Bordello Dolls (5 page)
Nicolai focused at his attacker. The vampire and the human stared into each other’s eyes for a length of time.
The cigarette was stubbed into Nicolai’s cheek. The doll, its white laced skirt hoisted, was jammed on the stake.
Scarlet gasped a silent scream to the agonising assault. Her groin was shredded but she could not react. Only exist. In total blinding pain.
He sprang to his feet, grabbed a can of kerosene and splashed the contents in a circle around them.
“You see, I figured out where the old people went wrong whenever they tried to burn this hell hole. They didn’t realise that the dolls were the shells, that when the whores finished their night of pimping they slipped back into those innocuous little shapes where their master kept them. All of them pretty little servants of iniquity. Only there was this one doll, the Scarlet Whore, dressed all in white—that doll remained empty. I guess old Von Alder here was waiting for just the right harlot to fill her shoes—the one he could turn into the undead like himself, make his partner, keep him happy for the centuries to follow. Well guess what Nicolai? It ain’t gonna work cause I’m burning the place down, and this time you and all your whore dolls are gonna burn with it!” He kicked Nicolai’s head with a sickening thud. “And that includes your Scarlet Whore. See that she’s just as impotent against me as you are. Especially with a stake up her diseased cunt.”
Nicolai hissed. He showed his incisors but the threat was empty.
“How sweet,” the young man chuckled as he snapped his lighter. The yellow flame danced. “One last futile attempt to warn me off. But hey, you got your final wish—the last doll in your collection, the most treasured one, impaled on the stake that’s jutting through your heart. You can watch her burn as you slowly die together. How romantic is that?”
“Not … just … dolls,” Nicolai rasped. His torso vibrated. He was trying to control the convulsions. “Time-dancers.”
“What the fuck is a Time Dancer?”
Nicolai winced. “Watch.”
Like ghosts materialising from a mist, figures all around the room began to form. There was a sudden eruption of music and laughter. Cigarettes were lit. Drinks were poured. Men danced with their escorts. The women, scantily attired, fondled them on the dance floor. Money exchanged hands. All of it swirled around the room, oblivious to the peril of Nicolai, Scarlet and their assassin.
Nicolai lifted his head. “Look.”
“Holy shit.” The young man’s murderous flush of excitement drained from his face. “That’s my father.”
The woman was folded forward, her skirts hoisted to reveal her naked backside. Her client snorted a long line of white powder that trailed over her rump. Then she laughed as he slapped her buttock, entered her from behind and fucked her with gusto. Not only was he indulging in addiction and taking advantage of the services provided by a prostitute he was doing so in front of everyone in the room. A young child sat on the floor nearby, crying. “Shut up, Daymon,” the man scoffed. “Daddy’s needs his play time.”
“Your father,” Nicolai garbled. “And you. Lust. No innocence.”
“I’ll make it all go away,” Daymon shouted. “I’ll burn this hell hole to the fucking ground, and you can take your Time Dancers and my wasted father with you!”
“You. Hypocrite. Family trait.”
The air shifted. The abrupt vibration shook the floor. The dancers vanished from one scenario, reappeared within another. Gently, they swayed as their sensual bodies promised the unspoken. There, cushioned between two women, was the young man who’d claimed to triumph on the side of righteousness. Daymon. A son, witness to iniquity, a pursuer of lust.
“That’s not me,” he stated soundly although his voice caught. “This is a lie. This place is hell, and you are gonna burn in it.”
“It’s you. Like father, like son.”
The scene dissolved. Time had passed but was not forgotten. The Time Dancers, the Bordello Dolls, crowded onto the floor, shrieking starkly, shuffling stiffly around the room, all proceeding clumsily towards the single offender. Their eyes were ablaze with fury.
Nicolai focused on the doll impaled on the stake through his chest. He lifted his head and with a lunge snatched the pin from the doll’s breast with his teeth. Scarlet slumped, the feeling returning to her arms and legs. She crawled, inching towards Nicolai, despite the wreckage of her groin. She pulled the doll free first then heaved the stake from Nicolai’s heart.
All the while, the dolls closed in on their victim.
“You’re all going to die for your sins,” Daymon screamed, his panic stricken eyes flitting from one moving doll to the other.
“Hypocrite,” Nicolai shouted, his prowess returning quickly. “Like father like son! Daymon, consorter with whores like his father before him and his father before him!”
“No! Not me!”
“Yes, it was you.” Nicolai stood, his voice stern, clear, powerful. “You were serviced. You spent your money freely. Your lusts were sated.”
“I wanted the Scarlet Whore,” he seethed, backing away from the nearing horde of hissing dolls. He kicked one. It shot across the floor on its back, but within seconds regained its footing and continued the assault. “Not these sluts. I wanted the ultimate, but my money wasn’t good enough, was it? Was it?”
“You wanted nothing more than the power associated with the night. You wanted to be turned, but no such gift was granted.”
“Burn! If I am condemned, then so will all of you!” With the final proclamation he dropped his lighter directly into an opened can of kerosene.
A fireball exploded. A blast of searing heat infiltrated the room, but not before Scarlet lifted her arms, her robe winged on each side. All as the dolls scuttled with lightning speed under the material, she folded her arms above her head, and fell with Nicolai into the night.
The moon was low on the horizon, the thin outline of black billowing clouds slowly creeping closer, threatening a storm. It was wholly reminiscent of a dark dangerous predator who slowly stalked his prey from the shadows, who waited for just the most opportune moment to unleash a torrent of sensual delights. And capture the unsuspecting.
Over their first decade together, these gentle storms were the ones Scarlet had come to love the most. She knew that somehow, these temperate changes in the air were deeply rooted, and could thwart the thin perception she once called reality.
These changes could sooth unholy lusts. Scarlet had eyes to see.
She dressed all in white, mocking innocence because these games deepened his pleasures. Her breasts pushed above the tightly laced corset, both nipples exposed. Thin white stockings, garter, laced slit so he could easily access her sex. She hung a string of beads around her neck, fitted the sequined cap over her hair, and leaned into the mirror to smear crimson lipstick over her lips.
She produced her eye-teeth, admiring their glint.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Nicolai said, appearing behind her. He let his teeth glide over the bare skin of her shoulder.
“What’s funny?” she asked.
“How it is widely believed we can’t admire our own reflection.”
She turned, propping her backside on the bureau, spreading her legs so that he could stand between her thighs. With a gloved hand, she swept her hair away from her neck and tipped her head to one side. “Leave a mark,” she whispered. “Watch in the mirror as you do.”
He obeyed quickly. His teeth sliced into her skin, and she writhed with the pleasure of it, tightening her thighs around him. His shoulder rolled as he loosened the front of his trousers.
She kissed him, gnawing the blood from his bottom lip.
“On your knees,” he demanded, pulling a lock of her hair. “Kneel before the altar that is your Master. Prove to me you are my sweetest doll.”
She leaned forward, hissing at him through gritted teeth. “So vulgar.”
His eyes widened for a second. Then he lavished her snarling lip with a deep kiss. She growled. It was all so divine.
And she sank to her knees, took him fully in her mouth, bathed him with her tongue, smeared him with her fluid. He howled, grabbed her ears, pumped her skull and shot his burning fluid into her throat.
She swallowed every last delectable drop and stood, flickering one last quick lap over his mouth.
“Ready to join with our girls for our gala opening?” he asked, strumming his knuckles over the soft white flesh of her jaw. “Ready to dance in our new abode?”
She inhaled his breath through parted lips. “Your wealth is all that I need to swell my purse.”
“As it shall always be.”
“Come, let us awaken the girls.”
As the sun sank and the quiet storm drifted closer, as a hushed stillness blanketed the room, Nicolai opened his trunk and tenderly removed each doll. He smiled at them, pressed his pursed lips to the pad of his forefinger and dabbed each painted mouth.
Every glassy eye followed him. Except for the last. Its face was covered by long tangled locks. Yet it was with this doll where he lingered. He leaned forward to kiss her on the shrouded mouth and as he did so, his finger trailed under her white laced skirt to fondle the slit laced undergarment.
“Oh,” Scarlet sighed. “That feels so nice. Do all your bordello dolls sense your touch as I do?”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. And smiled faintly as he placed this one doll back into the trunk.
Then he clapped his hands. “Rise ladies, we have a full night’s entertaining ahead of us, many purses that need to be filled.”
One by one, the dolls materialised into fully formed elegant women. They took turns kissing him, drifting their long nails over his chest and groin, laughing, giggling, singing. They strolled out to prepare the dance.
“The Scarlet woman,” he called, turning to her, reaching out his hand, “who found her fantasy could come true in the quiet hours between passion and death. Share the taste of passion with me this night. Let us learn of each other all over again.”
She took his hand.
And they danced within the timeless space between passion and death.
Ellen grew up in a haunted house in Nova Scotia, Canada. Unexplained footsteps and late night whispering were a normal occurrence so her fascination with the paranormal has had a long history. After obtaining degrees in English Literature and History at Acadia University Ellen travelled—teaching in Thailand and England—collecting stories and memories that would later weave through the fabric of her books. She now resides in Alberta, Canada with her Celtic husband, Stuart.
Email: [email protected]
Ellen Ashe loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.total-e-bound.com.
