Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Danielle's Nightmare
   by Nysidra
   This is a graphic story containing several erotic concepts and explicit
sexual descriptions.
   Occult Erotica (MF, magic, violence, prosexual)
   Summary: Danielle sells her soul cheap, but this demon grants her one
hell of a bargain.
   <->
   Danielle pushed up onto her hands.  The dust and dirt on the tile floor
dug into her palms.  She rolled back onto her knees and her stomach cramped
in protest.
   Sweat trickled along the side of her face.  She reached out for cold
porcelain edge of the bath tub and fell onto her side.  The acrid smell of
bile and spiced dark rum carried on her belch and joined the smell of the
dank bathroom.
   The tub was closer now.  She pulled herself up and over the edge into
the grimy, scum-stained tub.
   Reaching blindly, her finger tips found the faucet, opening, sides.  Up
a little to the shower handle.  Cold water.  She twisted the knobs until
water pelted her body from above.  The handled squealed as she adjusted
them until the water turned warm.  She curled into fetal position on the
tub floor, one hand beneath her head, the other cradling the hollow fire in
her gut.
   She had ceased puking hours ago.  Foam and four yellow liquid had been
the last of it.
   There had not been any party, not even the specter of celebration.  The
empty bottle of spiced rum lay somewhere in the trash heap on her bedroom
floor, along with vodka, tequila, whiskey, and the beer bottles from weeks
ago.
   This pain was enough for now, something to focus on, to keep her
anchored, to drag her deeper.
   Her skin turned cold, but she didn't shiver.  The sound of the water
receded into the background.
   Quiet.  A lack of sound so abrupt that she sought any noise at all. 
Nothing.
   She lay at the base of a dark stone sculpture: squat, fat legs, as tall
as a small child.  Beneath her: paneled, dark, wood floor.  Clean.  Some
kind of lighter brown putty between one of the slats.
   The stone eyes blinked.  Stone lids dipped over stone eyes.
   Danielle blinked back.
   Heavy footsteps approached on the wooden floor boards.  Black leather
boots between her and the statue.  Flat black laces tucked around metal
hooks.  Leather pants crinkled as the wearer knelt.  Male, given the bulge.
   "Wakey, wakey," the strong voice taunted.
   Orange brown eyes.  Thick brows.  Strong jaw, dark stubble matched his
equally dark hair.  Shaggy, uneven cut.  His grin revealed noticeably sharp
incisors, not exactly inhuman, but certainly best of show.
   He wouldn't need any fakes for a fanged beast costume.
   Where was she?  How and when did she end up with this man kneeling over
her naked, stale, bile-scented body?
   A bead of water rolled sideways down her shoulders until it picked up
speed and hit the floor.  She was wet.
   Water.  When had she been in water?
   Despite the growing number of questions, Danielle said nothing.  She
didn't care to have her questions answered.  She hoped for a single
conclusion: She died.  This was her after life.
   As that would be an upside, she doubted her wish had finally come true.
   Long, shapely fingers snapped in front of her face.  The sharp sound
caused her to wince.  Well manicured nails, no dirt under them.
   The sound caused her head to ache.  How fitting that pain should follow
her to this place.
   "Peculiar." He seated himself on the floor beside her.  "You are dying."
His tone was matter-of-fact, clinical.  "Your pain and suffering is eating
you alive.  As it turns out, I am in the market for an assistant.  I could
use someone with your ability." He paused, peered down at her.
   Though she had been watching his mouth work, listening to him, he seemed
to doubt her attention.  A faint layer of stubble marked his cheeks. 
Leather pants, heavy boots, but a skin tight, long-sleeved shirt.
   "Do as I instruct, and I will free you from your trouble."
   She responded with a heavy exhalation of foul breath.  It sounded every
bit as depressed and overburdened as she felt.  She worked her sore jaw,
tasted the gastric acid funk on her tongue and film of grime on her teeth.
"I do not," her voice cracked and her throat burned.  "Care."
   Speaking caused a cough which bloated the pounding ache in her head.
   He stretched onto his belly beside her.  The threaded muscles in his
arms bulged through the fabric of the light blue shirt as he lowered his
chest to the floor.  He lay with his face inches from hers.  His bright
eyes caught and held her attention.
   That couldn't smell pleasant for him.  She was little more than a
rotting corpse, that her heart still beat and lungs still worked was an
unfortunate side effect.
   "What don't you care about?"
   "Death." Her hoarse voice whispered each word.  "Suffering.  Pain. 
Reward.  You want something?  Fine." She belched and grimaced as she
begrudgingly swallowed the raw sting of acid at the back of her throat.
   She had never seen anyone with burnt orange eyes.  Was he from some sort
of foreign country?
   "No reward?" He propped his head on his hand.  "Loved ones?  Job?  New,
shiny internal organs.  Ice cream?"
   Dreaming.  Danielle closed her eyes.  Mr.  Bright Eyes was a figment of
her imagination sent to torture her on the eve of her death.  None of those
offers sounded remotely interesting.
   Fuck alcohol.  Maybe she could get hold of some pills.
   ***
   Danielle screamed.
   Ice cold, stinging shards of pain rained down on her body.  She bolted
up and turned the shower off.  She slicked the freezing cold water from her
body, teeth chattering and body shivering.
   Where was her towel?
   The shivering and shaking stopped.  She held her breath and looked
around the room.  She didn't have a towel because she never planned to dry
off.  She had abandoned the tedium of laundry weeks ago.
   She smacked her lips tentatively: moist mouth, nothing else.  She made
another sound, an off-key note.  Her throat felt good.  She pressed her
lower abdomen, her sides, all the way to her diaphragm: painless.  She drew
a deep lungful of breath, rolled her head from side to side, bounced on the
balls of her feet.  Other than shivering from the cold, she felt fine.
   This was her bathroom: pale green tile, the grout covered in mold. 
Brownish scum along the bathtub, the outline of her body on its floor.  The
soap dish was still cracked.  The once clear shower lining was covered in
black and pink gunk.
   'It will be easier for you to perform my task like this.'
   Her thought.  Her internal voice.  Her mind, but not from her.
   The task?  From her dream?
   That offer of reward she brushed off?
   Or was she still dead?  She kicked her foot around the base of the tub,
wondering if she would hit her cold dead body if she searched for it.
   Nothing.
   She got out of the shower and found an old blanket in the linen closet.
   Flecks of dust danced in the shaft of sunlight that filtered in around
the closed blinds.
   Had she lost a few hours or a few days?
   Hard to tell.  She wasn't sure what day or time she had decided to drink
her way free of her existence.
   She kicked her way into the bedroom, knocking aside clothing, mail,
bottles, scraps of paper.  The spiced rum bottle rolled into the darkness
under her bed.  She searched the room for serviceable clothing: fitted tee,
jeans, running shoes, light jacket.
   Outside her apartment, down the stairs, she walked three blocks north.
   "Where the hell am I going?" She wondered aloud.
   'West Hill.'
   Oh.  She knew that place.  She turned right and marched in that
direction, hands tucked into her pockets.  Sunset marked her arrival to the
neighborhood.  She traveled dutifully, one foot in front of the other. 
Being sober wasn't so bad without the gnawing pain in her gut, the shooting
pains in her leg.  This was better than being hungover, sick, sad, in
constant pain.
   Walking.  How long had it been since she'd been able to walk more than a
mile without wanting to cry?  She didn't feel winded.  Her thighs didn't
burn.  The constant sharp pains from the old break in her leg was gone.  A
gust of a cool breeze felt refreshing and welcome on her cheeks.
   She approached a beige and brown house at the end of the cul-de-sac. 
Mildly overgrown lawn.  Rusted single-cab truck without wheels in the
front. Paint chips created a skirt around the base of the house.
   Mismatched sheets covered dirty windows.  A square of cardboard covered
a broken pane.  She high-stepped through the eager weeds toward the rear of
the house.  The back door knob turned easily under her hand.
   A box of bright colored cereal sat open on a low fold-out table.  Each
room revealed more sign of life, but she did not find a person until she
peaked in the last bedroom.
   Small boy, no older than eight or nine, curled on a twin sized bed.  He
slept on top of the covers.  His white shirt rode high on his chest, a pair
of cartoon underpants.
   She closed the bedroom door and wedged it shut.  A search of the
cardboard fold-together dresser revealed enough fabric to tie the child to
the bed.
   He woke.  His groggy face searched the room for a familiar face.  "What
are you doing?  Stop.  Mom!" He tugged against his restraints and screamed.
"Mommy!"
   She pulled a heavy blanket from his closet and lay it, folded twice
over, over his face.  That muffled his screams to her satisfaction.
   With a bright red marker, she wrote and drew on the walls.  Glyphs and
symbols appeared in her mind as clearly as letters.  All she had to do was
write one down and the next one appeared.  She had never seen the symbols
before, had no understanding of their meaning or purpose.
   The marker ran dry.  She grabbed another.  Then another.
   She soaked the end of one of the boy's shirts in water then went to the
outlet.  She pulled out the lamp plug enough to rub a bit of the shirt into
the opening.  Sizzle.  Snap.  Smoking, then the shirt caught fire.  She
carried the shirt over to the bed.  Lit papers other clothing until she
built a decent blaze on the bed.
   She exited the house through the boy's window, but she only left it
cracked a little in her wake.
   The walk back home seemed longer, more taxing now that the streets
lights were on and stars in the sky.
   She also felt more like herself: old feelings of disgust, exhaustion, a
promise of pain if she kept moving.
   She opened the door to her apartment and the foul smell of the place
physically rocked her.  She had become a slob and a loser that lived in a
massive pile of filth.  Her rent was probably late.  Even so, she'd spent
all of her paycheck on liquor.
   Danielle tossed her keys on the floor and pulled the door shut.
   She looked down at her feet.  Throbbing lightning bolts of pain had not
started yet.  Could she push herself a little further?
   "I need to get to another place.  It's not far."
   ***
   The voice of the male newscaster infiltrated Danielle's slumber.  She
pulled the blanket back and sat up on the couch.
   Emerging details, he called it.  Gruesome, occult-linked murder and
arson from six months ago.  Both parents had taken the stand and their
testimony shocked the jury.
   Danielle lay on the arm of the couch and listened to the brief five
minute report.  Despite her lack of caution, no evidence ever implicated
anyone other than the parents.
   "I hope they fucking burn," Allison muttered as she plopped down beside
her on the couch.  She set a cup of coffee down.
   "Thanks."
   "Mitchell is having a party tonight.  You coming?"
   Danielle shook her head.  "I'm working a double."
   "Right on.  So, you remember that girl Brandon screwed behind your back?
She ended up stabbing him last week at the club.  He had to go to the
hospital and everything!"
   That put a smirk on her face.  "Awesome," she whispered.
   "Figured you might like that." She giggled.
   Though the story about working a double was a lie, she knew she would
have something to do.  Once every week or so, she would get one of those
strange thoughts that didn't come from her, an urge that didn't quite add
up, a compulsion that set events into motion.  A few of them, like that
first one, ended up on the news.  Most times her walkabouts led her to a
place where she stole something and hid it in a different location.
   The near death hallucinations and resulting weirdness acted like a hard
reset on Danielle's life and body.  The old aches fell away and the unusual
'errands' gave her life an injection of excitement.
   Months gone and she didn't give liquor a passing thought.  She didn't
cry herself to sleep at night.  The day no longer had its dingy overcast of
pain and discomfort.  She didn't look in the mirror and spiral into a
bought of depression and self-loathing.
   Mostly, she just avoided looking in the mirror.  Habit.
   Danielle had met Allison working tables at the restaurant downtown. 
Allison and Danielle used to go out every night they had off: drinking,
dancing, partying till morning light.  They would spend all the next day
talking about who they flirted with, kissed.
   Then she broke her leg in the fall.
   The fall.  How apt.  She fell off the horse and never quite got back up.
The emergency room visit killed her financially, never mind the follow up.
They wanted to reset the leg.
   Danielle shook off the dark thought.  It had been a wonderful few months
without sinking into depression.  She didn't want to go back there.
   This new life was odd, but she had grown accustomed to it.  She would
see things in the corner of her vision, a shift in light, but it faded when
she turned to look.  Objects that faced one direction in the morning would
face the opposite direction by evening.  At night, just before she fell
asleep, she would hear things - not like her thoughts.  It was as if she
were eavesdropping using a faulty listening device.  Snippets of
conversations, sounds.
   These things occurred enough to get her attention, but never enough to
cause panic.
   As ever, apathy was Danielle's sword and shield.  Feelings led her to a
terrible place.  She ignored the disturbances, and for the most part, they
ignored her.
   Allison left the house, and Danielle leaned on the kitchen counter,
waiting for an urge.  Something was going to happen today, but she didn't
know what it would be yet.  She needed to wait, to be alone, to be ready.
   The hair on her arms stood on end.  Danielle stood up and looked around.
A familiar smell, but not one she had a word for.  A familiar sight, but
not one that reached her eyes.
   She walked around checked the rooms, looked out the windows.  Something
was near, but she couldn't physically locate it.
   Why didn't she receive any thoughts?  What was she supposed to do?
   Danielle grunted as an arc of fiery pain shot up her leg.  She screamed
and went to her hands and knees.  One hand and knee at a time, she crawled
to the couch.  Sweat pooled between her shoulder blades.  Wounded sounds of
agony tore from her throat.  Her vision blurred just as she reached the
couch, but she collapsed to the floor.
   Behind the pain, a thought, her own, but just as clear.
   'This is death.'
   ***
   Dripping water.  Fragrant humidity.  Minerals.  She cracked her eyes
open.  Rocky cavern.  Weak flicker of firelight.  Hiss of steam, followed
by the thick smell of bad eggs.
   A small voice, part child, part male warbled in the distance as if
trying to read a sentence.  He would get a few words out, stop, then try
once more.
   Her finger tips slid over the slick floor.  Not as cold as wet rock
should be.
   The man with orange eyes sat beside her, his back also to the wall.  She
couldn't see his eyes in this dim place, but she recognized his build, the
shaggy dark hair, muscled thighs.  Different boots.
   "You were still dying," he said.  "I made the transition easier."
   How was she going to do his bidding dead?  "I'm relieved to know," The
boy-child's piercing scream drowned out her words.  "It's over.  If you
want something, just ask."
   More crying and sobbing between what sounded like a blunt weapon of
punishment.  Elsewhere in the system of caves: snarling, like an animal
chained to a wall, hungry to attack its jailer.
   "Over?  We just got started." Darkness shifted over his body as if a
cloud passed overhead.  Impossible, given their location in a cave with no
overhead source of light.
   She sighed and wiped the grit from her hands.  "As in life." She bent
her leg under her, pressed on the ground, but her body seemed too heavy,
too sluggish to complete the task of getting to her feet.  With a low
groan, she gave up trying to stand.
   "Why do you play this game?  Refuse to bargain with me?"
   "Bargain for what?  I don't care.  You still need something?  Fine."
   Doing things for him was the last purpose she had in life.  Why not in
death?  She tried to think of something clever to say, something funny. 
The exercise was a bust.  She lay there for ages trying to think of
anything she wanted, could pretend to want.
   "Tell me what you want," she asid.
   "I want your soul."
   She snorted.  "Granted."
   "And your body."
   "If that will make your day." She turned her dour expression toward him.
"Easiest stack of flesh and spirit you'll ever meet." She lay down on the
slimy, wet stone.  Whatever this crap was, her clothes were soaking it up.
   Clothes.  Nothing she would have bought.  Scratchy pants that tied at
the waist, a large shirt with stiff woven buttons.
   The sniveling and beating had stopped.  The animal's cries turned high
and sharp.  When the animal stopping crying, the man's voice filled the
void.  His recitation practice continued.
   Hiss.  A fresh injection of sulphuric steam.  She set her flat palm on
the stone.  It wasn't uncomfortable to lay on, but the arm she used to
support her head had gone numb.
   Plinking water dropped into pools both shallow and deep.  The groan and
screech of grinding metal.  Low pulse of vibration of a large machine
kicking on.
   If this was another dream, a moment of intermission, it was lasting far
longer than it needed to.  Did she agree to help him again?
   "Why am I here?"
   "We're waiting."
   "I want to wake up now."
   "I could do that, but you won't like the result."
   Why not?  "I'm just going to lay here?"
   "For the moment."
   That moment went on for hours by her estimation.  Other voices joined
in. Something walked past the opening in the cave with a heavy sack slung
over its shoulder.  At one point, the various sounds gave the feel of being
trapped inside an insane asylum death camp in a echoing cave.  The faint
echoes in the near silence meant the cavern went on for miles.
   He stood.  Either the cavern was smaller than she thought or he was
tall. His jacket matched his pants, black leather covered in metallic
findings.  He signaled her to stand.  "We can start now."
   She accepted his hand up, but set one to the wall until she had her
balance.  "Start?"
   "Your training."
   He tugged on her hand, but her heels dug into the stone floor and she
slipped.  He hooked his arm around her waist to keep her steady.  Metal
rivets dug into her side.  He looked down with a grin, the kind you wear
after swallowing a succulent slice of warm, perfectly seasoned meat.
   She knew what he was thinking; she entertained that same thought. 
Resisting him?  Now?  Where did her apathy run to?
   Danielle didn't know.  The fear had come so strong that she could taste
it.  Before, when she was between shit-faced and death, nothing mattered:
dream, reality, mortality.
   She expected another reset.  He would give her a request, another easy
job.  Training?  In this fetid hole in the earth?  Would she suffer
beatings?  Scream and wail, adding her voice to the fray?
   He didn't tug or fight.  She stood stiff, unyielding for a few seconds.
She had given her life over to him without a second thought until this
moment.  He said nothing to indicate he was being jovial or teasing.  He
didn't bother with threats or words of comfort.  He held her fast, patient.
   She took a step forward and he led her down the cavernous hallway.
   "What's your name?" She had to speak up over the growing mechanical
groan coming from beyond the walls.  He turned and they climbed a ramp,
another turn and they entered a room with a pit.
   He pushed her over the edge, but she didn't fall far.  She collapsed
onto the something soft: fur or fabrics.  Either way, she screamed.
   He sat on the edge of the pit, his back to the only exit.  She could
barely see it from her position.  His boots almost reached the furs.
   "Thank you.  Getting you here has been easy.  Don't worry, whether you
fought and bargained or not, this was always your destination."
   "Am I dead?"
   "That you that matters is lying in the intensive care unit."
   The one that matters?  What did that mean?
   He steepled his hands and leaned forward.
   Apathy worked for her when every day was the same.  This was new, a fire
burning in her chest, questions and uncertainty.  Maybe it had all come to
late, but it fueled her growing anxiety.
   "Take off everything and toss it up here to me."
   That was something she could do.  She unfastened the large cloth button,
untied the stiff pants.  She handed the articles of clothing over.  Easy.
   Every day after that was hell.
   ***
   Danielle considered the passing of time as days, though she never saw
sunlight or a clock.  There was her training and then her time in the pit:
resting on furs.  She rested, but never slept.  She drank the liquid he
gave her, but never ate.
   Training.  Toward what end?  What purpose did nearly drowning serve? 
Why did she need to be whipped, made to walk on jagged spikes, hung from
hooks by her skin?  What reason did she have to parrot phrases written on
stone walls lit by flaming torches?
   She thought to that warbling male voice.  Pronunciation was very
important.  She came to know his cries as her own, that blunt instrument as
the punishment for her failure.  Her wails of agony and madness added to
the choir.
   Some days she spent bound like an inch worm with a leashed animal
snapping at her feet.  Others, she was the beast, chained to a wall,
seeking escape from incoming peril.  Others she spent in darkness, isolated
like an unrepentant criminal.
   He did these things to her.  Their conversations from earlier seemed so
rich and full in light of his new silence.  He was an animated pillar of
torment.
   She tried to turn her emotions off, to go dead inside, escape the
cruelty.  He had something for that.  Through physical violence, she
learned to immerse herself in sensation, to delve deeper into madness.  She
did not bear pain, but embraced it.
   This had to be so, because only when she let her suffering within did
she manage to make it end.
   Today she feigned insanity.  Mumbling while pawing at the walls.  These
smelled of meat.
   The man, lulled by her false affect drew closer.  Two more steps.  The
walls smelled of meat because others had come before.  She would not
follow.
   She spun and drove the spike into the splotched, bloated body of a man.
The dark object was soon coated in the dark blood from his abdomen.  She
squealed with the jubilee of a toddler as she jerked the spike back and
forth, widening the hole.
   He opened his mouth and she snatched the spike out and drove it into his
throat.
   She didn't let anything touch her anymore.  No one but him.  If she was
put into a room with another living creature, that creature died.
   Was it training on how to go mad?  Was that all?
   She leaned the spike back and forth.  The head turned with it, wobbling
from side to side.  A spot of blood welled in the back of his mouth.
   Footsteps.  His.  She could make out the sound of his gait no matter
what other sounds filled the arena - that's what she thought of the cavern
now.  It was her arena and she was the chief gladiator.  She never had an
audience, but she did have opponents and they died.
   He slung the metal belt down beside her.  She abandoned her fallen foe
and locked the belt around her waist.  Reality or not, her body had
changed. She was lighter by forty pounds, stronger, bulkier.  Her muscles
were easy to make out under her skin.  When she moved, she imagined herself
a majestic mountain lion: a crazed, violence fed, feline of hell.
   Only deranged fragments of her humanity remained.
   He pulled on the chain that linked to the belt.  She sauntered at his
rear.  He led; she followed.  She had a bounce in her step, but not too
much.  He punched her for turning too wild, burned her when she was dull.
   By now she had learned the perfect balance to strike by his side. 
Eager, aware, alert.
   He led her to a room with smooth walls.
   Her 'day' typically ended with a beating.  Skin ripped away, bones
broken, her face crushed by blunt instruments.  Her teeth gnashed and
snapped in anticipation.  She bounced like an eager puppy, tits bouncing,
hands clapping.  Where would she bleed today?
   Today was different.  She stilled and waited, her eyes shifting to take
in the room, senses on higher alert.  Was something about to attack her?
   He pushed a single stone aside to reveal a stairway down.  He led and
she followed, but her whole being was alert for the slightest danger.
   Halfway down, the above entrance grumbled as the rock slid back into
place.
   Too quiet down here.  No groaning or screaming and screeching noises. 
Bluish green light filled the warm, humid room.  He unlatched the belt and
the chain gathered on the floor.  Danielle had seen a room like this
before.
   Several floors down, the cavern glowed with slow moving creatures that
crawled through the cracks in the stone.  This place had a pool.
   She turned to look at him and extended her hand toward the water
surface.
   He nodded and her palm settled on the warm surface.  She snatched her
hand back.  Warm and wet.  She pat the surface again, pressed her palm down
and broke through.  It was a few degrees higher than fresh blood.
   Snaps and clicks had her attention back on him.  He set his jacket and
shirt aside, unfastened his wrist guards.  Scrawled over to his boot.  At
his nod, she worked to release the ties.  Would get get naked?
   She had never, ever seen him without his clothing.  Why not?  Both boots
undone, she shifted away from him, but not too far.
   She didn't look up until he touched her chin.  He eased into the pool,
pulling her along with him, and that was the only thing that helped her
break her stare.  He pulled her in with him, under the warm, thick water.
The space was tight.  She couldn't rest in the water without touching him.
   Naked.  A fragment of humanity broke through to provide an answer she
hadn't been trained for.  She turned her back to him.  Naked male, naked
female.  She was long overdue for this.
   He pressed to her rear, but his hands caressed her belly, smoothed over
her hips, up to her breast.  The soft sensation was so profoundly foreign
that it became its own torture.  Why hadn't he hurt her?
   His lips pressed to her shoulder and her control snapped.  She snarled
and turned, scraping her sides on the rock.  She reached down and grabbed
all the scrotum she could manage and garbled guttural nonsense, indicative
of the mad woman she had become.  With her free hand she tore fresh whelps
into his chest.
   Her harsh grip did not have the desired effect.  He kissed her on the
forehead, pressed his lips to her cheek and her neck.  She bit him on the
shoulder, dug her teeth into his muscle, but her grip on his balls
lessened. Her fingers turned more curious than wrathful.
   She hefted the large orbs in her palm, moved up to his shaft, wrapped
her hand around his soft length, worked him toward a swelling girth.  Her
jaw backed off its hold.  She was going to lick at his wound, but he
grabbed her by the hair and kissed her just beside her ear.
   "Lazaire."
   The single word cut through her madness.  She had heard that sound
before.  His name.  How many times had she been punished for asking that
question?  She froze, but he never stopped caressing her.
   Words bubbled up in her mind, in a language she had learned from another
place and time.  These words formed questions, but she did not voice them.
   He scooped some of the water in his hands, little blue baby worms
wriggled in the droplets.  He smoothed the thick water into her hair,
spread it on her face.  He used two hands to pour it into her mouth.
   None of it hurt.
   What did he want?  What was he trying to teach her?  Why was he not
hurting her?  Would the pain come later?
   Do as told.  No more.
   She kept still while he ran his hands over her, bathed her in the thick
substance.
   "Listen," he said in his language, the one she had been taught.  "Take
care.  Pay attention.  Slow." And lastly, in her language, "This was not a
dream."
   ***
   She blinked open to beige, white, and brown.  A small black rectangle in
the upper corner.  Light through gauzy fabric.  Antiseptics flared her
nostrils.
   No.  That was the tube running through her nasal cavity and down her
throat.
   Opposite the window, a door opened.  Three people dressed in white
rushed in.  Little white squares had names and titles.
   Their lips moved, but she didn't pay them much attention.  A young man
pulled the tube from her throat.
   Care.  Attention.  Slow.
   They gathered around the bed, peering down at her with a shared look of
hope.
   She looked back at them.  Focused on each one's question.  She let
several minutes pass before she chose which person to answer.
   "Blink if you understand."
   She blinked.
   That was enough for them.  The crowd left, but a head would peak in,
smile at her, then leave.
   Food.  She worked her way from the most liquid to the least.  Once she
finished with the gelatin, she stopped.  Chewing made her jaw ache.
   They called her a name.  It sounded both familiar and strange.
   People came in, asked questions, but the nurse ushered them out when she
pushed the buzzer.
   The psychologist nearly wrote her off before she made the decision to
speak.
   "Leave." She whispered.
   The nurses talked while cleaning her room.  They thought she was asleep,
but she heard them.  She had been admitted to the hospital with fatal
lesions.  It had taken four surgeries, but her condition only worsened. 
She was on death watch the day she woke up.
   A real miracle, one of them called it.
   Her whole body ached, but she moved slow.  No stranger to pain, she
fought past the protest of her weak muscles.  She loved pain; met it like a
long long lover.  Physical therapy was her favorite part of the day.
   She paused to catch her breath.  She was only half the walk along the
rail.
   Miraculous recovery.  That's what her physician called it.  He asked her
questions, which she ignored.  He issued more tests to check for brain
damage.  When he didn't find any, he looked at her with less wonder and
greater suspicion.
   Brain damage.  Amusing he should think that.  If anything, her ordeal
caused a brain enhancement.  Things made sense.  She made connections
faster, reacted sooner.
   The physical therapy paid off.  She could get out of her bed and use the
bathroom on her own.  They would be able to discharge her soon.  She sat in
her chair staring out the window.  Tall building near a city.  It seemed
organized wrong.  She didn't recognize several of the cars, but some
appeared familiar.
   A soft-spoken curly blond man in khaki pants and a sweater stepped into
her room.  "Annabelle?" He stepped inside the door, but no closer as if
wary of her.  "Do you remember me?"
   Familiar question.  Even the doctor had asked.  Her face remained
impassive, but her mind whirled.  She cycled through the ways she could
hurt him, tie him up, knock him over.  Her limbs were weak, but they could
be as strong as she needed them to be for a second or two.
   If he got close enough she could use her jaw.  She was much better at
chewing now.
   "Before you went into surgery, we talked about the haunting?  One of
your nurses told me that you were suffering from nightmares between
surgeries.  Have you had any new ones?"
   She looked out the window.  The sun was about to set.  Reds and oranges
in the clouds above.  The bright, glorious ball of radiant fury settled
behind the trees.  The dying light could hold her attention from beginning
to end.
   Behind her, the blond continued.  "You don't have to say anything, just
listen.  I think you have been suffering from an attack, a real spiritual
attack.  If so, you may be in danger.  I can help."
   Help?  She was not in trouble.  She was alive when she should not be.
   Careful.
   "I do not have any injuries.  Leave."
   He stepped close enough to set a card on her meal tray.  "Call me."
   ***
   The hospital released her two days later.  Danielle pulled out her
clothing, but they weren't 'her' clothes, not the ones she used to wear,
not ones she ever owned.  There were new, different.  She found a note in
her tiny purse - an address.
   She slipped into the flats, tugged on the long skirt and soft cotton
blouse.  No bra, but she couldn't make out her nipples in the mirror.
   There was something in the purse, small, flat rectangle.  How did it
open?  One of the buttons caused the screen to come alive, a picture of
pine trees, the time.  'Slide to unlock.'
   She tossed the object back into the purse.
   She met her eyes in the mirror.
   Slow.  That was the advice she followed to keep breathing.  She had
never been big on looking at her reflection.  Something about a scar, an
accident.
   None of that.
   This woman looked healthy, a little thin, but excellent in these
clothes.
   The skittish blond was outside the hospital waiting on her.  Danielle
quelled the urge to lunge for him, wrap her hands around his throat, bite
through the soft flesh of his cheek.  She twitched at the thought.
   She flagged the cab and paid for the ride with the cash in her purse. 
The address led her to the second floor of a condominium.  She used the
name the people at the hospital and that weird blond kept calling her:
'Annabelle.' He handed her a key and said he was glad to see her.
   She went up to the floor and opened the door to the house.  It didn't
seem very lived in.  A tour through the house confirmed her suspicion.  No
food rotting in the fridge, no expired foods in the cupboard.
   She sat in a chair in the living room and lowered her head to her knees.
She had trouble breathing, her heart pounded, the only thing keeping her
hands from trembling was that they were wrapped around her legs. 
Everything about this life was wrong, off.  As if the world would dissolve
around her to reveal something putrid underneath.
   Dark hair cascaded around her face.  Long, wavy hair.  She brushed her
fingers through the loose curly locks.  She cupped the large breast in her
hand.
   She sat in the chair for hours, glancing toward the door, afraid someone
would walk in and ask her what she was doing there.
   Someone would show up soon, Danielle was sure of it.  Her memories
echoed from a place in a dark before.
   Glowing rock.  No, it wasn't the rocks that glowed.  Blood.  Pain. 
Before the breaking of her bones.  Wounds, tearing.  Lessons.
   Apathy.
   Beyond that there was only darkness, and then a kiss, back at the
glowing water.  There had to be something before then.  Who did she know?
Who were her friends?  Who could she call?
   A soft chirp filled the house.  She lifted her head and search until she
found the phone on her counter alight.  Two buttons.  The red one said
'decline' the green one said 'answer.'
   She pressed answer and lifted the phone to her ear.
   "Hello?"
   "I am glad you made it home."
   She didn't place the voice.  As she had acted since opening her eyes,
she pretended all was normal.  "Thank you.  I need to go now."
   "I will be there shortly."
   She pulled the phone away and the screen went dark.
   This place looked new.  Who could be coming over?  The person who placed
the note in her pocket?  The person who stocked her fridge and cabinets?
   Shortly must have been a short stint indeed.  Two soft knocks. 
"Danielle."
   Her name cut through any instinct to panic, quelled her inclination
toward self-preservation.  She stood beside the door, against the wall, her
stomach in knots, her heart running a marathon.  The sound of his voice
saying her name made her want to meet him, but she had to be careful.
   "Who is it?"
   "Lazaire."
   She couldn't get the door open fast enough.  How did she know that name?
The connection didn't come immediately, but that didn't stall her action.
She pulled the door open and hurried toward the couch and hid behind it,
curled into a protective pose.
   The door squeaked open then shut.  The lock engaged and her stomach
dropped as the smell reached her nose.  She peaked over the back of the
couch.
   Thick denim jeans, black boots, and a leather jacket over a gray shirt.
   He leaned on the supporting wall that separated the living room from the
kitchen and folded his arms.  "How are you adjusting?"
   "Worse when I got here."
   He walked over to the couch and sat down and she crawled onto it with
him.  The moment she got a glance, she knew it was him, but not why he
would be here.  He was the thread of continuity piercing through her
fragmented memories, her nightmares, and her reality.
   Instead of a flood of panic, she calmed, her respiration evened out. 
"Someone asked me if I remembered him or complaining about a spiritual
attack.  I told him to go away, but he saw me leave."
   "Good.  We have some time."
   "Who are you?"
   "Rath Lazaire."
   Her eyes narrowed.  His name had nothing to do with her inquiry.  "What
did you do to me?"
   "Recruited you."
   For what?  She didn't posed that question because after her 'training,'
she wasn't ready to know.  She moved into his lap, reached up to touch his
face, a single fingertip tracked the tendon on his neck.  "Something is off
about me, about this place."
   He cupped her face with his hands and stated in a firm voice.  "This is
your body.  I picked this place for us to meet."
   She shook her head and looked around the house.  "My body and spirit is
yours."
   That made him smile, just in the cheek and eyes, but she found comfort
in that small show of mirth.  "Do you like your reflection?"
   Danielle blushed, then nodded.  She turned self-conscious about her
intimate position in his lap.  Were they truly this close?  Did he find her
beautiful?
   This was the same creature that beat her, bruised her, broke her,
encouraged her to murder, made her scream, made her torture others.  This
was a cruel creature.  Other memories surfaced, visions that defied reality
and threatened to fracture her sanity.
   Blue water.  The way his tongue slid into her mouth.  His hands
caressing her body, while she attempted to squeeze him with her death grip.
   "Your eyes dance with curiosity.  You are vastly improved."
   "The better to do you bidding, I suppose."
   He laughed at that, soft, low.  Then put his arms around her and held
her close.  Second later he tipped her head back and kissed her.  He
flicked his tongue out, pressed his lips to hers.  When she parted her lips
he moaned and delved deeper.
   Danielle broke their kiss with a gasp.  How much further could this go?
She wanted him, but she feared him.  The emotions warred within her.  What
would he make her do now?
   "Do you think I've taken your will?" He shook his head.  "I prefer to
think I've given you one."
   She pulled him toward her, intending to test her so-called will.  Once
he kissed her back, she bit his lip.  It wasn't a love bite.  The gnash of
her teeth carried too much anger.  Blood trickled into her mouth.
   His arms clamped around her and he pulled her under his body.  He
groaned and kissed her through the spilling of blood.  The bulge in his
pants rubbed between her legs.  She gentled her touches, sucked on his lip.
   His fingers cradled the back of her neck and he pulled away and tongued
the half-moon opening on his lip.  Both of them breathed heavily, but he
didn't rise off her enough to allow her to move.
   "What is it that you need me to do for you?" She posed to question to
take her mind off the gnawing hunger building in her loins.  When he didn't
answer, Danielle blushed, thinking of the other way that phrase could be
interpreted.
   "There is only so much influence I have with people here.  You'll fill
the gap for me."
   "Violently." She thought back to all the things she knew how to do, all
the torment she learned to embrace.
   "If necessary." He pushed to his feet and helped her stand.
   She got up and leaned on the arm of the couch for support.  Now that she
had distance between them, all she wanted to do was close it again, pull
him back onto her.  Going backward seemed a better idea than going forward,
toward death and pain.  "To what end?"
   He winked.  "Does it have to end?"
   She flustered as he walked away.  He had such an effect on her.  It was
equally possible that he'd strike her or caress her.  And yet she feared
and desired them both.
   She followed him to the bedroom closet.  He pulled a bag from the top
shelf.  "The person who approached you is a nuisance I haven't managed to
shake off.  Don't do anything to alarm him, and we'll be rid of him for
good.  The last thing I want is for our work to end before it has begun."
He turned to her.  "Take care of yourself, lest we return to the caverns."
   Rath packed the bag, moving deftly around her stunned body.  She didn't
bother asking why he was packing or where they were going, though she was
more than a little curious.
   "Why are you packing?"
   "If he saw you leave, his next step will be to approach you here.  I
planned to give you a few days to settle, but this environment only upsets
you.  No need for you to stay."
   Her doorbell rang.
   She pulled off her shirt, stepped out of her flats and skin.  She mussed
her hair and snatched a satin robe off its hanger and wrapped it around her
body.  She went to the door rubbing her eyes and changing her affect.  She
walked through the kitchen and grabbed a slicing knife.
   She rose to her toes and checked the blond through the peep hole.
   "Hello?"
   "Miss?  It's very important I speak with you before you sleep tonight."
   "About?" She opened the door only as far as the security latch would
allow and held the knife up for him to see.
   His eyes widened.  "I ...  I don't meant to startle you.  If you would
just allow me..."
   Down the hall, a door opened.
   She made her voice loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.  "You're
stalking me."
   The man headed for the stairwell paused.
   "Please, Anna, it's not like that.  I know you've been through a great
deal.  Let me in so that we can talk."
   "I'm not letting you in.  When you leave, I'm calling the authorities
and giving them your description."
   He lowered his voice to a whisper.  "Did you bargain with that demon? 
They lie.  They all lie."
   "Is this guy bothering you?" The bystander crept over to them and got a
look at her knife.
   "Yes." She let her voice tremble and brought water to her eyes.  "I've
been very sick, and ...  and I don't know why he's harassing me."
   "Listen, this is a misunderstanding."
   The bystander snatched him by the arm.  "If you aren't welcome, then you
need to leave the building."
   "It's a simple test." He lunged for the door.  "You need to--"
   Danielle screamed and her white knight landed the first solid blow to
the blond's jaw.  She closed the door, pressed her ear to the edge of the
door and listened to the scuffle.  As the sounds retreated, she marveled at
how quickly she acted, put on just the right affect.
   Rath set a long coat on her shoulders and set a pair of walking shoes
beside her feet.  "We'll leave while he is distracted."
   He led the way out.  They took the elevator and beat them out the door.
She nearly walked past his car, a midnight blue sedan with tinted windows.
He took her hand and opened the door.  She had a few seconds alone with the
pristine interior while he put her suitcase away and got in on the driver's
side.
   "Here." He opened the glove compartment and set a leather pouch in her
lap.
   She opened the top flap.  It had a strap tucked inside long enough for
her to carry it over her shoulder.  Inside the pouch were two vials, a
brown and aqua orb, a dark mesh bag with dried herbs, three palm sized
stones, a sheathed double-edge blade, and a thin fingerless glove.
   "Everything you need to protect yourself is in that bag and in your
head."
   "Is that safe?" She lifted the orb and examined it.  She had seen
objects like this or similar to it before.
   "Not for our opponents.  Put the glove on.  It will hide your presence
from any sensitives."
   She slipped the glove onto her right hand.  It was woven, thin, light
that ever a rubber glove.  As she pulled it on she realized the the threads
had some elasticity.  She tugged the mesh down around her palm and fastened
the adhesive snap at her wrist.
   Little shooting daggers of icy razors dug into her skin and latched into
her bones.  Danielle turned to Rath in a panic.
   He nodded, his sign that she was doing the right thing.  She folded her
right hand under her left arm and let the pain take hold.  She invited the
grinding agony, waited for more.  It felt like tiny motorcycles with
chainsaw wheels swerved up and down her nerve endings, working their way
toward her shoulder and chest.
   She had experienced worse, but pain was pain.  She was dripping sweat by
the time he parked.  The robe under her jacket could have been wrung dry.
The pain spiked and ebbed, only disappearing for a few seconds, like waves
receding at low tide.
   Her body, meanwhile, was trying to recover.  Her body.  Her new life.
   She looked her right hand over.  The glove was nearly invisible.  Upon
close inspection she could pick out the fine weave of threads within her
skin.  It was a small shade different than her own, almost like the pale
outline of a tattoo.
   He set an open bottle of water in her lap.  She knocked it back and
drank until it was empty.  They got out the car and carried her suitcase
plus two boxes into the square, brick building.  Her body still hurt, but
she had been taught to swallow complaints, to push past them.
   From the outside, the place looked like a warehouse, but inside, it
seemed more like an apartment complex with few tenants.  He opened a door
and ushered her inside.
   "I'll take that one." He took her suitcase.  "Get comfortable."
   She perused the couch, steel coffee table, small chairs.  The kitchen
area was against the wall by the door.  She followed the space to the
bedroom then restroom.  The whole place seemed decorate in rich browns with
touches of red, gray, and deep blue.  She walked back the bed to the
lounge, low chairs, soft pillows near a full window.  Near the window sat a
dark gray squat statue.
   Danielle stood rooted at the spot, waiting for it to move, do something,
scare the shit out of her.
   "It's a replica." Rath said as he stepped past her.
   "Oh." As if that explained everything.
   Once she found the bathroom she peeled out of her sweat soaked robe and
stepped into the spray.  She was rinsing off when he entered the bathroom.
   "How does your hand feel?"
   "Tingly when I move it.  Feels like something is on it, but well, there
is."
   "Hungry?"
   "I think I would be if I could calm down for ten minutes."
   "Take your time in the shower.  I'll put something on for you."
   "Rath."
   "Hmm?"
   "Which is it?  Am I helping you take over or destroy the world?" She
turned the shower off and peaked out the curtain.
   He handed her a towel.  Following his own advice, he had a pair of long
cotton shorts.  Nothing else.  She could easily make out the swell out
outline of his penis.
   "Neither," he said and left her to finish.  "We'll have a long drive in
the morning.  Eat, then rest."
   ***
   She woke early.  He sat in the lounge near the window, eyes closed,
muscled back straight, breathing deep and steady.  She palmed the ruffled
sheets on the other side of the bed.  They had shared the same bed some
point in the night.
   Once she dressed they were clear of the city before the traffic.  He
pulled the car over in a heavily wooded area.  They hiked along a trail.
   "I cannot do physical harm to someone who does not hold a contract with
me.  Up the path there is a house with seals that are meant to keep people
like me away.  I can't locate warded objects without giving away my
intention."
   She paid attention as he spoke to her.  Though they had 'known' each
other a great while, Rath had said little about himself, his purpose until
this moment.
   "If you can get it out of there, it will help alleviate one of those
many obstacles.  If I were to touch the barrier it would set my skin on
fire and expose me to the netherworld.  I could get away unharmed, but it's
not an approached I'd be able to make a second time.  I do not want to be
found on this side, or have my presence known until I collect the objects I
need."
   He continue to provide insight into his weaknesses, his abilities.
   "What does having me around grant you?  A physical hand?"
   He smiled down at her.  "You are far greater than something so menial."
   Danielle put her hand out to stop him.  A few feet in front of her a
wall of heat shimmered up toward the trees.  "Can you see that?"
   "I know we're close."
   "About fifteen steps ahead." She reached into her pouch and puled out
her blade.
   Trails by fire.  How to break a circle.  She knew this.
   "This one isn't going to take much," she mused.  But how much would it
hurt?  That question was more of an idle curiosity.  It didn't how much,
because she would let the pain flow through her.
   She rubbed her thumb along the blade as she approached.  She picked up a
branch the length of her forearm and spread her blood on it.  With perfect
enunciation, she said the proper foreign phrases.  The words passed from
her like a song: inflection, pitch, timing.  All perfect.
   She tossed the stick through the barrier and watched as the wall
rippled, vibrated, then shattered and collapsed like a column of invisible
water.
   Danielle continued on down the path.  She wasn't sure what she was
looking for, only that it would be in the house and recognizing it would be
a test of its own.
   Sensing the destruction of his wards, the person inside was waiting.  He
fired a shot at her the moment she neared the house.  He missed, but she
didn't allow another chance.  Who she was now, who she had been before:
none of that came into play.  Thoughts switched off and feral instinct rose
to take its place.
   As if a switch had been flipped in her mind, she was back in the rank,
dark, stone and slime covered caverns.  Like being in the red room with the
chittering, fetid, long-legged abomination with designs on spitting its
venom onto her exposed flesh.  Kill or burn.
   She had been burning many times, seeing holes in her body that exposed
muscle and bone.  She had howled as he stitched her back together only to
beat her again for her failure.
   'Training' had never made sense.  It didn't have to when she stopping
thinking.  When she began to love the pain, love the infliction of agony,
embrace the madness: it wasn't training, but her life, her hobby.  She was
a performer in a sadistic circus act and excelled at it.  The headliner,
the showstopper.
   All this time, there had truly been a point to the madness.  She could
run on instinct alone, react prior to thought.  She could fight through
injury, succeed in spite of pain.  Fearlessly, she could mainline the rush
of her adrenaline.
   All that gibberish meant something to her primitive mind, because she
spoke the language with flawless diction as she attacked the man within the
house.  She incapacitated him, tore at his body her nails clawing into his
chest as she snatched the jewelry away.  She removed every chain, stone,
disk, or pouch from his body and destroyed them.
   With a word, she turned an ornate silver charm into a deformed, tarnish
lump of deformed metal.
   Danielle flexed her stiff fingers, flicked the removed skin from under
her nails.  She browsed the house looking for items that drew her
attention. She stepped over and around furniture, but thought nothing of
standing in blood.  Some items seemed different, drew her attention and
held it.
   She moved at a frenetic pace, like a kitten chasing every shiny object.
She opened boxes, unscrewed bottles, cleared shelves.  She gathered her
haul into a paper bag and paused at his door.  Lazaire walked the
perimeter, looking around.
   As a man, just a man, he seemed a little too skinny, but healthy,
handsome.  He bore a striking profile.
   No time for gazing.  She ran her haul to him and waited while he looked
through the bag.
   "Go on," he said.
   She sprinted back inside and covered her opponent's body in symbols, cut
with her blade.  She took a pinch of power from her pouch and placed it is
the dead man's bruised mouth.  Then she stood over him and sang in her
pained language.
   The 'pained language' caused a low throb in the base of her spine.  It
would build and build, as if it one more note would shattered her and rend
her paralyzed.  But no, on the last note the pain uncoiled and rose up her
back and floated away on the last word.
   Nothing.
   A moment of pure fear.  Had she misspoke?  Not after all this.  She
couldn't fail.  This was the first time she was doing something with a
purpose.  Her first test.
   The body at her feet shifted the collapsed as if melting internally. 
Danielle walked out the house, treading carefully.  She heard sounds of
feasting: a million tiny mouths slurping, smacking, and crunching.
Danielle walked backwards out the house, down the walkway and the trail
until Rath put his arms around her and held her.
   "When the sound tapers off, you will dismiss them," he whispered.
   How long was she going to listen to these thins feed?  The roaring
symphony of squishing and clicking and cracking sounded no further away
than when she stood over the body.  "How do I know what I'm doing?"
   "I trained you."
   The creatures seemed sated, like the aftermath of a buffet.  The words
passed from her fluently, familiar, and yet so foreign to her
understanding.
   "Let's go." He took her hand.
   The walk back to the car was quieter, and for that, Danielle was
thankful.  A low, dull twinge, much like a cramp, built in her body.  It
started in her shoulders, met at her back, and spread, sending the others
muscles in to twisted torment.
   They had made it to the car when he legs trembled and cramped.  Danielle
shook and moan in the passenger seat.  It was not going to go away, so she
tossed herself toward the discomfort, met it like an eager lover.
   "You can handle it.  Absorb it."
   She screamed in response then crawled into the back seat and writhed as
the pain met its crescendo.  Could she really handle this?  Had it always
been this bad?  The cramping became so acute that she was physically unable
to take a breath.
   Absorb it.
   She imagined pulling those dark tendrils inside her, back into the
darkness of the pit that was her soul.  The visualization went against her
better judgement, but she had been trained to forgo normal judgement.  She
could override her preservation instinct and give other directives.
   It was looking for a place to rest in her muscles when it needed to be
deeper inside her, in her soul, in the place that used to be her soul
before she gave it away.
   She gasped for air like a fish out of water, opening her mouth to take
the occasional loud inhale.  The thrashing stopped.  Sweat poured down her
skin.
   "Olguries are called by the power you carry and the words you speak. 
The powder tells them where to feed.  The words open the gate within your
body.  They accelerate the decay and lick clean any bodily fluids they can
find.  When dismissed, they leave a scorching trail, ignite small fires
that burn away any physical detail."
   She rolled her head back to look at the blue sky through the rear
window. The occasional lamp post zipped by.  More information, knowledge to
marry with her instinct.
   Rath never talked to her in the caves.  He barked an order, issued
punishments, but he never talked to her.  "You memory isn't as important as
the cues and how to react to them.  I know you probably remember all the
punishment and pain, but how you dealt with it doesn't have to be
conceptualized.  You can handle any backlash.  This was nothing."
   Danielle took a long, slow, deep lungful of breath as if to prove his
point.  The sweat on her back cooled the shirt she wore.  Minutes later,
the internal ache passed, faded into a distant beyond.  She felt a dizzy,
light headed, cold from her sweat, but miles better.
   "Some of the cues, the way you know how and when - are given to you by
me, but I don't have to tell you how to react.  You have already learned
that."
   She had been staring up at a concrete ceiling for a while before it
occurred to her that it wasn't moving.  She sat upright in the seat and
looked around.  How long had they been parked?  Did she fall asleep?  She
rubbed her eyes and leaned on the front seat.  "I'm your weapon."
   "That is a much better assessment of yourself."
   "Why does it hurt?  Do other people - witches or whatever - get this?"
   "No way.  If they get close, the pain warns them away."
   He helped her out the car.  Danielle braced herself against the car
until the ground steadied under her feet.  "Why are you telling me all this
now?"
   Rath waited, but did not reach out to steady her.  "I've been here
before.  No point in making small talk with someone I have to kill."
   She stared at her shoes.  Spotless where there had been blood and some
kind of blue ink.  The thin wound on her leg looked like no more than a
scratch.
   No point with someone he had to kill.  Did that mean she passed her
test, or merely a checkpoint?  She pushed off the car and he led her into
the apartment.
   She peeled out of her sweat-soaked clothing for the second day in a row.
   "Yes, it was a test."
   She turned to face him.
   "I did need the item, and I know a painless way to get it.  I wanted to
know how much you could do without me, what you would decide, what your
inhibitions would be.  I wanted to see you handled the back lash with your
body in this world."
   "Did I pass?" She turned on the shower.
   "You retrieved the item I wanted and several I had no knowledge of. 
Your latent ability, left undeveloped, perhaps, in a different situation
than the one I found you in - would have led you to be a great witch, as
you called it.  However, given your history, it closed you off to that
path, left you mentally disturbed, despondent, angry."
   The water was warm enough to start the shower, but she wanted to hear
him speak.  The sound of his voice hypnotized her, caused her to focus only
on him.  Had she been trained to do that too?
   The next few days, Danielle was able to rest.  She spent most of that
time enjoying the luxury of sleep and the delicacies that she could make in
the kitchen.  He kept her fed and comfortable, almost like a house pet.
   But he also kept her sharp.  He took her out for small, painless jobs,
that required more quick thinking and heightened perception.  Some days
they went out and all she had to do was learn to spot wards.  They were as
varied as fences, coming in different styles and varying degrees of
effectiveness.
   All the while, their relationship in the apartment was like that of two
room mates or close friends, affectionate, but not outright sexual.
   ***
   Danielle woke to the sound of a woman's voice.  Rath's voice had a
sultry, flirty tone.  They chuckled together.
   She turned over and pulled the covers over her head, but it didn't block
the knowledge that someone was around the corner from her.  She eased out
the bed and went to lounge, from that room she could get a decent look into
the living room without being seen.
   She settled onto a pillow in the darkness.  Her eyes seemed hopeful,
expectant.  Was she normal?  Like him?  Like her?  Was she on old friend or
a stranger he picked up?  Did she have a contract with him?
   What little remained of their conversation was beyond Danielle's
hearing. The woman pulled her dress overhead and unsnapped her bra.  She
leaned over into Rath's lap, and Danielle didn't need to see the details to
know what happened next.  Her mouth made a wet sucking sound as he head
bobbed in his lap.
   Danielle rested her hands on her knees as she watched the woman give him
a blow job.  Despite their history, she wanted to be in that woman's place.
   Why?  He had hurt her, took her soul, snatched away her life.
   What life?  She gave it away, hated it.
   The fact remained, Danielle hadn't had an orgasm since she died.  Well,
since whatever it was that happened to her.  She had returned stronger,
healthy, powerful, but this new sack of flesh could have been virginal for
all she knew about its history.
   She eased back to the bedroom and found a dress in the bottom drawer,
slipped it on.  Rath bought her a pair of leather boots.  Did she know she
only wanted them because it reminded her of him?  She tucked her pouch into
a purse.
   "Don't mind me," she whispered as she marched toward the door.  It had
two locks, a dead bolt and a twist lock.  From the corner of her eye, dark
brown hair bounced.  She opened the door and secured the bottom lock in her
wake.
   Where in the world did she think she was going?  She'd never tried to
leave the apartment without him.
   But she had to get out of there now.  She could find someplace to get
laid.
   With a smile she set off on foot.  They were in the heart of the city.
Her boots made a pleasing sound on the empty sidewalk.  Orange street
lights reflected off the metal buckles along the sides.
   Could she find some cute stranger to kneel between her legs?
   What happens if he pisses her off?  What if that stranger views her as a
hole to use for his own joy ride?  Could she remain sane long enough for
the chaos and physicality of sex?  Had she been trained for that?
   Her bitter laugh echoed in the bus depot.
   Danielle had thought of them as friends and room mates to cool her own
passions, but she didn't want that to be the case.  Goodness, if he wanted
his cock sucked, she would have happily done it just to hear him moan.
   Given the way she had treated his cock, she couldn't blame him.  That
tender moment in the caverns must have been his way of breaking through to
her, to get her to remember his name.  Whatever Rath Lazaire was, his
primary interest in her was as a weapon, a well-trained attack dog.  If she
needed something more, then she would have to find it for herself.
   "Is there a good place to party around here?" She asked on the bus,
directing her question to no one in particular, though she hoped the girl
with green and blue streaks of hair and the elaborate sleeve tattoo would
be the one to answer.
   She gave her a long look.  There wasn't much to assess.  Danielle's
newly dyed flat black hair was pulled into a loose pony tail.  The dress
was plain, blue, but fitted enough to inform the searching eye that it was
all she wore.
   Danielle got off with the woman, Allison, and followed her lead to the
end of a line for entering a dance club.
   "What'd you do?  Roll out of bed and decide to go clubbing?"
   "Yes," she said.
   Allison turned back with a bemused look, but then laughed.  "Right on."
   Dancing?  How long since?  Crushed leg.  Bed ridden.  Weight piled on.
Pills.  Pain, almost nothing in retrospect, but it had been debilitating
then.
   Another life.
   The bouncer checked their identification and Allison led her into the
crowd.  It was a decently filled floor, but enough that she could make her
way without colliding into others.  Allison went to the bar, but Danielle
stayed on the floor.  She caught a few eyes, got some welcoming glances.
   She accepted the offered drink from one man, but she only held it. 
Alcohol.  It didn't seem like a good prescription for a weapon that relied
on her quick reflexes and instinctual judgement.  She discretely emptied
the spirit during a trip to the restroom.
   Did this body know how to dance?  Was that a skill of the mind or the
limbs?
   This was her body.  This was her life.
   She found a spot and closed her eyes, swayed and allowed the music to
sweep her up.  A few slight movements and she warmed up, gradually.  With a
broad smile she reveled in her dance.  The mind and body moved as one,
rocking and bouncing to the throbbing pulse of music.
   Ramp it up.  Occasionally, she peeked through her closed eyes to make
sure she wasn't near anyone.  She missed this, dancing.  This was the
opposite of pain: euphoria, joy, abandon.  How long since she had been able
to move like this.  She felt brighter, glowing, pulsing inside and out with
happiness.
   She didn't mark the passage of time.  The music continued and she along
with it.  At some point she stilled, opened her eyes.  Her dress was damp
along her spine, breastbone, and under her arms.  The exertion had left her
dizzy, but buoyant, as if she might float.  When she moved, an unseen
current shifted around her, a bit like a thick, foggy haze.
   A little weird, but she didn't bother to process it.  Life felt so
damned delicious.
   The atmosphere around her was what made her settle.
   She turned and caught sight of Rath.  He was seated at a high table near
her.  When had he found her?  How long had she been on the dance floor?
   He flicked his hand at her, urging her continue.
   That set her back to dancing, spinning, bouncing to the beat of the
music.  Now it didn't matter if she was careful or not.  He was here,
watching over her.  He could sheath her as easily as he set her free.
   Now that she had permission, Danielle leg go and took to dancing as if
she were alone on a stage.  The thick currents around her body seemed to
dance with light, as if agitating small particles of glitter.
   He did indeed know how to stop her.  His hand rested on her shoulder and
she stilled.  He led her up to the second floor.  Down below the dance
floor was packed.  People danced and laughed and celebrated as if it were
their last party.  It seemed a little more jovial and fevered pitch than
usual, filled with rapturous cries.
   "Did I do something wrong?"
   "Not at all.  You save me weeks of hunting, perhaps months." He put his
arms around her waist, held her tight.  "That's what I was doing when you
left.  I tap into a person's energy and use their power to keep me here. 
It's easiest given a certain emotional state." He lowered his voice, but
neither the music nor the roar of the crowd kept her from understanding
each word.  "All you have to do is ask."
   "I don't want your sympathy."
   "You think I have any of that?"
   That slice of heaven in the pits of her hell, his steady caress, that
kiss.  She worked so hard to explain his actions away.  It couldn't have
been attraction, not given how unmercifully he treated her.
   What if it was exactly as it had seemed?
   Her blush burned in her cheeks.  "No." She pointed to the crowd. 
"What's happening to them?"
   "The Call to Bleed, a rite of the devout.  It's not something that can
be ordered to perform, not even taught, but it is your working.  You caused
it through the infectious quality of raising energy in a public place."
   "Will someone notice?  What if I get caught?"
   He shook his head.  "A perceptive may see the working as it fades, but
all who laid eyes on you was caught in the spell.  What drove you to this?"
   "I ...  just ...  it's been a while since I was able to dance.  I wasn't
aware of your nutritional needs.  I came to work off some frustration."
   They stood there until fatigue and confusion outweighed the frenzied
jubilation.
   They walked to his car and he drove them back home.  Shortly after her
shower she was in bed and fast asleep.
   ***
   Danielle followed the savory smell sausage into the kitchen.  Half
sleep, she propped up to the counter and took another deep breath.
   He wrapped strips of pasta or some kind of thin dough around the
sausages and set them on a plate.  "Eat all of these." He set them on a
plate in front of her.
   She stuffed her mouth.  The odd taste of whatever was wrapped around her
sausage faded quickly, but reminded her of her purpose.  She had a job, a
calling.  That did not include fucking him.
   Maybe if they had a bit of down time she could get him naked.  She
wanted to lick up his spine, claw his back while he fucked her.  Would it
be rough and desperate or languid and passionate?  Would there be blood? 
She smirked over her food and let thoughts of getting hot and sweaty with
him entertain her.
   ***
   "No demon can harm me so long as I remain true!" The man said, secure in
the voracity of his claim.
   He had been smug since Rath approached him.  He turned his rabid look to
Danielle.
   "You may be under his control now, but you will outlive your use and
then he will destroy you.  It will be slow and in the end you will beg for
death."
   Been there, done that.
   He switched back to Rath.  "You are more foul than your temperament
belies.  Greedy, irreverent.  Soon the others will catch up with you.  I
hope I play a part in your imprisonment."
   He paid more attention to Rath than Danielle and that was her opening.
Once she had him on the ground she asked one question, the question posed
to him earlier.  "What's the code to the safe?"
   It wasn't that easy.  She had to twist, squeeze, and pinch her way to
his breaking point.
   "What has he done to you?" He sputtered, his throat raw from screaming.
"Have you abandoned all hope of redemption?"
   "I think that code is numeric." She wiped her hands free of sweat and
blood and abandoned the physical tools.  She rummaged through her pouch,
audibly perusing her options.
   Once she got the code she disengaged the seals, opened the safe, and
handed the items to Rath.
   "What does that seal in the back do?"
   The bloodied, broken, pale man strapped to the table leg said, "It calls
forth a Tamrau." He seemed pleased with himself, as if telling her would
anger Rath.
   It had the desired effect.  Rath snatched her by the arm and dragged her
out the building.  She had to run to keep up with his long legs.
   She sensed the danger, but didn't understand the source.  What was a
Tamrau?  Why did it have Rath running for their lives?  They peeled out in
the car, but didn't take the same route home.
   The engine hummed as gears shifted.  Traffic whooshed by.  She looked
out the windows, but didn't know what she was looking for.
   He pulled off a small road seconds before she reacted.  The words passed
her lips as she visualized the barrier.  Unlike permanent wards, this one
was designed to block the crossing of anything sentient.  It swirled with
faint color, like being wrapped in a soap bubble.
   "Maintain it." He whispered.
   He went to the edge of the ward and communicated with something on the
other side.  She could not see or hear it, but they argued in a language
she barely grasped.  A few words seemed familiar.  The person on the other
side called him Lazaire.
   Something else paced outside the wall.  Angry, hungry, rabid.  He seemed
calm now that the ward was up.  He pulled one of the items from the safe, a
thin wand, and displayed the pendant that hung on his chest.
   That pendant had come from a different time, a different life.  It was
one of the objects she stole from one place only to stash in another.
   The yelling stopped.  The conversation continued in tense, but civil
tones.  They spoke words of parting and Rath went to her.  It wasn't until
he rested his arm on her back did she take stock of her position, in the
dirt on hands and knees, trembling as if she were freezing.
   "You don't want to get on my bad side," he said.  "All I want is for you
to take it with you, and go away."
   Both creatures departed.  The sense of danger went with them.
   Along the way home, Danielle waited for the pain, wondered how it would
effect her.  She sat with her freezing fingers tucked between her thighs,
but she only felt better as time passed.
   "What's different?"
   "I predicted the little shit would lay a trap.  He's known for them.  I
fed you something to nullify the after effects this morning."
   "Thank you."
   "I needed you alert longer.  The ingredients are neither easy nor common
to come by.  Don't rely on it."
   She nodded.  She was his weapon.  His object.  If she failed, then this
life was over.  She reiterated these lessons to herself, a reminder of her
place, her precarious position.
   ***
   When they returned to the apartment, he went to work on something else.
Pouring over drawings and books, her presence forgotten.
   Not ready to sleep, she lay and watched him, fascinated, but mindful to
be quiet while he worked.
   "These protections are more stringent." He explained as he smeared
liquid on the frames of every door and window.
   "I can't see them."
   "I'm not drawing them here.  You may develop the skill to see
netherworld snares once you become stronger."
   She snorted.  "You don't have to pretend that I'll be alive that long."
   "Is the attitude because you're tired?" He cleaned his hands in a wooden
bowl on the counter.
   "I can't afford to forget what I am.  That attitude is realism."
   He laughed, softly at first, then harder.  He dried his hands off and
went to putting his items away.
   She didn't ask what was so funny.  She didn't want to know.  She
stretched out on the couch.  When she got tired, she'd rather pass out in
the living room.  Another night in his bed meant another night of building
frustration and tension.
   "As you may have guessed from his tirade back there.  I am a fugitive,
wanted for my repeated experiments with human souls."
   "Your past failures."
   He hummed in assent and sat on the couch by her hip.  She turned onto
her side to make room for him, but stared at the pillows in the lounge
room. It was dark, but if she had been sitting there, there's no way she
would have been hidden from sight.
   "Did he say something to upset you?"
   "No." How was she going to explain her way out of this?  She looked down
at his long, legs, that large calf muscle, the ridge of this thigh as it
disappeared under a pair of a neutral shorts.  "I'm in a bad mood, but I'll
get over it."
   "I picked you out some time after the break up with that guy you were
with.  You were pacing your house drinking and screaming at him at the top
of your lungs - though he wasn't there.  Gorgeous threats though.  I
listened for a while, greatly entertained by your hatred.  I would have
made you the offer then, but, what could I do with a dying body?"
   Rath pulled her by the arm until he got her to move.  They repositioned
on the couch with him until they were sitting side by side.
   "I intended to string you along for a while, at least until you expired,
get some light work out of the way.  I had this other prospect, easy on the
eyes, but too flighty.  She fought me towards the end.  I figured a little
fun with you was better than trying to get her in line.
   "I found you wallowing in death prior to your time.  All the punishments
I had endured and the failures I suffered didn't matter.  I had to make
another attempt.  While you were handling my light work, I sought a way to
keep you.  Five years and uncompromising dedication."
   Her arms pebbled as he caressed her shoulders.
   "As far as anyone knew, I was keeping my curiosity to the caverns.  All
within my right.  What they didn't see was the vessel I had chosen, why you
had to be so badly beaten and stripped that your sense of self was divorced
from the body that housed you.  Then I had to core out a body that would
fit you just right."
   She shook her head.  "I'm not supposed to think about this."
   "Not at first, too sensitive a transition.  The other may have found its
way back.  My point is," he turned to face her, put his hand on either side
of her face.  "Do you think I'd spend five years and risk the precarious
state of my freedom for someone I considered expendable?" He kissed her,
slow, exploring.  When he pulled back, he left her breathless and
considerably warmer.  "I want your body and your soul."
   "My body is gone."
   "I thought you would like this one.  I got it just for you."
   So that she was better able to do what he wanted, so that she wasn't
broken and sick.  These were the things she had told herself.  She
whispered.  "Do you like it?"
   "Lift your dress and spread your legs." His tone was uncompromising and
direct.
   She complied, no nervousness, no hesitation.
   "I do, but in all fairness, how can I be so sure about flesh I've never
tried?" He kneeled on the floor between her legs, leaned forward and pulled
her hips to the edge of the couch.  He licked and sucked on her pussy with
the leisurely passion of a lover.
   Though Danielle yearned for an orgasm, he never got her there.  He
teased, backed off, played with her thighs or outer labia.
   She grabbed two fistfuls of his dark hair and yanked him away, pushed
him onto his back.  She got down on the floor and tugged his shorts off. 
Before his cock could slap his belly, she had it in hand, directed toward
her wet pussy.
   Was she a virgin?  Didn't matter.  It had been too long.  She grasped
his shoulders and worked her body up and down his cock, moaning as she
rocked him deeper.  There was no trepidation in her, only the promise of a
long-missed orgasm.  She pushed her body back harder, riding him faster
until her whole body tensed.
   Her head had been rolled back, and she stared up at the ceiling, blank
save for the silver light fixture.  As if something had turned off, she
barely recalled how she got from the couch to his cock.  Instinctual,
primal, but not something she had been trained to do.
   "Did that help?"
   "A little."
   "Music to my ears.  I plan to fuck you as intensely as I trained you."
   Her response was another kiss, hungry and wanton.  "I hope so," she
whispered as she rocked back and forth on his cock.
   "I like this body a lot," he murmured between kisses.
   ***
   They went into the bedroom.  Once he had her wet he pistoned in and out
of her, using her hard.  Danielle clung to him, her fingers dug into his
ass.  Each thrust banged the wooden frame of the bed against the wall.  He
made the room sound like construction in progress.
   The man knew how to keep his promises.
   "I'm going to faint." Danielle gasped as she curled on the dry spot of
the bed.  White light crept into the corners of her vision, the room spun.
Her skin seemed ice cold.
   Rath draped his arm over her and kissed her on the neck.  "Here.  I'll
grab more blankets." He snuggled behind her and held her close.  "There. 
How's that?"
   "Still cold."
   Rath laughed.  "Give it time." He kissed her along the shoulder and neck
until they both lay under the heavy blankets breathing heavily.
   "This is what you need to protect yourself from," Danielle said.
   "What's that?" He sounded amused.
   "Most of the things I've found for you are defensive.  You want to be
left alone, left to more thoroughly hone your weapon, so that when you're
ready to leave, no one can use it but you."
   His hand encircled her breast.  He gripped and tugged on one of her
nipples.  "Do you like being my weapon?" He purred.
   She nodded.
   "You haven't seen anything yet." He growled and pulled her thigh back.
"Let me get your sweet pussy one more time before bed."
   ***
   Danielle held her hand above her head and spread her fingers.  Her nails
had been darkening.  They had a dusty gray color, but they didn't seem
cracked or damaged.  If she tried to break one it hurt all the way to the
bed of her nail.
   The nails added to the change in her eye color.  They had been shifting
to a darker color, deepening.
   She'd have to see if the other change was real or imagined when she got
in the shower.  She pushed her blankets back and walked through the steamy
bathroom to take her turn.
   She propped her foot up, but this time she didn't need the heat of the
water to make it noticeable.  A little red glyph, as if it have been
scratched, but when she felt her skin, it seemed fine, good even.
   "Rath!" She called as she stepped out the shower.
   "Yes?"
   "I think you might need to do something." She flashed her nails and
pointed to the other glyphs she discovered in the shower.  "Look at my
eyes. My nails are hideous."
   "They'll look much better in a few days."
   She leaned on the counter and looked over her nails.  "Darker?"
   "Yes."
   She wiped the fog from the mirror.  What had been autumn brown seemed to
be turning the color of dried blood, so dark brownish red that it was
nearly black.  "You knew this would happen?"
   "Hoped."
   She turned to look at him.
   "You're getting stronger.  Your nails will darken along with your iris,
but the skin will heal." He smiled down at her.  "I can't make you accept
your gifts, only teach you how to use them."
   Rath closed the bathroom door and bit into his thumb.  He held it to her
lips and she opened.
   "I can help you become more powerful than you imagine, but not if you
don't want it."
   Danielle moaned around his thumb as it rubbed back and forth under her
tongue.  She occasionally swallowed around it, drinking more of his blood.
   He removed his thumb and kissed her, pulled the towel away and walked
backwards toward the bed.  This was not an uncommon practice since she
initiated their sexual relationship.  Rath had a voracious libido,
embracing her whenever time allowed.
   As he rocked inside her, he said, "I wanted to do this to you in the
caverns.  So many nights, fucking other women wishing to get you here. 
We're going to show them all, Danielle.  Take it for ourselves."
   She rolled her hips on his cock, milking him with her muscles to give
that final part of himself over to her.
   Towards the end he took her hard and fast, pulling, demanding her next
release.  She exploded, screaming and shaking, providing him with the final
push to take his second orgasm of the day.
   She loved him.  How could she do anything but trust him?  The one who
had provided her with so much?  Others may curse and call it a nightmare,
but to her, Rath Lazaire was a dream come true.
   Tears welled in her eyes and Danielle drew a sharp breath, hoping they
would not spill.
   "Don't stop on my account." He settled beside her.
   "What?" Confusion alone stopped her.
   "I've never seen you cry, not like this.  What were you experiencing?"
   "I was ...  I," the tears returned with ease, softly at first, until she
bawled like a small child.
   "I want to comfort you." He eased closer, pulled her into his embrace.
"Cry and let me hold you.  I haven't hurt you?"
   She shook her head.  "Not maliciously."
   He chuckled.  "You seem happy.  Good tears?"
   "Yes.  They exist, you know."
   "I do know, but I've never seen you spill them."
   "I don't think I ever have." She kissed his chest.  When the water works
eased off, she parted to washed her face and his chest.
   He sat up and leaned over her, kissed her forehead down to her breasts.
He lingered, playing attention to each nipple the went lower, pushed her
thighs open and feasted.
   Even after all they had done today, she wanted more, anticipated him. 
Once he had her soaking wet, he rose and sank into her.
   "Tell me?" He kissed her neck as he stroked her.
   "I love you."
   "You have seen my love, but if you have need to hear it: I love you in
return."
   "I can tell." She whimpered and melted until the renewed spike in her
arousal.  "Don't worry.  I'll protect us."
   "Fucking perfect." He whimpered, whined, then moaned as his sped up,
slapping to her hips with a single minded primal need.  He growled low in
his throat and slammed into her.
   They didn't move for several long minutes, panting and tired, and
content.
   -_ PART II _Rath had been far too long without an emotional companion.
His rebellious nature made him a pariah to most others.  He hadn't even
cared about that void until he encountered Danielle's irreverent, dying
soul.  Once they crossed the line of sexual interaction, she was voracious.
He would wake with her mouth on his cock, licking his shaft, caressing his
balls.
   Even when he had something else to do that day, if she attacked him, he
fell prey to her desires, put it off for another day.  In the back of his
mind, he was aware that their relationship was too good to last.
   He cherished every moment of her worship, accepted as much as she
offered to him.  He lost himself in her, experienced a tremendous flow of
emotion between them.
   Some days, he had to make it clear, "Do you want to get out of bed or
not?"
   "Why would I ever want to do that?" She smirked.  "If you have something
you need to do today, all you have to do is direct me.  Point me at the
heart I will pierce."
   This day had been the one he feared.  Captured and on the road toward
imprisonment for his hubris.
   ***
   Danielle knocked on the door of the woman's apartment.  She had been
watching for a while, so she had little doubt her knock would be answered.
   Once the door was open, she pushed her way inside, knocked the swollen
woman onto her back.
   "Don't make this harder than it needs to be.  I'm not here for your
life, but I'll take it if you stop me."
   Tears.  Screaming.  Questions.  She made it hard, so Danielle went about
her task the hard way.  She tied the woman up before drawing the circle
around her body.  When she didn't quit rolling, she knocked the woman out.
Unconscious was just as good, if not better.
   Danielle lifted the woman's shirt and described a circle around the
distended belly.  Danielle went round and round until she freed the fetus
inside.  It wriggled in her grasp, but she managed to keep hold of it long
enough to cut it open and hold the tiny body over the drinking glass.
   She drank from the cup, spoke the words needed to open the portal, and
smeared the rest on her forehead and chest.  Her bones vibrated with a deep
ache, but not more than she could stand.  Moments later she left the
apartment into the netherworld.
   The sky was twilight red.  Thin clouds curled by overheard.  Shells
cracked underfoot, sending snapping and popping noises into the windy
night.
   "Lazaire's catch?" A husky voice asked.
   Danielle nodded.
   "Can't avoid trouble with a guy like him."
   "Do you know how I can help him?"
   She looked her over.  "Don't rush me.  Do you have the Niotal disk?"
   "If you have an answer for me."
   "You're a committed scamp." She chuckled and pulled a roll of paper from
her jacket.  "This is what you need to know, and..."
   Danielle met her eyes.
   "Get me his lesser summoner list, and I'll help you with the local
parts."
   Danielle gave a solid nod.  "Do you want to write it down, or can you
memorize it?"
   For the first time her expression seemed less than confident.  "Memory."
   Danielle recited the names.  "Thank you."
   The woman set the papers in her hand.  "Good luck to you, and I'll keep
to my word."
   She crossed the path, crunching more shells.  The clouds had thickened
on one end, but clear skies opposite them.  Stars of almost every
brilliance filled the sky.
   ***
   The pains shooting through her body made her blind with agony.  Danielle
rolled on the floor, kicking her legs out, holding her gut.  She screamed
until her lungs burned and with the next breath, screamed again.  When her
throat and head ached, she flopped along the floor, banged her skull as if
that would set everything right.
   She struggled to do something with the pain, move it, accept it,
embraced.  She tried anything and everything failed.  Saliva bubbled around
her mouth as she growled low in her throat.  She needed to clear the way,
to shatter this loop building inside her.
   She managed to stop thrashing around, but nausea threatened.  Hot saliva
pooled into her mouth.  She swallowed only to have another mouthful
waiting. Her body trembled, cold and weak.  It would lack the energy for
regurgitation.
   One word, one syllable at a time, she spoke the words needed.  Her voice
sounded rough, scratchy and horse.  She had to open the gate between this
world and the next, and her body would provide the bridge.
   The way opened, and Danielle struggled to hold herself together.  She
had never felt this kind of panic before, that if she did not stop she
would die.
   ***
   She gasped for breath when the water surrounded her.  Light assaulted
her eyes.
   Rath spoke a command, but it wasn't in English.  It meant to be still.
   She shut her eyes and went slack through every muscle in her body wanted
her to curl into a protective ball.
   He bathed her sensitive skin.  It felt like she had been burned by the
sun, even places where sunlight should not reach.  He dried her with
something so soft it felt like wet clouds.
   Against her own desires, she followed his lead and let him dress her. 
She remained calm and pliant.  She sat on the counter, where he left her,
while he showered.
   If the flu and a tension headache's love child had an orgy gang beating
and road rash ...  perhaps it would feel better than this.  Hot, fat tears
rolled down her cheeks.  What happened?  Was she going to die?
   Dead already?
   It must have worked.  He was here.  Or had she died and this was a
dream, the last dream.
   He walked her to the bed and issued another command: lie down.  She
stretched out and shivered as it felt like every bone in her body wanted to
break.
   He brushed his hand down her back.  Instead of making the pain worse, it
seemed to be the only part of her that didn't ache.  Otherwise, she
suffered.  Various levels of pain and sickness danced through her.  Always
agonizing, ever present.  She lay in a prison created by her own flesh.
   It made sense if this was a dream, if she were on her way to the caverns
to face torture and torment for eternity.
   External sensations faded into the background of her internal
contortions.  Light, dark, warmth, cold, drafts, touches, not even the
sound of his voice pierced the iron maiden grinding her to a pulp.
   ***
   Lavender blue light from the windows, early morning, late afternoon? 
The lights inside were all off.  Though covers lay over her, she felt
chilled.
   Danielle attempted to lift her head, but her neck was stiff.
   Rath lay under the covers with her.  He was sleep.  She shook his
shoulder, but he did not stir.  When she tried to speak, her lips cracked,
and tongue unstuck from the roof of her mouth.
   She hobbled to the kitchen, bracing herself with the door frame, wall,
and furniture.  Learning to walk was not new to her.  She grinned while
drinking from the sink faucet.  She drank until her belly swelled.
   When she went to turn the water off, she squinted at her hand, then
brought her nails closer.  Shiny, nearly black, even and smooth.  A quick
scan of her body didn't reveal anything there.  She ran to the nearest
mirror and frowned, too dark to see anything.
   Danielle went back to the bed and lay beside Rath.  The sky darkened
instead of lightened.  He stirred and wrapped his arms around her.
   "Easiest stack of flesh and soul I ever met?" He kissed her on the neck
and grinned.  "Not for a second."
   She chuckled and held him tighter.
   <->
Written: November 2010
   Contact: nysidra at hot mail dot com
  
DaniellesNightmare