The Artifact of Foex

by James L. Wolf

  Knife glanced at Chet. “Don’t look so scared, boy. I’m fine. Or I will be.”

  “I really am sorry, Knife. I didn’t mean to do that,”

  “I know, Chet.” Knife put a consoling hand on his shoulder.

  Chet relaxed. Despite the incidentback at the Wetshul hotel, Chet discovered how much he cared about Knife’s opinion of him. The Flame had a crispness about him—a brevity of words and actions—that Chet admired. He felt better knowing that not only was Knife okay, but his opinion of Chet was apparently unchanged by the event.

  The smoker finished her cigarette and was heading back into the lounge. Knife glanced up as she passed. “Excuse me, could I bum one of those?” He looked startled as the woman handed him a smoke, but murmured, “Thanks," all the same. Knife lit the cigarette and leaned back against the deck, still running the lighter over his chest.

  Chet eyed him. “Knife, could I ask you a question?” Knife waved a feel free gesture. “What do you do for a living? I don’t mean the work you do for Pelin. How do you make money?”

  Knife grinned around the cigarette, his teeth and the whites of his eyes almost glowing against his dark skin. “I trade stocks and bonds. When I’m low on petty cash, I trade stocks and bonds for other people. Besides paying my way, it puts me front-and-center of Genis’ business in Allistair. Which comes in very handy in doing my other job—as you say, Pelin’s work.”

  “You, um, track marks on Genis’ Exchange?”

  “Some of them. Merchants have this bad habit of assuming Flame are still commodities that can be bought and sold. We’re too vulnerable to that sort of thing, always have been. It’s not just Merchants, either. There’s bad behavior all around when it comes to Flame. We’re too easily controlled, you see, physically and otherwise. We have this tendency to be emotionally sensitive and, as they say these days, co-dependent, which leads to all manner of abuse.”

  Chet tucked his chin. “I can see the physical part of the problem.” Even he could kill the Flame at any time, he realized with a sinking heart.

  “Yeah, but the physical is only the tip.” He took another drag and added, almost as an aside, “My problem is, I’m Flame, too. I get so emotionally involved with my prey that I tend to lose sight of the original purpose in tracking them down. I like my prey a little too much for my own good. Been blindsided and murdered that way more times than I can count. I keep promising to myself it won’t happen again, then it does.”

  “What’s it like... to die?”

  “Much as you’d imagine.” Knife gave him a sharp look and stubbed out the butt. “It hurts, then I go back to Pelin. Don’t really remember the between times. We’re flesh like everyone else, and it’s the flesh that dictates what’s important and what’s not. I’ll have your shirt, now, thank you for offering, Chet.”

  After the clothing switch, they reentered the lounge. The lights had been dimmed and someone was introducing the dance troop. Chet and Knife slunk back to their seats as the music started.

  Chet forgot that he was wearing a wet shirt that was a little tight for him. He forgot to breathe, even. The Intako Dance Company was spectacular. From the first moment, the men and women—and Flame, he reminded himself—stole the entire room. Chet gulped, his mouth dry. After a time he thought to look for Journey. Though he spotted Aureate right away—she hadn’t changed from before—he couldn’t see Journey. They were all wearing fancy headdresses, effectively masking the Flame from view, though he doubted that was the headdress’s original purpose. Chet finally leaned over and asked Knife during a slower dance. Knife grinned and pointed out one of the men. He was so similar to the others Chet hadn’t even considered him. Oh.

  A musical interlude followed the first performance. Then the solos began. Aureate’s solo was a comedy act centered around her big tits, set to accompanying music played by the live musicians. It was hilarious to watch, especially with her ability to control how large or small they were. She mimicked accidentally deflating a tit, then looked up at the audience, eyes round with exaggerated horror and shock. Chet couldn’t help but be drawn into the grotesque, exaggerated story she told without words; he found himself leaning forward in his seat, giggling like a child. Chet was very sorry when her solo wrapped up. Journey’s solo was far less impressive, but Chet knew that Journey had made it up at the last minute. It was pretty good for all that.

  After a dazzling finale, when the lights came up, Chet enthusiastically joined the standing ovation. He hadn’t realized... he hadn’t realized that Flame could be like that, too. They kept surprising him. He wondered whether he’d ever surprised Journey, then felt the smile slide right off his face. Probably not. There was nothing special about him. He was—and would always be—just another guy.

  Chet drank alone at the table, still filled to the brim by the performance. Knife was chatting away with some guys at the bar, apparently a gentlemanly discussion about livestock prices and ceros betting. Fenimore had left with his target a few minutes ago, trailing the young man out as if he were an animal—indeed, a predator—tracking blood scent. Chet hadn’t felt as bad about that as he thought he would.

  Someone sat down next to him, and Chet jerked awake. It was Aureate, in the same form as before. She was dressed in tight fitting street clothes draped by a loosely-woven crocheted sweater, artfully ripped in all the right places. Aureate’s bald head was bare, and she still had stage makeup clinging to her face.

  “Here, give me that," she said, grabbing his drink and slugging it down.

  Chet sat back in his seat, curious and slightly alarmed. Aureate seemed larger than life, especially after that performance. Was she always this way? He remembered when she’d snatching Knife’s hat earlier to beg change from the crowd and decided that yes, she probably was. Aureate turned her mesmerizing gaze upon him, and all thoughts fled from his head. Her honey eyes glittered in the dark; a trick of the light, he decided after a breathless second. Not magic. There is no Magician-style magic left in the world.

  “So tell me, Chet Baikson, do you like Flame?”

  “I didn’t think I did, until I met Journey," he answered truthfully, not sure what she was getting at.

  “You seem like a real charmer. Tell me about yourself.”

  Chet’s face grew hot. He’d never seen himself as charming—Fenimore matched that description far more than he did. Studious, serious, bookish... he’d answer to any of those adjectives. Why was Aureate trying to flatter him? She seemed to be playing a game with him, but what? He couldn’t play along until he knew the rules. Yet something inside of him—a facet beyond his rational self—sat up and took notice. Whatever it was, it had a ready-made answer for Aureate. Chet surrendered to instinct and smiled.

  “What’s to tell? Apart from the past few days, my life has been rather dull.” Moved by the same instinct, he leaned forward and touched her arm; she was very warm indeed. “I’m far more interested about you. Tell me about yourself.”

  She giggled. “What, you want the whole Book of Twelve or just the footnotes?”

  “Flame, I can read just as fast as you can.”

  It was like diving into the depths of the ocean while feeling an astonishing confidence that he could swim. Had he really learned this much in a week? He was very close to her now. She smelled fantastic. Ichor probably went into overtime when sweat was involved. Her lips were close, too.

  Chet leaned in and kissed her.

  Aureate kissed back, her tongue enthusiastic and highly active. He found himself being pushed back in the chair, her hand raking his hair. When they parted, Chet realized he was panting.

  Her eyes were glazed with longing. “That was exactly the right thing to do. Come on. I have a key to a more private space.”

  Chapter 18

  Yellow Eyes Speaking

  They stumbled out of the lounge together, holding hands like teenagers. Except Chet had never actually held a girl’s hand as a teenager, or anyone’s hand, for that matter. Rory had come much later.
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  People were everywhere. They’d spilled out onto the decks and were drinking, smoking and chattering away. No one could leave the ship until it docked. Chet vaguely wondered whether the patrons were planning on staying up all night. He’d heard someone say there was gambling on the deck above with a piano act starting in an hour. Maybe the ship would calm down after a while, but Chet doubted it.

  A couple of people in grass skirt costumes burst out of a door. They were—what were they doing? Aureate grinned and called out to them, but she was ignored. Chet’s eye finally decoded their tight cluster as wild kissing. Three women were kissing one of the men, his headdress still on. No, that wasn’t a man, it was Journey! Journey was the one being kissed—almost attacked, really—by the dance-troop women.

  They banged against the deck railing, and Journey gasped, crying out, “Wait, stop. Don’t want to fall over the rail! Not in the wa—mph. Mph! Here, let’s move to the other...” He yelped as they pulled him back toward the ship.

  One of the women reached under the grass skirt and grabbed hold of—well. Chet was fairly certain she’d caught his penis with both hands, but he couldn’t see in the dark. They slammed back through the door they’d just come out of, the woman with the handful of cock leading the way. Journey followed—by necessity—with a breathless grin, not protesting.

  Aureate was laughing and shaking her head. “You get those girls going and they go. Journey should have figured that out before starting. They’ll take Journey apart, piece by piece.”

  Chet drew Aureate close. “Glad I’m with you, then!”

  She grinned up at him, her teeth showing. It was less a grin and very nearly a territorial snarl. “Oh, I could take you apart, too. I’m just not in that kind of mood tonight.”

  Message received. He followed her down to the lowest deck; this area was much quieter. More private. She unlocked a door and snapped on the lights. It was a tiny room—a closet really—decorated as someone’s office space. An enormous, empty desk was built into the wall with a chair and not much else. It had a nice view featuring the sparking lights of Plainsdaugheau out curved windows, several of which were cracked open.

  Aureate sighed. “Sorry there’s no bed. The troop is bunking down together in a communal room. I have a key is because the owner is a personal friend.”

  “That’s okay. At least it’s private.” Chet realized that he hadn’t experienced privacy with a woman—or a female-shaped person, rather—since these events had begun. They could do anything they wanted without an audience.

  Aureate pulled off her crocheted sweater, then removed the skin-tight shirt underneath. She wore no bra. Aureate leaned back against the desk as Chet stared at her naked breasts with rapt attention. She grinned and crooked her finger at him. “Come on, then. Journey says you’re a tits man. Try me out. Taste me.”

  He approached and sank into the desk chair, scooting it closer so his head was exactly at the level of her chest. Giving in to his aching desire, he buried his face in her breasts. Both his hands engaged, he took a nipple in his mouth, then the other. Oh, Pantheon, that’s good. He couldn’t get enough. Chet rubbed her tits up, down and sideways, endlessly fascinated by how they moved and bounced. After a time, Aureate pushed him away. He reluctantly let go.

  “I want you to fuck me in the ass.”

  Chet paused, taken back. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He’d been fucked in the ass so many times since this had begun—by Fenimore, Journey and that dickhead smuggler in the truck—but had yet to inflict such treatment on another.

  She smiled, her expression rather smug. “You can’t.”

  Oh, yeah. Shapeshifter. Right. Chet smiled uncertainly. He turned off the lights, self conscious at the lack of curtains. “Um. I’m not sure how to begin.”

  In answer, she pulled down her skin-tight pants and let them fall to the floor, then kicked off her heels. She was naked, now. Chet caught his breath. She was serious. Aureate turned her back and stuck out her behind, leaning against the desk.

  This was going too fast. Chet touched her back and ran his hand down to her posterior. She had the best ass. Well, of course she did: whether she was twenty or a hundred and twenty, she could shape exactly what she wanted. It was heart shaped and firm, yet round and soft in the right places.

  Chet realized he was in control. Aureate had her back turned, waiting for him to take the upper hand. He could do anything. As long as she let him, he could try something... new. Freedom rippled through him, and he grinned. Moved by instinct, he drew back and spanked her, his open hand slapping her firm, bouncy buttocks with an audible crack.

  Aureate cried out in shock. Chet shrank away, a hand at his mouth.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to... uh...”

  Aureate hadn’t moved. She was grinning, he realized, as she looked over her shoulder. “Why, Chet Baikson, I didn’t realize you had it in you. Do that again.”

  He exhaled, his hand falling to his side. She’d liked it. He certainly liked it, now that he knew it was allowed. He liked being in control: it was such a new feeling to be in control of a sexual situation. Of any situation, really. Chet started rubbing her ass in earnest. He swung back and spanked her again. She cried out, but this time she undulated her hips and pelvis, obviously enjoying herself. He spanked her a few more times, then realized he wanted a different position.

  “Climb on the desk,” he said. As she did so, he shed clothing rapidly until he was down to his boxers and tee-shirt. Chet arranged himself so that he was beside Aureate. “Drape yourself across my lap. Face down.”

  She obeyed. She obeyed him! It was possibly the sexiest thing anyone had ever done with him. His cock was achingly erect, but he wouldn’t let it out yet. The pressure of her body draped across his lap was wonderful, yet he wanted to enjoy her, not focus on his own pleasure.

  Her pleasure was what he really wanted.

  Chet began spanking her, softly at first, building up to a faster crescendo. Aureate moaned and gave little sexy screams that sent chills up Chet’s spine. He wanted more. He did want to fuck her in the ass. Journey had told him days ago in the prostitute’s van that Flame basically lubricated their own rectums. That seemed... kind of gross. Yet what did he have to lose by investigating the claim? Women did the same thing in the front end, after all.

  Chet rubbed Aureate’s ass and pulled her cheeks apart. She squeaked, hands splayed on the desk, attentive to his every movement. Her attention was sexy as her body. He fingered the outside of her little pucker of an anus. Then, taking a courageous breath, Chet stuck a finger inside. It was wet in there. He withdrew and rubbed his finger and thumb together; the wetness was thick, viscous. A lot like the way Journey’s cunt had felt, actually, not that he’d touched her there with more than his dick. That seemed like a bad call, now. Chet smelled his finger, still suspicious. It did smell of ass but also strongly of ichor. Well, then.

  “Get up. I’m going to sit in the desk chair and you’re going to be on top of me, with my cock in your ass.”

  “Yes," she agreed instantly, drawing herself up.

  He climbed down and settled in the desk chair. It was solid and didn’t have armrests, fortunately. Chet pulled out his erect penis and held out his other hand to Aureate. With luxuriant, leisurely movements, her tits bouncing ever so subtly, she climbed off the desk and turned her back to him. Aureate sank slowly onto his lap. He found her rectum with difficulty, but once he fingered it open, he didn’t let go. Chet tucked himself inside of her, breathing harder as he did.

  “You are to do all the moving, here. I’m not going to move at all.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her face turned so that he saw her profile. On cue, she barely moved atop him, undulating just a little.

  Chet reached around and rubbed her breasts, his hand open on her nipples. He slapped a tit and she cried out, sinking fully on his penis.

  “Do that again," she said, her breath coming faster.

  He grinned and took her at her word. After a time
, curious, Chet felt down her body until he reached her hairless pubic area. It was very, very wet. He fingered her, and her breath caught. He brushed against the raised mound near the front, and she let out a little scream.

  “You like that, huh?” he whispered in her ear. She whimpered in response.

  Chet loved this. He felt entirely in his element for the first time in his whole life, the odd man out no more. He brushed against the tiny, erect mount again, and she leaned back into him, making wimpering noises.

  “Please, please," she said in an unending litany.

  He began rubbing her there. Endless circular movements, that seemed to be the trick. He realized his other hand was still hovering over her breasts. Reminded of their presence, he slapped her tit again. She moaned, head thrown back. Aureate’s reactions drove him on—every sound, every breath she took—let him know what to do next.

  Her body was a roadmap in the dark.

  Chet had almost completely forgotten his cock... but she hadn’t. Aureate pulled herself up, until just the glans head was inside of her, then settled down upon him again, so he was enveloped.

  He rubbed Aureate harder, and she thrashed in his arms. Tit slap, rub, slap, pinch, lots of rub. Playing Aureate was far more interesting than woodwinds or the brass section. Chet’s hand—buried in her hairless sex—was so wet he might as well have been under water. He was enveloped by her, surrounded by her power, yet he was also in charge of the situation. Aureate was thrashing with such intensity, Chet feared he might accidentally come. The next time she arched up, he pulled out on purpose. Then he plunged both hands into her sex, still rubbing, his other fingers buried in her cunt and ass.

  With almost clinical curiosity, Chet squeezed his fingers together. Aureate went insane. Her body became an electrical arc. She screamed in his ear.

  The screaming stopped. Everything stopped. She sank into his arms, her body limp. “Thank you," Aureate said, sounding surprised in the dark.