Rhapsody in Orange
Page 8
safe. I can't live without her; I can't stand to lose her. Please, I beg of you, let me find her alive.
From "Redshirt"
Theodore Thompson? Man, does that take me back! Yeah, I knew Ted, very well in fact. We were boyhood friends, went to the same high school and college, started a band together, shared an apartment, dated the same girls; the whole nine yards. We even worked for the same company, a web design firm in San Francisco. I was one of their designers and Ted was a salesman. He was really good, too; in his best year he brought in close to $2,500,000 worth of new business. Kept us pretty busy for as long as he lasted.
Okay, mind you, I don't know if any of this is true. I wasn't there, he told me about it later, when I went to see him after he was committed to that loony bin in Cairnsford. But Ted had never been a fanciful guy. He and I were classic left brain/right brain types; I was the imaginative one, he was the analyzer and planner. So I can't see him making up such a fantastic story. Yeah, sure, I've seen the doctors' report: paranoid schizophrenia with delusions of persecution. It's bullshit--pardon my French--all of it. You want to know what I think? I think that dame screwed with his head as well as his body.
Well, anyhow, a few years ago he was in Colorado on a business trip, trying to land us a few more clients. One of his stops was in Cairnsford. He finished his meeting early and decided to go back to his hotel to rest. He said it was a rainy, cold day, and he couldn't get a cab, so he tried to walk, but he ended up taking refuge in some bar off Gilpin Street. It turned out to be one of those neighborhood pubs that catered to families and young couples rather than hardcore drinkers. He said it had a warm, rich decor that made you feel comfortable as soon as you entered. It was virtually deserted, which wasn't that strange considering it was early afternoon, but there was one other patron sitting at the bar.
He said she was gorgeous. To hear him describe her, she had Rachel Welch's looks with Anna Nicole Smith's body, back when she posed for Playboy, before she married that gazzillionaire and went to pot. She also wore a rather tight sweater and slacks that left little to the imagination, if you know what I mean.
Well, Ted fancied himself a ladies man, and while no lothario, he nonetheless was always on the lookout for a good lay. He had plenty of time to kill that afternoon, and he liked the look of her, so he figured what the hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
He remembered every exact word of their conversation. I don't have his memory, so I'm going to paraphrase, but you'll get the gist of it.
He walked up to the bar, about one seat from her, and ordered a drink. She sat on the stool leaning back against the counter with both elbows propped up beside her. She didn't look at him, but neither did she try to avoid him.
He kept trying to make eye contact without success, but once he got his drink he sidled up beside her. She still didn't look his way, so he decided to initiate contact.
"Hey, baby, what's your sign?" Ted never was very subtle.
The woman finally glanced his way, an irritated look on her face at first, but her expression softened as she looked him up and down. He got the feeling she was examining him, like some scientist studying a specimen, trying to determine if he would measure up.
She must have liked what she saw, though, because she finally smiled. "The pentagram."
"Huh?" For a really intelligent guy, he sometimes wasn't the swiftest boat in the race.
"Never mind. Care to buy me a drink?"
"Yeah, sure." He signaled the bartender and she relayed her choice as Ted sat down on the stool beside her.
"So, what do you do?"
He described his job and why he was in town. She listened in an interested manner; not hanging on his every word, but not bored either.
"And what do you do? I'll bet your model, or maybe a dancer."
She flashed a grin. "As in exotic? That's flattering, but actually I'm a witch."
Ted laughed, thinking she had made a joke, but when she didn't join in, he stopped. "You're serious."
She nodded. "Of course; what did you expect? This is Cairnsford, 'the Salem of the West'."
"You mean, pointed hat, broomstick, black cat, cauldron, casting spells, the whole shtick?"
That time she laughed. "Not quite, but close. I love cats, and I do create spells and make potions, but I don't need a broom to fly, and I worship skyclad."
"What?"
"Nude; I perform my rites in the nude."
"You don't say. I'd love to see that."
"I'm sure you would, but most ceremonies are serious rituals, and done in private." She then paused and eyed him again with that appraising look. "Of course, one of the more enjoyable things about being a witch is we're heavy into fertility rites, which we perform with a partner." She laid her hand on the inside of his thigh. "You like fertility rites, don't you?"
The thing about Ted was, he had a one-track mind. Whereas her boldness would have made you or me nervous, he got excited. That must have turned her on as well, because when she put her hand on his crotch and felt his hard-on, she grinned.
"I guess you do. I haven't done one in awhile, and I'd love to perform one now. My place is only a block away. What do you say, care to assist me?"
"Yeah, sure! But, you're not a Satanist, are you? I wouldn't want to wind up a sacrifice to the Devil."
She laughed again. "That's a myth. Witches don't worship Satan, anymore than practitioners of Voodoo or folk magic."
"I suppose it's some kind of nature goddess, then."
"No, I'm a follower of a different sect. My deity is a Great Old One; that probably doesn't mean anything to you, does it?"
"Not really, no."
"The Greeks called him Mycotaes."
"Him? It's male?"
"In a manner of speaking. Why? Jealous?"
"Does he ever manifest himself?"
She flashed a wry sideways smirk. "Sometimes; at which times he demands consummation, but he doesn't do it often enough to satisfy me. That's why I need human partners; preferably male, but I'm not particularly choosy."
"What does he look like?"
"Mmmm, it's hard to say. The closest analogy would be a fungus."
"You mean, like bread mold?"
"Ehhh, you could say that, yes, or something like a slime mold."
"Uhg. And you let him...uh, sleep with you?"
"Certainly. It's an act of devotion, like communion or a pilgrimage to Mecca."
"He won't be joining us, will he?"
"Not for what I have in mind, no."
"Good! Then, what are we waiting for?"
I should say at this point that I have no idea what Ted thought of all that garbage at that time; he didn't tell me, and by the time I talked with him in Cairnsford he believed it was all true. Personally, I think that crazy witch meant she used mushrooms like dildos, but knowing him as he was, I believe he just humored her so he could get in her bed.
Speaking of which, they ran through the rain, so it took them almost no time to reach her brownstone. Still, they got soaked, so as soon as they went upstairs to her bathroom they stripped and spent a few minutes toweling each other off. She gave him a glass of some thick, golden liquid that had a tangy taste, and insisted he drink it all, while she drank some herself. Then she threw him on her bed and jumped on top of him, and they got started with practically no preliminaries. He went into pretty explicit about what they did. I won't bore you with the details; suffice to say, they performed just about every act in the Kama Sutra, plus a few new ones they invented on the spot.
He couldn't remember falling asleep, but it was well past midnight when he woke up, and he found himself alone. At first he thought she was in the bathroom, but after waiting for ten minutes he got up to take a look.
The bathroom was empty.
Puzzled, he went looking for her. Her bedroom sat on the third floor, so he headed down, but couldn't find her anywhere. He started to wonder if she might have gone out again, when in the kitchen he found a door to the basement. It stood
open a crack, and he could hear her down there moaning, sighing, and gasping like she did when they were having sex, except more intensely. He got an erection just listening to it, so he decided to go down and see what was going on.
From "Jigsaw Dragon"
Eile Chica crouched behind one of the pylons at the foot of the stairs. She turned her head to shield her face from a tongue of fire that lanced past her hiding place.
"Are you ready?"
Eile glanced across the causeway. White-Lion was hunkered down behind the opposite pylon.
"Yeah, as ready as I'll ever be."
Another gout of flame interrupted them.
"Okay, on three," White-Lion said after the fire dissipated. "One, two, three! Let's go, partner!"
She rose and dashed out onto the first step as Eile watched. Looking up the stairs, she held out her staff and shouted, "Halon!" A milky-white, concave shield appeared in front and slightly above her. A stream of fire shot down from the top of the stairs. It hit the shield square in the center, but instead of penetrating, the flames spread out along its surface and flickered off the edges.
White-Lion gestured. "Come on!"
Eile ran up behind her, trying to keep low. Together they advanced up the stairs, while the fire covered the shield.
Eile couldn't see anything through the flame, but as they climbed she saw the shield go from white to yellow to orange. Her stomach knotted in cold fear; she expected it to collapse at any moment. If