A Terrible Tryst of Fate
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Except for use in promotional review, the reproduction or use of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, by technologies now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Dark Roast Press, Calumet City, IL, 60409.
The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
Copyright © 2008 by Christopher C. Newman. All rights reserved.
A Terrible Tryst of Fate Cover Art and Design © 2008 Persephone’s Pomegranate
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or Darkroastpress.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
Acknowledgements:
This novel was actually a team effort. While I wrote it, two other people whose names do not appear on the cover added a lot of its substance and direction. So it is with a lot of pride that I publicly thank my beautiful wife Diane and my talented son Ben who helped me understand, shape, and insert the tons of information we had to research in the course of this novel. They willingly made sense of all the confusion about angels, demons and such I found while searching a variety of religious texts. Diane and Ben, you two are the best collaborators this author has ever had!
A Terrible Tryst of Fate
By
Christopher C. Newman
Chapter One
Despite it being the first day of spring, malevolent clouds and an icy wind had threatened the residents of Niles all day Friday. The sun had somehow kept the surrounding region in the upper sixties, but the temperature rapidly plummeted as soon as it sank behind the low Ohio hills. The torrential thunderstorm started just as twilight descended and hadn’t let up since. A slight mist could be seen billowing out of the forest behind the catering establishment. It rose slowly from the warmer soil, clinging to the frigid grass ominously, and faded at about knee height.
Amelia Bainbridge was staring across this wet landscape from the entrance to Campanelli’s Catering Hall, with a cheap red umbrella clutched in her hands. The tall woman stood facing the foul weather and cursing the distance between herself and her car. The parking lot of Campanelli’s Catering Hall looked like the unfathomable, dark tarn that surrounded Roderick Usher’s home in Poe’s novel. The wavering, distorted reflections of the parking lot lights shimmered on the numerous puddles the cold rain created in its uneven surface. She drew similarities between herself and that deep, ominous lake that surrounded the gloomy House of Usher.
“Am I really as foreboding as all that?” she muttered to herself as she peeked past the double striped awning that hung over the short sidewalk leading from the lot to the dining hall’s front doors.
She had arrived fashionably late to Melody and Rick’s wedding reception, mostly since she really didn’t want to attend in the first place. The night had been as bad as she’d expected it to be. The usual drunken men leaned into her with proposals, both decent and outrageous. The other single women milled about making catty remarks as they listed and memorized the gaffes and goofs of their rivals in attendance. The elderly sat in groups and reminisced about marriages and divorces long gone by. All in all it was a proper yet horrible event to witness, to someone who knew the bride and groom so well.
Melody Evans had worked alongside of Amelia at the McKinley Memorial Library in Niles for the past four years. Melody was short, thin, and flame-haired. She gave everyone around her the impression of a wild fire sprite with her vibrant and excitable behavior. Amelia, who was dark, tall, and solemn, was a stark contrast to her. It was Mel’s brash and illuminating personality that first drew the quiet, reserved librarian to her. Likewise, her new co-worker instinctively sought out Amelia’s innate ability to calm and quiet even the most boisterous patrons. After a few brief conversations they discovered a deep friendship that both sorely missed now. Their relationship was solid and steady but all that had changed in character a year ago, when Richard “Rick” Morgenstern had strolled into the library. Melody was completely smitten when the tall handsome advertising agent ambled up to the front desk to inquire about picking up a few books for some nameless project.
“Melody’s still a close friend,” she sighed to herself, with her breath steaming out of her pursed lips. “We just don’t see much of each other away from work due to Rick.”
Melody and Rick had extended many offers for Amelia to go out on blind dates with several of Rick’s single co-workers. But of late, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it anymore. She felt inexorably like the third, unwanted wheel when she infrequently tagged along. Now these days she would spend nights often standing in front of the mirror gazing at her reflection pondering her lack of success at love.
Peering over a pair of retro-style black glasses that eternally seemed to slide to the very end of her nose, she recalled her face in the mirror before she left for this event. Her face was oval shaped with prominent cheekbones with arching eyebrows, framed by her curly mane. All were characteristics of her Mediterranean genes. Her hair’s luxurious color and slight curls came from her mother’s strong Italian heritage. She had the same hairstyle for years, but currently she was straightening her hair every morning after recently allowing her beautician to talk her into something different. Now with tinted tresses accented with brown highlights, she sported a “wedge cut” which Valerie at the beauty salon had talked her into.
“It’s a hairstyle with the back shorter than the front. You’ll look fabulous in it!” the red lipped painted woman explained as she made her case. “It’ll make your face look wider and not draw the eyes down to your shoulders. Trust me on this, kiddo. I know what I’m talking about.”
She had watched with a dubious uncertainty in her dark brown eyes as the chattering hairdresser began to clip and cut her dark brunette locks.
“I liked my old hairstyle,” she reminisced to herself. “I wish I wasn’t so damn tall though.”
Her father’s Germanic roots were responsible for her above average stature as well as making her personality and passions run deep within her soul. In her stocking feet she stood five-foot, ten inches, an intimidating height which disguised that she was a bit overweight. She was, as it was coined in the 1970s, a “full figured gal” when it came to her physical attributes. Amelia was well padded in the hips, broad in the shoulders, and possessed a full, bountiful bosom. Some of her friends in college had labeled her in more flowery terms.
“Rubenseque Light, I believe Bobby Sterns called me,” she laughed quietly. It was a compliment she thought fondly of even to this day. She was typically confident; a woman of her stature, yet the cautious nature she was endowed with gave most the wrong impression. In an age of frank openness, rampant self-indulgence, and loudly proclaimed conceit she was ill suited for the times she lived in.
“You’re too mysterious, Amelia,” her mother used to tell her growing up. “Boys don’t want to solve a puzzle as complex as you.”
“I can’t be anything other than what I am, Mama,” she’d always responded.
As the late night rain came down, she looked back into the windows of the catering hall. Figures moved upon the dance floor, entwining themselves together as the DJ played song after song. She could almost hear the people talking, bragging, and jockeying for a better amative position.
“Take that for example,” she thought as she watched through the rain streaked glass. “All those other women are chatting and bragging about themselves. They’re painted up like some Playboy model, an absurd fantasy, to strut in a comical procession around the various men like empty-headed birds during some strange mating dance. I don’t understand why I have to indulge in such petty, brainless behavior just to attract the attention of the right guy.”
“Excuse me dear,” a withered and familiar voice husked out from behind her.
“Oh, hello Mrs. Jackson,” Amelia said as she recognized the speaker. It was Mrs. Dorothy Jackson, the Head Librarian and Amelia’s boss.
She looked like the epitome of the stereotype most people had of elderly voodoo priestesses. Mrs. Jackson’s short, kinky hair was almost completely gray, a testament to her long years on this earth. Her jutting cheekbones and chin gave her face the appearance that too little flesh was stretched over her skull. Her eyes, almost fever-bright, glittered behind a pair of ancient tortoise shell glasses. She was rail thin and tended to dress a bit too gaudily for Amelia’s tastes. Her brightly hued coat and matching handbag gave the younger woman the momentary image of Dorothy being some African shaman-woman too wise for even her advanced age. The Head Librarian’s gray aluminum cane was comfortably gripped in her gnarled and wrinkled right hand. The four rubberized ends rested squarely on the thin red carpet runner.
“What were you just saying, Amelia?”
“Oh, I was just wondering out loud why I parked so far away.”
“I see.” The gray haired woman smiled up at her. “If I may be so bold, my dear, I’d like to say something that’s been on my mind for some time.”
“Fire away.” Amelia smiled down at the elderly woman.
“You’re a pretty girl. But you refuse to let anyone into your inner circle, Amelia. You’re a deep pond, that’s what my father would’ve called you. He used to tell me that plumbing the depths of such a lake would do nothing more than get a fellow drowned. Everyone needs a bit of depth, that’s no lie. But too much of anything, even a good thing, isn’t healthy.”
“I understand.”
“Good; now go back inside and live a little. You’ve been a bit unhappy lately and I’ve seen it affect your work. Now, I’m not saying you’re shirking your duties as my assistant, but you are moving a tad slower.”
“I’m just…” Amelia began in a whisper.
“Jealous? Envious?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would and I just did,” Dorothy said, wagging a finger at Amelia. “I’ve seen how you glare at Rick when he drops by to see Melody. Don’t you make that face at me! You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Now, I’m not telling you to go out and compromise your principles. Get out there and mingle with the rest of humanity. Find yourself a nice man, settle down, and raise a few kids. Don’t just mope around like some character out of Wuthering Heights! Let someone into your life before all you have is yourself and some damn pampered pet.”
“I will, but not tonight, I have a headache. Can I walk you to your car, Mrs. Jackson?” Amelia said coolly, although her back stiffened up at the woman’s implications, opinions, and suggestions. She bit down on her tongue before she spoke her mind. She’d love to tell the nosey old woman that this was all none of her business and she should butt out of her life. Instead she managed to keep her displeasure from contorting her features and offered her boss an elbow to latch onto.
“No thank you, my dear,” she said with a grin, reinforcing Amelia’s mental image of a wizened medicine woman. “My son Jamal is coming to pick me up shortly.”
“You take care, then, Mrs. Jackson, and I’ll see you on Monday,” Amelia responded as she shouldered her cheap umbrella like a rifle.
“Thank you,” Dorothy responded. “You just be careful yourself, do you hear?”
“Yes ma’am, I will.”
Amelia stepped out from under the awning and marched across the asphalt with a determined, angry stride.
“Find a nice man, settle down, and raise some kids!” she snarled to herself, just under her breath. “Some people have no concept of personal boundaries or privacy!”
She moved between a pair of Pontiac Grand Ams and stepped in a large puddle she hadn’t spotted due to her inattention. The water splashed up over the tops of her short black boots and poured down inside them.
“Just great, freaking great!” she swore, as her toes chilled from the cold soaking. Amelia emerged from between the two cars, looking back at where she had trod. Almost too late she saw the pavement illuminated by the headlights of an on-coming vehicle. The car accelerated without regard to her position. She leaped back into the gap but was still hit with a spray of water when the speeding automobile hit a big puddle as it passed her by. The unexpected face full of water made her say words most unladylike; she furiously wiped at her glasses.
“Wonderful,” she spat sarcastically and gave the driver the middle finger. She wiped at the front of herself only to note that her brand new coat was now dripping wet. With a sigh, she looked both ways before rushing towards the dark shape of her used Chevrolet.
As she passed by the rear tire she spotted a deep narrow puddle hiding in the darkness between her car and the one to her left. With huff of indignation she made a short leap across it, smirking at its attempt to soak her already ruined boots. But her feet slid across the slippery wet asphalt. Her arms flailed wildly in an attempt to maintain her balance but she was fighting a losing battle with gravity. Like some odd bird trying to take flight, she flapped and skidded. Her umbrella flew across the hood of her car as her feet lost their purchase.
“Nooo!” she cried out as the inevitable occurred. She landed with a sudden, painful jolt to her butt. The shock of her fall was quickly transmitted into her brain and her bottom erupted into stinging pain. The next sensation was from her coat tail soaking up the water of the puddle and transferring it to where it could be quickly absorbed by her new dress. Before she could move, even her panties were drenched with cold, dirty rainwater. Tears welled up in her eyes and Amelia’s anger turned to despair. She drew her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them.
“I just bought this dress,” she wailed as her shoulders were wracked with great sobs. As she cried her glasses slid once more to the edge of her pert nose. “W-why me…?” she blubbered. The world turned into a distorted, watery place as she wept.
With trembling, irate fingers she smeared away the tears as best she could and stood up, drenched and defeated. She pulled her purse open, only to snag the zipper and get it jammed.
“That’s it, goddamn it! I can’t take this shit anymore!” she shrieked as this last straw ignited her Germanic/Italian temper. Her best friend had gotten married, her boss was giving her unwanted advice, her new dress was ruined, and now this object was defying her! Amelia gripped the black bag with both hands, ripping it apart like some hungry predator would greedily gut a recent kill. Lipstick, gum, a comb, her keys, and other contents of her purse scattered onto the ground like candy from a broken piñata.
Amelia let out another enraged scream as she dropped to the asphalt, soaking the knees of her pantyhose, to retrieve the scattered remnants of her sundered handbag. As she groped in the faint light she remembered her key ring. She frantically went through what was nearby, only to find her keys missing. Her heart sank as she remembered that there was a one gigabyte thumb drive attached to her set of keys. “So much for all the data on that,” she snarled as she crawled to the front of her Chevy Malibu, searching for missing things.
As she scrambled around to the front of the car she was taken aback when she discovered a pair of men’s shoes on either side of the puddle in which her keychain was soaking. She looked up, only to realize she was crotch level with the stranger. She jumped to her feet as quickly as she could in order to remove herself from such a suggestive position.
He was a short, stocky man dressed in a long black overcoat, dark trousers, and a wide brimmed hat. As she stood up she noted he was very short, barely over five feet in height. Due to the darkness and the brim of his hat, she could only see the bottom portion of his face. He did have flabby jowls that hung off his face like a bulldog’s. A set of thick, wet lips spread in a smile as she cleared her throat.
“Ah, good evening,” she muttered; her face turned beet red from embarrassment.
“Good evening,” he said in a deep voice. “Did you lose something?”
“Yes, I did. My car keys are right there between…I mean, you’re nearly standing on them.”
“Ah, so I am,” he remarked as he tipped his gaze towards his feet. He then raised his face to hers, unfolding and stretching out the tube-like double chins under his unusual mouth. He smiled and Amelia’s blood ran cold.
His flesh was white, corpse-like and as clammy as the weather. His hair stuck out from under the hat in a haphazard manner, as if it grew in patches from his scalp. His head was wide and short, almost frog-like in appearance. But what really caught and held Amelia’s eyes was that all of the teeth he displayed were small and pointed, like some horrible cannibal’s. His fleshy lips trembled as she moved her gaze up to his eyes. Sunken deep into folds of whitish flesh, those eyes were black and beady. They glittered like some beetle’s carapace in the parking lot lights as he spoke once more.
“I’d reach down to retrieve them,” he chuckled in a wet, horrid voice. “But you really won’t be needing them anymore.”
Chapter Two
“P-please,” Amelia stammered as the man grinned, exposing even more teeth than humanly possible. She backpedaled fearfully as the stranger opened his coat with a smug expression on his hideous flabby features.
Four green speckled tentacles shot from the darkness within and wrapped around Amelia’s arms and legs, halting her movement. The slime covered arms tightened around her limbs as she fought to free herself. Their touch was revolting and made her feel violated.
“Please struggle and scream,” he suggested, with a lisping groan that bordered on sexual excitement. “You’ll taste so much better if you do.”
“Let me go, you bastard!” she wailed, while his tongue lolled out between his thick lips. It was long, greasy, and a terrible shade of green which suddenly reminded Amelia of toxic waste. It moved outward at an impossible length and struck the hem of her coat. Then it dragged itself upwards to her top button. She heard something sizzling and the smell of burning cotton assaulted her nose. She glanced down to see the trail of gray slime left by the stranger’s tongue was causing her coat to smoke and melt! Fear lent strength to her body and she began to pull and tug frantically at her bonds as her attacker pulled her in. His tongue retracted, and flopped out to drag itself over her coat once more. Another steaming gout of smoke puffed up as more of her attire crackled and spat angrily. Her outermost layer of clothing fell apart, and the cold rain quickly saturated the pink dress she had paid hard-earned money for.
“You look good enough to eat,” the creature murmured as the whiteness of her bra became visible through the now wet and transparent material of her outfit. The soaked fabric clung to her, hugging every curve on her body as the tentacles pulled her forward.
“Fuck… you!” Amelia shouted with false bravado, and she dragged her feet to prevent herself from moving. Due to her efforts her right heel snapped off causing her to lurch forward and right into the monster’s clutches. His hands went to her waist and she felt sharp nails cut into her skin as he gurgled out a ghastly laugh. She could smell his foul, rotten breath as it wafted out of his mouth to nearly slap her physically on the face. It was a rancid scent, as if he had been dining on something old and moldy from the sickening interior of a dumpster.
“Don’t do this! I didn’t do anything to you!” she sobbed as his extraordinary tongue poked out between his fat lips again, dancing and waving as if it was a separate entity.
“I can’t pass you up,” his voice bubbled as he tightened his grasp on her. “I’ve been too busy to seek nourishment, so a little fast food sounds delightful.”
“You’re just going to give yourself indigestion,” she suggested, in a last ditch effort to avoid her demise. “I’m out of shape and probably terribly fattening!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I have a very strong constitution when it comes to greasy food.”
Amelia watched as his mouth split the bottom of his face from ear-to-ear, revealing row upon row of those terrible teeth. She closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer as he leaned forward.
“See, that’s why you always strike out with the ladies, G’rrk,” a strong male voice rumbled from behind the tentacled man-beast. “You expect too much from a woman during a first date.”
Amelia was tossed casually onto the hood of her car as the black creature spun around. She looked up to see a tall, silver-haired man attired in a black and red striped motorcycle racing jacket and pants. A pair of mirrored, wrap-around shades shielded his eyes from view beneath a red baseball cap worn backwards. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his coat and he leaned meaningfully towards the fiend about to devour her. She watched as a flash of recognition sparked across her attacker’s face; it stepped back hesitantly.
“Hunter! W-what are you doing here?!” The flabby faced monster grimaced with annoyance.
“Nothing in particular,” the smiling man answered cryptically. “You look terrible! Tell me you didn’t pick that flesh suit out yourself.”
“Go to Hell, Hunter! I haven’t done anything wrong! I haven’t broken any of His laws or treaties!”
“Perhaps.” The man grinned with a display of perfectly even teeth. “Let’s just call this a duty I’m going to relish. Plus, I get to save the damsel in distress. That in itself is a sardonic joke of cosmic proportions. I don’t get to play the hero very often.”
“Only if you live!” the fiend shouted, as it lashed out with all four tentacles. Amelia watched in amazement as the tall man jumped, dodged, and wove his body around those emerald and ebony speckled limbs without even removing his hands from his pockets. They followed the best they could, trying to grapple with the man who interrupted their dinner. She could have run; neither of them was watching her, but she was frozen in place by the uncanny sights, sounds, and smells.
The short, fat man whipped his bizarre arms at the tall stranger, each one striving from a different direction to ensnare his new prey. Each limb was expertly evaded by the newcomer as he leaped and spun in an unhurried, acrobatic manner. “You’re going to have to be faster than that, toad-face,” the man taunted, and smirked at his opponent.
“Dodge this!” the monster snarled. Amelia heard the creature snort something from deep within its gullet. It was a sound that reminded her of her grandfather’s labored breathing just before he’d died of emphysema. She nearly gagged as her devourer spat a thick gray wad of mucus at his foe.
The man ducked the foul liquid but it took off his hat, revealing his waist long silver locks captured into a tail by several beaten silver rings. She gasped as the thick goo exploded, searing the grass and leaving a three foot black burn mark. Amelia watched his heavy ponytail swing as her rescuer knelt and rolled to the right, quickly avoiding a pair of those black and green arms. For the first time his hands left his pockets, to display two jagged and sharp looking daggers.
The man’s weapons looked at least two feet long and seemed to smolder with black smoke. The dark fumes trailed off the leading edges to twist and fade in the cold rain. Gilded metal jutted out in front of his fists and golden balls sparkled in the faint light behind the heels of his hands. She heard another snorting noise and squeaked in fear, as the stout creature expectorated another snotty missile. Silverhair jumped high and somersaulted in mid-air. At the apex of his leap he slashed forward with his weapons at his opponent. The weapon in his right hand parted the tentacled creature’s coat but the left cut only air as the spitting fiend hopped backwards ungracefully.
“You missed me, you pitiful fool!” it exclaimed; proudly it hacked up another deadly explosive wad.
“Did I?” the man said as he dove forward. In mid-flight he reversed his body and drove both boots into the monster’s chest. Amelia cringed as she heard bone snap from the powerful impact. Her savior scissored both short blades across the fiend’s throat with a grunt of satisfaction. Using his feet as leverage, he then vaulted off his foe’s body with a back flip that she would have applauded for its grace. Amelia lay there in a stupor instead, as her would-be killer fell with a crash onto the wet asphalt, and his head rolled under a nearby car.
“Y-you saved me!” she proclaimed; she slid off the hood of her car, beside the dead body of the strange beast.
“No! Get away from him!” the man shouted; he rushed forward. Before Amelia could move he flung his body into hers, knocking her well away from the corpse. Before she could regain her feet the body detonated, in a devastating and thunderous explosion that launched her and her rescuer backwards, to crash into blissful unconsciousness.
***
Erzsébet gazed from behind the left side of the gold spiked throne, realizing she was still, after all this time, impressed by the very size of the chamber. Despite existing here since her death in the winter of 1614 AD, the barbaric splendor of her master’s hall never ceased to astound her. The place was huge in its proportions. Red stone columns marched towards the front, each one carved with a depiction of some despicable act of grotesque sexuality. A smile creased her face as she spied some of her favorites.
There was the pillar where an angel’s wings were ripped off by imps as the host of Hellish cherubs buggered him. Just past that one were demons dining, in gory detail, between the sundered juncture of a groaning woman’s legs as she died. A personal, and much loved, favorite was the man whose testicles had been pierced with large, sharp needles as his back was horribly lashed by a razor toothed she-fiend. Her sight swept further along, and each one widened the terrible smile upon her face, for the columns were nearly countless and so were the gruesome scenes carved upon them.
She heard the calling out of her master’s name and surveyed the crowd of party-goers who stood near the foot of the dais. They bored her, these pathetic creatures groveling at her master’s feet. Instead she noted that on the dais with her master and herself the snack table was prepared, draped in human pelts. Bowls, pitchers, and plates full of disturbing delights covered it, some steaming with heat while others sat chilled in smoking blue ice. Smoking hot entrails ala spiced blood sauce, cold pickled eyeballs, and soul-scream soup waited for the lord of this Plane to dine upon. Speaking of the fiend in question, he was perched in a relaxed fashion upon his throne. He was a vision that was oddly out of place with the infernal, terrible scenery.
His handsome face, perfectly combed hair, and well trimmed Van Dyke gave him an air of sophistication, grace, and elegance. His human nose was long and aristocratic and his brow smooth and unmarred. Only a pair of short, polished horns thrust out from his forehead to announce his unearthly heritage. His thin lips were twisted in a smug smile as he stared at the occupants of the room with his glittering black eyes.
As to his attire, well, it could only be said that he was draped from crown to foot in decadent luxury. He wore a deep crimson coat with embellishments of gold thread woven into it. His shirt, white and ruffled at the neck and wrists, spoke of civilized tastes. His pants were of the deepest ebony with still more symbols and runes etched upon them in golden weaving designs. In his left hand he held a beaten gold goblet brimming with a steaming hot, almost black liquid. His other hand twisted its fingers into his pointed goatee absentmindedly. His nails, resembling long sharp talons, were perfectly shaped and painted with liquid gold.
“Ah, he is so cruel and beautiful,” she mused with a sigh. “I only regret that he’s become so dull, distracted, and inattentive to me of late.”
With a delicate hand she caressed his black hair, causing him to turn to smile at her. Their eyes locked for a moment, a moment that caused her foul heart to pound and her loins to smolder. But he quickly returned his stare to the screaming throngs of demons and damned that frolicked beyond the foot of the black carpeted dais.
Her gaze followed his to where the multitude of distorted bodies swayed and undulated to the terrible music from the hellish choir. A trio of bat-like imps were slashing, stabbing, and slicing the bound female souls making them cry out musically and ethereally in horrific agony. Another threesome were pounding, clubbing, and crushing the males to create the deep bass to underscore the women’s high pitched wails. Those dancing to the unholy tune were biting, clawing, gouging, and fornicating, all for his vile amusement and voyeuristic pleasure. A duo of naked clown-faced women, their breasts swinging violently, shouted in lust as they were ravished by leering incubi. Hog-tied men were being thrashed by sweat soaked succubae with a variety of instruments. The spectacle below excited her; they plunged, pierced, stabbed, bit, kissed, and wailed a heart-wrenching accompaniment to the hellish tune. She smiled as a recently departed film star was viciously bludgeoned by a bull-demon’s horns and cock. A child-molesting priest was held down by imps (infernal children in their own right) who sodomized him repeatedly. Her loins pounded as a famous debutante, quite promiscuous during her time on Earth, was held away from all carnal actions, much to her shrieking despair. The woman’s sex was teased only slightly as she was forced to witness the lusty and bloody acts playing out without her. She was begging to be let down to indulge in all the fornication and misery. Her punishment just happened to be devised by Erzsébet herself.
Erzsébet stood behind the throne in the position held for Asmodeus’ Concubine. Her face was unearthly beautiful and her skin like freshly spilt cream. A slight blush had crept onto her cheeks, almost echoing the soft pink shade of her full, exotic lips. Her long black hair fluttered in the hot breeze of her master’s palace like expensive ebony velvet drapes in a billionaire’s mansion. Her diamond trimmed robes, dark green as her jealous soul, clung to her, straight and form fitting. Her slight bosom, pressed together by her dark blue corset, nearly overflowed from its tight confines despite the apple-like size of those orbs. The gold and silver laces of the garment strained as she took each delicate breath. Her feet were bare and delicate, each nail painted to rosy perfection. Her brown, intelligent eyes followed her lord’s gaze as it swept over the thrusting, screaming crowd, seeking something to please his inexorable carnal longing. She heard a sigh come from deep within the confines of the plush and barbaric throne.
“Something disturbs you, Master?” she asked in a sweet, sultry tone.
“Yes and no, Erzsébet my pet,” he rumbled in a deep voice without glancing her way.
“Which is it, oh Ruler of the Ninth Plane?”
“I am unsure at this moment what is troubling me,” Asmodeus replied. “Perchance it is nothing but the boredom I feel.”
“Surely thou art not bored?” Erzsébet laughed sardonically.
“Don’t be coy with me, Erzsébet,” the fallen angel retorted with a slight frown. “My latest game with Abaddon has come to an end. He has succeeded in unraveling my plans and thus ensnaring me in my current dour mood.”
“That game has gone on for four hundred years,” Erzsébet said with a saccharine voice. “Perhaps it is time for you to move on to other more interesting and new machinations?”
“That may be so…” Asmodeus sighed. “But I worked long and hard to get the fools in that cult to break Lilith free of her bonds. I was hoping for a bit more of a distraction on the King of Hell’s part. But alas, my plans were undone by a whimpering sex slave and the turncoat master she loves.”
“The best laid plans of mice and men…”
“Be silent, Erzsébet, or I might find it amusing for you to join the festivities on the floor of the Great Hall.”
“I say, aren’t we missing somebody? I could have sworn you had instructed G’rrk to torment the flesh of the pop starlet you just acquired.” Erzsébet said, changing the subject to save her hide.
“Ah! I do believe you are right; poor Tiffany Spars does appear to be quite neglected,” Asmodeus agreed with a mere hint of emotion filtering into his voice. “It is not like G’rrk to be late.”
“Or to be so foolish as to displease you, my dark hearted lord.”
“Send one of my Erinyes to fetch him at once,” the handsome fiend instructed, with a bored tone creeping back into his words. “I suppose we will have to teach him respect.”
“I love watching your instructions, my lord,” the raven haired woman cooed.
“Indeed. Your wantonness and cruelty on Earth was a mere pittance compared to your current appetites. At times I think you rival me in your hungers.”
“My lord is too kind.”
“How polite and yet hypocritical. A demon with kindness, what a novelty!” the well mannered fiend chuckled as he plucked a chilled eyeball off the icy plate and popped it into his mouth.
“I strive to please and delight you, master,” she rejoined, and bowed with a sultry smile.
“You do that quite well; now be off with you. I want G’rrk here presently with an explanation of his absence and expenditure of his best efforts on Miss Spars.”
“I will take my leave of you, Asmodeus.”
Erzsébet stepped off the dais and moved into the crowd. Demons, devils, and imps moved out of her way as she strode with a blasé manner into their midst. A succubus with the blue spiked hair so current with the Neo-punk movement licked her lips lustily as Erzsébet passed by. The concubine paused long enough to reach down and snag the sex-demon’s right nipple to give it a hard pinch. Her knuckles turned bone white as she applied as much crushing pressure as she was able.
“Ah…” the infernal creature sighed as blood oozed out from between Erzsébet’s cruel digits and dripped off her fingernails. The concubine’s inner thighs quivered deliciously and her labia became hotly dew soaked and ready. She then recalled why she had left the dais and frowned. She released her hold and traversed the width of the orgy, intentionally avoiding any additional erotic incidents.
The music, groans, and screams faded behind her as she made her way towards the huge double doors with their leering, demonic faces. The hot sexual tremor that had begun to sing and tingle in her pussy seemed to dissipate with the lessening of the orgy’s sounds. Erzsébet sighed heavily as it did so. Her mind quickly harkened back to the last time she and Hunter had snuck off to a remote portion of the keep to devour one another.
“Devour is a good term for it,” she sneered to herself as the carnal images of that encounter burst into her mind. “We don’t have sex, we dine on each other.”
She did fear the repercussions of her tryst with the despoiled seraph, since Asmodeus was extremely jealous. But the passionate couplings and flesh searing cavorting between Master and Concubine had long since cooled.
It had taken her a mere century to go from tormented soul to Asmodeus’ consort. All the Arch-devils had someone, or something, to share their bed with. The hierarchy of Hell was easy to understand. The damned, those sent to Hell by God, were the lowest on the ladder. Next came the various garden-variety imps, demons, devils, and foul beings coughed out by Lilith’s unholy womb. The Soul Tormentors were next, those who practiced their bloody art for the enjoyment of the Arch-demons. Defilers came next, and generals of the hellish legions after that. But only Arch-demons stood head-and-shoulders above the order of Infernal Concubines. It was an exalted, pun intended, position that held enough benefits to be sought out by the likes of her.
Born into noblest families of Hungary, she had met Kings, Queens, Princes, and Princesses in her time. When she had been condemned to this terrible region she immediately assessed the pecking order and quickly brainstormed the necessary plots, plans, and double-crosses that would need to play out in order to better her position.
“Personal comfort is, of course, the primary motivation here,” she mused to herself. “Hell isn’t pleasant to dwell in, but one can always make the best of it if they have the wits to do so. Besides, I was a Countess, a noble, someone of grace, style, and importance. Lording over those of a lesser station is my birthright.”
With concubinal position attained she was immune from torments, tortures, and such. However, all that would end if her infernal lord discovered her forbidden sexual meetings with Hunter.
“Hunter.” She smiled decadently as a hot shiver passed through her. Erzsébet quickly squashed the immediate impulse to find someplace private to masturbate and wallow in the fond memories of their clandestine couplings.
Hunter was a fallen angel who was in servitude to the Arch-devil Asmodeus to carry out missions, involving innocent souls whenever possible, to advance his master’s grand schemes. A contaminated high-ranking politician, fouled Hollywood starlet, or greedy corporate CEO was always a good asset for Asmodeus to possess. Hunter had even managed to act as a go-between toward purchase of the souls of several prominent religious leaders. He wooed them with promises of ungodly amounts of money, depraved sex, and vast power. Some of the other chores Hunter performed were to thwart the celestial plans of Heaven, and to clean up messes left by those sent to Earth by Asmodeus. Too often the order for a simple chore to be carried out would become an open invitation for the dispatched demon to attempt to break free from Asmodeus’ bonds, or worse. These frolicking infernal creatures often threatened to destroy the treaty between Heaven and Hell. Only angels and cherubs of God’s army abided by the provisions; the Arch-devils and Abaddon himself ignored them regularly. But if some lesser minion failed, or went too far, Hunter was dispatched to “punish” the offending fiend.
“He’s been gone for too long,” she sulked, with a pout puckering her lips. “I’m going to have to chastise him when he gets back. Doesn’t he know I have thirsts to be quenched?” Restlessly
Erzsébet waited with thoughts of another absence while the massive gates opened, allowing her to exit the Great Hall and head to the Erinyes Aerie, where she could send one of the feathered she-demons in search of that missing toad-faced bastard G’rrk.
Chapter Three
Amelia groaned as she picked herself off the wet pavement. Reality flooded sluggishly back into her dazed and stunned brain. Opening her eyes, she reentered a world that was blurry and out-of-focus. Her back was pressed up against the grill of her car. She could smell the oil and gasoline fumes that still emanated from the cold, quiet engine. She felt around for the glasses which had been knocked off her face by the blast. Her questing fingers soon located the fugitive frames; she slipped them on with trembling, chilly hands. The world was now a place of multiple distorted images as the wet lenses refracted the parking lot lights. She wiped at them, but only rearranged the blurs. The offensive things slid to the end of her nose twice before she abandoned any further attempts to keep them were they belonged.
“Can this night get any worse?” she muttered as she stood up. Pain shot through her knees, elbows, and stinging rump as her body protested her treatment. She looked at the state of her attire and once more hot tears flooded her eyes. Her coat was more holes than fabric, and her dress was a soggy ruin of its former self. The night’s cold breeze cut through her like a frozen knife. With a shiver she pulled the remains of her tattered clothing around her and limped over to where the inert form of her savior lay. He was face-down in the soggy loam at the end of the parking lot with his limbs splayed out wide. Even in her clouded gaze he looked to be dead.
“M-mister, are you alright?” Amelia said softly; she cautiously placed a finger on the side of his neck to see if she could detect a pulse. His skin was strangely hot. His hair, silver as the moonlight and like silk to the touch, wafted over the digits she held to his throat. She heard a groan issue from the man’s lips. It was a muffled, soft sound.
“All right then,” she answered. Digging her feet into the soft earth, she gained enough leverage to roll him over. Amelia heard a grinding noise as he flopped onto his back. She feared that she had just made his injuries worse.
“Oh… my… god,” Amelia gasped after she glanced down and got a good look at him for the first time. Her breath caught in her throat. He was very nearly pretty, on the verge of being feminine. The rainwater was running off his upturned face.His was a thin countenance with prominent, delicate features. His flesh was white, almost death-like in pallor. His narrow arching eyebrows were wispy and only a shade darker than his flesh. His nose was long and aristocratic. His lips, thin and seductive, were crinkled into a twist of pain.
Her rescuer was tall. She estimated that he must stand at least six-foot, one inch. His black leathers with red racing stripes looked both expensive and tailor made. The square toed motorcycle boots he wore gleamed wetly in the illumination of the catering hall’s lights. Amelia sucked in a ragged breath, making it sound like she was crying.
“Unnh,” he moaned once more, and his eyelids fluttered open. She pursed her lips together instinctively as the light blue of those orbs revealed themselves. His stare met hers and for a moment they were locked in what seemed an endless gaze. The stranger’s eyes were like ice, hard and cold, but in the corners she could see an enduring sorrow. She broke off their mutual gaping session. With a blush creeping onto her cheeks, she cleared her throat and pulled the shredded remnants of what were once her dress and coat around her more closely.
“Are you hurt?” she muttered quietly.
“Yes,” he grunted as he tried to push off the cold, hard ground. “But I can’t tarry here. I must get back…”
“I think you need a hospital before you decide to go home.”
“No…no hospital for me, thank you,” he weakly said, reaching around to touch the back of his head.
“I think you’ve broken something inside you,” she told him; she recalled the grating sound when she turned him over.
“I’ll…be…fine,” he groaned and rose up on his elbows. Their eyes connected once more and she watched his eyes swim with some foreign emotion. It swept from those cold orbs and played across his face like a flag fluttering in a gust of wind. For a second, one brief and hot moment, she thought he might just rear up and kiss her.
“I don’t think so,” she retorted hesitantly from trembling lips. “At least let me drive you home.”
“Can’t drive to my…home,” he answered, with a slight smile.
“My name is Amelia. Amelia Bainbridge. I really can’t let you ride off into the night in this condition. Let me help you.”
“Amelia,” he replied. His enunciation of her name made her body quiver unexpectedly. She tried to shake off the sudden sensation, but found herself unable to do so.
“Yes, that’s my name. What’s yours?”
“Hunter.”
“That’s an unusually strange name.” She spoke without thinking and mentally slapped herself. What she’d said made her sound like a moron.
“Not where I come from,” he laughed hoarsely. His obvious humor at her expense made Amelia suddenly wonder why she even cared what he perceived her to be.
“I sound like some stupid romance novel heroine,” she told herself under her breath. She looked back down at his beautiful brow, repressing the urge to sigh like some silly little love-struck teenager. But that’s exactly what she felt like.
“But if I might impose myself upon you, I would gain back my health with a night’s sleep,” he told her. It sounded more like a surrender than a statement of fact.
“A small price to pay for my life,” she demurred, and once more rolled her eyes at what she had said. She was still berating herself as her comment coaxed a musical laugh from him. She joined in, until a wracking cough erupted from his lips. Her fears for his health returned when he shook and rolled upon the ground. He held a hand to the back of his head and when he removed it, it came away covered in blood. She reached into her tattered coat pocket and handed him a wad of soggy tissue. He pressed it to the wound; the white was quickly stained crimson.
“Ready?” she asked nervously as she thrust her hands underneath his arms.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he gasped.
“Okay; on three. One, two, and three!” she counted off and pulled with all her might. They managed to get him into a sitting position before he held up a hand for her to cease her efforts. His labored breathing turned into another fit of violent coughing.
“I’m ready again, but I hope your car isn’t too far away,” he informed her, once it subsided.
“It's right over there,” she said and she pointed to her silver Malibu, now sporting a badly dented hood from her body crashing onto it.
“I’m grateful for that.”
She chuckled as she helped him to his feet. Moments later she was easing him into the passenger’s side with a secret smile on her face.
***
Getting him into the car was one thing, but into her townhouse proved to be quite another. Her home was in the middle of the “block” of six townhouses. It wasn’t a long walk, but trying to carry a weak, tall burden like Hunter made it a real chore. They staggered along the narrow sidewalk between the adjacent apartment building and the townhouse cluster. The only luck on their side was the fact that it was a cold, wet night, making most of her neighbors shut their blinds. They would have been a spectacle.
An ugly creature had just tried to kill her and her car hood was smashed. Her hair was soaked, her dress ruined, and her glasses were threatening to slide completely off her nose. But for some damn reason, she couldn’t keep from grinning in a stupid manner.
“I apologize for my weakened condition,” the reason for her jovial mood politely said as he leaned heavily onto her shoulder.
“It’s no trouble really,” she lied. “I owe you one or two for your heroic, selfless act.”
“Heroic? I don’t really fit the hero mold.”
“That’s what you think,” she said out loud without thinking once more.
“Ah, my lady is much too kind.”
Again her face flamed as her embarrassment found its way to her cheeks. Inwardly she stomped her feet and screamed at the top of her lungs. “I need to get a grip on my libido before I do something really stupid,” she snarled at herself. “What the hell is wrong with me? I know he saved my life and all, but really, this grateful damsel in distress bit is pissing me off!”
They managed to get to her front door, and Amelia fumbled with the keys. After dropping them twice she got the door opened and Hunter inside. Leaving wet footprints in the short hallway and on the living room carpet, she escorted her savior to the couch.
“I’m going to change my clothes and then make coffee,” she told him, as he tugged off his wet leather jacket. Rushing upstairs into the bathroom she quickly stripped off her wet things and dried her hair. Snagging her bathrobe off the hook on the back of the door, she covered herself and went into her bedroom. There she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and her slippers.
Going back downstairs she passed through the living and dining room and into the kitchen. She opened the compartment on the coffee maker and plucked out the used filter from inside.
Amelia walked over and dropped the old grounds into the garbage can. As she turned around, she was witness to Hunter upright and stripping off his damp black shirt. His body, exposed for her to gawk at, was lean and gaunt, yet well muscled. With the exception of a massive purplish-yellow bruise developing on his right side, his flesh was as pale as a corpse’s. Sparkling on his skin was a glimpse of his silvery chest hair as it ran down from his chest in a narrow strip and disappeared into his waistband.
He moved effortlessly to toss the bloody mess of Kleenex into the wastebasket beside the couch. Hunter’s activities made her bite her lower lip due to the grace in which he walked. Her breath caught and her face turned scarlet with heat as he turned around to stare out the window behind the couch.
The sexual excitement that was coursing through her body was suddenly extinguished as she saw the long scars that ran from his shoulder blades down to mid-back. The injuries looked old, and the blackened, puckered flesh had healed badly. She stopped in mid-stride with tears welling up in her eyes. Who or what could’ve caused the horrific grooves marring his perfect flesh? She could almost feel his pain from where she was standing. Tearing her eyes from those terrible injuries she spied his face reflected in the darkened glass of the window. Beyond his image the parking lot lights softly illuminated the well trimmed lawn, dotted with oak and maple trees. The prosaic sight was comforting, but partially hidden by the cover of night.
“What a beautiful view, Amelia,” he said as he turned to her, withdrawing his gaze from the view outside. The heat from her desires reappeared and she wasn’t sure if he was referring to the sights outside or her.
“I hope it’s me,” she mused aloud without thinking.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “What did you say?”
“Nothing…”
She finished with the coffee and quickly moved to the upstairs portion of the townhouse once more to fetch her strange guest a towel. Her knees were trembling and her hands shook as she pulled one from the linen closet. Her heart pounded in her chest like some tittering virgin’s anticipating the possibility of a first kiss. She went into the bedroom and fetched a spare pillow and a heavy extra blanket.
“This can’t be happening,” she muttered fearfully to herself. “It’s too much like some sappy romance novel! I’m not some inexperienced sixteen year-old suffering her first crush.”
Fear shot through her entire body as the dangerous implications presented themselves for the first time in her confused mind.
“He could be a serial killer for all I know,” Amelia pondered as she clutched the material to her chest. She clung to it like it was some sort of magical talisman that would ward off Hunter’s strange inexplicable spell over her. She tried to recall and piece together all the things she’d witnessed this evening, but her mind was whirling with a strange bewilderment clouding the rational part of her brain.
“Are you alright, Amelia?” Hunter’s voice bounced off the walls on its way up to the second floor. His inquiry blasted her reason into scattered shards along with the jumbled images racing around in her mind.
“I-I’m coming!” she announced; she jumped up and raced down the hallway in a giddy fashion. She caught herself part way along and stopped to take deep, calming breaths. With an effort of willpower she didn’t know she had, Amelia managed to compose herself at the top of the stairs. Her pulse was still racing but by the time she set foot in the living room, her face belied the feelings chasing themselves around her brain.
Hunter was standing on a small rug in front of the big sliding glass door. He was clad only in his wet leather pants and boots. His smooth, oddly tinted skin shone strangely in the light from her pedestal lamp in the right corner. His smile was slow and confident as she approached him with the armful she had brought from upstairs.
“Here are a blanket, a pillow, and a towel,” she stated, more self-assured than she really felt. “You can use the bathroom by the front door to get out of those wet things. I’ll hang your clothes downstairs to dry. Wrap yourself up in the blanket and I’ll bring you a nice hot cup of coffee when I’m done.”
“Milady is much too kind,” he whispered in a voice filled with hidden meanings and messages. “Thank you. I take my coffee black, please.”
He stepped towards her to take the offering she had brought him. His hand grazed her forearm as he gathered them into his arms. She watched as Hunter bent over and removed his motorcycle boots and black socks. His bare feet were delicate and almost feminine. He swept the blanket around his shoulders in a flourish. She admired his body as it undulated under the cover of the light blue material. Her heart nearly stopped when his leather pants pooled around his finely boned ankles.
He strode down the hallway to the half-bath by the front door. She walked into the kitchen, still shaking from the experience. With an angry effort she managed to slop coffee into two cups and waited for him to return.
***
She was almost done with her cup of java when Hunter strolled into the living room, still wrapped in the blanket. He looked wonderfully cozy and a bit uncomfortable. Her face flushed as he sat down beside her on the couch and picked up his cup.
“I hung my wet things in the bathroom,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine. Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked. Her voice cracked slightly and she cleared her throat to repeat her query.
“It’s just a knock on the head,” he answered as he took a sip. “My ribs are probably just badly bruised, maybe broken.”
“I still think you should go to the hospital.”
“No, I am quite fine, I assure you.”
“Let me see that head wound at least,” she said, as his nearness steamrolled the wall constructed by her newly built confidence into smoking rubble. He stood up and knelt down before her, bowing his head. She recalled the mess of congealed blood on the back of his skull that had been woven into his silver hair. He had obviously taken the time in the bathroom to clean the injury. She parted the wet strands with trembling fingers and found a large goose egg sized knot with a small cut on its apex.