Victoria's Demon Lover (9 page)

     Victoria didn’t waste any time
getting to her book.  She had her feet on the divan, her full spectrum light
over her shoulder and a huge mug of hot tea.  All her blinds were closed…just
in case…she glanced up every time she turned a page hoping to see him.  She
brought her eyes back to the pages disappointed every time.

     Her demon was an incubus.  She
was certain of it.  She had all the symptoms of incubus attention:  Sex in the
night with an ethereal being.   However, the logical part of her mind scoffed. 
She was physical.  She pinched her knee.  It was still flesh.  How could a
spirit touch her in any way?  Unless he was physical.  Or she became ethereal
too.  She wondered about that.  Now she would need another book.  One on astral
sex.  Astral sex started to make more sense to her.  The time-slipping was
dreamlike.  Anything can happen in a dream.  Her demon’s marvelous
shape-shifting while impossible in physical form was not even surprising in a
dream landscape.

     But no, near the end was a
chapter on astral sex.  She flipped the pages, thanking the old bookseller for
finding the perfect book for her.  Here it was, real astral sex between
ethereal bodies when both were out of their physical ones.  The author stated
emphatically that the sensations were not only analogous to physical sex, but
enhanced.  She smiled.  Definitely enhanced.  She thought the skills of her
demon had been responsible, but now she had an expert’s opinion.  It was better
sex.  She wiggled her toes remembering a few of the more interesting couplings.

    But the book did not mention
the physical aftermath.  She touched her neck.  The collared necklace was still
in her drawer.  It was real.  The demon had sent it to keep her from telling
herself she was just imagining everything.  Victoria planned to show it to
Sharon when she arrived.  If Sharon could see it, then it was real.

     She flipped back to the
chapter on incubi.  The book had a few suggestions for ridding oneself of a
troublesome ethereal sex partner, but now Victoria did not want hers to go
away.  The huge red demon with the curled ram’s horns could go away, but she
missed the one that looked like a man.  The Roman was handsome, and the blond
one as well, but the blacksmith was the one she thought of at night alone in
her bed.

     They are all the same, she
told herself.  Just changing forms.  But why?  Was he bored with only one
body?  She looked down at hers.  She was average.  Not too fat, certainly not
skinny.  Not gorgeous, but she turned heads at the office.  If she had the
ability would she change her body to suit her mood?  Like she could change
clothing depending on the occasion?  She thought it might be amusing for a
while, but she would eventually settle into a favorite form, the way she always
came home from work and slipped into her soft sweat pants and thick tee shirt
before relaxing on the sofa with the television remote.

     She liked being Maggie, legs
spread apart for the blacksmith, receiving his long hard cock for the first
time.  That body was smaller than this one and not as well nourished.  The
slave girl had been prettier.  She smiled to herself. 
This is like choosing
a dress for the prom.
But the demon had called her ‘Maggs’ even though he
was in the Roman body and not the blacksmith’s.

     She looked down at the pages
of her book.  Nowhere did the author explain how the nether realms worked, or
how one might deliberately call an incubus.  She frowned.  The bookseller had
books by Aleister Crowley.  Crowley knew how to summon demons.  She picked the
business card from between the pages.  The card read,
Albert Magnus,
Bookseller.
  She turned it over, there was no number on the front. 
Nothing on the back either.

     She made a frustrated noise
and tucked the card back into the book and closed it.  She went to her computer
and searched for Albert Magnus.  She found quite a bit about a man with the
same name who had been dead for centuries.  She found nothing on an old man
still living, or his bookstore.

     She went to bed.  She lay
awake, staring at the ceiling.  She called to her demon.  Called him John and
Jack.  She called him Caesar and Spartacus for good measure.  She went over
every demon name the book had mentioned.  Her mind always went back to the
blacksmith.  Jack.  Her hand slipped slowly down to the cleft between her legs.

     She leaned back against her
pillows as her fingertip circled the sweet spot.  She curled and uncurled her
toes.  She thought about his black hair, the dark stubble on his jaw and the
strength of his hands as he clutched at her shoulders.  She took a deep breath
and her finger slid along the folds, now slick with the memory of Jack’s thick
cock.  She squirmed, imagining it sliding into her again.  And again.  Her clit
sang with the memory and the attention of the finger.  One leg twitched as the
electric tingles of her orgasm moved along her inner thighs.  She let her
breath out slowly, enjoying the warm feeling that stayed with her long enough
for her to fall asleep with a smile.

     Her book lay propped open on
the nightstand.  Victoria had lit a candle and turned off all her lights.  A
glance at the clock told her that she had only a few minutes before she must begin
the incantation.  She lit the bundle of herbs, let it kindle a small flame,
then blew it out so the wispy smoke would curl upwards around her head.  She
waved the bundle until the room was infused with its fragrance and the sharp
smell of smoke.  The clock cued her at midnight and she began reading from her
book in the somber monotone she imagined was appropriate for this kind of work.

     As she read her eyes would
flick up between sentences, looking for him.  She had followed all the
instructions to the letter.  There was a chalk circle on the floor.  There were
the appropriate candles burning in the appropriate colors for a summoning.  She
went on to the next paragraph, intoning the Latin words with little
understanding of what she was actually saying.

     She listened for the wind
outside her window.  Sometimes the wind would whip the branches of her trees
against the panes just before he appeared.  Tonight it was calm.  She felt her
eyes burn with tears of frustration.  The irony was painful.  For months she
had lain awake in fear and dread that the monster would appear and force her to
pleasure him.  Now her chest was tight with the fear and dread that he may
never appear again.

     She put her book down and
wiped at her eye.  “I am very foolish.” She said aloud.  She sniffed and closed
the book.  “He does as he pleases.  Isn’t this what I have learned?”  She did
not say the next thought aloud.  The idea that he no longer wanted her caused
her to shake her head in amazement.  “How can I be disappointed that a demon
has left my life?”

     She blew out the candles and
sat on the edge of her bed, fingering the sheets.

     Victoria heard a crash of
glass and a roar like gasoline on a fire.  A branch from the oak punched
through her window and its barky fingers snatched her around the waist and
lifted her from her bed.  She was yanked hard and thrust outside, twenty feet
above her patio, held tightly by the tree.  Victoria’s eyes went wide.  She
kicked and dug at the twisted twigs that wrapped her waist.  Her air was cut
off or she would have screamed.  She could hear the sound, now, of the wind in
the trees.  They were all swaying.  The wind blew her hair away from her face
and tangled it in the branches.  The tree was angry.  No.  Something else was
angry.

     Red smoke swirled from a
knothole and coalesced into a face bent and gnarled.  Sharp teeth made from
pointed branches and slanted eyes pressed themselves close to her and the stink
of Hell was in its breath when it growled, “Who dares summon me?”

     This was not her demon. 
Victoria could not speak because the grip on her middle was too tight to get
enough air.  She blinked rapidly and opened her mouth, trying to signal that
she would very much like to answer, trying to signal that one minute more and
she would not be able to answer.

     The demon’s grip loosened. 
She slid a little.  The branches snaked along her arms and ankles instead of
her chest and stomach.  She took a few tentative breaths, painful breaths.  Her
ribs hurt.  She looked at the smoky demon and answered, “I am Victoria.  I am
summoning another demon.  Not you.  There has been a mistake.”  This was true. 
She had expected a demon to appear.  But not this one.

     The demon turned her in the
air and its eyes seemed to examine her.  She was turned upside down and
around.  A smoky tongue wriggled from its mouth and tasted her.  Another twig
prodded her.  Her hair was pulled and her clothes ripped.  When the examination
was over she was turned right-side up and positioned before the hard slanted
eyes.  They glowed red.  Not yellow.

     “You have to get the name
right,” it grumbled.

     She nodded.

     “You say the wrong name, or
say the right name the wrong way…” it paused and the bark bit into her arms and
legs.  “And you will get something you did not expect.”

     “I see that now,” she
whispered.

     It looked at her for a long
moment.  “You feel familiar,” it said.  The branches that bound her squeezed a
little tighter.  She felt the leaves and twigs stroke her legs and arms.  “I
have felt you before.  But you did not look like this.  This form is
different.”  The red eyes closed as the twigs slid over every part of her
body.  The movement stopped and the eyes opened again.  “You are looking for
someone.  Yes.  He is looking for you.”  The tree demon’s smoky mouth widened
in a grin.  “He desires to pollinate you.”

     Victoria felt the first
glimmer of hope.  She had only desired that this demon return her to her bed. 
She planned to get better at summoning.  This encounter at least had shown her
that such a thing could work.  She was already making plans to try again.  She
always got better with practice.

     “Can you call him for me?” she
asked hopefully.

     The smoky tree face frowned. 
“I could.”

     “Would you?” she rephrased the
question, understanding how literal one must be when communicating with demons.

     “There is a price.”

     Victoria paused.  She could
try again for free tomorrow night.  She might have to try many times.  She
narrowed her eyes in thought.  This demon might bring her demon, but he might
not.  He might bring the wrong demon as well.  Something bigger, or something
even more evil-tempered.  The tree demon had said that she must know the name. 
She sighed, hanging in a barky clutch outside her second-story window in the
wee hours of the morning.  She didn’t know his name.

     “What is the price?”

     “I wish to pollinate you.”

     This demand did not surprise
her.  She did not have to consider the offer.  “No.  Only he shall pollinate
me.”

     The branches tightened.  “I do
not have to ask,” it threatened.  She felt one of the branches slide up her
inner thigh and stop at her cleft.

     Victoria was not afraid.  “He
will
know
,” she warned the tree.

     The branch immediately
withdrew.  She had played that card right.

     “If he knows I have you, why
does he not come?”  This was not a stupid demon.

     Victoria did not have a ready
answer, though now the idea formed in her head that if she were in danger, perhaps
he would appear.  She may not know his name, but her book contained the names
of many demons.  She might summon them one by one until her demon felt
compelled to put a stop to it.  Does he care?  Would he save her?

     The tree demon pushed her back
through her window and set her on her bed.  The gnarled branch withdrew and her
window rematerialized, every glass shard flew back into the panes.  She sat
there in the dark for a moment before realizing it was all over.  She turned on
the bedside lamp. The room filled with the scent of new mown hay that gradually
dissipated.

     Her book was open to the
bookseller’s business card.  The one that had no number or address.  She picked
it up.  “Albert Magnus,” she said aloud.

     Her phone buzzed on the table
by the lamp.  She picked it up.  The screen read,
Albert Magnus.
She
pushed the button and put it to her ear.
“Hello?” She whispered.

     “You called?” She recognized
the old man’s voice.

     “Ah!”  Victoria blinked
rapidly.  “Yes.”

     “What is it?  Did you finish
the book?  Do you need another one?”

     “Ah.”

     “I see,” Mr. Magnus said. 
“There is a trick to that.  It cannot be taught, but only learned through
practice.  You are not ready for the next book. Keep trying.”

     “Uhm,” she mumbled.

     “That’s right.  Next time roll
the r’s.  Do not slur, but it helps to pronounce the words as though you are
singing.  Make your voice work with the sound.  It is all in the vowels. 
Extend the vowels longer.”  The line went dead, like a dropped call.  Victoria
set the phone down gently on the table.  She stared at it for a moment then
picked it up and touched
calls received. 
The number wasn’t there. 
Nothing was there since her sister called yesterday.  She set it down again and
stared into the room.

     Obviously he thinks I should
continue. 
I didn’t get to ask all my questions.

     She picked up the book.  Part
of her wanted to try again immediately.  Part of her still hurt from being
squeezed by a tree.  Most of all, she did not want another day to go by without
him.

     Why didn’t he try to save her
from the tree?  The tree had been concerned that he might.  The tree was afraid
of her demon.  It put her back as soon as the possibility presented itself. 
The tree did not want him to appear.  She tapped her lower lip. The book was
warm in her other hand.