“Madame Gormosy Explains Herself”….

(Madame Gormosy in the flesh…)

A little fun today, as the weather is hot and the sentiments slow…..

Very recently I was asked by a blog to ‘interview’ a character from “Devil’s Revenge”.  This proved almost impossible, as the man I wanted to interview refused to stand still.  So I called upon Madame Gormosy, also a character in this novel to speak.  She has graciously done so and gives a good accounting of what was happening.  As she is also a Demon, please take what she writes with a large grain of salt.

Lady Nyo, with sunburn today and not from the Sun.

–

“My name is Louise (Louis) Alphonse Margot Gormosy. As you can read, I have the delicious ability to change my sex at will. I am a Demon of Lust in the hierarchy of Hell. There are many Demons of Lust down there, but they generally are stupid devils. I, Madame Gormosy, am not. I appear in this novel at the bequest of Arch Duke of Hell, M. Abigor. He too, is a Demon of Lust, but he is not stupid. Non, he is not. He is a much respected Military Strategist and an ancient Healer. He sends legions into battle and then he tries to stop up the wounds. Of course, this is hardly the point, as all the  chiefs  in Hell have our own legions. I, Madame Gormosy, have 60,000 devils to deploy at my whim. M. Abigor has many, many more, uncountable, but his hoof is close to the Throne.

When Bess, who is trying to finish writing a book to end the conflict between M. Garrett and M. Obadiah, asked me to do this interview, I was pleasantly surprised. She later told me that the interview was mostly intended for that scoundrel, M. le Demon, his mortal name Garrett Cortelyou. I was not so pleased. I will tell you a secret. When I am in the form of M. Louis, Garrett is amiable. We two have fought battles, shared women, have caused much mischief over thousands of years, but he is unfortunately, uncomfortable when I violently shake my head and become “Louise”. Quel dommage! But he is a good soul (if Devils have souls) and we have each other’s back. Yes, and Devils have morals, of a sort.

This morning M. Garrett came in the room, nodded and listened to my request for this interview. Mon Dieu! He is a handsome man this morning! He is tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair that is too long to be fashionable. This picture of him on that blog? He is far older and much more handsome. That picture makes him look like a spoiled brat. He is a formidable man and has many conquests, but he is much older. Your readers would faint to know how much.

He refuses to wear wig and powder,  his hair is bound into a tail by a black silk ribbon. He will not wear the silk stockings either. He wears trousers and boots. He has dark eyes that snap when he is angry. I have seen the results of his temper over the centuries, and it can be impressive. But he is not a cruel devil. Non, in fact, if you must know… he is not a ‘proper’ demon at all. His mother was mortal and his father? Well, only M. Abigor knows for sure who his father is, and he is not telling. But M. Garrett’s father must be a very important person in Hell and History, because he is treated almost like a son by M. Abigor. And that status for a devil, is a much desired one. M. Abigor is known for his own temper, but this is to be expected of Devils. He can, if he so chooses, turn one to toast.

M.Garrett listened to my request for an interview, closing his eyes while I talked. He then snorted  and disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving the scent of brimstone in the room.   I saw him walking towards the woods with a shotgun and a dog so I would believe he is out hunting this morning. He could easily make a bird fall to earth with magic, but non, he forgets sometimes his bag of tricks  most devils have. And of course, he is half human. Not a proper devil at all. So, his magic is mostly  making ale and tea appear,  levitating a chamber pot, and  appearing and disappearing at will. This last is not good for an interview. He is a tricky devil. He is also a sexy devil.

As I mentioned, I am here at the bequest of M. Abigor. I am flattered that this exalted Demon would choose me, Madame Gormosy, to appear in this story. Bess (the author) might think she is controlling these events, but she is naïve. She is mortal, and mortals can’t see much beyond their noses.

I was brought into this novel to give instruction to Bess. As a mortal woman of the 21^st century, she doesn’t have the  knowledge how to relate to M. Garrett or really any other Demon. She is to be the consort of M. Garrett, and avec vous et moi? She is rather….stupid. All mortals are stupid compared to most devils. Except the stupid ones.

Let me tell you how this mess started. Bess, sixteen years ago started writing a story. She played around with these mortal characters, brought them to life, and then closed the book on them without finishing. I think she pinched M. Garrett’s tail. Then, in 2006, she went back to the book, but she saw  she had written a very boring novel. So, what to do? She took a number of characters, M. Garrett and M. Obadiah  (who hated each other) and stupidly made them into devils. Bon! She continued the novel. However, M. Garrett was furious that she had ‘closed the book on him’, (and dented his overarching ego) and he did not spare his temper. In fact, he did something that is not what a ‘civilized’ man would do. Of course he is half demon so that would account for his bad manners. Bess fell in love with this devil (who could withstand his charms?) and the story took off. It was not a straight love story, though, of course not with demons around. M. Obadiah, from the previous novel, made his appearance and the battle between the two men started all over again. M. Obadiah’s offense was intolerable. He abused Bess in the vilest way, but this was just to get at M. Garrett. Those two are like bulls fighting over the same pasture and heifers. Mon Dieu!

I was commanded by M. Abigor, who has powers over all of us….Bess included, though she doesn’t know it yet, to tutor her in deportment. Bess has had the standard education of a modern woman, but she knows nothing about the great French salons, the intellectuals and wits there, she has no idea of the power the Underworld has over mortal dealings. True, she knows of the power of the Church, but she knows much of nothing. Since M. Garrett has declared her to be his consort, she must now learn how to deport herself. She doesn’t know all the characters (mostly demons) she is interacting with, but soon, IF I can get her up to snuff…she will have tea with M. Abigor. By then, perhaps this woman (who is not a young, spring chicken) will not disgrace us all. Or become toast.

I must say this: What M. Garrett is focusing on, this great adventure to discover his father, his detour into Celtic history, is just a ruse by those more powerful than he. They are called “The Others” and they have been around since the beginning of time. They are more than Demons, they are Immortals. Some of them come from the Nephilim and some from cultures that have passed out of history. But they are the Untouchables above us.

I, Madame Gormosy, think these “Gods” are playing with us all, but we have our tasks here on Earth and in Hell. So, the fight continues between these two bulls with Bess the mortal woman the prize. I just don’t understand it, for Bess is no Helen of Troy. She is nice enough but her ignorance of life and history gets in the way. And, she can appear as a slob. I have come to her rooms in the morning and I see her sitting with her elbows on the table, in dishabille, a mob cap almost over her eyes. Mon Dieu! What Devil (or man) can tolerate that in the morning? But M. Garrett must be besotted because he just smiles at me. And of course, Bess doesn’t have a clue as to who is pulling the strings of life.”

Your faithful (as far as Demons go…) Servant,

Louise Gormosy

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

 

 

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 5

I haven’t looked at this chapter in a long time.  It needs rewriting, but until I do, it’s still a good story.  BEWARE:  Sex…sorta.

–

I had no way of telling time or sequence or anything that relates to the passage of time. I think of my life where we grew up around various clocks: mantel clocks, hall clocks, electric clocks in the kitchen, the battery run digital clocks by our bedsides, and our wristwatches. In the dimension I was visiting, or found myself, there were few clocks. No one so far wore watches. Perhaps there were pocket watches, but I saw few people and couldn’t tell

So I didn’t know what time it was of the morning, though I saw the sun had not risen. The room was colored by the timid light creeping into dawn, a blending of gray shadows. The fire had burned low during the night, and cast no glare. There before the fireplace was the Demon. He slouched in his chair, one booted foot upon the other, staring into the embers. He smoked a white, clay pipe, something I recognized as a “Dutch pipe.” He didn’t stir from his chair as I called his name, but blowing out a mouthful of smoke, he turned his face towards the bed.

“You are finally awake.” He grinned around the stem of his pipe, his large white teeth gleaming in the dim light of the room.

“It is too early to wake, Garrett. Aren’t you cold at the fire?” I snuggled back into my pillow.

“’Ah, an invitation to your bed this early? Would do, but there is a litter of puppies around your breast.”

I opened the covers, and there under the blankets, were his four pups. Little water spaniels, three boys and the girl, the runt, Sophie, snuggled between my breasts.

“Did you do this, Demon?” I laughed, for I had no memory of putting them there. The smell of puppies this close is a bit high, like sour milk

“The fire was low when I entered the room and you looked warm enough to comfort them.”

“Have you thought what you are going to do with them, yet?”

“I aim to keep them right here, and you, my darling woman, will be nursing them for me.”

“Ah, Garrett, had you ever thought that perhaps I might be a bit too busy to care for your dogs? I am trying to finish this novel, my friend, and perhaps it would have been nicer for you to ask me first.”

“Perhaps, yes…but it still doesn’t change the outcome.” He grinned and his eyes snapped in the firelight.   “The rules of the engagement are simple. You do what I want.”

“You are such an arrogant Demon! What makes you think I will do as you demand? Have you ever heard of free will?”

“Highly overrated and doesn’t apply here.”

He continued to puff and draw on his pipe and filled the room with his horrible smoke. Brimstone I believe.

“No so.” He continues to read my thoughts at will…his idea of free will, I suppose.   He packed down his ‘tobacco’ with his thumb. “It’s a nice cherry and spice blend I brought from the islands… Perhaps you would prefer a pipe of opium?”

“I have never done such a thing, thank you very much.”

He turned a half-opened eye at me, and said lazily. “Perhaps before you dismiss it, you should at least try it once.”

“And why would I do such a thing? It seems a half-death to me.”

My Demon continued to puff on his pipe, the lazy whiffs of smoke spreading across the room. When I first smelled the acrid smoke, I had thought fleetingly of the pot that I used to smoke on occasion. I thought, ‘fleetingly’, but that was enough for my demon to pick up. Suddenly, the smoke was not of tobacco, but of a sweet smelling herb I recognized though I had not smelled for years.

“You bastard demon!” I laughed at him, this conjuring trick a minor one in his bag. “Do you know how hard it is to quit that stuff? That is the last thing I need to smell this morning. Way too early!”

All this ruckus awakened the dogs in my bed. They were rolling over each other, and jumping at the pink ribbons of my mobcap. Little Sophie between my breasts grunted and stretched.

“You have disturbed your dogs, Garrett, now you better find something to feed them.”

He snapped his fingers and a bowl appeared on the floor in front of the fire. I handed each one from the bed to him, and he placed them around the bowl. Whatever it was, they ate with growls and snarls, stepping over each other.

“What is it you’re feeding them?” Even the runt Sophie was not shying from the food.

“Deer meat was handy.”

Well, at least he was sensible enough not to put down a dish of milk. Those pups would be runny within an hour.

“Oh, I thought about you nursing them but your nipples would give out fast. Though it would be amusing to see your milk spout when they started to howl.”

Oh, he was  such a bastard this morning!

“Well, I’m glad you decided on deer meat instead.” What a devil he was, to think of these ways of torment. His temper was like mercury, and he took offense easily. Perhaps it was part of the demon culture, for he certainly was a touchy devil.

“You should know, you thought me up.”

“Oh, Demon, I think you have had a long life before you ever came to thought.

“It used to be Demon Lover, and now it is ‘friend’? I think we go backwards.”

Opening the covers, I smiled at him sweetly, and decided to take my chances this morning. He was an entertaining fellow, and carefully handled, could be amusing.

He put down his pipe on the table, and moved to the bed, slipping in beside me. He placed my head upon his shoulder as he usually did  and settled next to me

“You know, Garrett, I have a lot of writing to do today. I am behind with the book and want to finish before the year is out.”

“You can write when I’m through with you, on the morrow…I want to show you things today. First I want to show John Thomas between us a seashell of delights.”

He was amorous in the morning. Actually, he was usually ready for a romp any time of the day or night.

“Besides, you avoided me in Chapter 4 and I mean to make up for that.”

He had a scent about him that was enchanting, a combination of musk and sweat and probably brimstone.

“It’s the scent of an aroused man, who is about to release a lot of little demons from his loins.”

I laughed at his clumsy wit, and blushed in his arms.

“You modern women wash too much. You have forgotten the scent of sex and its purpose. It draws the bees to the honey.”

Perfume and soap was such a part of my life that I didn’t realize my body produced its own scent of desire. Since he had bedded me my thinking on this had changed. After our lovemaking, we would lay in a nest scented with the smell of flowers, old flowers, ashes and wood. That must be part of his magic.

“Lie still, my darling woman, and indulge my mood here.”

When the demon demanded something, it was wise for me to listen. He had a way of bending me to his will, and I was learning, slowly, that sometimes there was an innate wisdom in what he did. Sometimes.

He touched my forehead, on both temples with one hand extended. He passed his hand slowly down to my eyes, and as he did, they closed. I barely felt his hand descend to my midriff, where he stopped and pressed down hard.   That is where I seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep, or at least a trance. Then, with something like a slow electrical shock, from the ends of my fingers and toes, I felt a gathering of energy, something warm and concentrating, moving down the passageway of my limbs to the center of my body, where he had pressed on my stomach. It seemed that all my nerve endings were coming alive, and centering in my stomach. My pelvis was flooded with a warmth that moved back and forth across my hip bones. An exquisite feeling of tingling took hold of my face, my breast, my entire body. Suddenly, it all rushed upwards, out of my body, like a current of many colored ribbons, opening upward and outward, bursting from my body like waves of liquid and spinning off like a million stars above me. I was lifted from all gravity and hurled through space like a ragdoll. I was transformed into pure energy, or something of that nature, for I had no words to describe what was happening to me. All I knew that it was an extreme pleasure, beyond anything I could imagine, and something that I didn’t want to stop. It dissolved my body into a stream of light, flowing through and around any obstacle, any fear. I felt like I was turned inside out, and my sex had blossomed like a giant orchid. My whole body, or what was left of it, pulsated with a spent desire. Slowly, I seem to have fallen to earth, to this bedroom, to this bed, and in the arms of a man who was lying there unconscious. I looked at him, and he was naked next to me, the bedclothes on the floor. The room was over heated, though the fire was still low. I felt a wetness on my side, and looking down, saw that he was bleeding from his left side, below his heart.

“Garrett!” I called out to him in a panic. “Wake up! Oh my God! You are bleeding, you have injured yourself.” I shook his shoulder, trying to arouse him.

He slowly came out of his trance, for it seemed that he was as spent as I was.

“I am fine. It’s just a little sacrifice for this pleasure.”

He passed his hand over his small wound, and it disappeared. My face was contorted with fear, my hands on his shoulders.

“What did you do? What happened to us?”

He smiled a weak smile and cleared his throat. “There are many things in this world and out of it. That is just one. It’s pretty spectacular, but there are even better things to come.” He burped loudly. “Right now, I’m starving, and am weakened with expending that energy.”   Turning over, he said with a grin. “Pretty good, no?”

I stared up at the ceiling, too weak to sit up. “Pretty good, yes.”

I lay there, silent, thinking of what had just happened. . My body felt like velvet, with no structure or nerves. I was empty of everything, completely undone.

“But why do you bleed?”

“Bess, you ask too many questions. Just think of Adam’s rib and the creation of Eve.”

He grinned and sat upright. Snapping his fingers, a tray of breakfast appeared on the table. He put on his long, linen shirt, and sat heavily in a chair.

I didn’t think that I could rise from the bed, much less walk to the other chair. My body was without bones.

“Oh, forgive me. I forget. That first experience usually knocks the wind out of your sails. You’ll find ways around that.”

He pushed out of his chair, and helped me sit up on the side of the bed, then led me to the chair. I sat there, not dizzy, but confused as to what had happened to me. Was this what is called Tantric sex?

“Nope,” I heard him mumble as he stuffed his mouth with bread and butter. “Far beyond that earthy delight, but we can play with it next if you want. Bit of a bore, though.” He drank a swallow from his tankard of ale, as he preferred this drink instead of my tea in the morning.

I could not imagine doing anything else that day or the next! He grinned at me, the lustful devil, and pushed some bread my way. He extended his hand across the table and looked at me tenderly, and I placed my hand in his. There was a little of that current still present in the air, and it melted my hand into his.

Ah, Devil, I thought to myself. You are a dangerous man or demon, whatever you be. I wondered when I fell back to earth if all the molecules fell back in place. I knew I had given something to him, far beyond my heart and sex, and it seemed to involve my trust. Perhaps that was the key to his heart.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008-2016

 

 

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 3…WARNING…some sexual content.

 

(Demon of Lust above, but he looks like he has little energy for anything, but it’s Summer in Hell, too)

So…..I’m posting a chapter (or a few in the days to come….) of “Devil’s Revenge”, my second and almost finished novel.  It’s just silly stuff, right now….and probably will continue to be silly stuff later.

Lady Nyo

–

Stretching like a cat, I awoke slowly. Suddenly I smelled the strong scent of wood smoke and bounced upright in bed. Looking around, I saw the fireplace and realized where I was. Damn, it was happening again! The Demon was playing fast and loose with my molecules, zapping me from my own comfortable bed and century. How in hell does he do this? Hah! Like he would tell me, but at least this time I wasn’t sick to my stomach.

The Demon had a name, Garrett Cortelyou. Cocksure of his charms, arrogance fed into seduction and he was a danger to my decorum and decency. Compounding the situation he was devilishly attractive and exuded an unearthly charisma.   He was master of a particular brand of sexual magic and his appetite knew no bounds.   He delighted in corrupting me, shocking me with his…. techniques. I would call him a libertine. He had little concern I was married and I forgot I was when he was near. There was a certain charm in his humor and he was an entertaining devil. Sexual encounters with him were addictive and probably dangerous. But this could not continue – I was losing control of myself. What kind of world had he pulled me into? Why was I here? This was insanity and since it happened over and over, I knew I was not dreaming.

I also knew somehow… answers to this present situation revolved around the novel. Perhaps if I kept writing until the end it would resolve.   I could return to my comfortable, boring life with my husband and my chickens and this excitement and unreality would disappear. I realized the book was a key, but which door did it open?

And then this demon? Well, I really didn’t know that he was a demon, just guessing. I didn’t have anything else to call him and ‘demon’ fit for some reason. Perhaps it was the magic and the mind reading, but I needed a name for him. What part did he really play in the scope of things? He was a sharp-eyed critic and petards my writing with his presence and demands. I knew he wasn’t ‘real’, oh real enough in some physical sense, but there were other considerations. How did he materialize and why? And why me? Of course, he used the ready excuse of the book and how I thought I had brought him ‘into life’, but the power of words, my words, couldn’t upset the universe to such a remarkable extent. No, there were other forces at work, and I would just have to discover in time what they were.

Here I was, early morning by the light in the room, and again, in a strange bed.   I had to pee, and knew from past visits where the chamber closet was. It was cold in the room, the fire was dying down and I hurried across the floor. The sound of a pee in a china pot is quite intimate, as water with our modern toilets muffles sound. Leaving the closet, I stumbled over my feet in surprise. There, sitting in a chair, was the demon.

“I thought we agreed you would refer to me as your “Demon Lover”? Garrett was eating a large slice of currant bread, the Dutch escapes me–

“Kretenbroad”, he said, dusting the crumbs off his chest as he chewed.

“Thank you, the word eluded me.”

“Anna makes good kretenbroad.. I think I will marry her.” He grinned and snapped his fingers, making a dish of tea appear on the table.

“You could do worse.” According to the first novel, Anna was the spinster niece of Daniel Griggs, the manservant who lived in this house for thirty years.

“Much more. Get your facts straight.”

“Garrett, what gives you leave to invade my bedroom at all times of the morning?”

Still chewing his bread, he gave a devilish grin. “I like celestial music in the morning.”

“What are you talking about? What music?”

“The music a woman makes when she pees in a chamber pot,” he said, still grinning.

“You are a nasty demon.” I was getting impatient with his antics and he took great liberties.

“Come drink your tea before it cools”. He dusted the crumbs to the floor.

I sat down in my nightgown, and picked up the ‘dish’ of tea. It really was a bowl with two handles, but every time he conjured up tea, it was good.

“Of course it is, I made and stirred it with my –“

“Don’t tell me, Garrett, I won’t be able to drink.” He really was vile this morning, and his visits were always backed with a purpose.

“Always backed”? That’s more garbled English. Write it in Dutch.”

“All right, Demon!” He was so irritating. “”Why are you here?” (Better I ask why I am here…) I was struggling with the book, trying to finish and every time we were together in this room, there was a setback in my writing, or a detour, or something strange and distracting.

“Oh? You see me as a distraction? I can be more dangerous than that.” He burped loudly. He had the table manners of a goat.

“Bahhh”. He grinned crazily, and for whatever reason he appeared this morning, I was heading for trouble.

“First, give me your hand, and be more tender towards me.” He extended his hand across the table, and gave me a sweet smile. For some reason, he did this each visit. I never trusted him, especially when he was extending his paw.

“Hand.” He nodded to himself. “And call me ‘Lover’. I miss that from you.”

I had to smile. He was such an insecure devil.

“I am not. It’s just that you are a bad writer.” He lunged across the table and grabbed my hand. “And still not fast on your feet.”

A current flowed from his hand to mine. I was knocked back at the intensity of his touch. He had done this before but something was different today.

“You fed me. See, Bess, I was starving, and your cooking restored my strength.” He grinned and squeezed my hand. “Anna made me stronger, too…and I thank thee for her.”   Anna was a good Dutch cook, apparently.

“I don’t think I want to fokken her, though.” He couldn’t resist. “Nope, don’t want to do that at all.”

He scowled. I read what you wrote…and again, you should stick to what you know.” He smiled, yanking my hand towards him.

“What in hell are you talking about?” He rubbed the front of his breeches, and leered.

“Sex?” Is that the word you can’t think of? You have to use sign language?”

“Ha…funny! Especially coming from a woman who obviously doesn’t know a thing about fellatio.”

I sat up, and thought back to what I wrote. “What was wrong with it?”

“See the sentence above the last.”

“Now you are going stupid. Of course I know about it, I’ve been married for years.”

“Then your husband doesn’t know much.”   He had me there.

“I will teach you something useful –the devil leered again- and make you a better writer.” He grinned, and the current between us grew stronger. My hand felt like it was melting into his, the heat fusing our flesh together.

“That’s what good – (the devil burped) sex is supposed to feel like.”

Garrett was a cock-sure devil, (“damn right”) and most of his suggestions for the novel were on target. He had lived in those years, the early part of the 19^th century, and knew the social customs of the period. I could only rely on my spotty research for these things.

“Hold still. I will put something nice in your mouth, sweet woman.” Ah, God…his mind was always fixated on lust.

“It effects better parts of me too, but you keep your knees together too much. Ah, seduction of women writers is hard work.”

“You’ve used that line before, Garrett. Now, who is original?” My little joke didn’t please and he pulled me over the table and into his lap.

“Give your highwayman a kiss, sweet Bessie.” When he was in this mood, there was no denying the demon.

“Oh!” I said, sitting upright on his knee.   “That’s one of my favorite poems. “The Highwayman”. I thought it the most romantic poem I ever read when I was twelve.”

“Doesn’t turn out too nice, both of them dead. That musket beneath her breast….” He shook his head and burped again. His stomach at least was all too human.

I put my head on his shoulder. He could be a sweet devil, and evoked tender emotions from me he didn’t deserve. He thought it a good time, when I was docile in his arms (“won’t last long”- I heard him think!) to pick me up and walk to the bed. He lay down besides me, and placed my head on his shoulder.

“You are rather sweet this morning, Devil.” His temper was usually like mercury. I think we were coming to terms.

“Well, we have, my darling. I have chased away all the competition and you have me at ball and cock.”

I had to laugh. I was still married, and older by decades.

“I was born in 1790. Beat that.” (I was to find this was a lie…another one.)

I thought I was robbing the cradle. He was such a beautiful creation, but still, just a figment of my imagination.

“You really need to expand your horizons, sweeting. There are so many parts to the universe and you just occupy one. You limit yourself by what you believe.”

I never accepted the stories of ghosts, haunts or spirits, but lying by his side, I was beginning to wonder. He appeared flesh and blood enough this morning, especially as he grabbed my hand and placed it on his half mast cock swelling under his breeches.

“Good. You learn something. Am I real enough for you now?   Let me show you something else.” He passed his hand quickly from the top to the bottom of my nightgown and it melted away like smoke.

“Ah! The first time I have seen you naked. You wear too many clothes. Let’s see what I’ve caught.” He pushed my hair back from my breast, and stroked a nipple.

“You have pink nipples…very pretty! And perhaps you are pink elsewhere?” I lay in his arms and blushed at his words. He took my hand and placed it in his shirt, next to his heart. He always wore a heavy linen shirt and I had become enchanted by his smell of wood smoke and probably brimstone.

“Very funny. Now unclench those knees and let me make love to you.”

“Wasn’t it you who told me the portal to a woman’s soul is her mouth?” I thought to distract his limited mind.

He turned on his side and smiled tenderly down at me. “You use my own words against me? You show courage. You also forget I am a nasty demon.”

“Not so nasty. Getting a bit better.” His behavior had turned my mood from irritation to tolerance. There really was no way around things, if I wanted answers. I had to play a role. Conditions were changing between us and he was softening with a gentler touch.

“I have no softness, and don’t bet on it.” He stroked my thigh and squeezed a breast. I tried the same trick on his clothes, passing my hand down the length of him, and he laughed.

“It will take many decades, sweetheart, for you to learn that trick.”

“Not even levitating a chamber pot?”
“You would have more luck just throwing it.”

He was a handful, this Demon.   It was hard work keeping stride with his wit. He could have written a much better book, but then again, he likes best being the sharp-eyed critic.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007-2015

“Devil’s Revenge” Chapter 11

was to be the cover painting for “Pitcher of Moon” but didn’t work out.

Standing at a window in this bedroom, I find myself more and more in his world, the world of the Demon Lover. Not sure of the sequence of time, but it seemed 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 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 and sometimes charming, but brings much chaos to my days.

All in all, it’s been a fruitful time, for if I stumbled in the writing, there is much to learn. I have discovered numerous things about him. He is a jealous demon, who prates he will chase away any competition, and has little regard for my 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 my Demon, does not have his hand in this. A former friend from the ‘north country’ 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.

Ah! The masculine vanity! Alive even in demons!

The landscape was bleak as I saw from the window. The middle of winter, and fog was 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 would go out to investigate. 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. I felt a strange compulsion to follow. The trees were bare of all leaves, their black limbs silhouetted against the gray 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 couldn’t see any flame. The smoke was thick. 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, one upon the other, 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 if I would faint. He smiled, 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 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. Dragging me out of the glen I don’t remember my feet even touching the ground, until we were back in my bedroom. I heard the 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!”

He was furious, and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard, caught 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 slapped him across the face. I saw his surprise, and then, to my horror, heard him utter 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 immediately pulled up a chair with his foot.. 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 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.

“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 and I knew better take him seriously. Now that I had proof he would not spare his hands, I was afraid of him.

“Oh, 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 was certainly strong.

“I don’t know. I saw some smoke coming from the glen, and I thought that it was 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 down there, and near, I felt strangely drawn to the trees. The birds were all silent, I remember that.”

“Looks like Obadiah has called upon other forces for his designs.”   He puffed on his pipe hard. “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 preparing himself 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 he answered.

“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 strange 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. There are Demons who 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?”

He grimaced 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 who entices women into the woods. All kinds of mischief can befall a maid in the woods. 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 woods, 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 and I shivered thinking of what could have happened.

“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, Demon?”

It seemed the room darkened, or perhaps the sky did outside. But something changed noticeably. 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 call him “Master”!

“In the animal world, 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, sweet darling, I am thinking Obadiah is nothing more than a very powerful incubus. 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?”

“So, Demon Lover, what should I do?”

“Look, Bess, I think 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 I am married. Would I have to give my husband up for safety here?”

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

“What about my other friends, male and female?”

“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 use them good, and often, and they keep you entertained. It’s really an easy exchange. They lay down 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 I have said that 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 enough 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 to me 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, 2008-2015

“Devil’s Revenge, Chapter 8

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

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

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

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 10

Summer in Scotland, watercolor, 2003, Jane Kohut-Bartels

I want to thank the readers of this story. I didn’t know how well it would be received, but I see that people are reading this tale all over the world. That is extremely gratifying. It encourages me to rewrite this long book.

I had some questions at first about even posting these chapters, because of the issues of religion, etc. …plus sex, that would keep people from reading this FICTIONAL tale of devils and demons and mortals. Some people can’t relax even to read something of such fantasy because the words demon or devil set something off in them. Hah!

The imagination of writers is something that expands, except when it doesn’t, and then perhaps they make for very dull books. I hope to avoid that plague.

I don’t believe in these little buggers, but they make for a lot of good story telling. So, thank you, those who are brave enough to enter into this story.

Lady Nyo
DEVIL’S REVENGE,

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 more manly.”

I laughed. This demon lover “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 effect on old maids.”

He is an insufferable boor! But I vaguely remember being….passionately aroused, out of my mind with lust, and 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 that the Demon has knowledge about worlds and creatures I don’t have a language for. Asked directly, and he will hem and haw. But every so often, he will slip up and tell me something actually interesting.

“You hurt my feelings, Bess. Everything I have to say is interesting.” The Devil is reading my mind again. 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. “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 had 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!” I was shocked.

“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.

Ah…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. My 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, 2007-2013

‘Devil’s Revenge’, Chapter 43, for some Summer Reading Fun….

I came across this last chapter (so far) of “Devil’s Revenge” and thought I would post it.  It’s funny, or at least it made me laugh.

I have lost the corrections of this chapter twice so I appreciate the indulgence of readers.  I’ll get to them.

Explanations:

Those bothersome rips in the Universe and ley lines….. Chapter 43 takes place in the 1820′s….a dinner party.

Madame/Monsieur Gormosy is a Demon.  shape shifter and also the Demon of Lust.  There are a few of them, but M/Mde Gormosy enjoys cohabiting in both sexes.

M. Abigor is the top daddy…very close to the throne.  He was featured in Chapter 32 on this blog.  He is he most powerful demon in the room.

M. Bucon is a terrible Devil.  He’s the Demon of Hatred Between Sexes…

M. Garrett is half and half….human and devil.  Bess is fully human and terribly confused with life amongst devils.

Someday these Demons and Devils will leave and I will be lonely.

Lady Nyo

—

Chapter 43  “DEVIL’S REVENGE”

The bedroom door flew open and Garrett strode in.

“It’s been decided. It’s to be a duel.”

I looked at him, my mouth open in surprise, and twisted around to Madame Gormosy. She was arranging my hair and had a mouthful of pins. She shrugged, her eyebrows raised high and spit the pins into her hand.

“Bon. So tell us about this duel.”

Garrett leaned against the mantel. He grimaced, passed his hand over his face, and pulled at his lips, looking distracted by his thoughts.

“Better you both know we will be entertaining some devils tonight. M. Abigor will be one of them.”

His face dropped in a scowl and I felt Madame’s hands hard on my shoulders. Perhaps she knew more than she showed.

M. Abigor again! Well, I already knew he was an Arch Duke of Hell and a military adviser. He was also a healer but what that had to do with this situation I hadn’t a clue. Perhaps he replaced the lopped off limbs and bound up the wounds after battle.

But Garrett said ‘devils’. M. Abigor struck enough terror in my heart, but the presence of more?

“Who’s rounding out the company?” Trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice still shook.

Garrett looked a bit spooked and his eyes went straight to Madame Gormosy.

“M. Bucon will be dining with us.”

Bucon! The father of Obadiah! My stomach hit the bottom of my gut.

Again Madame Gormosy’s hands tightened on my shoulders.

“Do not fear, ma petite. M. Abigor is his equal and more. Nothing will happen to you tonight.”

Soothing words, but the look that passed between them was not reassuring.

Bucon was not a devil to dismiss easily. Another official from Hell, commanding a lot of legions of lesser devils, and the Demon of Hatred to boot. The Demon of Hatred between sexes. A real troublemaker let loose in the world.

Not to mention Obadiah’s father.

When I was writing the original novel, the one where all these queer and dangerous characters came from, little did I know what lay ahead. Now my life was at the mercy of more devils and I didn’t have any angels appearing in the fray. These were the forces surrounding me and little else to depend upon.

“I have a particular problem, Louis.” Garrett’s words were spoken softly, his eyes riveted to Madame.

That was strange for Madame appeared as a woman, certainly Louise, not Louis.

“Ah, life is always a problem. How can I be of service, Garrett?”

“I will need a second.”

I stiffened. Of course! But why not Abigor?

Garrett looked at me, reading my mind.

“For the simple reason that Abigor is an Arch Duke, and for him to be a second in this matter would not be a level playing field. Demons are tricky, but we do have ethics.”

I started to laugh but saw his expression. This was not a time for debate or levity.

Startled, I heard a voice not of Madame’s behind me, but of Monsieur Gormosy.

“But of course, mon ami. I am at your service. It should be no other devil than Louis. We have done well through the years. We have a bit of a blood bond, n’est ce pas?”

Garrett was not one to express gratitude easily. He was more likely to deflect an open show of gratitude with sarcasm, witty remarks. An expression of gratitude came hard to this demon. But something had changed, perhaps his pride or another human part.. Now his face showed relief.

He bowed stiffly to “Madame” still behind me, a bow expressing his profound gratitude..

We gathered together in the large sitting room before meeting our guests. . The house was ablaze with candles, and every fireplace stoked with a good fire. I supposed all done with magic, the particular devilish magic Garrett and Madame had shown before, but I was to be surprised at their invention.

Garrett said little as he poured sherry into two glasses, handing me one with a little bow. I had been tucked and pinned into a brocade gown, more the style of a few decades earlier, but this was not my choice. Madame Gormosy appeared with this gown and dressed me. It was not the loose and flowing gowns of the present 1820’s but a gown of more structure: a gown needing the benefit of a tight full corset and petticoats. I could barely breathe. My hair was pinned high on my head with one sausage curl falling across my shoulder. At least Madame did not powder my hair. A pair of pearl drop earrings and one gold bracelet was extracted from her jewelry box and I was presentable. Of course she insisted I wear rouge and a moue on one side of my face.

Garrett seemed pleased with my appearance when he escorted me into the sitting room, but since I had worn a dressing gown with uncombed hair for days, this change in appearance would please anyone.

“You do look fetching, Bess, perhaps a bit too fetching for the company. Abigor is known for his charm with mortal women and I don’t want him distracted by such a choice morsel.”

“Are you worried about M. Abigor at this stage of the game? I would think both of your minds would be well occupied with the issue at hand.”

Garrett grunted, his mind quickly elsewhere besides my ‘fetching’ appearance. I could tell he was worried because he paced the room. It surprised me to see him so agitated, but then again, considering the company for dinner, what would one expect?

Suddenly there were soft strains of music, seemingly floating upon the air. It was chamber music, sounding like Handel or Haydn, though I could not exactly identify the composer. It was not perfectly played, for every so often I would hear a badly bowed passage, either lagging in tempo or gratingly out of tune. Then some cursing. A muffled screech and the music would begin again.

Garrett gave a short laugh, more like a snort.

“We have servants galore tonight, my darling. Of course, they are all minor devils, but useful under the circumstances.”

I must have looked confused, but that competed with fear.

“The devils are courtesy of M. Abigor, Bess. They are just a soupcon of his power,—his devoted legions. He has many surprises up his dark sleeves tonight. He is to be the host of this little dinner party.”

“Where is Madame tonight, Garrett? Shouldn’t she be appearing soon?”

“Ah. I am depending upon Gormosy to show. This dinner would be lacking a certain element if that one didn’t.”

Speak of the Devil, and “Madame” Gormosy appeared in the doorway. But it was no more Madame than a cat. It was Monsieur Gormosy in a white powdered wig, black velvet coat with a red and gold embroidered waistcoat. His white silk stockings sagged a bit around his thin calves, but I would imagine his physique, as Monsieur was the same as Madame, would be similar, baring a few differences for the change in sex.

I stared at him, forgetting my manners. He was a smart looking little peacock, with the makeup men of the French aristocracy affected in the previous century, perhaps before they went to meet Madame La Guillotine. There was something striking about Louis Gormosy, even dangerous, tonight, something I didn’t feel when he was Madame Gormosy. Perhaps it was the slim sword he wore at his side. But perhaps it was that I knew him to be quite the devil. I would have to have faith in him and his trickery, but my confidence would have meant nothing here. It was all of Garrett’s choosing. The evening and the outcome rested in both the hands of Garrett and M. Abigor.

“Bonsoir, Madame Bess, you are looking ravishing tonight.” He bowed an elegant little bow and I inclined my head with a broad smile. I couldn’t help it. Such a change in appearance from female to male, but still the same ‘man’.

“And you, M. Garrett? Are you feeling up to the evening?” He delivered this with another little bow.

Garrett gave a thin smile and poured Louis Gormosy a glass of sherry and presented it to him.

“D’accord Louis. Tonight is only the beginning. I am grateful for your presence, my old friend.”

Again the music was heard, this time the small chamber orchestra seemed to be doing a bit better, with only a few sour notes and no cursing. I listened and started to relax a little. Perhaps it was more the sherry than the music.

Garrett and Louis Gormosy had moved to the far end of the room, by the large windows fronting the house, perhaps talking about the coming evening. I could see a little argument forming between them as one would shake his head, and the other would stomp his foot. I had to laugh a little. “Monsieur” Gormosy, in his stamping his elegant little foot, still claimed the behaviors of Madame.

Nerves were to be expected tonight because their future….our very lives, rode upon the alliances and the strength of them.

We both heard the clip clop of horses, and a carriage with gleaming lanterns came across the front windows. I looked at Garrett, expecting him to greet his guests at the door, but he just winked.

I heard soft footsteps and saw a man with a white wig, dressed in red cross my vision as he went to the door. I raised my eyes to Garrett, and he smiled.

“More of M. Abigor’s magic?”, I asked.

“A bit more. The evening will be entertaining. I promise you won’t be bored.”

I heard voices and within moments M. Abigor was in the room, bowing first to Garrett and then to M. Gormosy. I rose from my chair and looked at M. Abigor, unsure of what to say or do besides a general greeting.

“Ah! Madame! You look lovely this evening. You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

He was his most elegant as he bowed over my hand and when he raised his head, I saw nothing disturbing in his dark eyes. I believe he knew what had happened to me when we met that first time. Perhaps Madame Gormosy informed him of my suffering, but then perhaps such a powerful demon knows what he does. He counts on it. It’s part of his power and control of beings around him. Usually there are no accidents with devils.

Suddenly the room was colder. A short figure stood in the doorway looking hard at me and I shivered in spite of the heat of the fire.

It was M. Bucon, the father of Obadiah. The father of the man who had raped me those months ago. He was followed by a woman, but in no way did she appear quite human. There was something about her appearance that just wasn’t ‘right’.

Garrett face hardened as M. Abigor made introductions, and he gave a stiff, short bow to M. Bucon. M. Gormosy gave him a wide grin, but there was nothing friendly about it.. I was introduced by M. Abigor but M. Bucon only nodded his head in acknowledgement. Thankfully, he did not bend over my hand.

“May I present Madame D’Aberge. She is visiting and M. Abigor thought she would be an interesting addition to your dinner.”

Madame D’Aberge made her curtsey and whipped out her fan. She had frizzy white hair piled high on her head, a face painted chalk white and a red cupid-bow mouth. Two large circles of rouge sat like pompoms on her cheeks and her eyebrows were painted black wings threatening to fly from her forehead. I smiled and gave her a curtsey and she again curtsied and fluttered her fan. Clearly she was some lessor demon rustled up for this event, a way to round out the company with feminine presence.

My first impression of M. Bucon was this: he was an unimpressive man, neither attractive in face or figure. I was surprised he didn’t wear a wig, as the other two men did. Garrett never did, but pulled his hair back in a pigtail for formal occasions.

M. Bucon was short, rather rotund, and badly balding. It looked like moths had attacked his head, for though he had hair on the front of his head and around the bottom, all between were patches of burnt, dark skin and little attempt to coax his remaining hair into something that was presentable. But perhaps the most prominent feature was his mouth: though his lips were not without form, his face seemed to fall naturally into a sneer. He had a peculiar way of closing one eye as he looked at a person, and a disdainful manner. If I had seen him on the street I would not have noticed him. Here in the house, in a sitting room illuminated by the soft lights of tapers and a good fire, he seemed out of place amongst the natural elegance of the other three men. Perhaps M .Bucon evoked contempt in all he met, and therefore he responded with hatred?

Again the music floated into the room and those devils weren’t doing a bad job of it. A little Corelli, a violin solo that sounded like bad Vivaldi, perhaps some obscure Handel, and here and there a taper appeared to light a corner or grace a sideboard. It was if an invisible servant were placing candles to illuminate parts of the room. A nice trick, but rather disconcerting.

A red coated devil, obviously part of the liveried staff came in with a tray of glasses followed by another one with a tray of spirits. They were dark, little men, probably French devils, or rather well sizzled denizens of their place of origin. They looked like burnt carbon copies of each other, and I wondered if they were part of the loyal legions of M. Abigor or M. Gormosy? Probably M. Abigor for he was he reigning head cheese tonight. They served without noise, seemingly to float over the floorboards, and were more like haunts than men. But of course! They were devils and bound by their magic. Or someone’s magic.

Madame D’Aberge’s mouth was so red her teeth had a yellow cast. She would look at me, smile, her upper lip rising like a horse about to sneeze, and then she would pull her lip down to meet her bottom lip with a snap. I found her interesting to look at. Her hair was powdered white, her face and bosom so ghostly that the dabs of red on her cheeks stuck out like beacons. She reminded me of a rag doll I had when I was a child, except with white frizzled hair, not red yarn.

The men did not sit down but stood stiffly apart from Madame and I. Louis Gormosy did come over to where we sat and made a formal bow. Madame D’Aberge tittered and up went her lip. M. Gormosy also bowed to me, catching my eye and giving a wink. He made small talk amongst us, more I believe to reassure me than to effect any real conversation, but I was grateful for his attempts. The combination of the tight corset and the tension of the night made me uncomfortable and uneasy.

When we finally went into dinner, I was famished. Behind each chair was a devil- in- waiting. M. Abigor and Garrett sat at either end of the long dining table, M. Bucon and Madame D’Aberge across the wide table. M. Gormosy sat next to me, and this was a relief. A quick squeeze of my hand under the table was reassuring. He took the liberty of an additional squeeze of my thigh.

The servants were excellent, both noiseless and gliding like ghosts, serving from the left and placing bowls of the first of two soups before each diner. I looked at mine, a shrimp bisque with clams and the little devils were still jumping in the cream stock and flipping their tails. Pretty little pink cooked shrimp should not be behaving in that fashion. A clam spit a stream of soup upwards, missing me but making me blink. I looked at M. Gormosy next to me and saw him smiling into his bowl. I carefully spooned the broth.

Next two servants brought in a stuffed and glazed swan on a huge platter. They placed it in the middle of the table and left. The swan started to sing, a melancholy voice that praised Apollo and sang of his sweet love of life. Suddenly I realized I knew the music: “The Roasting Swan Ballad” from Carmina Burana. There was no way I was going to eat that swan. I looked at M. Gormosy and saw he was struggling not to laugh. I looked at Garrett at the end of the table, and his face warned me not to say a word. A servant reached across the table and twisted off the head in mid song. It’s wings flopped over the platter and on to the polished table. It was dead.

Another servant brought in a fat and steaming capon and the bird started to crow. This was enough even for M.Abigor. He whispered into the ear of a devil behind his chair and the man left. Within minutes, a covered salver was returned to the top of the table. I could only guess what it contained under it’s dome, but all the activity of our food ceased immediately, and we ate.

(End of part one of Chapter 43)

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006, 2011

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 43….

 

Five years ago, as a very new writer, I attempted my second novel.  It was silly–hadn’t  done the rewrite on the first.  But I fell in love with the characters in the first book,  and didn’t want to kill them off.  So, not knowing much about much, I changed them all (well, mostly) into devils.  Some were good, some were bad, and some were half and half.

I came across this last chapter (so far) of “Devil’s Revenge” and thought I would post it.  It’s funny, or at least it made me laugh.

I have lost the corrections of this chapter twice so I appreciate the indulgence of readers.  I’ll get to them.

Explanations:

Those bothersome rips in the Universe and ley lines….. Chapter 43 takes place in the 1820’s….a dinner party.

Madame/Monsieur Gormosy is a Demon.  shape shifter and also the Demon of Lust.  There are a few of them, but M/Mde Gormosy enjoys cohabiting in both sexes.

M. Abigor is the top daddy…very close to the throne.  He was featured in Chapter 32 on this blog.  He is he most powerful demon in the room.

M. Bucon is a terrible Devil.  He’s the Demon of Hatred Between Sexes…

M. Garrett is half and half….human and devil.  Bess is fully human and terribly confused with life amongst devils.

Someday these Demons and Devils will leave and I will be lonely.

Lady Nyo

—

Chapter 43  “DEVIL’S REVENGE”

The bedroom door flew open and Garrett strode in.

“It’s been decided. It’s to be a duel.”

I looked at him, my mouth open in surprise, and twisted around to Madame Gormosy. She was arranging my hair and had a mouthful of pins. She shrugged, her eyebrows raised high and spit the pins into her hand.

“Bon. So tell us about this duel.”

Garrett leaned against the mantel. He grimaced, passed his hand over his face, and pulled at his lips, looking distracted by his thoughts.

“Better you both know we will be entertaining some devils tonight. M. Abigor will be one of them.”

His face dropped in a scowl and I felt Madame’s hands hard on my shoulders. Perhaps she knew more than she showed.

M. Abigor again! Well, I already knew he was an Arch Duke of Hell and a military adviser. He was also a healer but what that had to do with this situation I hadn’t a clue. Perhaps he replaced the lopped off limbs and bound up the wounds after battle.

But Garrett said ‘devils’. M. Abigor struck enough terror in my heart, but the presence of more?

“Who’s rounding out the company?” Trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice still shook.

Garrett looked a bit spooked and his eyes went straight to Madame Gormosy.

“M. Bucon will be dining with us.”

Bucon! The father of Obadiah! My stomach hit the bottom of my gut.

Again Madame Gormosy’s hands tightened on my shoulders.

“Do not fear, ma petite. M. Abigor is his equal and more. Nothing will happen to you tonight.”

Soothing words, but the look that passed between them was not reassuring.

Bucon was not a devil to dismiss easily. Another official from Hell, commanding a lot of legions of lesser devils, and the Demon of Hatred to boot. The Demon of Hatred between sexes. A real troublemaker let loose in the world.

Not to mention Obadiah’s father.

When I was writing the original novel, the one where all these queer and dangerous characters came from, little did I know what lay ahead. Now my life was at the mercy of more devils and I didn’t have any angels appearing in the fray. These were the forces surrounding me and little else to depend upon.

“I have a particular problem, Louis.” Garrett’s words were spoken softly, his eyes riveted to Madame.

That was strange for Madame appeared as a woman, certainly Louise, not Louis.

“Ah, life is always a problem. How can I be of service, Garrett?”

“I will need a second.”

I stiffened. Of course! But why not Abigor?

Garrett looked at me, reading my mind.

“For the simple reason that Abigor is an Arch Duke, and for him to be a second in this matter would not be a level playing field. Demons are tricky, but we do have ethics.”

I started to laugh but saw his expression. This was not a time for debate or levity.

Startled, I heard a voice not of Madame’s behind me, but of Monsieur Gormosy.

“But of course, mon ami. I am at your service. It should be no other devil than Louis. We have done well through the years. We have a bit of a blood bond, n’est ce pas?”

Garrett was not one to express gratitude easily. He was more likely to deflect an open show of gratitude with sarcasm, witty remarks. An expression of gratitude came hard to this demon. But something had changed, perhaps his pride or another human part.. Now his face showed relief.

He bowed stiffly to “Madame” still behind me, a bow expressing his profound gratitude..

We gathered together in the large sitting room before meeting our guests. . The house was ablaze with candles, and every fireplace stoked with a good fire. I supposed all done with magic, the particular devilish magic Garrett and Madame had shown before, but I was to be surprised at their invention.

Garrett said little as he poured sherry into two glasses, handing me one with a little bow. I had been tucked and pinned into a brocade gown, more the style of a few decades earlier, but this was not my choice. Madame Gormosy appeared with this gown and dressed me. It was not the loose and flowing gowns of the present 1820’s but a gown of more structure: a gown needing the benefit of a tight full corset and petticoats. I could barely breathe. My hair was pinned high on my head with one sausage curl falling across my shoulder. At least Madame did not powder my hair. A pair of pearl drop earrings and one gold bracelet was extracted from her jewelry box and I was presentable. Of course she insisted I wear rouge and a moue on one side of my face.

Garrett seemed pleased with my appearance when he escorted me into the sitting room, but since I had worn a dressing gown with uncombed hair for days, this change in appearance would please anyone.

“You do look fetching, Bess, perhaps a bit too fetching for the company. Abigor is known for his charm with mortal women and I don’t want him distracted by such a choice morsel.”

“Are you worried about M. Abigor at this stage of the game? I would think both of your minds would be well occupied with the issue at hand.”

Garrett grunted, his mind quickly elsewhere besides my ‘fetching’ appearance. I could tell he was worried because he paced the room. It surprised me to see him so agitated, but then again, considering the company for dinner, what would one expect?

Suddenly there were soft strains of music, seemingly floating upon the air. It was chamber music, sounding like Handel or Haydn, though I could not exactly identify the composer. It was not perfectly played, for every so often I would hear a badly bowed passage, either lagging in tempo or gratingly out of tune. Then some cursing. A muffled screech and the music would begin again.

Garrett gave a short laugh, more like a snort.

“We have servants galore tonight, my darling. Of course, they are all minor devils, but useful under the circumstances.”

I must have looked confused, but that competed with fear.

“The devils are courtesy of M. Abigor, Bess. They are just a soupcon of his power,—his devoted legions. He has many surprises up his dark sleeves tonight. He is to be the host of this little dinner party.”

“Where is Madame tonight, Garrett? Shouldn’t she be appearing soon?”

“Ah. I am depending upon Gormosy to show. This dinner would be lacking a certain element if that one didn’t.”

Speak of the Devil, and “Madame” Gormosy appeared in the doorway. But it was no more Madame than a cat. It was Monsieur Gormosy in a white powdered wig, black velvet coat with a red and gold embroidered waistcoat. His white silk stockings sagged a bit around his thin calves, but I would imagine his physique, as Monsieur was the same as Madame, would be similar, baring a few differences for the change in sex.

I stared at him, forgetting my manners. He was a smart looking little peacock, with the makeup men of the French aristocracy affected in the previous century, perhaps before they went to meet Madame La Guillotine. There was something striking about Louis Gormosy, even dangerous, tonight, something I didn’t feel when he was Madame Gormosy. Perhaps it was the slim sword he wore at his side. But perhaps it was that I knew him to be quite the devil. I would have to have faith in him and his trickery, but my confidence would have meant nothing here. It was all of Garrett’s choosing. The evening and the outcome rested in both the hands of Garrett and M. Abigor.

“Bonsoir, Madame Bess, you are looking ravishing tonight.” He bowed an elegant little bow and I inclined my head with a broad smile. I couldn’t help it. Such a change in appearance from female to male, but still the same ‘man’.

“And you, M. Garrett? Are you feeling up to the evening?” He delivered this with another little bow.

Garrett gave a thin smile and poured Louis Gormosy a glass of sherry and presented it to him.

“D’accord Louis. Tonight is only the beginning. I am grateful for your presence, my old friend.”

Again the music was heard, this time the small chamber orchestra seemed to be doing a bit better, with only a few sour notes and no cursing. I listened and started to relax a little. Perhaps it was more the sherry than the music.

Garrett and Louis Gormosy had moved to the far end of the room, by the large windows fronting the house, perhaps talking about the coming evening. I could see a little argument forming between them as one would shake his head, and the other would stomp his foot. I had to laugh a little. “Monsieur” Gormosy, in his stamping his elegant little foot, still claimed the behaviors of Madame.

Nerves were to be expected tonight because their future….our very lives, rode upon the alliances and the strength of them.

We both heard the clip clop of horses, and a carriage with gleaming lanterns came across the front windows. I looked at Garrett, expecting him to greet his guests at the door, but he just winked.

I heard soft footsteps and saw a man with a white wig, dressed in red cross my vision as he went to the door. I raised my eyes to Garrett, and he smiled.

“More of M. Abigor’s magic?”, I asked.

“A bit more. The evening will be entertaining. I promise you won’t be bored.”

I heard voices and within moments M. Abigor was in the room, bowing first to Garrett and then to M. Gormosy. I rose from my chair and looked at M. Abigor, unsure of what to say or do besides a general greeting.

“Ah! Madame! You look lovely this evening. You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

He was his most elegant as he bowed over my hand and when he raised his head, I saw nothing disturbing in his dark eyes. I believe he knew what had happened to me when we met that first time. Perhaps Madame Gormosy informed him of my suffering, but then perhaps such a powerful demon knows what he does. He counts on it. It’s part of his power and control of beings around him. Usually there are no accidents with devils.

Suddenly the room was colder. A short figure stood in the doorway looking hard at me and I shivered in spite of the heat of the fire.

It was M. Bucon, the father of Obadiah. The father of the man who had raped me those months ago. He was followed by a woman, but in no way did she appear quite human. There was something about her appearance that just wasn’t ‘right’.

Garrett face hardened as M. Abigor made introductions, and he gave a stiff, short bow to M. Bucon. M. Gormosy gave him a wide grin, but there was nothing friendly about it.. I was introduced by M. Abigor but M. Bucon only nodded his head in acknowledgement. Thankfully, he did not bend over my hand.

“May I present Madame D’Aberge. She is visiting and M. Abigor thought she would be an interesting addition to your dinner.”

Madame D’Aberge made her curtsey and whipped out her fan. She had frizzy white hair piled high on her head, a face painted chalk white and a red cupid-bow mouth. Two large circles of rouge sat like pompoms on her cheeks and her eyebrows were painted black wings threatening to fly from her forehead. I smiled and gave her a curtsey and she again curtsied and fluttered her fan. Clearly she was some lessor demon rustled up for this event, a way to round out the company with feminine presence.

My first impression of M. Bucon was this: he was an unimpressive man, neither attractive in face or figure. I was surprised he didn’t wear a wig, as the other two men did. Garrett never did, but pulled his hair back in a pigtail for formal occasions.

M. Bucon was short, rather rotund, and badly balding. It looked like moths had attacked his head, for though he had hair on the front of his head and around the bottom, all between were patches of burnt, dark skin and little attempt to coax his remaining hair into something that was presentable. But perhaps the most prominent feature was his mouth: though his lips were not without form, his face seemed to fall naturally into a sneer. He had a peculiar way of closing one eye as he looked at a person, and a disdainful manner. If I had seen him on the street I would not have noticed him. Here in the house, in a sitting room illuminated by the soft lights of tapers and a good fire, he seemed out of place amongst the natural elegance of the other three men. Perhaps M .Bucon evoked contempt in all he met, and therefore he responded with hatred?

Again the music floated into the room and those devils weren’t doing a bad job of it. A little Corelli, a violin solo that sounded like bad Vivaldi, perhaps some obscure Handel, and here and there a taper appeared to light a corner or grace a sideboard. It was if an invisible servant were placing candles to illuminate parts of the room. A nice trick, but rather disconcerting.

A red coated devil, obviously part of the liveried staff came in with a tray of glasses followed by another one with a tray of spirits. They were dark, little men, probably French devils, or rather well sizzled denizens of their place of origin. They looked like burnt carbon copies of each other, and I wondered if they were part of the loyal legions of M. Abigor or M. Gormosy? Probably M. Abigor for he was he reigning head cheese tonight. They served without noise, seemingly to float over the floorboards, and were more like haunts than men. But of course! They were devils and bound by their magic. Or someone’s magic.

Madame D’Aberge’s mouth was so red her teeth had a yellow cast. She would look at me, smile, her upper lip rising like a horse about to sneeze, and then she would pull her lip down to meet her bottom lip with a snap. I found her interesting to look at. Her hair was powdered white, her face and bosom so ghostly that the dabs of red on her cheeks stuck out like beacons. She reminded me of a rag doll I had when I was a child, except with white frizzled hair, not red yarn.

The men did not sit down but stood stiffly apart from Madame and I. Louis Gormosy did come over to where we sat and made a formal bow. Madame D’Aberge tittered and up went her lip. M. Gormosy also bowed to me, catching my eye and giving a wink. He made small talk amongst us, more I believe to reassure me than to effect any real conversation, but I was grateful for his attempts. The combination of the tight corset and the tension of the night made me uncomfortable and uneasy.

When we finally went into dinner, I was famished. Behind each chair was a devil- in- waiting. M. Abigor and Garrett sat at either end of the long dining table, M. Bucon and Madame D’Aberge across the wide table. M. Gormosy sat next to me, and this was a relief. A quick squeeze of my hand under the table was reassuring. He took the liberty of an additional squeeze of my thigh.

The servants were excellent, both noiseless and gliding like ghosts, serving from the left and placing bowls of the first of two soups before each diner. I looked at mine, a shrimp bisque with clams and the little devils were still jumping in the cream stock and flipping their tails. Pretty little pink cooked shrimp should not be behaving in that fashion. A clam spit a stream of soup upwards, missing me but making me blink. I looked at M. Gormosy next to me and saw him smiling into his bowl. I carefully spooned the broth.

Next two servants brought in a stuffed and glazed swan on a huge platter. They placed it in the middle of the table and left. The swan started to sing, a melancholy voice that praised Apollo and sang of his sweet love of life. Suddenly I realized I knew the music: “The Roasting Swan Ballad” from Carmina Burana. There was no way I was going to eat that swan. I looked at M. Gormosy and saw he was struggling not to laugh. I looked at Garrett at the end of the table, and his face warned me not to say a word. A servant reached across the table and twisted off the head in mid song. It’s wings flopped over the platter and on to the polished table. It was dead.

Another servant brought in a fat and steaming capon and the bird started to crow. This was enough even for M.Abigor. He whispered into the ear of a devil behind his chair and the man left. Within minutes, a covered salver was returned to the top of the table. I could only guess what it contained under it’s dome, but all the activity of our food ceased immediately, and we ate.

(End of part one of Chapter 43)

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006, 2011