Victoria's Demon Lover (8 page)

     Victoria sat up.  She was in
her bed upstairs in the lake house.  Morning sun came through her opened shades
and flooded the room with a cheerful golden light that did not cheer her in the
least.

     She put a hand to her throat. 
I might have dreamed that whole thing
.  She looked down at herself.  She
was wearing her flowered nightgown, the one with the ribbons that looked like
rosebuds.  She could not remember putting this one on.

     She frowned and got up. 
Downstairs the coffee tasted flat and the chirping birds annoyed her.  She
closed the kitchen blinds against the glorious spring day outside.

     She sat on her hard kitchen
chair and slurped her bad coffee.  She could have dreamed the whole thing
. 
Maybe.  Yes.
  That was it.

     She relaxed and took another
drag on the coffee.  It started to taste a little better.  She smiled and set
the mug down so she could reach for the blinds.  The little birds outside the
window reminded her with their tiny peeps that she needed to fill the feeder
again.  The golden sunlight shot a beam to her kitchen table.  She smiled. 
It
is going to be a nice
day
, she told herself.  She heard a soft
metallic clink and looked down at her coffee mug.

     A beautiful beaded collar in
lapis and silver and coral lay in the center of the table.  The sunlight made
the shining silver sparkle, and the rich blues and reds of the beads glowed
their rich colors.  She narrowed her eyes.  She was not afraid to touch it.

     She took another sip of coffee
and stared at it.  She looked around the kitchen, expecting the demon to appear
next.  She wondered if he drank coffee and glanced at the steaming pot on the
counter to make sure there was enough for two.

     Nothing else appeared.  No one
else either. The next sip of coffee was stone cold.  She looked at the kitchen
clock over the sink.  An hour had passed.  She blinked.  The collar necklace
was still there. 
I’m not afraid.
  She touched it.  It was cool and
smooth.  She lifted it and looked at it carefully.  It looked brand-new, but
there were tool marks on the silver beads and on the clasp.  A modern piece
would have no marks and a cheap one would have visible seams on the metal.  She
let the beads slide over her fingers.  Each bead had been hand carved. Each was
unique.  Modern beads were turned by machines.  She set it down again.  Even if
it were not centuries old, its beauty and quality would make it worth
thousands.

     Victoria finished her cold
coffee and set the cup down with a firm thud.  This was the collar she wore last
night at the orgy.  She looked down at the rosebuds on her nightgown. 
Explanations would have to come later.  She took a deep breath and got up to
rinse her cup.  He may show up any minute.

     But he did not.  Days went
by.  Her nights were normal nights.  The sun went down.  It grew dark and the
stars came out.  She waited sometimes until after midnight but he did not
appear.  She tried going to bed early, as the sunset glowed orange on her
walls.  Still, he did not appear.  In any form.  She started to miss him.

     She filled the bird feeder and
sat outside in her lawn chair.  Her sister was moving in next weekend.  She had
a few days left of peace and quiet.  A few days to decide if she were crazy or
not.

     The beautiful collar was in
her panty drawer.  She sighed.  She was not crazy.  That was why he sent it. 
The little finches and sparrows hopped in her trees and bounced on the grass,
picking up seeds that had dropped from the feeder.  Their simple pleasure in
sun and seed made her feel happy.  She stretched out her legs and leaned back,
taking a deep breath of the springtime air.  He might be finished with her. 
Perhaps the murder of Cestius was all he wanted.

     This didn’t make sense,
though.  He was a demon.  He could have killed Cestius any time he wanted to. 
She remembered Michael Brand from Legal and her brief burst of happiness
faded.  No.  That was not it.  Any why kill Cestius anyway?  He said it was
because the Roman had raped her.  She shook her head. She had no memory of a
rape.  Then she sat up quickly.

     The demon had called her
‘Maggs’.

     A creepy feeling prickled the
back of her neck.

     She remembered this feeling. 
It was just like high school, waking up and getting dressed, waiting for the
bus and then realizing you had a test that morning and had never studied for
it.  She shuddered.  It was that feeling that made her study every night when
she was in college.  She hated that feeling.  She felt it now.

     “Damn,” she said and all the
little sparrows flew up and into the neighbor’s trees.   “Where are you?” she
called.  She didn’t expect him to respond.

     Her phone buzzed and she
looked at it.  Her sister, Sharon.  She let it go to voicemail.  “I wish I had
your number,” she murmured to the demon.  “I’d call you right now.”

     She prepared the downstairs
bedroom for Sharon and the library for the two boys.  All the books had to be
carried up the stairs and pushed into the bookcases she had moved to her
bedroom.  This was unpleasant.  Books are heavy.  After all, they are made from
trees.  Victoria grimaced on the landing and put a hand on the small of her
back.

     She looked down at the books
in the box she carried.  Mostly histories. 
I might be having a psychotic
break
, she comforted herself. 
I’ve read so much, surely these ideas are
just running amok in my head.

    
Lonely people read. 
Victoria remembered her mother telling her that.  She sighed and made the last
of the stairs.  She plunked the box on her bed and sat beside it.  It had been
a week since his last visit.  He had been gone weeks before.  She glanced at
her window.  Didn’t she want him to stay away?  Isn’t that why she let Sharon
in?  Something felt different now.

     She stood and lugged the box
to the shelves, making sure the Roman history went to the left of the medieval
history.  She stopped.  Why call her
Maggs
in Roman times?  Why not
Livia or Antonia?  And what was
his
name?  She put another book on the
shelf.  She liked Jack, the blacksmith.  Maggie called him ‘Jack’ to tease
him.  His name was John, of course.  He hated the French and Jack was just a
variant of Jacques. 
How did I know that?
Victoria rubbed her eyes.  She
set the book down and wandered into her shower and turned on the hot water. 
She took off her clothes and stood in it until the steam covered the glass and
fogged the stall.  Her hair slicked down her back and her face was hot with the
water but she did not feel clean.

     She soaped herself and rinsed,
then did it again.  And a third time.

     “Maggie,” she heard him call
her.  She put her hand on the tap and stopped the water so she could listen.

     “Yes?” she whispered.  If it
were him, he would hear her no matter how softly she spoke.

     “Help me.”

     She pushed the sliding door
open hard and leaped naked from the shower into her bedroom.  Empty.  She
dripped on her carpet as chill bumps raised on her arms.  “Where are you?” she
called.  Then louder, “Who are you?”

The day before Sharon and the boys
were scheduled to move in, Victoria drove to the older part of downtown and
parked.  She put all her change in the meter and walked down the old sidewalk
and looked in the windows of the dilapidated storefronts.  This section of the
city was the vibrant shopping center when her parents were kids.  Now the trash-strewn
gutters and cracked pavement reminded her of apocalyptic movies from the
seventies.  Tucked away between all night theatres and abandoned shoe stores
was a second-hand bookshop.  She knew this from her college days when she had
to track down an out-of-print volume to make her thesis more interesting than
the twelve hundred other ones being submitted that semester.

     She stopped in front of a
dirty window.  Empty.  Too much time had passed already.  The bookshop was no
more.  The door was open, though, like many of the abandoned shops.  There was
nothing left to steal, and a locked door only encouraged vagrants to break
windows.  She pushed on the glass and stepped inside.  No lights meant it was
dim inside, but she could see a shaft of light at the other end that suggested
the back door was open as well.

     She heard a dull thump. 
“Hello?” she called out instinctively before cursing under her breath.  She
should turn around and try a library instead of calling to some crackhead or
drunk sheltering inside.

     “Yes?”  The answering voice
did not sound drugged or drunk.

     “Sorry.  I was looking for the
bookstore that was here…”
years ago
, she finished to herself.

     “No one reads books anymore.” 
An old man stepped into the half light.  Victoria thought he looked like a
drunk or a druggie, but his eyes were too bright.  He wore a long white beard
and the very top of his head was bald.  Over his ears his white hair was long
and touched his shoulders.  He looked like da Vinci.

     “I do.” She replied a little
defensively.

     “You are one of
those,
”
he smiled.  His teeth were still good, straight and white.  Though they
could be dentures.

     Victoria smiled back, but she
was aware it probably looked more like a grimace.  “I am one of those.  I came
to look for a book, but it is too late.”

     “Yes.  I just packed up the
last volume.”  He smiled sadly again.  “If you had come last week I could have
helped you find that book.”

     “Oh?”  Victoria breathed a
sigh of relief.  Not a vagrant.  A bookseller.  Hard to tell the difference
anymore.

     “What were you looking for?  I
ask only out of curiosity.  Everything can be found online, now.  Why come
downtown?”

     Victoria agreed.  “You can buy
anything online, but you have to know what you are looking for.  I was hoping
to talk to the bookseller and get some answers.  I am still not sure what I am
trying to buy.”

     The old man laughed.  “Then
step into my office,” he made an expansive gesture with his hands and pointed
to the back door.  She followed him through the dusty interior of the old
bookshop.  The marks where the shelves used to be were evident on the floor and
the walls.  The occasional scrap of paper and dust jacket littered the cracked
linoleum. At the back door Victoria looked out at the service entrance and a
small panel truck.

     “You have heard of
Parnassus
On Wheels
?” The old man asked.

     She laughed.  “Christopher
Morley.  Oh my God.  And this is the modern version?”  She took a step closer
to the white truck as the old bookseller opened the rolling panel at the back. 
Inside were boxes, stacked nearly to the top of the truck, all neatly labeled.
“Where are you taking them?” she asked.

     “This is my truck.  I suppose
they will stay in there.  The truck is useful as a storage facility and I don’t
have to pack and unload over and over.  I will travel to swap meets and book
fairs.”  He shrugged.  “I always wanted to see America.”

     She nodded.  Right now that
sounded like a good thing.  She wished she could just get in a truck and
leave.  But no, her demon would find her anywhere and until she solved this
problem she could never enjoy a vacation.

     “I was looking for a book on
the occult.  On demons, actually.”

     He looked interested.  “Are
you a writer of Young Adult sexual fantasies?”

     She laughed.  “No, do I look
like one?”

     “You do.”  He smiled.  “What
kind of demons do you want?  I have all kinds.”  He took a stepstool out from
the back of the truck and set it on the ground.  He stepped on it then grabbed
the handle on the rear and heaved himself into the back.  He pointed to a box. 
“Babylonian ones are here,” he turned “and Enochian, Catholic, and Crowley’s are
here.”

     “Aleister Crowley?”

     “Is there another?” he tilted
his head at her.

     She blushed.  “No.  I suppose
not.”

     “What do you need?”

     “Answers.”

     “Ask away.”  He was clearly
enjoying the attention.

     Victoria remembered what her
mother had said about lonely people and books.  She responded, “I need to know
about…” she tried to think of the right word, “hauntings.”

     The old man frowned. 
“Hauntings are ghosts, not demons.”

     “Right.  Right.” She had used
the wrong word.  “Possessions?”

     He stared at her.  “I don’t
think that is right either.”

     “Visitations?”  She was
desperate.

     “Maybe.”  He eyed her with
more seriousness now and moved to another box and pulled it down from the
stack.  He opened it up and took out a leather volume.  He turned to look at
her.  He shook his head and put the book back and reached for another.  “This
one, I think.”

     Victoria pressed herself up
against the bumper of the truck and reached for the book he handed to her. 
The
Nature of the Ethereal Realms
.  “Yes!” she cried.  “This is it!  How much
is it?”

     The old man chuckled as he
closed the box.  “It’s a loaner.  Bring it back when you are done.”

     Victoria looked up from the
back cover where she had been reading about the author.  “Bring it back?  How
can I bring it back?”

     The bookseller handed her a
business card.  “Just call me.”

     He smiled as he climbed out
and put his stepstool inside.  “I’ll want it back,” he said as he pulled the
rope that brought the panel door down and locked it inside the bumper with a
thump.

     “Thank you,” Victoria meant
it.  The old man got in the cab and started the diesel engine.  He drove away
while she read the table of contents.  She scanned down to the chapter she
wanted. 
Incubi and Succubi
:
When demons visit you in the night
.