* * * *
My lover now lies ‘neath the morning’s sweet sun.
‘cause he had his fun,
Then forgot to run.
I’m standing ‘bove him jus’s shovel’n dirt
Laughing ‘cause he’ll never lift another maid’s skirt.
A half-hearted scattering of applause sounded from the few people standing before a small street-side stage. Maggie frowned unhappily at the muted sound of appreciation. While her youthful voice had returned with the rejuvenation, it didn’t seem to be the exquisite instrument she remembered. From the small audience’s reaction, they thoroughly agreed with her.
Remembering her role, she stretched her arms above her head to accentuate her shape while also changing her frown into a smile. In this game presentation was everything. She needed rugdles to buy a better wardrobe so she could frequent better areas. If she couldn’t earn them by singing, she would earn them on her back. In the past she had utilized both paths during her climb to the top.
When a few copper coins fell into the tin at her feet, her smile became genuine. Those coins were not enough to suit her needs, but they would help. Besides, it felt good to move without the old, familiar aches. For the first time in three years her back felt straight and strong. Her shoulders were firm, and her elbows moved without the sharp pain of weak tendons. She was young and vibrant once more because she had directed Jolson to use Athos’s Hook to take Viln’s youth and grace and give them to her. To earn the spawn’s gratitude, she then ordered Jolson to take her original grace in return because she no longer needed it once she had Viln’s.
Viln, of course, had been given nothing for his sacrifice. He was now a short, crippled old man lying on the garbage heap, fated to die in a few short weeks. Maggie thought his fate a small matter since Viln was little more than refuse himself. In another handful of months he would have died of malnutrition or disease, and then all his wonderful youth would have been wasted.
Lowering her arms, she watched while Jolson lifted the tin and emptied it into a belt pouch hanging at his side. His eyes were dim because he was in his stupid stage, but the dimness wasn’t quite as deep as it had been before. Over the last several days his will had not weakened like she had expected it would. In fact, his cognizant periods sometimes lasted for hours, and this worried her. She did not want him to grow independent until she finished using his hook to add new aspects to herself. On the other hand, when Athos’s hunters came for Jolson, they would also become a threat to her. She’d have to discard Jolson before then. A week, she figured, or perhaps two. Maybe a month.
A middle-aged, grossly overweight woman laboriously pushed through the small crowd and stomped up the stage’s three steps. “Get off,” she ordered imperiously. “I’m god commanded to sing on this stage.”
“I was here first,” Maggie snapped, but she backed away, and this surprised her because there had been a time when she would have refused most orders. Maybe more than her voice had not fully recovered when she regained her youth.
“Take my advice and earn your living on your back.” The woman’s voice dripped vitriol. “You have almost no voice, and you move like a man. Leave.” After glaring at Maggie, she shoved Jolson so hard he stepped back and fell off the stage. He landed on his feet only because the remnants of Maggie’s feminine grace had been added to his own. Glaring, he stepped forward, but Maggie leaped down to restrain him. She wanted attention, but only of the right kind.
The woman laughed before she sang for the next two hours, sang until the falling sun became soft orange in the distant western sky. Pale stars appeared to the east and above shone the faint nimbus of one full and one half moon. During the entire performance the woman sang with perfect breath control, perfect pitch, and more than perfect timing. She sang, and while she sang, Maggie’s heart turned black with envy.
“Glorious,” Jolson whispered when the woman finished. “I have never heard anything so beautiful.”
Perhaps music brings him more into himself, Maggie reflected. Was this a tool she could use?
When the woman stopped, people surged forward, shoving Maggie roughly to the side. Once near the stage, they threw money into the tin until it overflowed. Smiling contemptuously, the woman kicked the tin over.
“Who is she?” Maggie demanded from a poorly dressed man. “What is she doing singing on the street? She’s good enough to perform before kings.”
“That’s Marietta,” the man answered, “and she’s better than good. She’s sung for archbishops and kings. The story is she once sang for Trelsar, the white god. Athos’s spirit was there, too, and he wanted to take her down to Hell just like he has a few others, only Trelsar put Marietta under his protection because he’s Patron of the Arts. As payment for his protection Trelsar ordered her to perform here at least once each month.”
“It isn’t good,” someone in the crowd said. “Athos and Trelsar are preparing for war. The priests say they’ve always hated one another.”
“They have,” Jolson agreed, “but Trelsar hates Zorce more because he helped feed the Fall.”
Marietta frowned at a comment somebody made and looked down at Maggie. “You can have the stage now. I am finished with it.” The toe of her right foot stirred among the spilled coins. “You can have this trash too.”
“No, thank you,” Maggie replied. Her present voice was a mockery when compared to Marietta’s. She refused to embarrass herself by appearing to compete.
“I thought not,” the woman said in a snide tone. Stepping off the stage, she offered her hand to a well-dressed man who looked more than two decades her junior. “Gorges, darling, why don’t you take me to dinner? I am absolutely famished, and I do need to be in shape to sing for His Reverence Lord Calto tomorrow.”
“Delighted,” the man answered, not looking the least embarrassed to be seen with a woman twice his age and three times his weight. Crooking his elbow, he waited patiently for her to take his arm. The reverent crowd parted to offer them a clear path.
“I am so tired of these forced performances,” Marietta said exactly loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “I have far too many guttersnipe admirers. Gorges, would you think up a way for me to lose most of them while we dine? These people are so filthy, I’m sure their diseases will damage my voice.”
Envy ate Maggie’s heart while she watched them leave.
“Find out where she lives,” she ordered Jolson, but he didn’t obey. Instead, his steady eyes carefully watched a blue skinned succubus approach them. The woman stared back with a gaze that pulled at Maggie‘s soul. Her lips were a predatory smile set upon perfect features. Near her side walked a monster of a man with a scarred and battered face. The eyes he rested on the succubus wore the hopeful, eager expression of a puppy anxious to please. He was, Maggie knew, enthralled.
“Thingy,” the woman said to Jolson when she arrived. “How delightful. I heard you managed to make it up here, but I never thought Athos would allow you to stay.”
“Belthethsia,” Jolson said.
New intelligence suffused his face. His eyes showed wary fearlessness. However, Maggie noticed he shifted so the hook was hidden behind her body.
“He’s mine,” Maggie said, and her small defiance surprised her because the succubus exuded fear and allure. Although the woman’s perfect body had been designed to destroy men, Maggie still felt the power of its draw. Deep in her core she knew she could not defy the succubus again, and this knowledge worried her. She had once owned the strength of will to face down the demon Krastos in Athos’s Hall.
“Yours. For now,” the succubus agreed. She eyed Jolson critically. “I’m not sure I approve of what you’ve done to him. He hardly cringes at all. I’ll have to work on his defect when I tire of Heriod.”
“You will never have me,” Jolson said dispiritedly.
“Maybe not,” Belthethsia replied. “I’ve become so bored with the mortal realm I’ll probably return home as soon as I find a suitable present for A
thos. Until then— who knows? We had such fun together, you and I. Maybe we will again.” She studied him critically. “You always wore my scars well.” Gesturing to Heriod, she chucked a finger beneath Jolson’s chin and glided away.
Maggie grabbed Jolson by his wrist. “The singer! That Marietta. We have to find her.”
“Why?” Jolson asked, his attention still focused on the succubus.
“Because I want her voice,” Maggie hissed. Tightening her grip, she raised his arm until the jade hook rested before his knowing eyes. “I want her voice, and you’re going to give it to me. All we have to do is find out where she likes to eat.”