Fresh coffee! Just what I need!’

  A few moments later they were both sitting cross-legged on the bed, tucking into the food, with big white French coffee cups balanced precariously on the bed beside them.

  ‘What do you suppose everyone is doing now?’ said Jonathan, chewing. He had brioche crumbs in his sparse, dark chest hair, Belinda noticed, and she smiled. He had never looked younger or more appealing.

  ‘Well, as I understand it, André will be sleeping,’ she said thoughtfully, breaking off a piece of her own brioche and popping it in her mouth. ‘But Michiko and the others could well be getting things ready for tonight. Those boxes might be something to do with it.’

  ‘Tonight?’ Jonathan looked quite shocked, and his cup trembled in his hand as he conveyed it to his lips, letting a little of his milky coffee drip on to the sheet. ‘How do you know it’ll be tonight?’

  How did she know?

  Belinda was surprised at the certainty of her own intuition. She had not been told when the freeing ritual would take place, but she couldn’t shake the powerful feeling that it was scheduled for tonight. Had Michiko imparted the knowledge to her subconscious somehow? Anything was possible given the Japanese woman’s esoteric talents.

  ‘I just know,’ she said quietly.

  Jonathan studied the coffee stain, jabbing at it with his fingers. ‘Oh God, I just thought of something,’ he said, looking up again. ‘We’ve told Paula to come. She’ll probably arrive today. What are we going to do with her? Tonight? She’ll probably expect us to stop up until the small hours, drinking and talking. I mean, that’s what we’ve always done before, isn’t it?’

  Belinda saw the problem, and just as quickly the answer. The coolness of her own logic astounded her. ‘You’ll just have to keep her occupied on your own then, Johnny, won’t you?’ She looked at him levelly, willing him to comprehend her.

  Jonathan frowned, and she knew he had got the message.

  ‘She’s always fancied you. It’ll be easy.’

  ‘But … won’t you mind?’

  Belinda considered the idea. ‘If you’d asked me a few days ago, yes, I would have minded,’ she said, musing on the way she and Jonathan had progressed. ‘But things have changed.’ Ignoring the cups and the tray, she reached out and laid her hand on his thigh. ‘We’ve changed.’ She squeezed his wiry but muscular flesh. ‘We’ve both had sex with other partners, but it hasn’t split us up, has it?’ She saw him nod then smile sheepishly. ‘And there’s a higher purpose behind it this time. Something important.’ She grinned back at him. ‘You’ll just have to close your eyes and do it for the cause!’

  ‘I suppose I can force myself,’ said Jonathan, laughing now. He leant forward to retrieve the cups and plates and all the other remnants of their breakfast, then put the lot in a semblance of tidiness on the tray. ‘But I’ll have to be prepared.’ His eyes gleaming, he slid off the bed, scooped up the tray, then put it out of harm’s way before climbing back on to the bed again. ‘I might need some practice,’ he said in mock-thoughtfulness, as he reached for her. ‘Do you think we could have a quick run-through now?’

  Opening her legs and tumbling backwards, she said, ‘Of course.’

  Smiling with satisfaction, Isidora Katori rose from the rumpled hotel bed and stretched the kinks from her slender, shapely limbs. It was already late in the day, and she had to move.

  Walking naked to the dressing table, she spared only the briefest glance towards the figure who still lay deeply sleeping. Her victim, who would now stay in a coma for three or four days.

  It had been quite easy to pick up this ‘Paula’ in the pub garden where she had found her, then the simplest of child’s play to flatter her and seduce her. With a few drinks and a little assistance from an aphrodisiac, the poo
r thing had almost believed that she was a closet lesbian and that she had been waiting for Isidora all her life.

  Smoothing her hands over her voluptuous curves, Isidora had to admit she had enjoyed such an innocent passion. Bewitched and rendered insatiable by a few drops of the special tincture, love-struck Paula had been touchingly grateful for her orgasms, and most anxious to repay for them in kind. They had stayed in bed together for far longer than Isidora had planned on, and now it was afternoon and high time she was leaving.

  Even so, she took a moment to study her face.

  Paula Beckett was pretty enough, Isidora supposed, lifting her fingers to touch the features that were now hers. The girl wasn’t stunning nor really beautiful, but her face would be quite passable for a limited period. The best thing about Paula’s appearance was that it was sufficiently similar-looking – in general terms – to Isidora’s own, and could be copied quite well enough to fool observers.

  What she was seeing now, Isidora knew, turning her head this way and that, was a clever psychic projection, a mental mask that would fool any person without special powers. And it would fool André von Kastel until it was too late for him to flee.

  Isidora smiled again, watching the curve of her unfamiliar lips and finding them pleasing.

  ‘I will have you, André von Kastel,’ she whispered, trying her borrowed voice for the first time out loud. ‘And this time I’ll finish what I started. This time there will be no chance for escape … and I’ll destroy that red-haired milksop bitch of yours completely.’ She laughed Paula Beckett’s laugh, and found it light but acceptable. ‘Before this day is out, André, you will be mine for good and all.’

  It was afternoon before Belinda and Jonathan rose, and even then a strange lethargy hung over them.

  At first, Belinda felt nervous, thinking she should be doing something, making preparations of some kind, or even just finding Michiko and discovering more of what might happen to her, but it wasn’t long before she felt too dreamy to care. After Jonathan had gone to his room to dress, she took a long and leisurely shower, then dressed slowly in the clothing that had been left for her – another shift-like petticoat in the flounced Edwardian style.

  When she left her room, she was torn between going to the library and trying to seek out background reading on the ritual that lay ahead of her, or going out on to the terrace to enjoy the sun. She knew that anyone in their right mind would choose the library and ‘preparedness’, yet somehow she couldn’t seem to make that choice. Her head felt light but in a rather amenable way, and all she wanted to do was just relax and float along.

  On the terrace, it seemed that someone had anticipated her decision, or perhaps even initiated it. In addition to the table where she had breakfasted the day before under the sunshade, there were also now two surprisingly modern loungers. And on one of these, she found Jonathan half-reclining, his attention already embroiled in a charcoal sketch. His fingers were smudgy and he was naked apart from his shorts.

  ‘So?’ she said, sinking down on to the adjoining lounger and arranging her skirt so she could get the sun on her legs. ‘Is anything happening? Have you seen Michiko? Or the mutes?’

  ‘Oren was here a minute or two ago,’ Jonathan replied, setting aside his drawing pad and wiping his sooty fingers down the side of his shorts, ‘and I think he asked me if I wanted a cool drink, but I’m not quite sure.’ He shrugged and put up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘Anyway, whatever it was I told him yes … and make it two.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Belinda, seeing the image of a tall cold cocktail, and feeling thirsty. ‘But what about the others?’

  ‘They seem to be busy, apart from André, that is.’ He blushed a little at the name of the man he had made love with. ‘I keep seeing them taking things over to that ruined building over there.’ He nodded in the direction of the chapel.

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Armfuls of flowers … What looked like rugs or something … Books, wooden boxes … All sorts of stuff.’ He frowned slightly, as if the list of paraphernalia troubled him. ‘I suppose that’s where it’s all going to happen, isn’t it?’

  ‘I believe so,’ she replied quietly, feeling fear stir in her mind then quickly subside again. ‘It’s funny, I still can’t seem to get my head around it.’ She paused, wondering how to explain herself. ‘I know I should be worried. Scared stiff. But I’m not.’

  ‘Perhaps there isn’t anything to be scared of,’ said Jonathan, touching her arm and leaving a smear of black on her skin. ‘Michiko seems very capable. Very organised.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t know. I know she looks a bit exotic, but she acts like a businesswoman. A high-powered motivator or something. She seems too real somehow to be a witch!’

  ‘Oh, she’s real all right,’ murmured Belinda ruefully, her fingers settling suddenly on her flank. The soreness in her bottom had disappeared quite miraculously, but she could still remember the impact of being spanked.

  Jonathan eyed her with sudden interest. ‘You never did tell me what happened with her last night,’ he said, his voice full of curiosity. ‘I’m not the only one who learned something new, am I?’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ admitted Belinda. ‘I had a lesson of sorts too.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to describe the whole incident, but just then Oren appeared in the doorway to the house, and he walked towards them, carrying a loaded tray. When he reached them, he nodded politely and set it down.

  ‘Oh Oren, this looks wonderful!’ cried Belinda, with feeling. The tray contained a tall jug full of some reddish Pimms-like concoction, complete with tiny fruit pieces bobbing on the surface. There was an insulated ice container – not the bucket that she had seen in the library, she noticed – and beside it a couple of heavy crystal glasses. Also on the tray were several bowls of savoury nibbles: tiny cheese biscuits, potato chiplets, salted nuts. One final item was not immediately identifiable: an alabaster jar with a fat cork in its neck.

  As Belinda sat up in anticipation, Oren poured the fruity cocktail into the two glasses, then added several rocks of ice to each one. Belinda took a sip of her drink as soon as he handed it to her, and gasped at both its deliciousness and potency.

  ‘Phew!’ she said, then sampled it again, trying to analyse what made the taste so special. It was similar to many of the kinds of fruit cup or punch she had tried before, but with a pungent aftertang that was totally unfamiliar.

  It’s drugged somehow, she thought, setting the glass down. It’s either full of aphrodisiac or it’s to prepare me for tonight. After a moment’s thought she settled on the former; if the same drink was being served to both her and Jonathan, its effects weren’t specifically for her.

  A model of efficient service as ever, Oren set the jug and the tray of food down between the two loungers so it was in easy reach for later. He also set down the alabaster jar, and when Belinda frowned doubtfully at it, he gestured upward towards the hot afternoon sun, then made a rubbing motion along his bare arm.

  ‘Sunscreen?’ she queried, and the tall man nodded, then gestured again towards her own bare legs, and crouched down to retrieve the chunky jar. He tilted his head questioningly, then tapped his chest.

  ‘No, it’s OK, Oren, I can manage,’ she said, putting her hand up for the jar.

  Oren smiled amiably and gave it to her, clearly not offended that his services weren’t required, then nodded briefly and turned, leaving Belinda alone once more with Jonathan.

  ‘Tactful, isn’t he?’ observed Jonathan, reaching for his drink and taking a long swig. Belinda watched his eyes light up as he savoured its effects. ‘Wow!’ was his only comment as he set the glass down again, before picking up his sketch-pad and stick of charcoal. After drawing a line or two, and then smudging them, he looked up at Belinda and prompted, ‘You were going to tell me what it was you learnt last night.’

  Unable to look him in the eye, Belinda picked up the jar, twisted off the lid and stuck a finger into the soft, cr
eam-coloured substance within. It had a slick texture and a sharp but very pleasant, vaguely citrus smell. When she daubed it on to her calf, it felt cool.

  ‘Lindi!’ shouted Jonathan playfully.

  Slowly, and in as much detail as she could bring herself to go into, she described her painful tryst in the chapel with Michiko. As she spoke, she smoothed the sun balm on to her lower legs and thighs, the sensuous movement complementing the eroticism of her account. Pausing for a moment to admire the glistening sheen on her skin, Belinda seemed to remember her spanking even more vividly than she had earlier. Her bottom, although it showed no sign of what had happened, and had ceased to hurt quite some time ago, started to tingle again, as if her flesh had a separate memory of its own. She could almost feel hands gliding over it then crashing down with a remorseless, fiery force.

  ‘It was painful,’ she conceded, dipping her fingers into the jar again, and beginning to work the cream over her shoulders, ‘but it was erotic too. I wouldn’t have believed how much.’ She paused, switched hands, began creaming her other shoulder, then spread the cream in a thin film down her arm. ‘I – I had several orgasms.’

  Jonathan set his glass down with a clatter and poured in more fruit cup, sploshing quite a bit of it over the side.

  ‘Jesus,’ he murmured, then took a long, long drink, his eyes unfocused as if he were seeing the picture she had just painted.

  Belinda smiled, seeing the bulge in his soft jersey shorts. Men were so easily excited, and clearly he was responding to both of the two classic fantasies she had outlined for him: lesbian love-making and a girl’s bottom being spanked.

  Not that her account and her memories hadn’t stirred her too. She felt lightly aroused, but not uncomfortably so. Her whole body felt warm and sensitised and it was a condition she did not dislike being in for its own sake, rather than a prelude to something more powerful and more passionate. As she watched Jonathan shift uncomfortably on the lounger, trying to find ease for his engorged penis, she had a sudden revelation of quite extraordinarily startling clarity.