Trafalgar and Boone and the Books of Breathing

by Geonn Cannon

  “Whatever is about to happen is fine. Whether that means you get up and leave in the next thirty seconds or you tear off your clothes and join me on this bed, it’s fine. All right?”

  Mazzi’s cheeks were pinker than they’d been when she came in, but maybe that was just sunlight reflecting off the red walls. She nodded and Dorothy made herself more comfortable. She closed her eyes and ran her hands over her thighs, feeling them through the material of the dressing gown. She wanted her eyes closed for the beginning so she could forget Mazzi was there, and so Mazzi could feel unobserved to follow whatever urges she might have.

  Dorothy kept her feet on the floor but pointed her toes, letting her knees fall away from each other. The slick material of her dressing gown fell away to expose her legs, so she moved her hands up. She untied the belt and pushed the two halves away, letting them fall open to reveal her underwear. Every touch was familiar, every sensation she caused something she knew well from years of experimentation. Hiding under the blankets, figuring out what felt best and when to hold back. She thought of those early explorations with a smile and gently plucked the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall down her back.

  Mazzi drew in a sharp breath. Dorothy almost looked at her but stopped herself before she could open her eyes. She moved one hand up to unclasp her brassiere. It opened in the front, and she lightly dragged her fingers up and down her cleavage, up to her décolletage to her throat. Desmond hadn’t been particularly brawny, but she was reminded of how it felt to be smaller, more petite in every way, almost delicate. She moved her hand down to cup her breast, pushing aside the cup of her bra and teasing the nipple with her thumb.

  Mazzi shifted in the chair, causing it to groan under her. Dorothy heard clothing being adjusted and the rasp of a zipper and she smiled.

  “Considering how you tried waking me up the last time you were in this room,” Dorothy said, “I find it difficult to believe you’re shy.”

  “That was before I knew how beautiful you were.”

  Dorothy chuckled. “Ah, fresh...”

  “And... you’re a woman. I talk a good game, but with a man I know exactly what to do. Which buttons to press and how to... how to dance. I know he will lead. I know I can begin the dance and he will take over. Then all I must do is follow. With a woman...”

  “I understand.” Dorothy opened her eyes and looked at Mazzi, who tensed with her hand just under the waistband of her pants. “It’s all right. I want you to touch yourself.”

  Mazzi said, “You first.”

  Dorothy smiled and maintained eye contact as she circled her nipple with the pad of her thumb. Mazzi’s throat moved as she swallowed, and Dorothy watched the tip of her tongue slip across her lips as her hand moved lower.

  “I’ve been thinking all day about waking up with your hands on me,” Dorothy said. “It’s a shame that it wouldn’t have happened if you had seen the real me.”

  “But it got us to this moment, no?” Mazzi said. “So maybe it’s all for the best.”

  Dorothy smiled. “Perhaps.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “Talking or...?”

  “Either.”

  Dorothy smiled and took off her bra. She was rewarded with a hitch in Mazzi’s breathing. She put one hand on the mattress behind her as she dragged the other down her stomach, stretching her fingers over the crotch of her underwear before curling them back toward her palm. She sighed and let a shudder pass its way through her. That was it. That was how it felt to be aroused, to be on the verge of greater pleasure. She moved her fingers in a well-practiced dance to get the cloth out of her way so she could feel skin, teasing the outer lips with her fingers before spreading herself.

  The chair creaked again as Mazzi leaned to one side. Dorothy bent her leg and twisted at the waist to give her voyeur a better angle. She opened her eyes and saw that Mazzi’s hand was hard at work inside her trousers.

  “I’d like to see you,” Dorothy said, “if that’s not asking too much.”

  “See me...”

  Dorothy’s eyes struggled to stay open. “Your breasts would be enough.”

  Mazzi smiled nervously. “I think I can do that.” She kept her right hand where it was, reaching up with her left to clumsily work at the buttons of her shirt. It was some heavy material that fell in on itself as the buttons were undone, but Mazzi hunched her shoulders and shrugged it out of the way. She was wearing a brassiere without a corset just as Dorothy frequently did. She loved the way it felt, the freedom of having her stomach and hips unencumbered by a stiff framework of whalebone. Mazzi tugged the tail of her shirt from her trousers.

  “When I was in Desmond’s body,” Dorothy said, “in the plane on our trek here, I was aroused by the very idea of you. I suffered a very visible reaction to those thoughts.”

  “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

  “Gloriously so,” Dorothy said. “I wouldn’t trade my femininity for anything, but I must admit having one of those at the ready whenever I needed one would be quite... useful...”

  Mazzi said, “I hear they make--”

  “I have one of those.”

  “Here?”

  “In London.”

  Mazzi whimpered. “A pity. I would love to feel your weight on top of me, Lady Boone.”

  Dorothy grunted and arched her back. “Your hands on my hips. Guiding me.”

  “Yes. Though I doubt you would need much guidance...”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s nice to let someone else lead.” She wet her lips and watched as Mazzi tossed aside her bra. Her nipples were small and dark, and Mazzi looked down to watch herself tease them to erection.

  Dorothy sighed. “Quite lovely... quite, quite lovely.”

  “Are you sure you just want to look?”

  “I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  Mazzi took her hand from her pants and stood up, pushing them down far enough to reveal a half-slip, then pulled them off over her boots.

  “Leave the boots on,” Dorothy said.

  “You’re not the first to make that request. I also have a scarf... a long white one.”

  Dorothy said, “Would you bind my hands with it?”

  “If you asked politely.”

  Dorothy moaned low in her throat and watched as Mazzi walked toward her. She sat up straight and Mazzi took a position directly in front of her. Dorothy leaned forward and kissed Mazzi’s collarbone, sliding her lips toward her shoulder. Mazzi put her free hand on the back of Dorothy’s head and gently eased her lower. Dorothy kissed her way down the curve of Mazzi’s chest until she could close her lips around the nipple. Mazzi made a quiet sound of approval and began stroking Dorothy’s hair. Dorothy was rolling her hips against the stroking of her fingers, breathing deeply and smelling Mazzi’s skin and sweat.

  “I’m very close,” she said against Mazzi’s breast.

  “Then let go.” Mazzi bent down and pressed her lips to Dorothy’s hair. “Find yourself in that release.”

  Dorothy’s lip brushed the inner curve of Mazzi’s breast as she pinched her clitoris between two fingers, lifting up off the mattress as she climaxed with a series of low, stifled grunts. She sagged forward and Mazzi continued stroking her hair, holding Dorothy’s head against her chest.

  “Do you think you could make me finish so sufficiently?”

  “I believe I could do it with just a handful of words.”

  “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

  Dorothy smiled up at her. “My money is not anywhere near where my mouth is going.”

  Mazzi yelped in surprise as Dorothy wrapped an arm around her and twisted, pinning her to the mattress with a ferocious growl.

  #

  True to their word, Beatrice’s captors delivered her back to Threadneedle Street without further harm. She was hooded for the entire journey and placed in a different car for the final leg of their journey just in case anyone happened to see the car when it dropped her of
f. She was helped out of the car and the hood was removed. Before her eyes had a chance to adjust to the light, the car was already at the end of the street. It was an unnecessary level of security; she had been effectively dissuaded from continuing her search for the fourth elemental. Seeing Virago shaken had been enough to convince her that no good would come from the quest.

  She let herself into the townhouse and started down the hall to the kitchen. She made it halfway before she paused. Her mind was full of what Virago had told them and questions about what would happen in the future. If the war was inevitable, just how horrible would it end up being even if magic was used? She put her hand against the stairs and turned toward the parlor. Those questions could wait until another time, for now she had more pressing concerns.

  Despite her distraction, she could tell something was amiss in the house. She opened the parlor door and looked inside. The curtains were drawn and everything seemed to be in order. Normally if she and Dorothy were going to be gone for a decent stretch of time, they put the house together before leaving. Beatrice hadn’t had the opportunity to do that before being drawn out by Virago. Books were still lying out on the table. A teacup was forgotten on the end table.

  The floor creaked. She couldn’t see anything but she lashed out blindly and closed her hand around the unmistakable soft column of someone’s upper arm. She heard a yelp and used it to identify the face, swinging her body around and punching the intruder square in what she hoped was the nose. She misjudged the invisible person’s height and cut her knuckle on a tooth, hissing as she pressed her unseen adversary against the wall.

  “Ivy Sever,” she said, “my least favorite member of the Mnemosyne Society.”

  “Careful, Sek. You’re gonna make me feel bad about coming all this way to check on you.”

  “I don’t need you checking up on me.”

  “Tell that to Dorothy Boone.” There was a smear of pinkish blood where Ivy’s mouth would have been, bright enough to see but fading as it was exposed to the air. “She tried getting in touch with you, but there was no response. Was like you vanished into thin air. She was concerned for you. I did the decent thing and volunteered to come make sure everything was okay.”

  Beatrice said, “And when you found the house empty, you decided to see what treasures you might abscond with.”

  “Never! Okay. I may have taken some biscuits from the kitchen, and I did make some tea. Then I heard you sneaking around--”

  “Sneaking around? This is my home!” The blood had faded completely. Beatrice found it difficult to carry on a conversation without a focal point. She felt as if she was arguing with the wallpaper pattern.

  “A home you seemingly abandoned. You were supposed to be here recuperating. Dorothy was concerned. Rightfully so, it would seem. You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

  Beatrice released Ivy’s arm and shoved away from her. “Big talk from someone who isn’t even showing her face.”

  “I hardly have a choice.” She followed Beatrice out of the parlor. “I can report back that you’re in one piece, but you know Boone’s going to ask where you were and why you didn’t respond to any of her attempts to contact you. She must have been desperate if she brought me in.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “So? I get nothing?”

  Beatrice filled a glass with water. “I’ll contact her myself. I don’t need you acting as a go-between and I know Lady Boone didn’t intend for you to make yourself at home. Kindly go back to wherever it is you call home.”

  “Fine. But you owe me one.”

  “You did nothing to merit a favor.” She turned around and scanned the room, realizing something about Ivy’s invisibility. “Oh, god. Are you nude?”

  Ivy chuckled but otherwise didn’t answer.

  Beatrice groaned and rolled her eyes. “Just get out.”

  She heard footsteps in the hall followed by the opening and closing of the front door. She finished her water before she went to confirm the invisible assassin had indeed left the house. She did regret worrying Dorothy and she would do everything in her power to make amends, but first she would have to come up with a story to explain her absence.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dorothy woke to find the bed empty, so she dressed and went downstairs. Trafalgar was seated at a table near a window, dressed in a beautiful orange and white gown. She was engrossed in the papyrus they’d retrieved from Amenemhat’s tomb, using her left hand to keep her place as she translated into a notebook with her right hand. She looked up as Dorothy joined her and nodded her head in greeting before going back to work.

  “That dress is smashing.”

  “Thank you. Agnes loaned it to me. She said the color flatters me more than it would her.”

  Dorothy said, “She’s not wrong. Have you seen Mazzi?”

  Trafalgar looked up, a knowing glint in her eye. “Yes, she passed through not long ago. She looked... frazzled. But happy. She asked me to pass along her apologies. It seemed as if she thought you would expect to see her upon waking.”

  “Well, of course. We fucked.”

  Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. “There was a time when a comment like that thrown out so casually would have shocked me.”

  “That’s why I said it. Have I lost my ability to scandalize you?”

  “Poor Dorothy.”

  “Indeed. I shall have to find another reason to bed a woman in every port we visit.”

  “I’m certain you’ll think of something.”

  Dorothy scanned the work Trafalgar had already done. “Making progress?”

  “Very slowly, but yes. I’ve confirmed these are the Books of Breathing. My hope is that if we decipher the right spell, we can use it to force Amenemhat out of his body and put Desmond back where he belongs. Otherwise we run the risk of a situation where he’s effectively holding himself hostage.”

  “And any damage he does to Desmond’s body can be remedied by jumping to a new host.”

  Trafalgar shook her head. “I don’t think he would be able to do that again without the spells or the ka statue. He was only able to do it with you because it was your body.”

  “Mm. Perhaps. Let’s hope Desmond doesn’t suffer any lingering effects. How are you feeling?”

  Dorothy said, “I’m perfectly fine. Everything in working order. Mazzi checked thoroughly.” She looked for evidence she’d gotten a rise out of Trafalgar, who betrayed nothing. “There is a bit of discomfort knowing that someone was using my body for so long without my knowledge or consent. A sense of violation, I suppose. But to that end, there’s a distance to whatever happened on the boat. I’m a bit sore, which indicates there was some amount of fighting done. I have bruises and scrapes I cannot source.” She held up her arm to reveal a long scrape on the underside near the elbow. “I don’t know what I did or who it was done to. I’ll likely never know.”

  “And you’re content with that?”

  “Is it ideal? No. But I’ll come to terms with it in time. My interlude with Mazzi went a long way toward reclaiming this body as my own. When she touched me, when her lips trailed up the inside--”

  Trafalgar said, “Enough!”

  Dorothy slapped the table and laughed. “Ha! I knew you weren’t as calm as you appeared.”

  Trafalgar sighed heavily. “You are infinitely immature.”

  “Gloriously so, and may I never grow up. But on a serious note... I nearly lost my life aboard the Skylarker. Even if there is some sort of afterlife - and I believe Amenemhat’s very presence lends credence to that theory - then I must go to it without my body. The past few days I was given a very clear look at what that might be like. I think everyone takes for granted just how precious their ‘self’ is. I feel reborn, and I regret being so cavalier with my life and safety in the past.”

  “Ah, so you’ll cease taking unnecessary risks?”

  “Let’s not get crazy,” Dorothy smiled as she took a sip of her water.

  Trafa
lgar said, “Before we left, Threnody asked me about the body-swapping process. I think the idea intrigued her. The chance to undo the damage caused to her face, to finally leave behind the mechanics and the masks. I felt horrible dashing her hopes, but that was when I thought the effects would be temporary. Maybe with the Books...”

  “What? You can find someone willing to surrender their body?”

  Trafalgar put down her pencil and massaged the crease it had left in her finger from writing so long. “Is it so unthinkable?”

  “I suppose not. Denny brought up the same subject when we were alone.”

  “Really? What would he change... no, I’m sorry. It’s not my place. But that does prove my point. I’m not sure you would understand.”

  Dorothy said, “Why not?”

  “A white woman, born and raised in privilege...”

  “Sapphic.”

  Trafalgar acknowledged that with a twist of her wrist. “Yes, but not openly or obviously. You’ve had hardships. I don’t mean to imply your life has been endless ease. But as an African woman in London, I must say I can see the appeal of wearing someone else’s body. We all have an inner idea of what we look like, how we sound, how we appear to others. Our actual appearances don’t always reflect that. I’m sure there have been occasions when you wish you were stronger or faster or... well, to be frank, male.”

  Dorothy considered the statement. “Not permanently, no. I suppose that is privilege, to be content with the lot I’ve been given in life. Are you unhappy with who you are?”

  “I love who I am. I’m proud of where I’m from. But I can understand someone wishing they were seen differently by the world. These spells might give them the means.”

  “At the cost of someone else’s body.”

  “Perhaps a mutually-beneficial exchange could be worked out.”