Posts Tagged ‘Demons and Devils’

“Devil’s Revenge”, a novel…Chapter One.

February 5, 2016

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WARNING: Sexual content, scenes.  If you are offended by this, don’t read.  Frankly, I understand.  I am offended by misogyny and Pentecostals. 

I started this erotic novel almost ten years ago.  It was only my second novel.  I left off writing it when I started other works.  Recently I came back and reread what I had written so long ago.  It was fresh and funny, and some of the original characters came from the first novel (Heart of the Maze).  That novel was boring and too long, meandering around.  I had fallen in love with some of the characters and didn’t want to kill them off, as the novel demanded.  (Novel writers will recognize this easily enough.)  So I made some of them Devils and just let the characters write this one.  The narrator is not a devil nor demon.  Just a writer who wakes up one morning in an alternative universe.  Happens

Trusting in your characters  makes it easier for an author:  They  tend to do the heavy lifting.  They circle your computer and whisper their lines.  You just type.

I have previously posted random chapters but was encouraged by other writers to begin from the beginning.  We will see.  The people I respect the most and wouldn’t want to offend are now all dead, so the rest of you will just have to take your chances.  Tastes vary, but that is the way of the world.

However, I want to express my sincere gratitude to a couple of writers who stuck with me for many years and encouraged me to trust my own imagination and give it voice.

Bill Penrose, Nick Nicholson, Steve Isaak, and Liras.  These excellent and generous writers, now dear friends, have made learning my craft a lot easier.

Lady Nyo

 

DEVIL’S REVENGE

 

Prologue

I am about to tell a strange tale. Not really a tale, because a tale smacks of fiction. This in any case was not fiction. I felt the full effects of its turnings. And it’s not over. I just have to tread water because each time I open my eyes, after a fitful night’s sleep, I am again locked in a world not of my making.

Well, part of my making, but even my lurid imagination pales with what I have experienced.

Sixteen years ago I wrote a too-long novel, set in the 1820’s. The characters had names from the Dutch families I knew while growing up. Everything was fiction, except the landscape, the characters long dead, figments of my imagination, creation of a writer. Never did I expect some of them to leap out of the pages of that unfinished book and change the course of my life.

I feel I have dropped down a rabbit hole, or flown to some strange alien universe. Perhaps I am mad. In any case, events are spiraling out of control, beyond my control, and now?

I have none. I have given up my will to fate, destiny and I don’t even know what that means anymore.

Bear with me, reader. Understand what I write, what you read– exists.

Bess McShane

 

 

Chapter One

 

One morning I sat upright in bed, gasping in terror. The light was dim, hard to see. There was a fireplace with a low burning fire. An ember must have exploded. There could be no other answer for the sudden noise. Asleep, it sounded like gunshot.

My eyes adjusted and I looked around. An ember exploded? Where the hell was I? My heart pounded and a sickness rose to my throat. Suddenly I knew where I was. Many years ago I had written a novel, still unfinished, and now I was in the bedroom carefully constructed in the novel. But perhaps I was just dreaming?

I felt a sharp constriction around my ribcage and tried to take a deep breath. I was wearing some kind of corset, laced tightly over a slip. No wonder I couldn’t breathe. At least this made some physical sense.

I tried to take deep breaths to get my bearings but no amount of air would calm me.

What had happened from the time I went to sleep in my own bed next to my snoring husband? How did I make it to this bed?

The constriction around my chest did not dull me to the sudden pressure of my bladder. There was a closet in the corner and I knew inside that closet was a chamber pot encased in a stool. I had written that detail into the book and now very glad of it.

Slipping out of the high bed, I padded across the wood floor. It was a strange thing to pee in a chamber pot. Everything was so quiet, even the birds outside still asleep, but the noise of water hitting china was too loud for the morning. It made me self-conscious, even though I thought I was still dreaming. I had to be.

I came from the closet and sat down before the fireplace. The fire suddenly flared and I jumped in surprise. It was almost as if an invisible hand fed the fire. At least it would warm up this cold room. A cup of tea sat on the table, still hot. It was dark outside the window but steam from the tea rose in the air. I was almost afraid to touch it, my mouth dry from fear. There, a sip, and it was just tea.

A dresser stood across the room from the bed, with a small mirror on the wall above. The image appeared to be me, my hair the usual color, my skin the same shade. Yes, me, but I pinched myself, just to see if I was still dreaming. If pain were any indication of my present state, I was awake.   There was a yellow wool dress, thrown carelessly over the back of a chair. A pair of bloomers on the seat. Crotch less, they opened from the front to back. I giggled, a bit hysterically. Like Alice, I had dropped down a rabbit hole.

Nothing now seemed real

Even with the flare up of the fire, the room was not warm. I needed to get dressed. I needed to get my bearings. Stepping into the gown I pulled it up to my shoulders. It hooked in the front of the bodice. I pulled on stockings and garters. They were a lovely silk, soft and delicate, and came to the tops of my thighs. The garters could be tied anywhere, so I tied them above the knees, rolling down the tops of the stockings, hoping they would stay. I held up the split bloomers and tried to determine the front from the back. They could be useful when you wanted to pee. The shoes were another surprise. Made neither a left nor a right, with a thin leather sole and low wooden heel, they tied across my ankles with ribbons. There was a blue shawl, of fine wool, at the bottom of the pile.

Now at least dressed and warmer, I could explore my surroundings. The room was not large, but had a dark beamed ceiling above. There were no paintings or prints on the walls, but above the fireplace, was a shotgun. I recognized it as an old breech loader.

Two long windows looked out upon a dull morning. The wind blew a little sleet against the windows and I shivered. The glazing had fallen away and cold air seeped in. It was still rather dark outside, and except for the blurred outline of trees, I couldn’t see much of the landscape.

Pulling the shawl tighter around my shoulders, I was still cold, or perhaps it was shock. I was not used to awakening in a strange bed, even one born of my own imagination

I still doubted I was lucid, and thought this some weird dream-state. Given a bit more time, I would awaken. But if this were a dream, it was a strange one. I was not given easily to hysterics, but short of hurling myself through the window, there was little I could to do. I would just have to be patient with this ‘dream’ until I  woke.

Trying a door in the middle of a wall, it opened into another bedroom, and inside was a large poster bed, a wardrobe, and another shotgun in the corner by the bed. This must be a man’s room. I had no clue why, accept for that evil-looking shotgun. There was nothing feminine in the room at all, though. I turned back to my bedroom and tried the other door. Outside was a wide hall, leading to the top of a staircase.

I stood at the top of the steps, listening for voices or some sound. The house seemed deserted. I could hear nothing of a normal household. Carefully, trying not to slip in these strange shoes I descended the staircase and walked through a wide first floor hall. There were a couple of rooms but there were no people and no lit fireplaces. The whole house was bitterly cold. It seems this house held no life at all.

My footsteps sounded loud on the wooden floors of the hall, though I tried not to make a clatter. There was a closed door to the left and when I opened it,  a man  was sitting behind a desk.

Something about him seemed familiar. Then I knew who he was. It was a shock to realize I was looking at a character I had created for the novel sixteen years ago. I had named him Garrett Cortelyou.   He looked up, sat back and stared at me, quite rudely. Christ! This looked like trouble.

“Come in,” he said. “It is trouble.”

How did he seem to appear in the flesh? He was just paper and ink the last I thought of him. Can this creature read my thoughts?

“Of course I can. I can do more than that,” he said, scowling.

I fashioned Garrett Cortelyou from a number of sources, and, seeing him before me, I couldn’t help but be pleased. It is one thing to imagine, it is another to see the results. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, with dark hair, rather long for the 1820’s, actually, now gathered into a ponytail, but I created him to be his own man. He proved to be a stubborn character, and not an easy birth. Clean shaven, he had dark eyes and regular features except for his nose. It had been broken and not set correctly.   He looked pissed off.

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“A year ago you closed your book and abandoned all of us. You told me to ‘cool my heels’. Am I not allowed my anger?”

“It was a metaphor, ‘cool your heels’.”

“I know what it was.”

I was surprised. I had enough of writing and needed time off. This actually happened sixteen years ago, but who was I to correct him? Why argue with something unreal? I put his intended, the character Jennie, in the library. I gave her a cup of tea and a good fire, and she had all the books in the world or at least in this library to read.

“You abandoned us all.

“Life got in the way, Garrett, I needed time to work things out.”

What am I saying? Why am I explaining my life to this creature? Am I insane?

“Come closer. Let me see you better.”

I entered the room and stood across the desk. He looked me over, his eyes running the length of me.   “You look unimpressive. I thought you would be older.”

“Why, did you expect me to be covered with wrinkles?”

One glance at his face and I should have held my tongue.

“You are quick with the words, madam. Let’s see how quick on your feet.”

Like a cat he came around the desk and grabbed me. He was strong enough to lift me like a stick of wood and throw me into another chair. I was shocked at the suddenness of his movement, but amazed he was real.

“You should be. You play with people too much.”

I looked at him standing before me, his hands on his hips, and fear crept up my spine

“You forget I created you.” My voice squeaked.

“And you forget, madam, anything is possible. I can command you as easily as you have me. You now are my puppet. Quite a turn around, don’t you think?”

“You wouldn’t have seen the light of day had I not thought of you!” What am I saying? I am talking to a ghost!

“Ah, you were bored and this scribbling occupied your time. Your night dreams went into all of us. Your poor husband should not have given you a pen.”

“I wrote on a computer, something you would not know.”

“I don’t care how you wrote. Right now, and until I release you, you’re under my thumb.”

“What do you want with me?” Suddenly, I was scared. My spit would not wet my mouth.

Garrett smiled, but it didn’t mount to his eyes. They remained cold. “I can smell your fear, little lady. Come give me a kiss.”

“You are a jackass. You act like an animal. Leave me alone.”

I tried to rise from my chair, but the anger on his face stopped me.

“Will you stop playing the virgin? It doesn’t fit you at all.”

I was beginning to panic. I had created this character, this man before me, and I knew something of his sexual appetites from the novel. I had created those sexual appetites but didn’t expect them to become an issue before me.

He laughed, apparently reading my thoughts. He must be a demon come to life, or I must be still asleep.

You created me? I’m from the slime. I’m a mixture of souls throughout time, with all the cocksure ways of manhood. You created something you can’t control, and now you’re afraid? You should have thought down the road, madam. You should be afraid. You think you know my appetites? You don’t know much, because you don’t know me. Not that way.   You haven’t the imagination to know what I can do. You are too ignorant of life. Here.”

He pulled me up to him, and grabbed one of my hands and placed it on the front of his breeches. He was hard enough.

“There. Is your curiosity satisfied? You knew some of me, but never enough. You have a poor imagination for a writer. We circled each other like cats all those years, but I played the gentleman. A boring and unnecessary role.”

My face was red. There was no denying I was curious. I wondered a bit what he would be like in the sack. Just daydreams, sitting at my desk. Faced with reality, fear was now trumping that consideration.

He pinned my arms behind my back with one hand. With the other he traced my cheek and neck with a finger, his eyes narrowed into slits.   He brought my face to his mouth and kissed me, at first softly – oh the deceiver!- then roughly, forcing my lips with his tongue. He cupped my breast and squeezed my nipple, rolling it between two fingers.   He kissed me hard, bending my head back, crushing me to him.

“There. How do you like being kissed by something you think you have made? Have I met your expectations?”

I caught my breath. “I gave you Jennie, you monster!

This was a rather stupid, but I didn’t have much of my wits after that kiss.

“And I thank you for her. She is a sweet little pastry, but I’m hungry. You look like you could feed me for a week.”

“Oh, let me go, you’re not real!”

He pushed me away and rubbed the front of his breeches. “Is this not real enough for you? Then we’ll go where I’ll show you what’s real.”

Grabbing my wrist, he pulled me out the room and up the staircase. I tripped on my shoes as he roughly jerked me up upwards. I was frightened, knowing that this couldn’t be a dream. It was more of a nightmare. The physicality of his behavior belied any dream.

He strode down the hall, pulling me behind him like a ragdoll and opened a door, He flung me into the room where I had awakened probably only an hour before.   With his back to the door, he locked it, pocketing the key. I ran to the other bedroom, intending to lock myself in, but he was quick. He threw me on the bed. Now, I was frightened. I was panting.

“’I was panting.’” See, I can read you like a book.” Throwing back his head, he laughed, howling like an animal, like a demon. My stomach flipped, and I cringed back on the pillows. He was more an animal and less a human.

He dragged a chair from a wall and sat facing me, one long leg propped up on the mattress.   If I tried to leap from the bed, I would jump right into his arms. He looked at me with half closed eyes, his head cocked to one side.

“Don’t you find it confusing to read Richardson’s “Pamela”, in the middle of writing seduction scenes? Rather you should read Fielding’s “Shamela”….better story, or rather, same story, not so tedious.”

What? How did he know this? How did he know what I read?  

What was I dealing with? Was this a ghost or a demon? The icy sweat I felt down my back wasn’t something I was imagining. I had to get control of this nightmare.

“I can snap my fingers and you will be gone,” I said desperately. I closed my eyes and snapped them.

He remained before me grinning, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, looking like a lunatic. “Try again.”

I snapped my fingers. Nothing.   The demon lover was still there.

“Ah…you called me ‘lover.’ Perhaps you won’t resist me so hard now.”

“I called you ‘demon lover’. You’re not hearing that first word.”

“You created me. It’s all in your calling.” He sat back and crossed his arms. He looked  relaxed and in control of the scene.

“That’s right…and I can uncreate you.”

“You already tried. This conversation is going nowhere. I need a drink. Seduction is hard work.”

He snapped his fingers, and a tankard appeared on the table behind him. “Oh, my apologies. One for you?”

“A small one, please.” I shivered. What had I just done?

“A small one it is.” A snap.   Another tankard appeared.

He got up and retrieved the two tankards and reached across the bed, and handed me my drink. I thought of throwing it in his face, and running from the room.

“How far do you think you would get?” I had forgotten his mind reading trick.

“Not far- just testing.

He laughed and drank deeply. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We’ve been circling each other for years. Don’t you think it’s time we put an end to this charade? A little carnal knowledge would not be amiss. Besides, I already know you want me, have known it for years.” He picked up his tankard, his eyes glittering across the rim.

“You are a cocksure devil!” I would laugh at his presumption, but he was correct. I had created him from my own secret lust, and spared nothing in the doing.

Perhaps a different approach would give me answers and a hand over him.

“Explain to me, Demon, how you have access to me? You are nothing but some scribbles on paper, yet you appear flesh and blood enough now.”

I was more than curious, I was tumbling with fear and trying to regain my feet. I needed something to wake me up. I needed some logic here, some answers. I still believed I was mired in a nightmare.

He put down his tankard and grimaced. “Sometimes there’s a rip in the fabric of time and all hell breaks loose.   Dimensions warp and ley lines bulge. The usual workings of a universe gone mad.”

“So I’m here in another dimension?” From the 21st century to the 19th, quite a rip in the fabric, I think.

He grinned into his ale. “For as long as it suits me, and as long as you please me.

“What is it you want?” I looked at him, fearing the answer.

“First, I want to know what’s under those petticoats. That will be good for starters. We can work outward from there.”

He had an interesting concept of seduction. Rather direct, not subtle at all, but intriguing.

By the looks of him, he would be worth the effort. I thought of his kiss, and I grew uncomfortable. My face grew flushed, and his grin told me he knew what was happening between my legs. I wanted him, my sex knew before my head, but I wouldn’t give him the words he wanted to hear. Perhaps I was playing with fire, but a ‘tumble’ would be sort of welcome. Sex hadn’t been on the agenda for a long time. He was too much temptation in the flesh to deny.

Besides, it all was a dream and a wet one at that. I held to that hope as my only window of sanity.

He stood up, stretched, and sat upon the bed. He drew off his waistcoat, one I had embroidered in planning the book, a pretty cream satin with figures. “Flowering” as it said in Pamela. It was just a piece of embroidery I attempted as I thought through the chapters. Here it was a finished piece, and I had never finished any piece of sewing in my life. What part of magic was this? Was this a particular hand of fate?

“You know, you were quite witty in making the links between ‘orchard’ and ‘sex’ in that last chapter. You are my orchard, at least for now. I’ll pick myself an apple.”

Like a tiger he was over me, pinning me down with his weight.   The smell of ale was strong.   I was backed up on the pillows when he began to unhook the front of my dress. I slapped at his hands, and he laughed. He ripped the front of the dress from my breasts

A literal bodice ripper…..

“There. Now, will you lay still and quit resisting? You know what you want from me. Why play the coy virgin now?”

“Go back to your hell, Demon”.   I spat at him, my eyes flashing. He wiped spittle off his face with his sleeve. His eyes shot out a warning I couldn’t miss if I were blind.

“I will go back to my hell, the one you so easily wrote for me. First Lucile cuckolds me then Obadiah sticks in a knife. Did you ever think how painful that was? Finish me off with that dolt Jennie.   Ah, God…give me a dish of woman I don’t have to fight or teach.”

He pulled up the skirt of my dress, and spread my legs with his.   I had forgotten about those crotchless bloomers. He touched my sex with a finger, watching my response. I jerked at his touch, and he dug deeper into me. I bit my tongue to keep from groaning.

“A neat invention, don’t you think? Easy to get to the pearl in the oyster.

He was a vigorous looking man, with well-muscled arms, and a broad chest. He looked formidable.

“Wait until you see John down there, now he’s formidable. Oh, I forgot, you have seen him, or me, or you think you have seen us. But you only saw my cock in shadows. I always thought you could write that scene better.

How? It was only my first novel and writing sex scenes was hard work. And harder work staying detached.

“Here, place your hand on this cock and tell me if you have ever felt a finer one.”

I pinched the head of it hard and he yelled.

“You witch. You should be glad I’m not Obadiah. Perhaps you would like his kind of lovemaking better, though it usually leads to death. But you know that.”

“I wrote that.”

“Yes, and it was kind of sick.”

“You should talk. Obadiah is a pivotal character. He needs to be the negative, the bad guy, but right now, you serve that purpose just as well.”

“That’s scrambled English. Something you’re good at.   Now, lie still and at least enjoy my efforts.”

“Do you like your women like logs? I can be a pillar of salt if you want.”

“Can’t you try to be original? I have a blazing hard-on and I intend to use it.”

I smiled and closed my eyes.   I would submit to his pathetic efforts because I was aroused in spite of this scene of insanity, but I would not let him hear any moan of pleasure. He rose between my legs and pulled me to him, and began to enter me. I grunted with his movements.   He was bigger than I had imagined (“You got that right” I heard him whisper,”) and he took his time. Would he ever finish?

“No…not until I hear you coo like a turtledove.”

I groaned in spite of myself. My mouth opened and he stuck his finger in. I bit down hard and he laughed. He tried to seek my mouth with his but I would not let him. He laughed and squeezed my ass, lifting me easily. I could not take this much longer and I screamed an unearthly sound from my throat. He reached his shortly after, panting loudly, pinning me under him. He wasn’t a bad lover.

“Ah, again, you called me ‘lover’. I like that. You are growing tender.”

“What would you have me do, Garrett? You have what you want. What more can you do?”

I didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, that orgasm seeped the fight out of me. I knew I had to be awake. This wasn’t a dream. No dream could sustain this. No dream could create that reality.

All of a sudden I thought about Jennie, his intended in the novel. What had he done with her? If he was capable of materializing before me, of transporting me in some unknown fashion, he was capable of other acts.

“She’s nowhere to be seen. Don’t worry.

“I worry. What have you done with her?”

“Do you mistrust me so much, your own creation? Snap my fingers and erase her?”

“Garrett, you have way too much power. I believe you capable of anything.”

“Well, I am capable of another round of lovemaking, my sweet woman, if you would give me a moment. I need to empty this ale.”

“Don’t you dare use the fireplace, Garrett! I’m wise to your ways from the book.”

“I’ll open a window this time.”

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 24

February 15, 2015

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“La! You have not remembered a thing!”

Madame Gormosy passed into the room and gave a deep curtsey to Garrett, who was just leaving.

“Good Morning to you, ‘Madame’ Gormosy.”   He obviously knew Madame by another title. His address and bow to her was rather mocking.

Madame Gormosy did not take up his challenge. She was oblivious to all except what was before her. And I unluckily, was standing in her line of vision.

What is it with devils?

“Your lady, M. Garrett, dresses again dishabille. How am I to transform her if she denies my commands? She would scare away her cicisbeo with such a face! Ah! Surely some powder and a bit of rouge before breakfast! Quell dommage!”

I caught Garrett staring at me over Madame’s head. His face is unreadable, but there was a bit of a warning in his eyes. Ah! This Demon feels his own  challenge!  And from what appears to be a woman in petticoats! What a delicious bit of play!

He left, a grimace on his face, and I gave Madame my prettiest curtsey.

“Well, at least you do that well enough. Now, back into that corset, ma chérie. Hold on to the bedpost.”

Madame grabbed up the corset I begged the Demon to loosen last night. I could not breathe! After relaxing the laces, it was easy to slip down over my hips.   The Chinese bound foot has nothing over a full corset of the 18th century. Madame this time did not use her magic to undress me, but undressed me in the usual way. That is to say, she pulled the sash of my gown, and without ceremony, dropped it to the floor. Again, I stood naked before her. (I must remember the gender of ‘Madame’ here.) If I forgot, a glance into her eyes reminded me Madame took some pleasure. And since she is such an obliging tutor, I could not deny her. Her eyes took in the fullness of my bosom and without any shame on her part, lingered upon my body. It was like being caressed with the eyes of a lover. She glanced up into mine, and for one short second, in a flash, I knew: I was opposite a man. No woman could ever look at a woman’s body in such a way.

She whirled me around, and with surprising strength, pulled the lacing tight. I was more prepared this time, and remembered to fill my lungs with air. She saw me do this and pushed a knee in my back, making me exhale sharply. My horse used to do this when I pulled the cinch on the saddle, and it seemed to me a well-placed trick. Once again the petticoats and stockings. This time she procured a dress from the wardrobe. It was a heavy blue brocade, plain of decoration, fitting tightly across the bodice. The skirt was full from the hips to floor. Surely Madame clothed me in the fashion of her times.

She looked me over and decided a lace cap would do well. My hair disappeared under the ruffle, and at least she didn’t spend her time pulling it out of my head. Madame may look like a woman, but had the strength of a man.

“Let’s work on your ornamental talents today. Ah! A woman should grace the arm of her husband in public, and her lovers in private. Let us walk through the house and see what we can find to entertain ourselves.”

Madame and I walked through the downstairs hall, each fluttering a fan. She used hers as punctuation to her charming voice and very prettily she was able to use it. A flutter here, a graceful extension of the fan sideways, a coy smile hidden by the uplifting to her face, all these motions were a language. A fascinating and intriguing language foreign to me. I was reminded of the usage of zils, the small finger cymbals of Turkish and Egyptian dancers used in such expressive, emphatic ways. This, the language of the fan, was as seductive and intriguing as anything.

Madame decided to walk into the front sitting room, a room I avoided since Obadiah’s rape. There must have been some sort of energy still present for I saw Madame’s dress rise at her groin. I would guess this was some sort of spirit challenge, for the sexual energy of what happened in that room had not completely dissipated. Though the room only gave me uneasiness, for Madame the invisible sensation was much stronger. ‘She’ looked at me sharply, as if to assess its effect, and I saw her eyes turn cruel. She was, after all, a devil. What right did I have to expect compassion from her?

“La! There is a harpsichord in the corner. Let’s see what accomplishments you have musically.”

Madame moved gracefully to the instrument and opened the keyboard. She motioned me to sit, and I did, as gracefully as I could manage in my skirts. I had played, badly, on a piano at home, but a harpsichord! My fingers were stiff and I could only think of one piece to play, and haltingly I did so. It was “The Prince of Denmark’s March.”

Madame had little patience with my playing. “Enough. Let us see if you have anything of a voice.”

Ah! Here perhaps I would not disappoint her. I could sing, and in fact, had years of vocal training. I could sing German lieder and some 18th century Italian art songs. The art songs perhaps she would tolerate. The German she would not. Of course, I was singing from memory, and Madame did not have the music in front of her. It was a bit of a challenge for both of us.

“Well, that went badly, n’est ce pas? Let us see how you do with the dance. M. Garrett informs me that you do dance?”

Madame moved to the little settee and plied her fan.

Ah! Madame, you will be disappointed, I fear. The dancing she had in mind and the dancing I did, were divided by cultures.

“I do dance, Madame, but it is something that is not familiar to your elegant French culture. Are you acquainted with ‘harem’ dancing?” Madame’s face fell in shock.

“Mon Dieu!” she said with a gasp. “Mahomet’s harem” Her eyes stared a hole into my face.

“Wherever did M. Garrett find you?” She looked as if I had crawled out of a crater.

“Well, actually, I found him. I..I was writing a book. He was just a character in it.”   I grinned. “ He is a product of a fertile imagination.”

Madame Gormosy looked at me curiously, her head tilted. She looked like an inquisitive owl.   “How well do you know M. Garrett?”
How I should answer this question?   “Not very well, but in some parts, intimately.” I smiled coyly.

Madame Gormosy reached out and rapped my hand sharply with her fan.

“Stupid girl! I am not asking what he does under your petticoats, I am asking if you have any idea who diddles you?”

I sucked on my fingers as I looked at her in surprise.

“Do I know he is a Devil?” I said around my fingers in my mouth. “Well, I would suppose so.”

“Ah, my poor, stupid girl. He is hardly a Devil. His status is much more exalted.” She appeared agitated and fanned herself with vigor.

“M. Abigor would not notice if he was just a common devil. No, not at all.” Madame sat back on the sofa and continued to fan herself.

“M. Garrett descends from a royal bloodline. A very royal bloodline.

“You are talking then about the Nephilim, no?”

Madame Gormosy looked surprised. “And how would you know about that?”

“Ah Madame!” I threw back a sting of my own. “Women of my generation research and know languages. We read about science and some of us actually read more languages than a smattering of Latin and French.” There.

I would continue, though I saw the gathering thunder in Madame’s face. “And some of us have far more extensive skills than dancing or embroidery. Or pouring tea.”

“And some of us do not write ourselves into such a fine mess.”

She had me there. I nodded my head in acquiescence. She had won this round.

Lowering her voice, she stared straight into my eyes.

“I would be cautious, my dear lady, what interests and education you parade before demons. You might find yourself obligated to one or the other.”

I sat down beside her, thinking of Abigor and my upcoming meeting. I would try to appease her.

“Madame. Please guide me in the proper decorum with M. Abigor. I have never had tea with an Arch Duke of Hell. I do not want to aggravate M. Garrett’s condition by blunders of my own.”

Madame Gormosy sat back and sighed.

“Sensible woman. Good. You appeal to what I can do for you. Bien. You should know M. Abigor is of the old school of Hell. He has been around since the earliest of days and is a bit jaded. That is why, I believe, his current interest in you.”

“I would think that M. Abigor has had his interests filled again and again. Nothing new under the sun?”

“Hah! Everything is new, in the eyes of someone you have not met before. M. Abigor is known for his gallant behavior, especially to mortal women. You know he has had many mortal wives?”

 

And just how did that work? Were they revived bits of charcoal in Hell?

“Don’t let your wit run away with you, ma chérie.”

(Sigh. Again with the mind-reading.)

“M. Abigor is able to visit his women as easily as the fog in the morning, and with more lasting results. M. Abigor has had his own harem on earth.”

Anticipating my thoughts, Madame continued. “And yes, my girl. If he took it into his head, he would put horns on M. Garrett’s head. You must proceed very cautiously with M. Abigor. I have known him to do much worse to a marriage.”

That was reassuring! “So, Madame, what do you suggest I do with M. Abigor? I certainly do not want to bring the wrath of M. Garrett down on my head. Nor do I want to stumble with M. Abigor. Any suggestions?”

“Ah! Try to divine his mood that day, and humor him. All men, or Devils, will respond to the flattering attentions of an attractive woman. I would talk philosophy, but do not try to top his knowledge here. Be ornamental to the tea table. Be submissive, and play the great art of seduction.”

I was getting confused. “Tell me, Madame. What is your definition of this word ‘seduction’?

“Ah! The art of seduction is gaining a woman’s affections, under the pretence of being deeply enamoured, when at the same time despising the woman for her vanity and weakness.” That was it in a nutshell.

Comment cynique! Of course. What could I expect from a devil!

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 10

January 31, 2015
from website: halfhearted dude...and thank you.

from website: halfhearted dude…and thank you.

Sorry for the chapter out of sequence.  Life is like that some days….

 Chapter 10

“Tell me, Demon. Tell me more about your ‘world.’ You certainly have pushed your way into mine.”

“I wouldn’t say pushed, Madame Author,” he retorted. “I would say, ‘pulled’ into your world, by the push of your ink.”

Perhaps. I was trying to make sense of what happened to me since he first stepped from the page.

“Can’t you write “leaped” from the page? Sounds manlier.”

I laughed. This demon  of mine “Capitals, Please…as in “Demon Lover” he whispers to me…

THIS Demon Lover…you got another? … is always concerned about his masculine…’virtues’. Can you use the word ‘virtue’ with a devil? Well, he is very concerned about how he appears. This little vanity makes him more ‘human’ to me.

“Don’t bet on it. You’ll lose your coin.”

“Then tell me, Garrett. By what other names have you been known?”

The Demon grinned across the table. “Pick a letter from the alphabet.”

“Stop being coy. Tell me about your world. What do you do with yourself when you are not here? That will do for starters.”

“Well, ‘for starters’ as you put it, I could say I bedevil other old maids or I could tell you I danced in the street to the tune of my fiddle, or I was a gigolo, or it was ‘none of your business’ as you say to me. Pick.”

“Ah! So…I’m an old maid to you? I guess this is the end of the honeymoon.”

“Could be. We almost started a litter last time.” He grinned broadly.

“You can start with that little event. What happened there? All I remember is being very heated.”

He grinned wickedly. “You could say that. I seem to have that affect on old maids.”

He is an insufferable boor. But I vaguely remember being….passionately aroused, out of my mind with lust. Then I remembered falling asleep.

He reached over the table and passed his hand down my face. I floated in darkness. There were stars above me, and little hills beneath, hills that looked like mole hills far down there.

“That’s a nursery.” He smiled, and then laughed at my expression.

“Mole hills? What are you talking about?”

“Some dimension’s nursery, where the little monsters are cradled until they are let out upon some world.”

Lately I have discovered the Demon has knowledge about worlds and creatures I don’t have a language for. Asked directly, he will hem and haw. But every so often, he slips up and tells me something actually interesting.

“You hurt my feelings, Bess. Everything I have to say is interesting.” The Devil is reading my mind. He does so when he damn well pleases.

“And besides, you are a virgin where the cosmos is concerned. I only tell you what you need to know.” He leaned towards me across the table, scowling for effect. “Besides, it can be a very scary place. Good thing you have me around.”

He puffed on his long white clay pipe and I would have to say that his last statement could easily be qualified.

“Tell me, Garrett, if I was ‘breeding’ as you say, what would the baby look like at birth?” I was curious as any woman would be.

“If they were female, they would have your breasts. If male….my cock.” He grinned nastily.

“No, I mean, would they be human looking?  Would I be able to love this child?”

“Every other woman who has had my children loved them. Don’t know why you would be any different, Bess.”

I didn’t expect this! Other children by him. Somewhere in the novel, I remembered writing he had two bastard children by a woman in Martinique, but then I had forgotten to follow up with more information about these children and the mother.

“You are slipping on a lot of things, sweet lady.”

“I guess because now I am an old maid?”

“You can be revived.”

He had a droll wit at times. Grinning and snapping his fingers, produced out of the ether two tankards of ale.

“Do you aim to get me drunk?”

I couldn’t drink more than a glass of wine. A tankard would put me to sleep. He snorted, again reading my mind.

“Tell me…you must know more than you let on. How did I become fertile?”

Certainly this was a worry, because I was beyond the age where a woman needs to carry around a pregnancy. I never thought of ‘demon-control’ before.

He looked thoughtful, and puffed on his pipe.

“There are many ways and many carriers of mischief. This could be what you call a succubus or it could be of another species altogether.”

“So, you have no control over what happened to me?” This was not welcome news.

“Oh no, I could make it happen myself, but it’s so early in the affair, sweetheart, and I wanted to have more fun before I loosed my seed up your womb.”

He laughed. “Much more fun. Besides, I would be turned away from your charms when you got heavy with whatever was brewing in there.”

He took a swig of his ale and his eyes glittered across the rim of his tankard.

“So it ever is with mortal woman.”

I took a sip of my ale.

“These mole hills you said were nurseries. What happens to the birthlings when they are born?”

“Think of spawns or swarms of fish. Most are eaten by other species, some by their own. Others end up ‘road-kill’.”

“Oh! That is too horrible!”

“No so much if you saw them. It would take a particular mother to nurture one,…like a blind one.” He laughed as he swallowed his ale, and managed to choke.

“Would our child appear like a monster?”

He put his tankard down and looked at me. “Not if you loved it from birth.”

That was not exactly encouraging.

“Garrett…do you have shape shifters in your world?”

“Doesn’t every world have that? I think you call them transvestites in yours.”

I had to laugh. Not exactly what I was asking, but I’ll take that answer. Witty Devil.

He knew much more than he would say.   He held some of the secrets of the ages and this I was sure. But he was a damn tricky Devil, and he made me work for it. It was like peeling an onion. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get to his center. He was full of mystery, but then, most demons are. If anyone tells you they are benign, or banal, don’t believe a word of it. They are charmers and tricksters and will keep you unbalanced. This Demon was a handful, but ‘life’ as I was becoming to know, would be a lot duller without him. I had learned it was not just the human heart that was layered with complexities. If I was learning anything, it was that the Universe held infinite mysteries, some of them anxious to be known.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007, 201

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 17

January 29, 2015

Full Moon, March 2011

Seven years ago I started this novel about Devils, Demons and a few mortals. It came from my first novel, “The Heart of the Maze” which had NO demons, but the characters (as mortals) were interesting and I didn’t want to kill all of them off.  So I wrote another novel continuing  where “Heart of the Maze” ended. The vast majority of characters in this novel  were devils, demons and shape shifters, etc. Right now I am rewriting chapters (all 43 of them…) and considering the total book.  I had a lot of fun with this book originally, and still am having fun. Rewriting can be a chore, but it is necessary.

Abigor is an Arch Duke of Hell…known by different names, but Abigor suits my purpose here.  He is a commander of military tactics, a healer (funny concept for a demon) and Garrett Cortelyou, the main male character, consults with Abigor against his arch enemy, Obadiah.  Bess is the writer (of both books…) thrown into the mix.  She is pulled from her comfortable 21st century life into the 1820’s:  the time and environment of  the first book.

Note: the Demons read minds and that is a source of their power over mortals.

Magic.

Lady Nyo

Chapter 17

My voice had been muted by the Demon, for he called me a chatterbox. I could only look at him and communicate through my eyes, which is a good lesson for me. Right now, there are large tears falling and I used this to move him to some pity.

Hah! There is no compassion from the Devil! He sat there and made faces, and I have gone from frustration to tears in a matter of minutes. He is an unkind beast, and I was crazy to think I could appeal to some better nature. I was dealing with a demon, for god’s sake! What do I expect?

The afternoon turned to dusk, and it darkened quickly outside, as it does in winter.   The Devil was standing at the window, watching the gloom gather. His senses were sharpened, even his ears were pointed like a bats–

“I heard that”, he said, not turning around. “It will be time to leave soon, so wipe your eyes and gather your courage. And curb your venom. Remember who holds you in relative safety tonight.”

He turned and smiled. Ah! I hate him with every bone in my body.

He left me some privacy, and I was thankful. Usually he abused his power of reading my mind, and now I realized just how worried he was. I could think of insults to taunt him, but he was deep into matters.

He turned back to the window, and then lowered his voice: “It’s time.”

He kissed me gently  and I entered a darkness, insensate.

I awoke to the night, as he walked through woods, a sword in his right hand. I was on his left, and he was holding me firmly by the hand, dragging me behind. I was almost blinded by the dark, feeling like I was swimming through warm water.

The night was dark, only a gibbous moon in the sky. It must have risen earlier when I was asleep. The trees are almost invisible, except for fireflies that look like white Christmas lights among the branches. I thought a moment. Fireflies are in the summer, not the dead of winter. Garrett squeezed my hand; he knows I was anxious and I tried not to look around.

We came out in a clearing; there were a few burning torches lighting the area. Seems to be a million fireflies about us, but now I think it is something different, something unnatural.

There, at the center of the clearing, as we drew near, was a man sitting on a stump of a tree. He was rather robust, of indeterminate age, but had a full white beard coursing down his chest. Dressed all in black, but of a style of an earlier time, he had a large white ruff around his neck, and what appeared to be gold buttons down two sides of his bodice.

A large, black dog sat at his feet. It might be a wolf. Whatever it is, the animal is chained to the stump. His red eyes were glowing in the light of the torches. Rather an unearthly scene, and one to raise the hairs on my arms.

The man was Abigor, the Grand Duke of Hell, as my Demon warned me. Garrett shifted me to his right side, slightly behind him, and approached no nearer than ten feet from the duke. I heard him take a deep breath, and saw him bow. I waited with my curtsey, and looked at Abigor seated on his stump. He seemed like a pleasant enough fellow.

Garrett addressed Abigor. I was not only mute, but I couldn’t hear their exchange. I did see Abigor nod his head, so I guessed they are talking. I tried not to look around but the temptation was too great, and I glanced up at the trees to my right. A sweet voice was talking, but I could hardly hear it. I swallowed something that had entered my mouth. Suddenly, I remembered Garrett’s words and I stamped my foot softly. The voice stopped. Whatever it was I swallowed has become bitter. I spit out what appeared to be dirt. A twittering rose in the trees. My Demon looked at me from the corner of his eyes. It was enough of a warning. Behave, girl.

Now I heard Abigor talk in a low rumble. Garrett answered in the same way. It was as if they were on an alien wave length, the decibels too deep for mortal ears. I tried to look at the ground before me, and not let my eyes stray.   A soft breeze circled my bare feet; it was warm and soothing. Again, I stamped my foot, this time with more force. I screwed up my face in a threatening scowl, and again the woods tittered. Suddenly there was silence, a total emptiness of sound. Even the ‘fireflies’ dimmed. I heard Abigor addressing me.

“Come here, mortal woman, come closer. Let me see your features.”

I looked at the Demon beside me, and he nodded. I walked within five feet of Abigor and gave him my lowest curtsey. He gave a genial smile, but I would not be put off. He was the Grand Duke of Hades for god’s sake! An Arch Demon. A false smile if ever there was one.

“Ah! She has courage, your woman”, said Abigor.

He looked at Garrett and something flew between them.

“She is not exactly the age of a breeder. Is there something else to make her of value to you?”

I heard my Demon give a short laugh and said I was entertaining, and that he knew he could breed me. I was a fast learner and had values beyond the obvious.

“Ah. Turn around, woman, so I may see these things that keep my kin in thrall.” I turned around a full circle for him slowly. I did not realize that the gown I had been dressed in was transparent to all other eyes except mine. The reason for coloring my nipples and sex was so they were highlighted to peering eyes.

“She had other features that keep me amused, Father.”

I heard my Demon list my ‘values’ to him.

“She cooks well, and embroiders, and can fence a bit. She plies her hand at writing, and her script is readable. She is a bit of a talker, so I have muted her for your pleasure. She is a good harem dancer, and sings on key enough. She can fly a falcon and shoot a straight arrow, and mostly does as she is told. You yourself, Grand Duke, know these mortal women are needing correction and training in our ways. She amuses me enough to keep her around.”

“Do you think she will be a good breeder, Garrett, my son?”

“I haven’t yet tried her on that. I have used a camelstone, Father, because I wanted to see her develop in our ways first. If she does as I expect, and does as I please, I should breed her in short time.”

“Your other children, Garrett. Have any of them survived to call you father?”

“No, Abigor. They have all died in the wars. Their mothers were not pleasing, but convenient for the time. This one, this woman, has more…ah…potential.”

“You know that another has made a claim on her? Your old friend, Obadiah.” Abigor coughed and black smoke shot from his mouth. “Would you slay Obadiah to keep her?”

“I would slay Obadiah for many other reasons, Father. And yes, I would slay him to keep this woman. She pleases enough for me to bother.”

“The claim Obadiah has made, does it not turn you away from her? We hear it was particularly insulting to your stature, my son.

“If she gave herself willingly to Obadiah, I would have killed her myself. But she was raped, and had no defense against him. Therefore, she is blameless.”

“Ah. Obadiah has been known for his violence. I believe you suffered from his actions?”

“Yes, Father, and I don’t mean to again.”

“You know Obadiah has appealed to the same Bench of Hell?”

“I would suppose he would. We both know the channels.”

“Then I will let you know my decisions in a matter of time. Continue to prepare for your battle, and draw your defenses carefully. I will remark upon your visit here with the others. And son, if you want this mortal woman as bad as you seem to, keep her close. Obadiah has a lust that is legendary. He will steal her for the pleasure of nothing.”

The Demon bowed deeply, as I hurried back to his side. Then, putting his arm around me, he passed his hand over my eyes, and I went into the darkness again. I did hear a faint twittering up in the trees as we passed out of the clearing and through the woods again.

 —

I found myself in bed, exhausted, and wondered if it was all a dream. But the circlet of gold on my forehead bit into my skin, and I knew that something ‘real’ enough had happened

Garrett the Demon  was sitting at the fire, staring into it intently, puffing hard on his pipe.

I called his name hoarsely, apparently my voice restored.

“So, you awaken! And did you have a pleasant dream?” His eyes glittered in the firelight.

I sat up on the side of the bed. “You are not going to try and persuade me all was a dream? I have the rouge here to prove that something happened this night.”

“So! You remember our walk in the woods and our chance meeting with a pleasant old man?”

“Ah, Demon! Spare me your tales. I remember all that happened. When you stopped up my voice, my ears became sharper. Apparently my memory, too.”

He looked at me, a meager grin on his face. “And what else do you remember?”

“Too much, Demon, to please me! I remember you listing my attributes like a race horse, and something about breeding me. I remember also the sounds of the woods, the laughter of something and the lights in the trees. They were demons, weren’t they?”

“I told you Abigor travels with an entourage. And yes, they were not summer’s fireflies.” He blew out a puff of smoke and grinned broadly at me. I could tell he was pleased with his interview.

“Stopping up your mouth probably made all the difference in the outcome here. There was definitely a danger of both of us becoming cinders.”

“But you called him ‘father’ and he called you ‘son’. Would he have done harm to you?”

“Ah! That. Just a politeness among devils. He isn’t my father and I’m not his son. It’s just a way of showing courtesy.”

He puffed on his pipe. “And yes, he could strike me down easily, and would if he fancied it. I think he took a shine to you, though.” He grinned and his teeth glittered in the firelight. I thought of the fireflies.

Great. To catch the eye of another demon. The powers of womankind. Mortal womankind.

“Don’t they have enough she-devils to fill their beds?”

Garrett looked at me and laughed. “Oh no. No, no, no. You don’t want to bed a she- demon for long. They sap your strength, and you wake up in the morning and she’s a hag. No, not pleasant at all. A mortal woman has no magic that can be used against you, especially when she is in your arms and you are inside her.”

I shivered at his words. What a culture of deceit. No wonder he was riddled with issues.

“Come here, Bess, let me check you for marks. Those demons tempted you fast, but you handled it well. Let me see if they left anything to worry about.”

I got out of bed and came before him at the fire. He snapped his fingers and the gown disappeared.

“Gossamer stuff. Tends to dissolve like that. I was sure Abigor would entertain his legion  with a snap of his fingers.” My eyes grew wide.

“Turn around slowly, sweet woman, and let me look at you closely.” I noticed he put down his pipe on the floor.

Taking my arms, he pulled me between his legs, and turned me around for his inspection. He passed his hands down my back and circled my fanny. He turned me around and pulled me close and put his head between my breasts.

“Ah, the smell of an uncharred woman. You got lucky tonight. We both did.”

There seemed to be a time where all reason was suspended. This night was of that.

Actually, from the moment the four frogs hopped in the room, and covered me with frog spit, my belief in my sanity had been put aside. It was a very confusing time for me, and the Demon tries my patience sorely. But all in all, as he said, we got lucky tonight.

Just hope I wake up tomorrow without blisters.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007-2015

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 2

July 10, 2014

It’s summer, it’s hot and I am looking for something easier to post. Seven years ago I started writing this novel. It was my second one and grew out of the characters of the first. The first one was ‘normal’ Dutch folk, set in the 1820
‘s in the rural landscape of New Jersey where I grew up. This first novel, called “Heart of the Maze” was too long and I dropped it. That it wasn’t on computer but typed out and put in a binder didn’t help in the rewrite. But I had fallen in love with some of the characters and didn’t want to leave them behind. So “Devil’s Revenge” came about, but the characters (most of them) were now devils, or ghosts, and the author, Bess, had tired of the original book and had closed it for 16 years. The main male character, Garrett Cortelyou, stepped out of the book and lay in wait, full of rage. He was now a Demon or devil, and full of mischief. He was gunning for another character in the original book, Obadiah Voorhees, now also a powerful devil, and Bess is caught up in the fight between the two of them. I am not posting the first chapter because it has a rape scene, or something that comes pretty close to it. And, I have work to do on it. So, for a while, until readers get tired of this, I am going to post chapters of “Devil’s Revenge”. Hope it fits the bill for summer reading and entertains.

Lady Nyo

Devil’s Revenge
Chapter 2

“What the hell?”

Opening my eyes, I struggled to focus. Embers had popped from the fireplace
and it sounded like the Fourth of July! One rolled to where I was sitting and stopped at my bare foot. Blinking, I snatched my foot back and took a deep breath. If materializing this way was supposed to unsettle me, it was working. My hands shook, my heart raced; I felt nauseous. A few minutes before I had control of myself. At a man’s command I appeared in this room. I shivered, a combination of fear and wonder.

The wind raced around the corners of the house, and sleet scratched at the window panes. I was glad for the good fire before me. I was chilly dressed in a linen morning gown, nothing more than a wrapper over a chemise. I had that mob cap on my head, falling over my eyes, but at least I was without stays. I could breathe again.

Placed on the tea table were two sheets of stiff paper and a lead pencil. I stared into the flames leaping about the logs, lost in thought, the sway of the fire hypnotic, the sound of the sleet beat a steady tattoo on the windows.

Was he a demon? Well, he wasn’t the Devil, or at least he didn’t seem to be. I had no idea what he was, and my knowledge of anything supernatural was poor to non-existent. But he shouldn’t exist, not if I was sane and the universe too, but here he was. What was he? My imagination couldn’t stretch that far to account for all these magical things, like the tankards of ale appearing with a snap of his fingers, or that he had materialized out of the pages of an unfinished book. But perhaps these things were small beer compared to what was possible? In any case, I was caught between two worlds, my comfortable if mundane life with a husband and this apparent ‘rip in the fabric of the universe.’

Since I had been thrown back into this book, perhaps I could write a couple of lines. I might as well use the time I given, and writing would calm my nerves. The chapter’s weather on my page imitated the weather outside my window, both gray and threatening days. I would write in a snowstorm, the two characters not able to travel, stuck in the countryside. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small movement and glancing up, there sat the demon, Garrett Cortelyou. I jumped and squeaked out a scream, covering my mouth with my hands.

“Goedemorgen to you, and I am still the Devil, I see.” He sat across the table, unshaven this morning. His appearing like that and his confounded ability to read thoughts still rattled me.

“I am thinking of growing a beard, just to bedevil you.” He grinned, sitting back in his seat, stretching his legs and propping one boot upon the other.

“Why would I care if you had a beard?” I tried to sound snarky.

“It would give a turn to seducing you, something new and untried.” He grinned even broader and winked at me. “Ah, think how good it will feel with my beard brushing the soft skin in the middle of your back. I can think of other places to bury it just as fine.”

“Ah, stop it, Demon child. What business brings you here this morning except to taunt me.”

“You should form that as a question, not a statement. Again, with the bad English.”

“It is not a question of whether you will taunt me, but a fact. I already felt your sting.”

Stretching his arm out, he lay it palm up on the table, his hand out for mine. A gentle gesture. I had no reason to trust him.

“Yes, a gentle gesture, and one that I would like to follow up with more ‘stinging’ of your nether parts, my sweeting.” His eyes were languid and narrowed, and left no question his thoughts were mostly about lust this morning.

I reddened at his silly words, in spite of my determination not to.

“Oh, I don’t think that you are at all displeased, sweetheart. I think you are attempting to play a game where your feet do not touch bottom.”

I listened and thought a moment. “Tell me, then, how does this work? Does anybody in my life notice I’m gone? I don’t remember much when I’m home, and it seems the time with you is all a dream. What happens here? How do you do these things?” I looked around the room, wondering if I came down the chimney.

Garrett smiled. “Time is different in each dimension. A month here is an hour there.”

“Then my husband doesn’t know I’m gone?”

He snorted, a strange sort of laugh. “I think you could be gone a week in your time, darling, and that husband of yours wouldn’t notice.”

I didn’t want to humor him, and suppressed my own laughter. He was probably right. My husband was addicted to television and we led almost separate lives in our marriage. Little held us together, except our dogs and cats, and a comfortable routine.

“How do you bring me here?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“For Christ’s sake! You kidnap me from my bed and bring me to yours. There are laws against such behavior.”

He started to laugh. “If I told you, it would ruin all the fun.”

“For you? I have a marriage to hold together and you are interfering in my life.”

His smile disappeared. “You are quite the little hypocrite. You put a set of horns on your husband’s head fast enough and now you complain? I seem to remember you enjoying the fucking you got. Perhaps I should give some lessons to your husband.”

“You are a bastard! He’s a fine and sweet man!” I rose from my seat in my anger.
He did not seem impressed. He barely changed his posture, only crossed his arms over his chest. If he thought I would hit him, he didn’t care.

“Yet here you are with me. And curious as to what comes next. That depends on controlling your temper. You act like a spoilt child.”

Suddenly I felt drained. This show of anger was not getting me far. He was stubborn, with his own set of rules. He was right, I had set the horns upon my own husband’s head and enjoyed the fucking that set them there. Slowly I sat down in my chair, my energy gone. I didn’t have a moral leg to stand on.

“Woman.” I heard his voice through my tears. “I promise you your dear husband will not notice you gone. He will think you outside feeding your chickens or getting his ale from that cold cabinet.”

I started to laugh through my tears. He could be a fly on the wall or a ghost haunting my house!

“Sixteen years gives me the authority to do so,” he said, reading my thoughts.

Again he stretched out his hand to me across the table. It was a tender gesture, but I was having none of it. He sat back and looked at me solemnly.

“Take the mobcap off, please. It reminds me of Aunt Catherine in bed, and that’s a cock- crushing sight in the morning.”

I took the cap off. It was slipping over my eyes. Aunt Catherine was a character in the book in her eighties, almost bald and toothless.

“What have you done to your hair?” He looked intently at my now caramel streaked locks.

“Oh, summer is rough, being out in the garden, and the southern sun, you know….” My words trailed off. What in hell was I doing here? Talking to a doppelganger like he was a friend. “I put in caramel streaks.”

“Why would you put candy in your hair?” Garrett’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement.

“Does it taste sweet?”

“Oh Lord, deliver me from such fools! No, Garrett, it is just a color that women put– Oh, never mind.”

“Hey day! What’s this?” He spied my foot with the cherry red nail polish peeking from my under my gown. He reached down and grabbed my foot, almost yanking me off my seat.

“Garrett! Remember I’m attached to that foot!” He had it in his lap, where he stared at my toes.

“It’s like cherries in milk, your foot!” Looking up at me, he laughed. “From your hair to your feet, I could eat you this morning.” He looked like he was just capable of doing so. I snatched my foot back from his lap.

“You are here for a reason, now state it and leave.” I felt foolish sitting in my bathrobe talking to something not real.

“Ah, my pretty author, do I need a reason to visit you in my house? Remember that you are here at my calling. Let’s start with a name. What am I to call you?”

Oh God…I had not thought of this! After all these years, one would think he would know by now. I had three Christian names and tried not to think of them. I couldn’t fool the damn devil.

“Well, Sarah is taken now. And a bit morbid for me to call you that. Remember? Sarah is killed by your friend Obadiah. I’ll call you Bess from your middle name. I like the sound of that. Nice and docile.” He threw back his head and laughed.

I well remember what I write, you stupid devil. Why was he here this morning? Or more to the point, what in hell was I doing here in this bedroom?

“I came to apologize,” he said, offhandedly. “ I was a bit rough, not that you didn’t deserve it. I could have been a lot rougher, but then, you wouldn’t have been so nice to me.” The loathsome devil grinned.

“Ah, still with the names….and you were nice to me. Even if you resisted at first.”

“Garrett, that was almost a rape. You know that.” I wondered if he could feel remorse. I didn’t know how much was human, how much devil.

“Your own fault, Bess. You refused to kiss me. Had you been sweeter to me you’d have no problem at all. Next time allow me your mouth, it will go better for you.” He paused. “I don’t know how you could call that a rape, sweetheart. You fell in my arms fast enough.”

My mouth was open with shock. What an arrogant man…demon! But he was right. I had tried hard not to respond to his ardor, but my body was not of the same resolve. Blushing, I tried not to remember his lovemaking.

My stomach was rumbling, and snapping his fingers, a tray of tea appeared on the table between us.

“Would you like a cup?” I was trying to focus on something else, yet my hands shook.
.
“Yes, make it sweet, my love.” He turned his chair to face me. Looking over his cup, he caught my eyes. He was such a silly demon and appeared right at home in this bedroom.

“Before, it was ‘demon lover’. I liked that best. Could you please say it again?”

I smiled, touched at his vanity. ‘Yes, demon lover, and all attendant titles that go with it.” Oh God! What am I saying? Where is my sense? Where is my sanity?

“Ah, that’s better. Tell me, my Bess, what happens at the end of the book?”

“You mean you don’t know?” I was surprised, I thought he would. I hadn’t written it down, but knew the outcome for a number of years. I thought he was a mind reader.

“No, I don’t know. I have tried to read your confounded writing, but until you typeset it up into a book, I can’t. Tell me- do I survive Obadiah? Do I get the girl? What is my fate?”

“Do I look like a gypsy woman? Why should I tell you anything? I think that is the only power I have.” I sat back and looked at him smugly. Two could play at his nasty game.

“Oh, my darling woman, you have more power over me and John Thomas down here than you know. And speaking of cocks, who are these other men in your life? Does your husband know of the horns you are planning to put on his head?” He looked at me, his dark eyes flashing. I wondered suddenly if he ever had a soul.

“How would you know anything like that?” I rose from my seat, again, angry and stupid. Before I could formulate an answer, he rose from his chair and yanked me to him, hurting my wrist.

“You are full of fun, with no idea of consequences,” he said almost hissing with anger, pulling me close to him. “I would call you a cocktease, but you know what you are. You think your glib tongue will hold you from harm? It will lay you down for it. You are such a little fool.”

“You are hurting my wrist. Stop it!” My words were sharp and he dropped my arm. I stood there rubbing where his fingers now marked my skin.

He was angry about something. I could see that. Shocked by the violence of his words and hurting my wrist, I was growing afraid and tried to placate him with sweet words.

“Garrett….I created you from the desire of my loins. No mortal can compete with you. You are a subject of jealously among men, my demon friend”.

“Ah, not demon lover?” He was not so easily put off. He had a fine temper.

“Garrett, as a character, created by me, you are perfection. There is nothing lacking in you. I have seen to that. No human can hold a candle to you.” I wondered why I would say such a thing! Fear had to be the larger part of my thinking. He had the strength and violence of manhood, compounded by magic. I needed to be more cautious. He had the power of a demon, after all.

“Your words are not so original, but will do for now.”

He made a mocking bow, ending the argument. Placing his hands on his hips, he looked at me with a bemused expression on his face.

“I want some changes here. I am being starved by you, and your thoughtless writing.”

“What do you mean, sweet Demon?” I hoped my voice dripped with acid.

“Ah, nice and docile, Bess! I like that. Do it more.” He laughed but it wasn’t a cheerful sound.

“For a week I have fed on bread, cheese, and ale. Jennie doesn’t cook for me, nor does Daniel. I am hungry and that doesn’t make my temper better. I want some real food written into this damn novel. I want some Zuur Tong, Head Cheese, some Gehakt, a nice Hutspot a couple of times a week. I want you to bake me some kretenbroad.”

“All right, Garrett…translate those words.” Zuur Tong turned out to be Spiced Tongue, Gehakt was sausage, Hutspot was a one-dish meal of beef, mashed potatoes, onions and carrots and Kretenbroad was currant bread.

I couldn’t resist. “Why don’t you snap your fingers for the food to appear?” I smiled sourly.

He grimaced and scowled at me. “I can’t seem to manage more than a tankard of ale, some spirits and a tray of tea. I can levitate a chamber pot, but you don’t want to see that trick.”

I laughed and told him that I would make Daniel, the caretaker, bring in his niece, Anna, to cook. These were characters from the original book I had put aside for some other life.

“Good. Settled. Now come here, lambkin. He led me to the window that looked down to the river. Placing me in front of him, he put his arm around my shoulder, holding me.

“I don’t like sitting in that library all day, I want you to write me out there hunting. I want to bag more ducks. There are geese on the river bank for the taking, can you see them from here?” He stretched a long arm towards the general direction of the river, but I saw nothing in the gray, morning light
.
“Maybe a deer or two. I need some time with my guns, and I want to get a pack of dogs. Agreed? And about your Dutch.”

He was full of demands today. I had to smile. “What about my Dutch?”

“It is rotten. You write what you don’t know. Again. You should ask me. Like the word ‘fokken’….It doesn’t mean to ‘plow’…it means to copulate. Simple, isn’t it? Now, let us get fokken.” He tried to steer me towards the bed, but I twisted out of his reach.

“Stop, Garrett. You have the seduction manners of a goat.” He stopped in surprise in the middle of the room.

“I am unworthy of your cherry, plucked though it’s been. Forgive my manners, my lady.” He gave a low and elegant bow, and coming up, picked me up over his shoulder. He threw me hard on the bed and jumped on top of me.

“I can’t breathe, you monster! Get off me, give me some air!”

“I might, if you willingly give me your mouth this time.”

“And what do you intend to stuff in it? I know you, Garrett. I may have been oblique about your ‘lesson plan’ in the novel, but I think I know something of your appetites.”

He rolled off of me, laughing. Turning back, he propped himself on an elbow, stroking the hair from my face.

“You and I, we understand each other, no? Perhaps I don’t have to read every thought of yours. But it is fun, and it gives me an advantage.”

“It’s an unfair advantage, Garrett–and you know it. I have little independence when you do so.”

“Ah, but that is some of the delights of being a woman. You submit to me, in all things, and I will fill your–mouth with sweet things. I will stroke your limbs and warm your belly, and you will grow to open to me with pleasure.”

“Now who sounds like a second-rate novel?”, I said sarcastically.

“And what kind of novel are you writing? Do you even know?”

“I don’t, just something decent. Men are critical- and my girlfriends are even more so.”

“What do the men think?” He asked, distracting himself with his hands on my breasts.

“I thought that you would know this? Don’t you read my emails?”

“No, I don’t. Not yet. Isn’t there a password involved?”

“Why would a demon need a password? Aren’t you all seeing?”

“I’m trying, my sweet woman, to seduce you. I don’t give a damn about your letters. I want to know the competition. I want to know about these men who want to stick their tongues down your throat and part your pretty thighs. Why are you talking to them about the novel? Why mention us?

“I didn’t know that there was ‘an us,’ Garrett. You forget you are all fantasy. All in my mind, and all in my book.” I snapped my fingers; he was still there.

“I think that I am all between your legs right now.” He put his hand over my crotch, and stroked me through my gown.

“You want to kiss me, why don’t you start with my mouth?”

“You can delay all you want, you sweet witch. I have eternity here.”

“Then this is Hell? Purgatory? Something like Dante’s Inferno?

Putting his head next to my neck, he breathed gently on my skin. The warmth of his breath was arousing.

“Would you stop trying to figure it out and just let it be? Look, I will lie quietly with you, and we can coo together. I promise you will rise as virginal as you are now. Just go cook me something in the kitchen. I am fading fast.”

I promised to feed him but he didn’t keep his. The afternoon was a quiet one, as he slept on my breast. I had a chance to observe my demon lover closely, and he was as beautiful in life as anything I could put on the page. He would be happy with that, but of course, he already knows what I think.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007-2014

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 22

May 13, 2014

“Devil’s Revenge” is a novel full of strange characters.  It has entertained readers on this blog for a number of years, but more importantly…me.  Lord Abigor and Garrett are key characters and both devils….Garrett is half-human, but has some charming devilish behaviors.  Lord Abigor could fast make him toast, but is stopped by a very human sentiment: he obviously sees Garrett as a son. Sort of.

 

CHAPTER 22

 

“Abigor?  Are you there?  I can’t see for the fog.”

 

“Walk to the north, Garrett.  It is thick today.”

 

Abigor’s voice floated on the thickened air like molasses.

 

Garrett walked to what he hoped was the north, the fog disorienting him. It finally cleared.  Abigor was perched on a stump, smoking a long, white clay pipe in a clearing of the woods.  He seemed to be alone, but one can never tell with Devils.

 

Garrett bowed to him, and sat upon another stump.  He took his own pipe out from his coat and started to smoke.

 

The two devils smoked  on in silence.  Abigor stretched his legs out before him.   All around, except in this small clearing, the trees were dappled with a combination of fog and sunlight dancing among the limbs.  It was like a “aurora borealis “ that flitted along  the ground and trees.  There were no bird calls, or rustlings of small animals on the forest floor.  This place was betwixt  heaven and hell, a place of neutrality among spirits.

The lights sparking between trees were alien energies, for this was a magical place, inhabited by many dimensions.

 

“How do you fare in your present work, son?”  Abigor blew out a long stream of smoke in Garrett’s direction.

 

“It goes, father.  In fits and starts.”  Garrett answered him honestly,  a sentiment not known among devils but expected in this quiet place.

 

“Have you procured Andras’ support to your claim?”

 

“Ah! That is a question I have need of your wisdom.  But of the Others, I have the support of Forcas and Leraie.  Forcas’ brawn and Leraie’ strength in archery.”

 

“A good start, but only a start.”

 

Abigor puffed on his pipe in contemplation of the issue.

 

 “I would suggest Aamon.”

 

Aamon was the demon who reconciled  problems between foes and friends.

 

 “You could at least seek his council.”

 

“Father,” said Garrett slowly, “what stands between Obadiah and me has a sharp and annoying history. I would as settle it now instead of having to  endure his pinpricks for eternity.”

 

Abigor laughed heartily.  “What stands between you and Obadiah is that be-witching mortal woman.”

 

 He laughs again.  “Get rid of her, and you and Obadiah will settle.   ‘Sharp and annoying’, indeed.”

 

“Ah!  That is a problem.  What to do with her.”

 

“And what do you intend?”

 

“Oh, to breed her, eventually.”

 

 Garrett’s voice sounded casual to Abigor’s ears, but he knew this demon  sitting opposite him a bit better than Garrett supposed.

 

“There’s much pleasure in the breeding part.  It’s what comes after that is annoying.”

 

“Yes, but the bitter must be taken with the good.”

 

“Ah!  You have actually learned something from my teachings!  Or better, you have remembered!”

 

Abigor was a dispenser of herbal lore and teachings.  He was powerful in the usage of medicinal magic.

 

Abigor smoked his pipe with a scowl on his face.  “You know, even that sentiment expressed before the wrong devil could make you…ah…”

 

“Toast?”

 

“I was thinking more charcoal.”

 

He spat on the ground.

 

 “You  must cover your heart better, my son.  Betwixt thee and me,  I can well understand.  I have had mortal women before, even your mother.  I can remember my youth.”

 

“You knew my father, Abigor, what would he have done with her?”  Garrett spat on the ground.  It seemed to be a ritual among devils.

 

“Who? Your mother or your….ah…consort?”

 

“Bess.”  Garrett blurted her name before thinking.  He looked up at Abigor in surprise.

 

Abigor was laughing quietly at him.

 

“I forget you are half mortal.  The weaker half.  So, you have a name for her.  Surely once you name a pet, you know you keep it.”

 

Abigor continued to chuckle to himself.   “Or, at least you don’t eat it.”

 

“Well, I couldn’t keep fetching her with ‘woman’.”  Garrett smiled to himself.

 

“Yes, well woman will have a name.  Eve, Lilith, Mary, Gomory…they get stubborn and surly if you don’t name them.”

 

“And…they don’t put out.”

 

“Hah!  That should be no problem for you!  Just charm them still. No nonsense then.”

 

Garrett smiled to himself.  The sweetness in her manner made the act more wholesome.  Something Abigor would not know.

 

“I have been thinking of a familiar to train her.  She is headstrong for a mortal woman, so the spirit will have to be strong.”  Garrett knew that Abigor would have a suggestion for him.

 

“Well, there are a number of spirits that come to mind.  What is it you want her to learn?  To obey? Better that come from you. These mortal women, they follow so easily.  You want her to follow you.  I wouldn’t introduce Leraie to a woman to learn archery.  He is too winsome.  Woman are easily impressed with a broad chest and handsome face.”

 

Abigor thought for a moment.

 

“Ah! I have the very devil!  Gomory would do well here.  A respected Duchess of Hell.”

 

Abigor puffed on his pipe, his face wreathed with smoke which looked curiously like little snakes.

 

 

“What else does a mortal woman need to be bound for?  Procure one and the other follows.”

 

That had potential.  Garrett thought Gomory could well teach her other things of importance.  At least to him.  But what she was famous in Hell for would work nicely here on earth.

 

“Thank you, Father.  That is one thing resolved.”  Garrett placed his hand over his heart, and bowed from his stump.

 

“But I have another request to tax you.”  Abigor nodded to him. Garrett was to proceed.

 

“Andras.  I fear to expose her to him.  It is not that I can’t control her in the presence of Andras, I can put all sorts of spells upon her for that.”     (Abigor thought this hardly a show of confidence in her obedience to him.)

 

 “I know how ‘touchy’ Andras is.  She would drive any devil to violence.”

 

“Perhaps the solution here, my son, is to keep them apart.”

 

“Knowing that Andras is brother to Bucun, Obadiah’s father, can I do that without disrespect to him?”  It was a question of protocol to him, with deadly results if he guessed wrong.

 

“Andras will be looking for a fight.  He is, after all, Demon of Quarrels.  He doesn’t have a ‘good’ side to him at all.  I would not provoke him further with a moral woman.  Especially if you can’t control her.”

 

Those last words were meant to slash at Demon Garrett.  They were, after all, devils.

 

“I would dangle something else in front of Obadiah than my consort. Like my sword.”

 

“Ah! Flesh or steel. Either the same to you young bucks.”  Abigor chuckled heartily.

 

“So, you have given her a title?  A name and then, shortly, a title?  My, you stick your head in the trap fast.  I would have thought, as the son of your father, you would have some of his..ah… ‘polish.’”

 

“About my father, Abigor.  How would he approach Andras?  I can make the woman disappear, or not appear, as is called for, but what right do I have to ask Obadiah’s uncle for a boon?”

 

“About a snowball’s life in hell.”

 

Abigor looked at the younger demon through a haze of smoke.  As they talked, it seemed they recreated the fires of hell with their pipes.

 

This young Turk, thought Abigor, part god though he be, had no standing in hell. He was unaware of the name of his father, but he had most of his traits.

 

Abigor pulled deeply on his pipe and thought: He was tolerated by the Others because he came by his powers through royal blood. The demons had reason enough to fear him, though he was unaware of his breeding.

 

“You answer me in riddles, here.  If I am to be my father’s son, I need know what he would do.”

 

Garrett took quite a liberty with this ArchDuke of Hell, but threw caution to the wind.  It was good Abigor was feeling tender towards the young devil this day.

 

“Your father would do as you do.  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”  Abigor puffed languidly at his pipe.  He was enjoying his morning.

 

“Is your consort too fearful to have me to tea?”  Abigor smiled around the stem of his pipe.  He looked devilish.

 

“Not fearful enough.”  Garrett smiled his own version.

 

“Ah!  I remember the brio of some mortal women.  The Latins were good for it, though they were always calling the name of Christ and pope down upon heads.  I would advise you to rip out her tongue early.”

 

Garrett smiled at Abigor.  “I would rather work a charm on her.  She can use that tongue for better things.”

 

  1. These half mortal devils have such patience with their women, thought Abigor.

 

“I would approach Andras with courage.  And caution.  It will not be easy to gauge his moods.  Dangle a gift before him.  A pillow of lavender for sweet dreams, an axe to chop his own foot off, you figure it out.  But know that Bucun will have already approached him for support.  The only angle I can see is that Obadiah has been a pain in the butt before to Andras.  Bucun’s son comes by his hatred through blood.  Quarrels are fueled either by love or hate, and Andras has had his docket filled with Obadiah’s sins.  Other than that, you could be toast with him.”

 

“Thank you, Father.  I will remember your wise words.”

 

Garrett appeared and been answered.  He knew not to take up Abigor’s valuable time.  This ArchDuke had many activities and the docket of Hell was just one of them all.

 

But he had secured Abigor to his side, and was glad of this.  Obadiah, backed by his father Bucon, was no easy fight.  There would be battles aplenty before the dust settled.  He just hoped he could keep all his demons in a row here.  He knew he was playing with Hell’s hottest fires.

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007-2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 22…with an addition.

July 13, 2013
sky in the NorthEast, Jane Kohut-Bartels, June 25, 2012

sky in the NorthEast, Jane Kohut-Bartels, June 25, 2012

I’m working hard on an ending for this book. As I reread and rework, the characters surprise me. I had forgotten some of their antics and quirks, but find that they are funny. Mostly. At least they entertain me, and I believe that this is the first reason to write anything. It should appeal to and please the writer. Otherwise, what is the point of it all? If it pleases and entertains your readers, that’s a good sign.

I believe this is the first appearance of Lord Abigor: an Archduke from Hell. He’s a crack military advisor, has 60 legions of devils under his command and also one versed in herbal lore, medicine. What this has to do with Hell, I haven’t a clue, but so he was considered in the different accounts in the middle ages.

I am also adding a small chapter, where Lord Bucon, the Archduke of Hatred, meets with his son, Obadiah. I just found this chapter, and thought it could go here.

Lady Nyo

—-

“Devil’s Revenge” Chapter 22

“Abigor? Are you there? I can’t see for the fog.”

“Walk to the north, Garrett. It is thick today.”

Abigor’s voice floated on the thickened air like molasses.

Garrett walked to what he hoped was the north, the fog disorienting him. It finally cleared. Abigor was perched on a stump, smoking a long, white clay pipe in a clearing of the woods. He seemed to be alone, but one can never tell with Devils.

Garrett bowed to him, and sat upon another stump. He took his own pipe out from his coat and started to smoke.

The two devils smoked on in silence. Abigor stretched his legs out before him. All around, except in this small clearing, the trees were dappled with a combination of fog and sunlight dancing among the limbs. It was like an Aurora Borealis that flitted along the ground and trees. There were no bird calls, or rustlings of small animals on the forest floor. This place was betwixt heaven and hell, a place of neutrality among spirits.

The lights sparking between trees were alien energies, for this was a magical place, inhabited by many dimensions.

“How do you fare in your present work, son?” Abigor blew out a long stream of smoke in Garrett’s direction.

“It goes, father. In fits and starts.” Garrett answered him honestly, a sentiment not known among devils but expected in this quiet place.

“Have you procured Andras’ support to your claim?”

“Ah! That is a question I have need of your wisdom. But of the Others, I have the support of Forcas and Leraie. Forcas’ brawn and Leraie’ strength in archery.”

“A good start, but only a start.”

Abigor puffed on his pipe in contemplation of the issue.

“I would suggest Aamon.”

Aamon was the demon who reconciled problems between foes and friends.

“You could at least seek his council.”

“Father,” said Garrett slowly, “what stands between Obadiah and me has a sharp and annoying history. I would as settle it now instead of having to endure his pinpricks for eternity.”

Abigor laughed heartily. “What stands between you and Obadiah is that be-witching mortal woman.”

He laughs again. “Get rid of her, and you and Obadiah will settle. ‘Sharp and annoying’, indeed.”

“Ah! That is a problem. What to do with her.”

“And what do you intend?”

“Oh, to breed her, eventually.”

Garrett’s voice sounded casual to Abigor’s ears, but he knew this demon sitting opposite him a bit better than Garrett supposed.

“There’s much pleasure in the breeding part. It’s what comes after that is annoying.”

“Yes, but the bitter must be taken with the good.”

“Ah! You have actually learned something from my teachings! Or better, you have remembered!”

Abigor was a dispenser of herbal lore and teachings. He was powerful in the usage of medicinal magic.

Abigor smoked his pipe with a scowl on his face. “You know, even that sentiment expressed before the wrong devil could make you…ah…”

“Toast?”

“I was thinking more charcoal.”

He spat on the ground.

“You must cover your heart better, my son. Betwixt thee and me, I can well understand. I have had mortal women before, even your mother. I can remember my youth.”

“You knew my father, Abigor, what would he have done with her?” Garrett spat on the ground. It seemed to be a ritual among devils.

“Who? Your mother or your….ah…consort?”

“Bess.” Garrett blurted her name before thinking. He looked up at Abigor in surprise.

Abigor was laughing quietly.

“I forget you are half mortal. The weaker half. So, you have a name for her. Surely once you name a pet, you know you keep it.”

Abigor continued to chuckle. “Or, at least you don’t eat it.”

“Well, I couldn’t keep fetching her with ‘woman’.” Garrett smiled to himself.

“Yes, well woman will have a name. Eve, Lilith, Mary, Gormosy…they get stubborn and surly if you don’t name them.”

“And…they don’t put out.”

“Hah! That should be no problem for you! Just charm them still. No nonsense then.”

Garrett smiled to himself. The sweetness in her manner made the act more wholesome. Something Abigor would not know.

“I have been thinking of a familiar to train her. She is headstrong for a mortal woman, so the spirit will have to be strong.” Garrett knew that Abigor would have a suggestion for him.

“Well, there are a number of spirits that come to mind. What is it you want her to learn? To obey? Better that come from you. These mortal women, they follow so easily. You want her to follow you. I wouldn’t introduce Leraie to a woman to learn archery. He is too winsome. Women are easily impressed with a broad chest and handsome face.”

Abigor thought for a moment.

“Ah! I have the very devil! Gormosy would do well here. A respected Duchess of Hell.”

Abigor puffed on his pipe, his face wreathed with smoke which looked curiously like little snakes.

“What else does a mortal woman need to be bound for? Procure one and the other follows.”

That had potential. Garrett thought Gormosy could well teach her other things of importance. At least to him. What she was famous in Hell for would work nicely here on earth.

“Thank you, Father. That is one thing resolved.” Garrett placed his hand over his heart, and bowed from his stump.

“But I have another request to tax you.” Abigor nodded. Garrett was to proceed.

“Andras. I fear to expose her to him. It is not that I can’t control her in the presence of Andras, I can put all sorts of spells upon her for that.” (Abigor thought this hardly a show of confidence in her obedience to him.)

“I know how ‘touchy’ Andras is. She would drive any devil to violence.”

“Perhaps the solution here, my son, is to keep them apart.”

“Knowing that Andras is brother to Bucun, Obadiah’s father, can I do that without disrespect to him?” It was a question of protocol, with deadly results if he guessed wrong.

“Andras will be looking for a fight. He is, after all, Demon of Quarrels. He doesn’t have a ‘good’ side to him at all. I would not provoke him further with a moral woman. Especially if you can’t control her.”

Those last words were meant to slash at Demon Garrett. They were, after all, devils.

“I would dangle something else in front of Obadiah than my consort. Like my sword.”

“Ah! Flesh or steel. Either the same to you young bucks.” Abigor chuckled heartily.

“So, you have given her a title? A name and then, shortly, a title? My, you stick your head in the trap fast. I would have thought, as the son of your father, you would have some of his..ah… ‘polish.’”

“About my father, Abigor. How would he approach Andras? I can make the woman disappear, or not appear, as is called for, but what right do I have to ask Obadiah’s uncle for a boon?”

“About a snowball’s life in hell.”

Abigor looked at the younger demon through a haze of smoke. As they talked, it seemed they recreated the fires of hell with their pipes.

This young Turk, thought Abigor, part god though he be, had no standing in hell. He was unaware of the name of his father, but he had most of his traits.

Abigor pulled deeply on his pipe. He was tolerated by the Others because he came by his powers through royal blood. The demons had reason enough to fear him, though he was unaware of his breeding.

“You answer me in riddles, here. If I am to be my father’s son, I need know what he would do.”

Garrett took quite a liberty with this Arch Duke of Hell, but threw caution to the wind. It was good Abigor was feeling tender towards the young devil this day.

“Your father would do as you do. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Abigor puffed languidly at his pipe. He was enjoying his morning.

“Is your consort too fearful to have me to tea?” Abigor smiled around the stem of his pipe. He looked devilish.

“Not fearful enough.” Garrett smile, thinking of Bess.

“Ah! I remember the brio of some mortal women. The Latins were good for it, though they were always calling the name of Christ and pope down upon heads. I would advise you to rip out her tongue early.”

Garrett smiled at Abigor. “I would rather work a charm on her. She can use that tongue for better things.”

Ah. These half mortal devils have such patience with their women.

“I would approach Andras with courage. And caution. It will not be easy to gauge his moods. Dangle a gift before him. A pillow of lavender for sweet dreams, an axe to chop his foot off, you figure it out. But know that Bucun will have already approached him for support. The only angle I can see is that Obadiah has been a pain in the butt before to Andras. Bucun’s son comes by his hatred through blood. Quarrels are fueled either by love or hate, and Andras has had his docket filled with Obadiah’s sins. Other than that, you could be toast with him.”

“Thank you, Father. I will remember your wise words.”

Garrett appeared and been answered. He knew not to take up Abigor’s valuable time. This ArchDuke had many activities and the docket of Hell was just one of them all.

But he had secured Abigor to his side, and was glad of this. Obadiah, backed by his father Bucon, was no easy fight. There would be battles aplenty before the dust settled. He just hoped he could keep all his demons in a row here. He knew he was playing with Hell’s hottest fires.

——-

As Garrett and Abigor meet and talk, so do Bucon and his son, Obadiah, with the same purpose in mind.

Lady Nyo
BUCON AND OBADIAH

“Father”.

Obadiah and Bucon sat before a smoky fire, two pairs of legs stretched out towards the low burning logs. Boot leather was drying and cracking from the heat like fried pork skins. Bucon was packing a white clay pipe with tobacco and leaned to the hearth to pick up a red coal with his fingers. The smell of burning flesh did not seem to alarm him.

An Arch Duke of Hell, Chief Demon of Hatred, Bucon looked through the haze of pipe smoke at his youngest son. Secretly Bucon was proud of Obadiah. He exhibited the important issues of venality and depravity that dovetailed with his own. He definitely was a chip off the old block.

Ah, humanity had gone flat, become flabby, uninteresting. Since the French Revolution the ground had gone fallow. Hatred was hard to sow right now, these early years of the 19th century. A kind of prosperity with this Industrial Revolution had begun to spread amongst citizens. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but there was hope in future conflict and overwork in these new mills and factories. Father’s daughters leaving their homes and spinning wheels had promise. Money was certainly the root of all evil, but this new evil would have to fester a while. Hope for a better life did not leave much consideration for the growth of hatred. It would take time.

Bucon sighed, sending a black, tarry smoke from his lungs. The crusades were long over but what a wonderful time that was! Such invigorating events…all steeped in violence and contention. Religion certainly kept those fires burning amongst mankind.

It was a Devil’s Delight, those years.

Bucon had five invisible eyes and with the two glittering black ones on his face he could see all activity of humanity on the seven continents. Spreading hatred and contention was fine, but what really got the bile going was interfering with the natural sentiment between men and women. He could spend all day and night sowing discord and disgruntlement, jealousy and malice between a man and his wife, but he had to be careful. Jealously was the domain of some particularly nasty Jewish demons and although they were all in this world (and others) together, there was still a question of overstepping territories. When done, well, they tended to act as their natures dictated. In heated spades.

“Father”.

Bucon looked over at Obadiah and thought: “What a fop”.

Dressed in a black wool suit with spit polished boots, a shirt and cravat whiter than virgin snow, Bucon sneered at him. Bucon’s own linen was always limp and dingy, his boots regardless of polish dull and the pores of his face pitted with the black leavings of sin. Bucon wondered if Obadiah really was of his seed.

“Father, what do you counsel here?”

If Obadiah’s clothes were a better cut, his heart certainly belonged to Daddy.

“Well, son, tell me again. Exactly what is it you are seeking? Is it this mortal woman you are clamoring about? I already told you could have a million of them with the snap of your clean fingers.”

Bucon looked at his own hands. He had bitten them to the quick and dried blood encrusted the nails. Sowing hatred was hard work. A thought occurred to Bucon.

“Have you fallen in love, Obadiah?”

His son’s eyes flashed and an elegant sneer appeared on his countenance.

“Love? Do you think that possible, Father? Am I not your own son?”

Bucon spat into the fire, his stream of spit becoming a little snake screaming as the flames consumed it.

He wished those little devils wouldn’t do that. It always startled.

Bucon was old as sin, older than original sin. But he wondered. He had seen a lot in his endless time. Not only mankind was changing. Even demons could be affected by outside forces. Obadiah was certainly his son, but influences surrounding him could have made some inroads into his thinking. This would do the trick. Or better, could undercut the natural ‘trickery’ embedded so deeply in the brotherhood.

Bucon sat and thought over the options. He spit again but slammed down his foot on the snake, crushing it. No scream came from beneath his boot.

Influences such as the Enlightenment, the Romantics in literature, music, could give pause to a waffling demon’s natural tendencies. This ‘turn the other cheek’ of this Christian God was only a tremor in the bedrock of their natural existence. Better the ‘eye for an eye’ of the Old Testament. At least that would keep the wars flowing.

Ah, Evil might be banal but it’s still hard work.

Bucon had a thought. “Gettin’s is keepin’s, son?”

Obadiah’s tight smile showed he understood the reference. Bullfinch’s words interpreting a scene between Agamemnon and Achilles.

”Perhaps, Father. This other is the target. The women only stands between us.”

Ah, thought Bucon. That Obadiah didn’t blast her away said reams. Yes, his son was smitten, was softening. Some Demon. Any further weakening would lead to defeat.

“Well, son, what is it you want from me?”

Obadiah stared into the fire. “I have to figure out whom to trust, who to gather in for this fight.”

Bucon thought his choice of words was interesting. “Trust” wasn’t exactly a word to use when referring to demons.

“Well, you know who your opponent is gathering in?”

Obadiah didn’t immediately answer, and Bucon thought perhaps his son didn’t.

“I do know he’s consulted with Abigor already. Heard some word about Andras.. and he’s researching possibilities in Celtic mythology.”

“That would be natural, son. Your opponent has his roots there. But if he’s dealing with Druids, he won’t get much help from them. Those folk see Demons as offshoots of Christianity. Rather a narrow bunch, I’d say.”

“Any suggestions for me to ponder, Father?”

“Ah…let me think. Perhaps you need demons of greater and lesser abilities. One level to keep watch over your opponent….couldn’t hurt….and another level of jabbing monkeys.”

Obadiah, being of a more fastidious sort of devil, was surprised at his father’s choice of terms. But it did sound like an all-around plan. Perhaps some of the lesser demons to be-devil his opponent and then he would make some well-placed visits to more important ones.

“Perhaps you should consider the Nephilim, son. They could be part of a battle plan. Think on this.”

Yes, thought Obadiah. The Nephilim. That could tip the balance in his favor fast. With those giants on his side, a victory would be more than possible.

“Remember what is most important here. Can you recall what was lesson Number One?”

“Yes, Father. ‘Only the darkest of hearts in Hell thrive.’

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007, 2009, 2013

“Devil’s Revenge, Chapter 8

June 26, 2013

Kohut-Bartels-LS-6

It’s summer, it’s humid and I am sick of poetry. I’m working on this novel, and trying to determine whether it deserves the energy it will take to finish and rewrite. It was my second novel, and a strange one at that. I started it in the beginning of 2007 and the plot demanded a lot of research in an area that I would rather not. But, it has a charm of its own, and I grew fond of the little devils. There is a shift coming in the plot and that is where I have some concerns. It seems to be two books, and how to marry them is a problem right now.

I do have all summer to work on it. We’ll see what happens.

Bess has been assaulted by one of the dangerous characters from her previous book, this Obadiah, and she is trying to regain her balance. Rather hard to do because she’s caught up in this world of demons and magic.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE

Chapter 8

Since Obadiah’s visit, I have been sickened, fallen into a malaise. Whether it was the strength of his attack or the realization I had lost control of everything, I can’t tell. But I know I am suffering.

I find myself haggard, in pain in parts of my body, with no energy. I feel buffeted by everything that is of material substance: I knock into furniture, unsteady in my gait. I feel I have been thrown under the wheels of a carriage. Even the effort of placing my arm on a table makes me weary. My arm is too solid flesh, heavy, and the wood of the table, hard.

I would prefer to spend my time in bed, but the Demon tells me I have to rally myself. I have to ‘walk it off’. I don’t know. .He could never feel this way. He looks and acts the picture of health.

“You don’t remember the knife wounds you wrote into your book? That hurt. A lot.”

Today he is here, and seems to be constantly. Actually, I was in this room for the past few days. He says I am ‘recovering’. I wonder. I seem to be falling into depression. I wonder what is happening at home in real time.

“Nothing that needs you, darling. They don’t even notice your absence.”

“Oh, like that is supposed to make me feel better?” I direct my words at him because he is sitting across from me, having arrived in ‘our’ room a few minutes ago. He thoughtfully brings me a dish of tea in the usual way, by snapping his fingers.

Pure magic.

He is dressed in the same shirt, with large, blousing sleeves, and the vest I embroidered for him. His boots are none too clean, as I see he has tracked some mud from outside into the room. The rain has been falling gently all day, and it seems that the sky will never clear. His shirt seam at the shoulder has ripped and it gapes open.

“Take off your shirt, Garrett. I’ll sew your sleeve for you.” He grins at me, and throws off his vest, and pulls his shirt over his head. It is not an invitation to mate and I tell him pointedly.

“But it’s been so long since I heard you coo in my arms, my sweetwoman.” He tosses me his shirt. It is warm and smells of his scent, which I tease is of brimstone.

“You need to think and write more original material. You’ve used that joke too much before.” He reads my mind at will. Let him read this piece of advice, I think to myself.

“Bess! I am shocked that you would ask me to do such a thing…besides, I can’t reach that part of my anatomy with–”

“Enough, Devil…even for you.” I have little tolerance for his antics today, and feel weary. I just want peace. I stitch his shirt and toss it back to him. He sits there with his chest and shoulders exposed to the cold air of the room.

“At least you have some tender thoughts for me today. I was beginning to worry you had replaced me.”

He grinned and pulled the shirt over his head. The insolent devil grinned some more as he unbuttoned his pants to tuck his shirt. I rose from the table and turned to the window. I would worry if he changed his ways. I was getting used to him, and a difference would arouse my anxiety even more.

“Let me look at your backside, Bess. I promise to be proper.” I was hurting and could only rely upon his magic to stop the boiling pain. But like all medication, his magic wore off.

“Come here, darling, and stand between my legs. I need to see you closely. Obadiah has used his own particular magic on you.”

I moved to stand with my back to him, and lowered my robe. Anything else on my skin was intolerable. If it weren’t for the laudanum he mixed in water every few hours, I would not be able to sleep. Obadiah had deeply scratched my back and my buttocks in a frenzy of hatred. He had also raped me, and had drawn blood.

“Stay still, lambkin, and I will apply this ointment where it will do good.” His hand moved across my back and I felt a warm sensation spreading across my skin. He did the same for my backside and then gently pulled my robe back across my shoulders.

“There. That should do it for a couple more hours.”

I turned around and sat down on his knee, leaning my head against his shoulder. I glanced at his face, and caught a slight smile. He was surprised at my tenderness. He enveloped me in his arms and we sat quietly for a few moments.

“Help me understand, Garrett. Help me understand the world you and Obadiah come from.”

He didn’t answer, but gave it some thought. “Obadiah and I don’t exactly come from the same worlds, sweetheart. You drew us together with your book, but I wouldn’t say he and I would necessarily be found in the same dimension.”

“Then Obadiah is from Hell and you are from Heaven?” I was hopeful that this would explain them both.

He chuckled. “You insist in making comparisons to your Heaven and Hell. There’s so much more to this universe, Bess. But if you can only think about things in this small dimension, then think of the Talmud.”

Oh Great! Jewish history! Just up my alley. Even more confusing than the Christian Bible, something I avoided in any case.

“There’s lots of good stories in that one, my dear woman, like the Songs of Solomon, and all the orgies and wars.”

“Oh, you would think of all that.” I laughed at him and slapped him on his breast.

“Well, then, explain it to me, my Demon Jewish Scholar.”

“You have heard of Lilith?” I nodded, but not sure who she was. “Have you heard of her consort, Asmodeus?” I shook my head.

“Asmodeus translated from the Hebrew as “Evil Spirit.” He thought a bit. “Or better yet, Belial. He controlled 80 legions of demons, 6,666 demons per legion…that’s a lot of devils! And he brought pain and suffering to humanity. His particular talents were lust, perversion and guilt. Think of Obadiah here.”

“I’d rather not,” I said dryly.

“Well….he delivered lust and perversion upon you last time you met, so the example is lucid.”

“Rape isn’t lust, Garrett…it is pure violence.”

“Ah, you modern women. Lust gives the stiffness to that which rapes. Think of lust as starch.”

I chuckled at his example. He had me there. “So you are saying you and Obadiah know each other but aren’t connected?”

“No, I’m saying that Obadiah and I are connected, but not in the ways you would understand.”

I was getting uncomfortable sitting on his knee, and crossed to my chair. I sat down gingerly. His magic was good, but not complete.

He smiled at me, and extended his hand across the table. This was a familiar gesture he made each visit, and it took me a while to trust him enough to join my hand with his.

This time, he opened my hand and played like he was a fortune teller, reading my palm.

“I see there is another man in your life, Bess. He has charmed you with a sweet, melodious voice, and your husband would load his shotgun if he knew your thoughts.”

I blushed and took back my hand.

“Oh, I don’t need your paw to tell me what is going on in your heart. Perhaps other places?” He grinned at me and my blush increased.

“You Devil! Do I have any privacy here?”

“Nah…not with me. I have my own interests to protect.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“You wouldn’t. I don’t like competition.” He grinned, but I took him seriously. There was something a bit menacing in his tone.

“ I admit it took me a bit of time to figure out some of the allusions to him in your novel, but they keep popping up before me. Like securing passage on the Mystic.

My God! I hadn’t even written that in yet. But it was a great name for the boat the two characters would use to escape.

“Ah, Devil…leave him alone. He once was a friend but it ended badly.”

“Ah, Lilith! Follow your own advice!” He laughed at my expression.

I wondered what I had been doing myself. I didn’t know he had numerous affairs for the past 15 years, and I would have been another notch on his belt. It was a sweet relationship, but as things go, it was bound to blow up in my face. He left his email open and his wife of many years read all. The last straw came when he hinted he might have done this on purpose. God! The trouble a man gets when he deceives himself! His wife demanded he break all contact, and he would not honor her request. I said hurtful things to him to end it all. Sin definitely finds you out, even if you don’t believe in it.

“I bet he would like to be a ‘very strong part’ of something else, my darling.” He laughed at his words. “All men like notches on their belts.”

“Oh, Devil! Don’t torment me now. I already told you. It ended, and ended badly. I have lost a friend here, it had started so sweetly.”

“If his cock isn’t his first concern, then he’s not much of a man. You women…you fall for such morality! He ‘appears’ sweet, because he knows a pot of honey attracts the bees. He has sucked you in and he hasn’t even waggled his finger yet! Let him waggle another part and we will see what you do.”

Oh! He was such a vulgar Demon. “You could not understand such friendship, even though it has ended. It was a false friendship, and should have ended. He was a moron and a deceiver, but I was a dupe. You can only waggle your own ‘part’ and think that women should fall on their knees before you!”

“Not a bad place for a woman, between my knees, don’t you think?” He sat back in his chair and grinned at me, a perfect false charmer.

I had to smile a bit at his banter. He had been a generous lover and was becoming a friend.

“About the opposite with your friend, wouldn’t you say? A friend about to become a generous lover?”

I sighed heavily. My friend had never been that. He was a middle aged man afraid of growing old. A vicious temper, with childlike tantrums was the last memory I had of him. An overgrown child.

“Oh, stop it! What would you know of men and women? You are nothing but air!” I snapped my fingers, and he pushed his lip out at me.

“Be careful what you assume of me, Miss Bess. I have more substance than you know.”

Well, I did know that he was flesh and blood enough when he made love to me. It felt more than real. What had grown between us was more enduring than a mere sexual act. Something was of the heart. My demon had a heart, and I was finding that I had one, too.

“Promise to leave him alone?” I asked sweetly.

He grinned at me and stretched his hand again across the table. “Oh, I’ll leave him alone, enough. But you do the same.”

There is no arguing with a Devil. This one was right from the start. I just wish I had known. I could have avoided a lot of grief.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007, 2013

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 13

June 21, 2013

"Winter Into Spring", watercolor, janekohutbartels, 2006

I’m having a lot of fun with this book. Rewriting isn’t my favorite thing to do but it is necessary. There were 43 chapters so far, when I left off writing this book, and I would imagine there will be at least 50 by the time it is finished.

For those who are just beginning to read this story, “Devil’s Revenge” is a a bit confusing. Bess, a 21st century writer, who had closed a book she was writing 16 years ago, has been zapped into the early 19th century by a character, Garrett Cortelyou from the previous book. He is now a cranky demon, half devil and half mortal, and full of magic. Sometimes it doesn’t work, and he seems to be only able to do minor magic: he can make ale and tea appear, but he has problems levitating chamberpots when he is showing off. He’s been pursued by another Devil, Obadiah, who also came through the ley lines of the previous novel to do battle with him. This has been going on since prehistory and Bess is now in the middle of this blood feud between the characters of Hell and other places in the cosmos. The Demon needs her for a particular reason, but sex really is just one of the benefits: he needs a bard, and as she is a writer, he thinks she will do fine in this position. Bess has her own ideas about all of this. They constantly clash on just about everything. The Demon thinks by Bess finishing the original novel and killing off Obadiah, his arch rival, he can manipulate his fate. Not so easily, as he is also petarding her finishing anything with his antics. He has the annoying habit of being able to read her thoughts. She tries to insult him with her own since he is reading at will.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE, CHAPTER 13

I am now restless. I believe it is born of my fear. So much has spiraled out of my control, and I am not used to this state of affairs. What started out as a lark, has now become a partial existence full of trepidation. I have gone from a simple wordsmith, cobbling words and phrases together in pleasing forms to living, at least part time, in an environment where things happen that frighten me. . At times, I have faced and felt violence where I would not suspect it to exist. What was once a paper character has now become my nemesis. He stalks, and plans more violence upon me. I have no defenses against him, but to ‘kill him off’ in my book, which I have been told, is a partial resolve. The being who tells me this, is another from the same book, my Demon Lover. I have not called him that lately, for he has taken much more control of my existence than I would sanely give over to another. But he appears the only barrier between a force that is so violent and malicious, that I am grateful for what defenses he constructs. I have become fully dependent upon his good graces, if a demon can be said to have such. I have given myself over to him for protection. The price of this will be a high one, I fear.

What seemed to be a game, one that he proposed, and I laughingly rejected, is now, I have come to understand, the only defense I have here. I was the creator of these characters. I am now subservient to their powers. I am a pawn in the middle of a game that I don’t understand. It is something a little like the book I was writing, but with supernatural characters abounding. I am only a mortal woman, and I am thrown into this cauldron of spirits, demons and war that has existed between characters since the beginning of time. My Demon Protector has tried to explain to me the pantheon of creatures that occupy his world…or worlds. He has the ability to travel between many of them, and I only call him Demon to taunt him. He is that but much more. What, I still haven’t figured out. But he has become much more to me. He has supernatural abilities that he is slowly revealing, like a dance of the seven veils.

“That’s hardly a masculine description of my talents.”

Hah! He sneaks in on cat paws and tries to surprise me. I am getting used to him now.

“Then I will change my tactics. Perhaps I will scare you more. You will fly to my arms!”

“Good Morning, Demon.” I smile as he slowly materializes in his usual place. “Have you brought me a dish of tea?”

“Your wish is my command.” He snaps his fingers and a lovely dish of tea appears on the table before me.

“Have you had your breakfast?” I ask him.

“Are you proposing to cook it for me? I like that. Admirable in a woman.” He lights his eternal pipe, and puffs lazily. He is in a good mood this morning.

“About that, Garrett. What is exactly expected of me?” He has proposed this very recently, but has not gone into much detail.

“Oh, as I think of it I will tell you.” He grins at me. I guess I am to read his mind on this.

“As long as you read it correctly, darling one.”

I drink my tea and look over the rim of my dish at him. He is in a very jolly mood today.

“That’s because you were good and tender to me. I like a woman that plays so well with John Thomas down there.”

I blush at the memory of his recent highjinks. He is a very sexual demon. Whatever I resisted before, he has made me more pliable to his wooing now. As long as I don’t contradict him. He can be the very devil if he doesn’t get his way. He grins at me, reading my mind again.

“Give me your hand, Bess. You were sad when I came in.” He’s a sensitive devil.

I extend my hand to him across the table. A usual gesture between us, when we are not fighting. It expresses a certain tenderness and trust. Most times he denies that.

“I am worried, Demon. I am worried about Obadiah and what is to come next.” I look at him seriously, and he puffs his white clay pipe thoughtfully.

“If it’s reassurance you want, I can give you little. But I can give you some knowledge about how things stand.” He slouched down in his chair, and stretched out his long legs. “It’s mostly a question of forces. Obadiah’s and mine. We share some things, and he wants to share more”. He looked at me and grinned, “but I am blocking him in his desires.”

“So I am pivotal here?” I can’t believe that.

“Well, yes and no. There’s the big picture, and the small.” He had a serious expression as he tried to form an explanation I would understand.

“The big picture is a question of territory. We both want the same slice of pie. We have been fighting over this way before you ever thought of your book. Think of the drug trade in your world.”

“I’d rather not, thank you. Bunch of thugs and hoods.”

“Well, it fits. Neither Obadiah or I are of the first water where morality comes in.” He flashed his grin again. “So we gather various forces, pulled from various worlds, and we go at each other like dogs.”

I could see how that analogy fit. Both of them.

“Where do I come in here?” I was losing the smaller picture.

“In good time I will come to that.” Frankly, I thought he was avoiding the topic. Perhaps something unpleasant in store for me.

“Well, since you have guessed at some of it, I might as well tell you a bit more.” He puffed on his pipe, but it had gone out.

“Bess”, he began. “You are a mortal woman.” Ah! Tell me something I don’t know. “You have a value in our worlds for a number of reasons. One of them is the possibility of transference.”

“Meaning?”

“You can go between worlds easier than us. You have substance. Mainly flesh and blood.” (I didn’t like the sound of this.)

“And…you would be a breeder.”

“What! What in Hell are you talking about?” I really didn’t like the sound of that!

“It’s either you consort with Obadiah or you consort with me.”

“That is the choice? That is the only choice I get? I am a broodmare for either one of you? What about my age? What about my husband and my real life?” I was getting a bit hysterical here.

“Ah, that. A bit of a complication, but that is what the glamours are for. I could work around that.”

Lovely. Within a matter of minutes he has changed my destiny, my fate singlehandedly, without even a ‘by your leave.’ Or he has attempted to.

“I can already see the fire has risen in your temper, girl. Remember your promise to submit to me? It seems like only yesterday you made a pact here with me.”

“Ah, Devil! You are a daft one if you think that I will follow any of this!”

“Have it your way. I’ll throw you out a window, and before you hit the ground Obadiah and his minions will have you fast. Would you prefer that fate because that is yours outside this house.”

So those were the terms. I would play a waiting game with him and see if things changed. But he could bite my ass if he thought I would give another foot of ground to him.

He smiled at me, though he could tell that I was upset. Beyond upset.

“Come Bess, it won’t be as bad as you think. You will have some immortality of your own. If I win the battles, you will be a very powerful woman. Plus you will be mine.”

Oh! Goody! Just the fate I have always seen for me. This cocksure demon talks in riddles and fairytales and I am to suspend my sanity and go along with the game here!

“You choose to do this by writing the book. Had you not been so good, you wouldn’t have caught the attention of a number of Old Ones.”

“You mean you and Obadiah?” The arrogance of the man…ah, demon!

“No, Bess. There are Immortals far stronger than I. I do have my own to kowtow to, you know.”

I didn’t. This was news.

“So, Demon, tell me. What are these forces that you are gathering for battle? Fairies, Elves, garden gnomes, some trolls?”

He laughed at my words, but the laughter didn’t mount to his eyes.

“You better hope that I can gather the forces I need, or you might be a broodmare for Obadiah. I think you remember his wooing. But then again, he is known widely for his perversion and pain. Pain in the ass, more likely. But you remember it well.”

Oh! He was so cruel! To use what Obadiah had done to me as a joke!

“You best remember who you are now beholden to, dear lady. A slight imbalance of power will take us both down. It would behoove you well to make my days light.”

Well, he had me there. A bargain with the Devil…or a devil, was not one that was easy to go back on. I should have thought of that from the start of this story.

My voice sounded weak to my ears. “Will you be able to do this?”

“I should. I am more, ah, winsome than Obadiah. And so are you. You will have to use some of your mortal charms to bring them to our side. That is part of your role as consort. And you will have to be convincing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those that sit in judgement of Obadiah and I can ‘award’ the spoils of battle to either side. You would be one of those spoils. You will have to play a convincing role of devotion and loyalty to me not to be given to Obadiah.”

“As in, “The Gods are fickle?”

“Good girl! Now you are playing the game!”

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted 2007, 2013

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 11

June 19, 2013

Saigyo

This chapter begins the building of allies of the two Demons, Garrett and Obadiah. Obadiah has already harnessed two minor (or common) demons, Salaah and Cheitan, to do his bidding. Garrett has to step up his game, but realizes Obadiah has become more powerful. The study of medieval demonology took very seriously this issue of powers in Hell, and this influences the action in “Devil’s Revenge”. Bess has been raped (in a previous chapter not posted) and the fear is that Obadiah will use his gathering forces to snatch her from under his arch rival’s nose.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE

CHAPTER 11

I was standing at a window in this bedroom. I found myself more and more in his world, the world of the Demon. I was not sure of the sequence of time, but it seemed that every few days I appeared back in this room. Today, I was busy for a number of hours writing a chapter, one I hoped would bring me to the last one, the conclusion of the novel. I have been in starts and stops over it for the past month, and have trouble forming my thoughts. Of course, there has been much to distract me. His presence in my ‘life’, for I guess you could call this life, has been a major obstacle in finishing it. He is entertaining but brings much chaos to my existence.

All in all, it’s been a fruitful time, for if I stumbled in the writing, there is much to take up my imagination. I have found out numerous things about him. He is a jealous demon, who prates he will chase away any competition, and has little regard for my earthly marriage. He already admits he visits me, and not just in my dreams, but takes a seat next to my bed, and involves himself in my sleep. My patient husband sleeps deeply, and I am not sure Garrett, the mortal name of the Demon, does not have his hand in this. A dear friend from the ‘north country’ as my Demon calls him, already has caught his interest, and he has as much threatened me with some foul magic if I continue to converse with him. I will not bow to his threats, for I think he has become fond of me, and does not want my displeasure. He can be a bully but I know now he needs much assurance from me, and that I give most willingly. I have grown as fond of him, as he seems to have of me, though he goes to great pains to hide it. His human side seems to be growing.

Ah! The masculine vanity! Alive even in immortals!

I was looking out on a bleak landscape, standing at the window. The middle of winter, and there was fog swirling on the ground around a clump of trees in the midground distance. Or it looked like fog. But then again, it came together like smoke and rose from a central point in the trees. How strange. It whirled and eddied and took shape like smoke from a chimney. It held my attention and I thought I could easily go out for a walk. I threw on my red cloak and went downstairs and out the front door. It was not a long walk to the stand of trees where I saw the smoke, and I felt a strange compulsion to follow. The trees were bare of all leaves, their black limbs silhouetted against the gray, winter sky. I walked through them, feeling a sense of discovery, being pulled by my curiosity. There, before me, was perhaps a low fire, though I can’t see any flame. The smoke was thick, and it seemed to pour from the ground! As I looked upwards, around the trees, there were blackbirds perched in the limbs. They were totally silent, which is strange for a flock of blackbirds. Suddenly the smoke parted, and there, sitting on a stump, about twenty feet from me, was Obadiah!

Oh! I couldn’t tell if he was an apparition, a ghost, or something else, but he sat there, his long legs stretched out before him, crossed one upon the other, and his arms crossed over his chest. He was not wearing a coat, but was dressed in a white, linen shirt, with a black stock wound around his neck. His face had no expression, but his eyes pierced me with their intensity, and I wavered where I stood, not sure what to do. He smiled at me, a mocking smile, devoid of any kindness. For some reason I found myself drawn to him as in a trance. I should be afraid of him, considering what he has done to me, but I was not. I was excited and unsettled, perhaps fear plays into these emotions, but curiosity and a perverse desire was overcoming all else, all caution.

Suddenly, I was laid out on the ground, pushed violently from behind. Obadiah disappeared in a flash, and standing over me was Garrett. He had a sword in his hand, and his face was terrible to see. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to my feet, scowling and in a fine high temper. He dragged me out of the glen and I don’t remember my feet even touching the ground. I heard the bedroom door slamming shut. It was as if I was in a dream, or a trance, and I tried to shake myself awake.

“You damn little fool!”

I heard something clatter. He had thrown the sword from him onto the floor.

He was furious, and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard, like a rat caught by a terrier. My head was thrown back and forth by his violence and I thought my neck would snap. He released me and I fell to the floor. I lay there for a moment, aware he was standing over me. I could still feel his wrath, like a thick fog in the air. I gasped with fear, and turned to look up at him. By the look on his face I thought he would kill me.

“Nay, get off the floor. You look like a kicked dog. I’ll not harm you more.”

His voice was strange, as if his anger had broken him. He extended his hand and pulled me to my feet, where he looked at me closely. I could tell he was still angry, but he was trying his best not to act upon it.

However, I was now furious. How dare he shake me like a child! How dare he throw me to the ground! Without another thought, I raised my hand and hit him hard across the face. I saw his surprise, and then, to my horror, heard a hollow laugh. He grabbed both of my wrists in his hands before I could think and pinned them behind me. He did not spare me any pain in the doing.

“So you want to play rough, do you?” He laughed again, and sat down in a chair. He up ended me across his lap and pulled up my skirts. He exposed my nakedness and beat me hard with his hand. I yelled loudly, and cursed him with all the names I could think of. He thrashed me, hitting my buttocks and also the tops of my legs. I screamed out until I thought I would go hoarse. I cried and pleaded with him, yet he did not spare me his blows. Throwing me to the bed I cried and sobbed mightily, more from fear than pain, but there certainly was enough of that! My butt was burning with his blows. I hated him thoroughly, for I had never been treated like this before. I cried myself out and he didn’t offer a word of compassion or apology. When I finally uncovered my face from the pillows, I saw him sitting there, smoking his pipe, like nothing in the world had happened. I felt humiliated and belittled. Obviously this was his purpose.

“Tell me,” he said between puffs. “Tell me what possessed you to leave this room and go into the woods.”

His eyes glittered through the smoke. Now that I knew he would not spare me his hands, I was afraid of him.

“Oh, my dear Bess, I can smell your fear, but that is not what I am after. Tell me, now, why you went into the woods.”

I rose up from my stomach, and gingerly sat on the bed. My butt hurt. He certainly was strong.

“I don’t know. I saw some smoke coming from the glen, and I thought it interesting. I felt curious.”

“Ah. Did you feel drawn to the woods?” He puffed more forcefully on his pipe.

“Well, the smoke drew me, but then when I got there, I felt strangely drawn to the trees. The birds were silent, no birdsong. I remember that.”

“Looks like Obadiah has called upon other forces for his designs.” He puffed on his pipe. “Seems like he is getting a bit desperate.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is charming you and others to do his bidding. I don’t like it a bit. Makes me work harder, something I generally avoid. Looks like he’s ready for battle.” He spit on the floor and I grimaced at him.

“Who is he charming, you make no sense?” None of this made sense at all.

The Demon thought a bit before answering.

“You asked me before about my world. Well, there are many worlds. I frequent a number of them. This one, where I appear to you, is full of characters. I get lost in the numbers, can’t remember all the hierarchy. But it’s simple enough, or at least I’ll make it simple enough for you. Listen closely.”

He packed down his pipe with his thumb, though the tobacco glowed red in the bowl.

“Demons are intermediaries between gods and men. Most of us, what you call ‘demons’ were once men. We were not angels. Don’t make that mistake. No, there are lots of shapes and shifts abounding. There are Fates, who alter destiny, there are what you know as poltergeists, who cause much mischief, there are the incubi and succubae you have already experienced (here he tipped his pipe in my direction), there are familiars, who assist what you call witches.”

He puffed on his pipe, and a blue smoke whirled above his head in lazy, sensual spirals.

“There are Demons formed from human semen.” Here he grinned crazily, the smoke swirling around his face, obscuring his eyes.

“There are disguised Demons, which I fear our friend Obadiah is, makes it tricky in dealing with him. And there are Demons that instigate Witchcraft. I don’t know what we are dealing with at present, but we are about to find out. He grows more powerful.”

“Is he more powerful than you?” Oh! I have such fear about this!

He grimaces around the stem of his pipe. “No, I’m still more powerful. But he grows. And he has enough tricks to harness Cheitan and Saalah to do his bidding.” He barked a short, bitter laugh.

“And who are they?” I didn’t like the sound of this.

“They are some minor demons, spirits if you will. Not of much merit, but amenable to a bribe. Cheitan is the demon of Smoke and Saalah is a demon that entices women into the wood. All kinds of mischief can befall a maid in the wood. They are known as some of the ‘Devil’s Handmaids’”.

He puffed on his pipe, sending up a plume of smoke to the ceiling that circled around as it hit the beams and spread outward. An example of “Cheitan”?

“And about your being in the wood, my dear lady. Very foolish of you. Had I not come at the moment I did, you would have suffered another rape by Obadiah. He seems to delight in taking his perverse pleasures with you. You can now thank me for saving you from an even more terrible attack than last time.”

What worse could he do to me than when he raped me? I shivered, remembering those details.

“Oh, there are plenty of tricks he could render upon your soft body, my darling,” said the demon, reading my thoughts. “What he did the first time was just a first course for his appetite. You forget we demons have terrific appetites, especially for mortal women. Your flesh, especially those places between your soft, white thighs, are irresistible to us.” He leered at me. Nasty bastard.

“And with what bribe does he induce them to work for him?”

“Probably your blood, or a piece of your flesh. Or, if he’s in a particularly generous mood, a piece of your ass. Of course, that would be after he has sated himself on your charms. He would turn you over to them, where they would use you until they were bored and would tear you to pieces.”

Oh, what a terrible mouth on him! But now I was really afraid.

“You see, my dear, as long as Obadiah thinks that you are, ah, I think you call it “a free agent’ in your world? Well, as long as Obadiah thinks he can take you at will, even from under my nose, he will come back and try again. There are only a few ways to discourage him from this behavior.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, it is not by my authority to tell you how to end your novel, but killing him off would help….for a while. That would be one way. There is another way, but you would not want to go down that path.” He laughed to himself, and puffed hard on his pipe, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“And what is that path, dear Demon?”

It seemed the room darkened, or perhaps the sky did outside. But something changed. He still sat in his chair but it seemed he was whispering in my ear.

“A woman is much happier if she has a Master. Authority thrills a woman, my darling. Nothing but complete subjugation will finally satisfy her.”

He smiled at me, and I shivered at his words. What a strange and alien a concept to me. To call him “Master”!

“In the animal world, its nature’s decree the male shall dominate. And you are my little vixen, my little red fox.” He smiled around the stem of his pipe. “And I am very much the male here.”

I would not dispute that statement. He was more ‘masculine’ than ten men– twenty. And very proud of it. No ‘metrosexual’ confusion for him.

“You know, sweetheart, I am thinking Obadiah is more a very powerful incubus. Certainly a devil, he comes by that honestly, but…. Sexual relations with an incubus are decidedly unpleasant and an often painful affair. I think that you would agree with that.”

He would get no argument from me.

“So, Demon, what are you saying I should do?”

“Why don’t you refer to me as Demon Lover anymore?”

“After that beating? What do you think?

“Look, Bess, I think that you should come under my power completely, and let it be known.” He grinned broadly. Oh! This was fun for him!

“What is it you are saying I do?”

“Sex is a powerful thing in our worlds, as well as yours. I am suggesting you become my consort, for as long as you inhabit my world. That could be a long time, it depends upon things.”

“What things, Demon?”

“Ah, that I have no competition in your heart and mind, that you submit to everything I say and do, and that I am Master of you and your body. That you obey me and submit to me in all things.”

“I don’t know. You know that I am married.”

“Well, I can not trample upon your marriage vows, came long before me.”

“So did my friends, Garrett.”

“Ah, that is another complication. But I will look the other way if you please me in all other things.”

“Are you talking about whips and chains and things, Devil?”

He laughed. “Why in Hell’s good name would I need such things? I’m talking about the natural roles of man and woman, or in this case, Demon and mortal woman. What could be clearer?”

“You have lost me. I don’t know anything of subjugation or submission. We modern women tend to avoid all such talk and behavior.”

“And are you any happier for it?” His eyes glittered through the smoke he exhaled.

He had me there. Relations in the twenty first century were confusing enough. Was there any real happiness between men and woman? There was a lot of anger, and sham, and moving about, exchanging partners and forming anew. There was a lot of unhappiness and divorces. The roles between women and men seemed to be mandated by some chaos that we danced to faster and faster. The ‘natural’ roles that seemed to work for past generations were lost to us now. Women were more like men, and men! God! They were like women! Most women I knew had more ‘friends’ who were homosexual, gays, than girlfriends. They were interchangeable. The roles and relations had become very confused. Perhaps he had a point here. Perhaps what he was proposing was a balancing of the roles. The strong man (or devil) and the soft, weaker, woman. Perhaps he was on to something.

“You promise not to hurt me?” I asked him seriously. I don’t know what I was afraid of, but I was.

He shook his head at me in wonder, and laughed. “Are woman from your century so distanced from their natures that they don’t trust the masculine? Can you place your heart and body in my hands and know I will protect you? What is it that men do in your domain? Do they not occupy this fundamental role?”

“Well, not without a lot of confusion, Garrett. They get mixed messages from all sorts of places. I don’t think modern men know what to do with women.”

He laughed delightedly and gave me his opinion. “You fuck them good, and often, and they keep you entertained. It’s really an easy exchange. They lay down and spread their legs on demand, and you chase off all the wolves. What’s so hard about that?”

Ah, he is a trying and primitive Demon! He has the manners of a goat, but that I have told him before. It is an exchange he is proposing here. My protection and security from Obadiah if I ‘cleave’ myself to him completely. He hasn’t given me much to go on yet, but I am interested in his idea. And he has allowed my marriage and my friendship (there are others he doesn’t know about) and promises to wink at them.

In any case, I am way over my head here, and not believing in anything supernatural or paranormal, I find myself at a disadvantage. He holds all the cards right now, and I am at his mercy. My fear of Obadiah and what he can do overcomes my disdain for my overpowering, vulgar demon.

Hopefully, he will be a kind and generous ‘Master.’ I think this is called ‘bargaining with the Devil’.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
copyrighted, 2006, 2013


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