Starblood (The Starblood Trilogy) (8 page)

They are chatting beside her. Donna tries not to listen to the words. Every now and again a phrase reaches her, Sarah speaking about art, he about books. Donna tries to define why she dislikes him so much. Maybe if she could explain it to Sarah later she might see it with her own eyes, feel it crawling on her own skin, but Donna doesn’t know. The feeling is deeper than language, more instinctual. He frightens her.

Raven’s flat comes into view at last. A discreet door nestling among identical two storey flats in a shabby cul-de-sac. The door is open and the thud of industrial beats wash over her last steps. Raven will protect Sarah. Maybe, if Donna asks, Raven will expel him from her home, his scaly tail between his legs. Energised she hurries up the steps. She knows he has let Sarah walk next. She can feel him leering at Sarah’s back, at the way her buttocks move as she climbs the steep, uncarpeted stairs. Donna’s stomach tightens. She can see Raven now, her big black boots stand firm on the living room floor. Donna rushes towards her. She touches Raven’s arm, interrupting the conversation. Raven scowls then smiles at her. Her pierced lip moves across perfect teeth but her eyes remain frosty.

‘Donna,’ she says. ‘Glad you could make it. Oh and you brought a friend.’ Then the words stop.

Donna looks from Raven to Sarah and the man beyond who seems to be sniffing Sarah’s hair. Raven moves towards them. She raises her hands and grabs the man’s forearms. He smiles at her.

‘Satori, my love, you came. Where have you been hiding this past month?’ When Satori shrugs, still grinning she continues. ‘Come with me my darling. We’ll get you something to drink.’ With a dismissive wave towards where she probably assumes Donna will still be standing, Raven ushers Satori away.

Donna rushes towards Sarah and touches her elbow. Her friend’s eyes look unfocused, confused.

‘Are you okay?’ Donna asks.

Sarah nods. ‘Who is he?’

‘That’s Satori and he’s bad news.’

‘He’s wonderful,’ Sarah whispers.

Donna recoils. Her fingers feel hot. Bringing them to her lips, she blows on their tips and watches Sarah’s face.
Wonderful?
Shaking her head she opens two bottles of beer and hands one to her friend.

‘Just be careful,’ she says.

It is obvious that Sarah isn’t listening. She stares at the living room door. Donna sighs and walks through the doorway with Sarah close behind.

Chapter 11

The warm water caresses Lilith’s skin. She lifts arms then legs out of the surface, scrubbing then inspecting. The smears of grey from the wilderness outside The Garden are gone. Her skin is fresh and soft. It doesn’t glow like Adam’s but it is beautiful in its own way and seeing herself she feels renewed pride. She is well made.

Stepping out of the pool, she towers for a moment above Adam’s golden head. He is level with her waist and as he looks up, turns his face towards her and smiles, she feels her body glow. For a moment she is confused, her flames, the fire that burned brightly as she descended from the moon cannot be seen. Her body is not alight. She remembers she is human now, a child of the sun, not the moon. The power is still there, the overwhelming heat in her groin as she gazes into Adam’s eyes. The flames may not be visible, but they do burn and now they burn for him, for the lover she was promised: a man as beautiful as the sun.

The old instinct which guided her when she first straddled Samael is not needed. She knows what to do, but it urges her on anyway. It adds fuel to the fire within her. She pushes him backwards. He falls onto the soft grass, and the deer snorts and bounds away. He reaches for her as she lowers herself onto his belly. When their lips touch she is transported. The kiss grabs her soul and launches it into the sky. There the moon at last merges with her sun, while in The Garden Lilith enters Adam. Her tongue reaches inside his welcoming mouth. Eyes closed she tastes his breath. His hard teeth and soft lips bounce against her own. The fire threatens to consume her. She needs him, all of him. With one eager hand she grasps his cock and opens herself to his exploration. His gasp of pleasure fills The Garden.

Moving to the rhythm of her heart, Lilith senses something change. Opening her eyes she looks at his face. Where there was surrender to the pleasure she now sees determination. His eyes are clouded and his jaw juts outwards in a look of fierce desire. He grabs her hips and tries to move them to his own rhythm. Frustrated at his efforts he pushes her from him. Lilith rolls onto the grass. The fire still burns but it is joined by a new heat. Her face prickles with anger and confusion. She kicks his leg, and he yelps then growls and kicks her back.

All this happens so quickly that when Lilith is grabbed again, spun around onto her hands and knees and Adam thrusts hard between her legs she is hardly aware of what has happened, is happening. Adam is fucking her, so where is her pleasure? Why is she filled instead with pain, anger and humiliation? She struggles to move but he holds her firm. She tries to talk but her words are stolen. Her screech shakes the trees and as the echo of it dies she feels Adam shudder and gasp before she is free to crawl away.

Lilith rests her face against the windowpane. They will not see her. Their eyes, mouths and hands sense only each other. Her own body grows moist and hot as she watches them caress each other. Hands cling, pull and grasp in movements more forceful and aggressive than in consensual couplings between man and woman. Lust drives them blindly into each other’s bodies, again and again.

Lilith places her hand against the glass. Oh, to be in there with them, and experience this passion first hand. Their love-making feels demonic, a step above human sex, as when Samael filled her, all those years ago. Their sex had a purpose: procreation, filling the world with demons to thwart His great work. The magicians’ poundings have no purpose other than pleasure and eradication: losing themselves in each other, desperate to forget the world around them, locked inside their own warm, safe place.

The boy is tiring. Or is he crying? He crawls beneath the sheets of the huge bed. The white-haired man plants kisses on his lips, but the boy shakes his head. Letting his lover sleep, the man sits naked on top of the covers, smiling. He glances up at Lilith then reaches for his glasses. Slowly, as if every muscle in his body has turned to gelatine, he pushes himself up and stumbles bow-legged towards the window. Their eyes meet and he reaches out his own hand and places it on the other side of the glass. She smiles at him as he reaches for the window latch with his other hand. The handle moves but the window doesn’t open. Pointing to the lock, he shrugs and motions to Lilith to meet him downstairs.

Sliding off the windowsill, she falls lightly to the ground, landing on her feet. Then, she crosses the perfect lawn to the front door.

Moments later, she steps inside. The man before her is different from the boy-magician. Sentences beginning and ending with ‘your will’ and ‘humble servant’ gush from him. Her thoughts drift upstairs to the pale body curled up in slumber in the room above them. Again she wonders why she feels drawn to him. He is nothing – an awkward, arrogant child. She heads towards the staircase.

‘Lilith,’ the white-haired man calls to her.

She turns to look at his thin, silk wrapped frame and weak, obsequious eyes. He is speaking again. The sound annoys her.

‘I felt it the moment you stepped from Chaos into Malkuth. The world trembled as your foot touched the floor. We all did. You have an army here, should you want it.’

What is he telling her?
The words buzz around her ears like ravenous gnats.
An army? What do I want that I might need an army?
‘An army.’

His eyes shine. ‘Yes, we want to change the world in your name. Stay here, please. Lead us into temptation.’

Lilith shakes her head. ‘You’re a liar and a misogynist. You want to follow because you want revolution, freedom and fire. If Samael or Asmodeus appeared beside me you would bow before them and, under their protection, spit at all I am and all of womankind. Why do you desire revolution when this world is already of your making?’

He bows his head, but not before she sees the hatred burning in his eyes.

‘You want power and glory,’ she says. ‘I see through you, into the black heart beating pointlessly in your skinny chest. You are nothing, good for nothing.’

‘I am nothing,’ he agrees. He kneels before her. ‘Please, make me something. Let me serve you. Do you want him? I can call him down. What do you want? I will get it for you.’

Lilith strides into the kitchen. Everything sparkles; it is like magic. Drawing a heavy butcher’s knife from a chrome block, she touches the tip and runs a finger along the blade.

‘Sharpen this,’ she tells the man hovering in the doorway.

He looks at her then sets to work, gathering a wand and leather strap from a drawer. The knife sings as it is sharpened. Closing her eyes, she lets its song fill her.

‘Knives. Wonderfully phallic, don’t you think?’ she says, more to herself than him.

‘Yes,’ he answers quickly. ‘People who carry knives are sexually repressed. It’s the act of penetration they crave.’ He blushes and turns away. ‘I’m sorry … here, it’s sharp now.’

She takes the blade from his extended hand. He does not meet her eyes. ‘You know what I did. Did you watch? Did it excite you?’

‘No … I didn’t watch,’ he stammers, shaking his head. ‘Baron … my guide … told me.’

‘Ahh.’ Losing interest, she turns on a tap. Water hisses into the sink, beating a frantic rhythm on the aluminium. She turns it off again and looks around the room, but her mind wanders upstairs. A smile makes her lips tremble then it grows into laughter. The man looks at her. His lips twitch in a silent prayer or chant.
Is he afraid now? Good.
She steps towards him, and he takes a step back then recovers himself.

‘I want to help you,’ he says. ‘We share the same dream: a world full of demons and magic, hedonism and despair.’

‘You will help me,’ she tells him. She pats the flat edge of the knife against her thigh. The movement attracts his attention, and his jaw drops.

‘I’m more valuable alive.’ He looks as though he wants to say more, but his words fail him.

Another step closer, she can hear his heart beating fast, the rhythm flawed; a beat skips and another echoes.

‘No! Please!’ he cries. ‘Satori, help me!’

His words are silenced by her fist. She smashes open his jaw with her punch. Terrified, he stares at her, his mouth hanging open. Tearing open her blouse, she reveals the swell of her left breast and pulls his gaping maw to her nipple.

‘Worship the terrible mother,’ she whispers in his ear. ‘For she gives you life and binds you to death.’

He coughs blood on her skin and she smears it onto his face.

‘That’s good,’ she tells him. ‘Drink up. You want to grow up big and strong, don’t you?’

He gurgles an unintelligible response.

‘Shh, it’s okay. Mummy’s here.’ She cradles his shoulders with her knife-free hand and lets him fall gently to the floor. His mouth flaps silently. His eyes scream for mercy. She smiles. ‘There, that’s better. You forgot your manners for a while, but it’s okay now, isn’t it? You’ll be a good boy for mother.’

His robe has fallen open from the waist and his genitals are exposed. With her thumb and forefinger she pinches the head of his cock. His body struggles to move away, but she holds him tight.

‘You won’t be needing this.’ She presses the point of the blade into the base of his penis. A thread of blood pushes through the hole. Looking at his face again, she drinks in his horror, feeling herself grow wet with the pleasure. ‘I’ll tell you what. If you make yourself hard for me, you can keep it.’ She lets go of him.

His hand grasps his dick and he frantically moves his fist back and forth along its flaccid length. The blood gives the skin a pink bloom, then a deeper red. He moves faster, but he is still soft. His eyes dart from his unresponsive member, to Lilith and then back again.

‘Oh well,’ she says. ‘You tried.’

He struggles again. Pushing with his feet, inching across the floor, he tries desperately to get away.

‘If you keep moving about, it will hurt.’ Her stern face crumples into laughter. She laughs quietly so only the two of them can hear her. Then, lifting his balls, she slices through the loose skin with the knife. Three arcs of the blade and they are detached. She cuts through the base of his penis. His breath is ragged, and his heart strains to keep beating. Blood soaks her skin and the floor. Then, as she makes the final cut, he passes out.

Chapter 12

I walk through the park. Your park. No-one will attack me. I am under her protection.
Freya wears her sister’s clothes. Not the ones Tanya wore
that
night. Her mother burned those long along. The long purple velvet skirt makes her feel beautiful. She takes off her boots and walks barefoot, the soft material brushing her ankles a contrast to the rough path. She wears the darkness like a cloak and hopes it will hide her when she returns home. Lilith calls her here. This place was in her dreams last night and the soles of her feet have itched all day.
What will I find?

She passes the place her sister fell, behind the swings, next to the outer wall. The air feels colder here. She walks across and touches the floor. The blood is long gone. Freya never saw the stain. She was never allowed to come here, but friends’ hushed whispers were overheard, discussions that always stopped when they saw her and were replaced with sympathetic clichés: ‘How are you?’ ‘I’m so sorry’.

How was I? I was crap. I’m still crap.
Life never moved on from the point at which Tanya bled to death, here at this spot.
I’ve invited death so many times and yet it has never come to me. Why were you so special? Why did he answer your call and not mine?

Lilith urges Freya on. The goddess has seen this all before. She wants to show her protégé new things. Freya’s body tingles. She hopes. Bare feet carry her across the damp grass. Supple blades bend beneath her and tickle the soft arches of her feet. She half walks, half skips towards the old boathouse. It used to be full of rowing boats and pedalos, but the boats abandoned the park years ago. These days it houses drunks and glue-sniffers. Tonight it appears to be empty. Freya’s feet take her inside. She feels the sting of glass on her sole and lifts her left foot to check. It is a small piece, a splinter, lodged just beneath the surface. She sits and squeezes the skin around the wound forcing it out. She spits on her foot and replaces her shoes. Beside her is a piece of flint with a sharp tip. It feels smooth and cool when she picks it up. An image forms in her head and she scribes it on the painted inner wall: an amulet, a spell, a curse. It feels powerful. It feels good.