She paused, drew
breath, and hung her head. Suddenly it all came clear; she did, and
the knowing was the final crackling tumble of the walls of her
defiance into dust blown away in the winds of power that suffused
her. "Not unless it pleases you, Sir," she said, the phrase finally
giving her complete submission, body and spirit.
With that, he took
her roughly, and the energy found the conduit it needed. With every
drive of his cock into her, the energy built, and she felt it
whirling faster through her as her body responded. With a wailing
scream she threw her head back and screamed with pain, joy, and
pure wanton pleasure, the orgasm running through her shuddering
frame as the torrent of energy shot forth, guided by the pattern
inscribed by the rope on her flesh and the scars on his, up and
into the Wards. Their combined power flowed strong over the miles
to the place where it was needed.
The first Maul had smiled as Lisbet
approached nervously, then casually grabbed her arm in a painful
grip, twisting it again in the arm lock that both immobilized and
presented a target for the needle.
On most people it would have worked;
Lisbet, however, had arms that hyperextended at the elbow, and so
where he expected the arm to lock, she still had a good six inches
of wiggle room.
Which she used, immediately, doing as
Sensei had taught her, kicking first at his kneecap, then sliding
the side of her shoe down his shin in a scrape that tore skin, her
booted foot pounding into his instep with an audible crunch.
On most people it would have worked.
Unfortunately, this was not people; and so he merely pushed the
armlock a little further, popping out her elbow.
She did the second thing Sensei had taught
her. She screamed.
Phina saw a dark shape coming at her from
the left, as the other Missionary Man reached for her, and she
moved and ducked, not quite fast enough. He snagged her coat
neatly, then hissed in fury as she simply shrugged it off and ran
up the steps, yelling for Mother.
Then Mother came out of the door.
The Maul holding the coat blinked up at
her. She was not the tired woman they’d seen inside a moment
before. Her eyes were wide, pupils the sharp points of a hunter as
she bared her teeth at the black suited figures in front of her.
The Maul holding Lisbet paused with the needle just touching her
skin, a tiny drop of blood forming where the point began to tear
into her. He squinted at the Mother, who was suddenly very, very
hard to see. She seemed somehow connected to the second Ward.
The Wrinkled Man frowned in his room. He
could see the Ward was filling with power, power lost to him, but
that was the least of the concerns. He could see the power flowing
into the Mother… the Mother whose child was being threatened.
Then he was only seeing through one set of
eyes, as she had shoved the forks in her hands, still soapy with
dishwater, into the eyesockets of the Maul holding the coat. With a
wordless cry it lifted its hands up to its ruined sockets, turning
and stumbling down the block, a muffled scream like seashells
scraping together coming from its throat.
The second Maul lasted a moment longer, but
only because the Mother reached out to snap the needle away from
Lisbet first. He let go of the girl, and reached out to grab the
tiny woman who glowed with such power it made him wince.
She broke his arm in three places before
twisting his head 180 degrees and, as he fell, kicking his ribcage
into a flailed chest. As had happened in the coffee shop, this did
not stop him. She was holding a sobbing Lisbet, still feeling that
strange and glowing strength flowing through her, and she saw the
pieces of his chest begin to push up, snap back into place, the
head turning back up towards her. In his room, the Wrinkled Man
grinned ferally.
“Stay here a moment, Honey.” She patted
Lisbet’s back once, and got up and walked across the lawn to where
the Missionary was reassembling himself. Along the way she picked
up a croquet mallet. “Stay away from my daughters, motherfucker,”
she said, and with a long circular sweep drove it into his skull,
once, twice, until the skull was empty.
As she walked Lisbet up the stairs to join
her sister, the crows came and began to feast on the gray delicacy
spread on the lawn.
The Mother didn’t know what had come over
her. But of all the emotions rushing through her, it was the
strongest that was the most puzzling.
She was really horny.
When it finished, Sally collapsed on the
floor, unable to move. Brian cradled her in his arms, picking her
up and gently stretching her on the bench, where she lay like a
limp and wasted rag. But a smiling rag, at that. He loosened the
ropes, now nothing more than damp hemp.
“Sally. We did it. They’re safe.” He
whispered to her softly, coiling the ropes respectfully next to her
and reaching out to stroke her hair, dark with sweat. She looked at
him, eyes wide, and this time he did not hesitate, allowing himself
to fall into them, to fall and fall and never worry about where he
might land.
She cried softly and reached out to him,
burrowing into his shoulder, clinging to him. “Oh… love, love,
love… Thank you. Thank you for not letting me stop, for not giving
up on me.”
They held each other as the rooms slowly
emptied, and long afterwards.
IX
“So that’s how it works, eh?” Brian looked
at Sullivan as they sat on his porch. “We don’t know what we’re
fighting, we don’t know how we fight them, and we’re probably
losing?”
Sullivan took a long swig of his drink.
“Yep, that about sums it up.”
Brian paused, looking at his beer, then up
at Sullivan. “That sucks.”
“Yep,” he repeated. “That about sums it up.
But as the man said, doesn’t matter if the game is rigged. If you
don’t play, you can’t win. Besides, you can’t really complain,
bucko. You made out pretty well.” He held up a hand and began
ticking off the fingers.
“You saved your daughters.
You hid yourself and your power from the Repressors, at least for
now. You have bonded with a Focus who has, I might add, one of the
hottest asses in this hemisphere. You have some sort of weird
confluence of power between being a
nawashi
and the mark that Vashte
gave you, which may or may not burn your dick off but sure as hell
impresses every mage I know.” He looked up at Brian. “Am I missing
anything?”
“Yes,” Brian sipped his beer. “I’ve still
got to explain all this to my wife when she gets back from New
York.”
“Oh, pshaw! You’re worried about explaining
sex magic and your new sub to your wife who is returning from a
week in NYC with her Master? Jeez, man, you worry too much.”
“Look, Brian, we may be losing, sure. What
do you expect? We are a disorganized bunch of
fuckers—literally—fighting against the inertial weight of moral
apathy and chosen ignorance.”
“It’s more that that!” Brian’s voice had an
edge to it. “Moral apathy didn’t try to fry my balls with an
electric pompom from hell. Ignorance didn’t have its ass kicked by
my ex-wife.” He grinned for a second. “I have to admit, though, I’m
glad I never threatened our daughters. Damn, she really fucked
him—it—up… ” His expression turned serious again. “What was it,
Sullivan? If things like that are after us, why aren’t we dead
or—what is it? Strokin?- for the man by now?”
“I told you, Bucko, I don’t know what the
fuck that whole bit about ‘Strokers’ is about. As far as why we
aren’t dead yet, well, as you saw, the ‘pressors are tough, but
they can be overcome, distracted, misdirected, and sometime just
plain fucked up with a croquet mallet. And we have the advantage,
because our hearts are pure and we have the stench of ten.” He
sniffed an armpit. “I do, anyway. I think I’ll shower before you
and Francesca get started, so that there’s hot water left.” He
stood and took Brian’s bottle, still mostly full. “What the hell?
You got something against beer?”
“Only before a scene—er, that is, ceremony.
I’ll finish it after.”
“Bullshit. I’ll finish it now.” Sullivan
tilted his head back and drained the bottle. “We’re still alive, my
friend, because I for one am a coward who runs away from the
‘pressors every chance I get, and keep a low profile. I would
highly suggest you do the same.”
He looked up as a car
pulled into the driveway, a blonde woman wearing surgical scrubs
getting out. “Ah, good, looks like Francesca’s here. This’ll be
good practice, and I think you’ll get a better idea of just what
kind of work needs to be done. And as a side benefit, you’ll like
Francesca,
Nawashi
. She’s quite the ropeslut, and while I wouldn’t say she’s in
the KKK-“ Brian winced, sensing what was coming “-she’s a wizard
under sheet!”
“You read too much Heinlein as a child,
Sullivan,” Brian said. “I don’t know. Yeah, we won, this round,
anyway. Somehow, though, it doesn’t seem enough. You sure we can’t
just get to the bonding with Bec and Jake?”
“Sorry,
Nawashi
. Aside from the
fact that you know Sally needs some rest, Vashte and I have some
preparing of our own to do, as the Initiators of that ceremony.” He
patted Brian’s shoulder consolingly. “Take the time to develop your
art, friend. It will be better in the end. And be happy that we are
holding fast.”
Brian shook his head as the woman walked up
to the porch, smiling. “Holding fast isn’t enough.” Extending a
hand, he smiled. “Francesca. I’m Brian. Pleased to meet you.
Sullivan says we have some work to do… ”
Brian sat in
seiza
in the prepared
room, knees folded and spread, his palm resting on each thigh, back
straight and his eyes looking at the center of the room. His focus
was on his breathing, slowly letting ten beats pass as he inhaled,
holding for ten, releasing for ten, hanging in that state of empty
no-breath for ten, before repeating the cycle. The effort of
maintaining the breath discipline had cast a slight sweat across
his upper body, and his skin was a soft gold contrasting with the
matted black of the cotton trousers he wore.The tiny voice of his
monkey mind was silent, though it couldn’t help a feeling of pride
leaking out that he was no longer counting breaths, but simply
feeling them.
He ignored it, and instead focused the
energy of his breathing into the three neatly coiled ropes laying
on the floor next to him. They reflected silver sparkles in the
candlelight, and he felt them grow in his awareness as he charged
them with power through each breath
Francesca entered the room
and stood in the center, her toes curling into the lush kilim rug.
It was a deep maroon, woven with the symbols of the “monster foot”
and “wolf’s head”, believed by the Turkish women who created it to
be protection from evil.
Don’t think it’s
going to help much,
she thought
briefly,
but every little bit
helps.
She wore a silk robe, its deep azure sheen
ending just over her knees. The feeling of the fabric hanging
draped over her breasts had cause her nipples to stiffen, she noted
absently, and was grateful for the simpler pleasures of life.
Her eyes relaxed their
focus, letting the flickering candlelight from the room blur and
stroke her perceptions with softened layers of shadow and flame.
Her awareness went inward, inspecting her body with her mind’s eye.
Her breathing deepened, became more regular, slowing to a fraction
of its normal rate, and she felt the muscles throughout relax as
she adjusted to a more efficient use of the oxygen
(
with just a touch of nag champa, as well,
thank you, Brian
) it drew in.
When Brian could feel her entering the
surface-level meditation, he emerged from his own trance, placing
both hands on the floor in front of him, first finger and thumbs
meeting in a diamond shape as he bowed low to the floor, a
respectful kowtow to his partner. He straightened and pivoted on
his knees to face the coiled ropes and bowed again, acknowledging
their part in what was to come. Reaching out, he took up one of the
shorter coils, and held it against his hip as he pivoted once more
to face Francesca before curling his toes and smoothly rising to
his feet. He stood there for a moment, letting his eyes slowly rise
to hers.
Francesca felt rather than
saw Brian’s eyes as they met hers, and there was a sudden physical
shudder as they
linked
, and began to share their environment, aware not only of
their own bodies but, for the first time, directly aware of each
others, as well.
Brian kept looking into her eyes as he
unwound the wrappings of the rope in his hands, finally flinging
out the coil to fly across the floor behind her, the tails dancing
and flashing in the light as they hit the carpet. He held a fold of
rope in one hand and reached up, very deliberately, to her
shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her body permeating the
smooth coolness of the silk covering it.
He held the contact for a
moment, giving them both a chance to completely feel the first
physical connection, then drew her around towards him. Reaching
down, he pulled each of her wrists to meet in the back. With a
slight pressure he indicated that she should keep them there,
resting on the curve of her buttocks under the silk. Francesca
suddenly found herself hyper-aware of her hands, every waft of air
seeming to caress and travel through her fingers, and realized that
the sensitivity had begun.
Faster than
ever before,
a small part of her noted,
clinically.
I wonder if that’s him, or me…
or the two of us.
Then the small part was
quiet as she felt the first two loops of rope slide over her hands,
her wrists, gliding smoothly over the fabric of her elbows all the
way to the tops of her shoulders, where they rested like straps of
a backpack.