Ishtar Bound

by Natalie Gibson

  “You saved me that day. I almost put my tongue on the metal swing set because Daddy said it wasn't cold enough for it to stick. I believed everything anybody told me back then.”

  “Remember when Renee's dad told us that we could train our bodies to live on sunlight the way plants do?”

  “Of course. I even believed him. He was always so straight faced. I could never tell when he was joking.”

  “My experiment didn't go as well as I'd hoped.” Nathalia had immediately implemented a little experiment on her own, cutting out everything but vitamin water for 30 days and lying out in the sun for 3 hours a day. She had made it for 9 days before collapsing. She was taken to the hospital for starvation and sunburn. They both tried to moderate their sun exposure after that.

  “He was so upset when he brought Renee' to see you. He just couldn't believe that anyone would take something so silly so seriously. You were pretty gullible back then. Thank goodness we have Camilla now. I don't think I could live without my sun and tanning beds. Maybe I just wouldn't want to.”

  With an on call healer, they were both addicts. There was nothing to keep them from it without the threat of skin cancer.

  Nathalia put her hand out, palm up, like a boy in junior high at the movies with a girl he liked. “You know how much I love you, right?”

  Maeve didn't hesitate to put her hand in Nathalia's. “I love you too.”

  A cell phone rang.

  “You better get that. It could be the Chief.”

  Maeve nodded. Removing her hand from Nathalia's, she reached under her chair to the tiny phone in the pocket of her jeans somewhere in the pile of her clothes. She flipped over and then flipped open the phone.

  “Hello, Maeve speaking...

  “Oh, hi, Aaron...

  “Yeah, I had a really great time too...

  “No it's fine. I'm not really doing anything, just laying out. What's up?...

  “Tonight? That does sound like a lot of fun. Swing dancing is something I've always wanted to learn. I don't know, Aaron. I'm flattered, really, but I don't really date...

  “Daughters are allowed to, but my position here is different than Jolie's. It's not expressly forbidden, but being Vinculum Primo brings complications to a relationship that most people don't want to deal with. It's hard to explain...”

  Nathalia took the phone from her friend and without preamble said, “What time do you want to pick her up?...She'll meet you at the front gate at 6:30 then.” She hung up and, smiling, handed the cell back. “I've known you your whole life. You haven't had a crush in a long time. You deserve a little time off. Are we in danger of losing you?”

  “Of course not.” Maeve automatically replied.

  “I want you to think about it carefully. I'm not just asking if you are thinking about abdicating your position here. I know you too well to think that you would break your vows deliberately. I'd never question your commitment to the Daughters; you give up more than any of us. I'm asking if there are forces at work, both external and internal, that might be moving you down a path that leads away from us and your role as Vinculum Primo. Don't answer, just think about it. Are you doing everything in your power to fight them, or are you allowing them to steer your course and direct your sails?”

  Only Nathalia would quote Shakespeare casually as if it were a perfectly natural way to speak. She did it with a Texas twang too.

  “I've been thinking a lot about love lately. Having it, not having it, wanting it, wasting it. Margaux gave me a prophesy last time she was here and it had to do with the one I love most in this world. In the whole world, it's you, Maeve. You're all I have so it has to be you. I will do anything to keep from losing you. Matchmakers burn out fast and you already have more couples to your credit than any other in your field. I can't bear to lose your companionship when you join the ranks of capacitors. Not yet. We both know you'll be Abbess after me; your vows to the sisters and role here will change. You won't be locked into the stringent Vinculum vows forever. You should date Aaron for a while. One of two things will happen: Either you'll get something real and rewarding for yourself through love or you'll realize romantic love's not all it's cracked up to be. Either way, you're not breaking your vows, just trying to find a way to survive them. Just enjoy yourself for a while.”

  ***

  “That was delicious. Real authentic vegetarian Indian. I'm gonna have to tell the girls about it. They'd love it. Especially Jolie. We should bring her and JD here.”

  “Sure. We can make the next date a double if you want.”

  Maeve rubbed her full belly and wondered why she'd eaten so much. She'd been starving after the dancing, and the food really was the most authentic Indian she'd ever tasted, but that was no excuse. Getting in the mood was going to be hard, overstuffed as they were. It had been a while since she went on an actual date with the person she was going to have sex with. “Did you remember to pick up condoms?”

  “Wow, that was quite a jump from delicious dinner to doing the dirty. You certainly are straight forward, aren't you?” Aaron laughed and sidestepped the question.

  “Yes, I believe in being honest about your desires, especially where sex's concerned.”

  Aaron reached out and took her hand in his, interlocking their fingers in a carefree manner. It felt good, but suddenly Maeve went stiff. She did not miss a beat on their path to the car, but Aaron could tell she was uncomfortable. “You can talk about sex without any embarrassment or fear, but you're terrified to hold my hand. Why's that?”

  “They're two very different things. I can't...I mean, my vows prohibit...” She struggled to find the words as her free hand went to her ribcage. How could she have gone out without her corset?! How careless of her; She'd only been thinking about their swing dancing tonight and how it would hinder her movement. She'd have to find a way to swing with it from now on.

  Aaron raised their interlocking hands to his chest and turned to stand facing her. “You're right. They're two very different things. The first subject's safe and comfortable for you, but not for me. And hand holding's just the opposite. Your organization's all about this one life and making each human's one chance at existence as filled with happiness and love as possible. You help provide what lonely humans need; and right now THIS human NEEDS to hold your hand after our very successful date.”

  “Why?” she whispered the question, wanting to hear more about how he needed her, but fearing the answer.

  “Just for this moment I want to really be with you, to see what it feels like to be out on a date with a beautiful woman who wants to be with me too. I want to feel that connection with another human. Is that so wrong?”

  “No, it's not wrong for you to want that. It's dangerous for me though. You're right; I'm terrified to hold your hand.”

  Now it was his turn to ask, “Why?”

  His hand was so warm and oddly familiar. “Maybe because the desire to feel the connection you're talking about could ruin my life. I can't allow myself to become accustomed to this.”

  He allowed her to pull her hand from his but instead of opening her door, he used his arm to cage her against it. He thought now was as good a time as any to have their first kiss. He realized he probably could have kissed her a dozen times by now, but he was constantly distracted by how much he liked her to make a move. He reached down with one hand, caught her chin, pulled her face up to meet his and kissed her.

  The first touch of their lips was amazing. Hers were so soft and his kiss was so tender. His heart skipped a beat when she kissed back; their tongues each lightly testing their receipt. His hand moved across her cheek to her neck. He thumbed her throat lightly and then moved to palm the nape of her neck. She tried to pull back to move on to other things, but his hand kept her clamped against his exploring mouth. She'd always loved that about when a man kissed – it seemed so possessive.

  A small moan escaped her. That sound made both of them intensify their movements. He turned more towards her moving his hand do
wn off her neck to her shoulder and then her hip. She moved closer, slipping her hands around his waist, and pressed her pelvis into his. They lost all track of time as they stood making out like two teenagers.

  Aaron allowed Maeve to pull back this time when she tried. He needed a moment to get his thoughts collected anyway. She stayed close to him, their bodies interlocked. She traced his jaw line with her finger, looked up at him and asked, “What took you so long? I didn't think you were ever gonna kiss me.”

  He didn't answer out loud, but took her face in his hand once again and kissed her passionately. This time he tried hard not to get caught up in the rush of feeling, but to savor the moment, capturing all the details. The warmth of her body against his, the sweet dessert like taste of her, the moist plumpness of her lips, the way she fingered his sideburns, the arch of her neck, the close-up smoothness of her skin; all of it was being locked away into his memory.

  “Wow, you really like kissing.” She needed this to stop. She needed not to feel like Aaron made her feel.

  “Tonight's been really special. I wish it never had to end.”

  Enough was enough. She didn't have room in her life for romance. It was her turn to go for it. Time to get to work. “You know what would make today really special?” She placed her hand on his fly, rubbing and griping until she got the physical response from him that she wanted.

  He saw the change in her face. She couldn't fool him. He knew her and could recognize it. She was working now; he'd become a mark again.

  “Stop.” He grabbed her forearms, forcing her hands to her side. He looked into her eyes and saw a stranger there. “Stop it.”

  She arched her back, pressing her already erect nipples against the thin material of her lacy bra and top. “Don't you want me?”

  He took a few steps back from her. “No I don't. I want Maeve. I want the girl I've spent all these hours with. I want Maeve that I was kissing just a minute ago. I don't want you.”

  Maeve was stunned. “I don't understand. You want Maeve. You don't want me. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I'm talking about. I could see it. The moment you decided to 'work me' you changed into a person I don't recognize. It's like you turned into a plastic version of yourself. It looks like Maeve and sounds like Maeve, but it's just the 'Sex Me Barbie' version of Maeve. The thing about Barbie's is they're cheap and there're millions of them. I don't want the Sex Me Maeve. I want the real Maeve.”

  She did the only thing she knew to do; she told him the truth. “I can't give you that Maeve. The best I can do is Matchmake for you. The woman that comes along'll be a better mate for you than I can.”

  Aaron looked defeated for a moment. Then he closed the physical distance between them. “You don't get it. I don't want my name written in your book.” He touched her chest. “I want it written in here.”

  He reached behind her and opened the passenger door. As she slipped into his car, she said, “I've been very clear from the start that this's just fun. I told you it isn't real, more like a test drive of a car I know I can't afford.”

  “And I was very clear from the beginning about what I wanted. I want you, Maeve. We can work out the details as we go along. But only if you quit telling me this isn't real.” Aaron closed her door and walked around the back of his mustang.

  Aaron could tell she was struggling with something when he got in the drivers side. He silently started the engine and turned on the Bob Dylan CD he kept in the player. His music, so poetic and jumbled with confusion and angst, seemed appropriate for their predicament.

  Maeve sat astonished and stared out the windshield, uncertain. No one had ever seen through her little disguise. Not even the sisters, save Nathalia, knew she did it. She put up a shield around her heart when she had sex, to ensure she did not end up making love or falling in it. Every minute she spent with Aaron while he was still unmatched was more and more dangerous for her. He made her want the impossible. She liked him; she wanted him.

  As they pulled out of the parking lot, she got her courage back. She positioned her legs so that they grazed his shifting hand so that he could feel her smooth soft skin. “So, is it far to your place?”

  “Not far.” He answered, as he glanced over at her face. She was trying to hide it, but was failing. The change had occurred and the girl he had taken on a date was gone, replaced with a plastic shell.

  “Good.” She loosened her seatbelt just a little and stretched her arm across him and laid it on his leg, dangerously close to his inseam. She began to move and caress closer and closer to the already tightening portion of his pants, drawing a pattern there with her nail.

  “Maeve. Don't.”

  She did not remove her hand. His rejections to her advances were starting to hurt. “Why not?”

  “The plastic persona's back. I don't like her. I'll sleep with you, YOU, not her, when I'm ready and when you can honestly say that you want to make love to me too. Not a moment sooner.”

  The silence was deafening. Still she did not move her hand. “I can honestly say that I want you. I've never wanted anyone more.”

  He moved her hand back to her side of the car and rested his own on her smoothly shaved leg. He rubbed her knee with the pad of his thumb. “Yes, but do you want to make love to me, or do you want to matchmake for me?” He'd been with her enough to analyze her behaviors. She always put on the persona when she took initiative when it came to sex. The two were connected in her mind. When she became the aggressor, she was all business. What she needed was to feel vulnerable, out of control. That might keep the magic from taking over.

  He squeezed her leg and smiled at her. If the aggressor was what she needed him to be, he could oblige. She didn't realize she'd unleashed a beast, but she would soon.

  ***

  Tuesdays were always their slowest. Marcie wasn't sure why they were even open on Tuesdays. Mondays they were closed, why open on Tuesdays when no one was going to come anyway? Was two nights off a week too much to ask?

  She looked at her new husband's back. Tank to everyone else, she called him Teddy and it made him melt even though he acted like he hated it. She'd known they were right for each other since the beginning, but when she asked Maeve to matchmake for him, she'd had her doubts that she'd be his mate. She'd prepared herself to watch him fall for another, but it'd been unnecessary.

  Marcie was an Animaverto, but had forgone her last rite, her Primo vows were unmade. Life on the compound just wasn't for her. The sisters never begrudged a woman who did not want to step into the inner circle. Each must travel their own path. She was always welcome to partake in ceremonies and celebrations, but she would forever be a sophomore.

  That was fine with her. She didn't like having visions: realistic or symbolic, poetry or prose, they all bothered her. She just wanted to dream like a normal person: lucid dreams were not fun or rejuvenating. She would take her random dreams about being in church and realizing she forgot her panties, or not being able to remember the code to her high school locker over interpretative dreams about the future any day.

  They had a custom of smoking a doobie every Tuesday, since it was so abandoned, before clocking in to work. Tank liked to think he was pretty spontaneous, but she knew later tonight, they'd sneak into the stock room for a quickie, because of the little smoking tradition. Pot always made him horny. Marcie’s mouth was amazingly dry; she could hear her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth and the weed was making her obsess about it.

  “Teddy, I'm thirsty. Get me an apple juice?”

  “I gotta pee anyway. Back in a sec.” Tank walked inside to the employee restroom just inside the ticket counter. It was just as well. There was no one around anyway.

  Marcie was thinking about her contemporary, Jolie, when the van drove up. She was matched now too, but had taken her vows, and so passed Marcie. Marcie did wonder about the final mysteries, but not enough to make the sacrifice. She wondered how Jolie managed to live with the visions th
at must be overpowering by now.

  The bag was over her head so fast she didn't have time to scream. The darkness was terrifying, but more scary was the voice that accompanied it. She'd never heard a voice so filled with hatred and malice. “My friend is weak right now, but your blood and tears will give him strength.”

  Roughly her arms were bound behind her. The street was empty, she knew, and the music inside too loud for anyone to hear her, but she screamed as she was dragged from her stool toward the road. She couldn't let them take her to a second location. She kicked, but they managed to get her in the van. She could feel its dirty carpet on her back.

  Someone was waiting for her there in the back of the van. Someone punched her in the face to stop her screaming. “You should have seen this coming, ignorant zonah.” The words were spat out like an insult. This voice was garbled and moist sounding, and, though she didn't think it possible, even more evil than the first one. It had an odd quality to it. Like the voice of a possessed person, it had the sound of two voices coming from one mouth. She tried to concentrate on them both so that, in case she got free, she'd recognize them.

  The van took off and she realized she had to concentrate on one more thing: turns. A right meant they were going to get onto the Mopac 1; a left was toward the capitol. She lay very still, but her breath and pulse were racing.

  “You smell delicious. The trouble will be not killing you while I get my fill.” Large thick hands reached beneath her shirt to roughly feel her breasts. She could feel the man's excitement when he touched her nipple rings. He tugged at them. “Did you enjoy being pierced?”

  “Get your hands off of me!” She screamed.

  The mouth was close to her ear when it said, “Gladly”, before jerking the rings out of her nipples, tearing her tender pink skin.

  “Tank's gonna kill you.”

  “Oh, my dearest. I cannot be killed. And when I am through hurting you, you will not even have death as a retreat from the evil inside of you.”