I didn’t like the idea very much myself which was perhaps why the dress I conjured her to wear was considerably less revealing than the red silk one she’d had on the day before. It was lightweight material but it would cover her from neck to ankles and it didn’t cling to her curves the way the red one had.
“Here,” I said, handing it to her.
“What about you?” She gestured at the black silk sleeping trousers I still wore. “When will you get dressed?”
“Now.” I snapped my fingers and immediately I was clothed in a dark grey pinstripe suit with a deep red tie—one of my favorite outfits from the human world.
“How do you do that?” Her eyes widened. “Just make things appear like that?”
“They are things I already own. They are back at my estate in Hades and I am simply calling them to me,” I explained. “I cannot summon things from the human world, however—not while we are here. Thankfully, my resources here are not insubstantial.”
“I guess not.” She frowned at me. “What about those panties you poofed onto me last night?”
“The small white silk ones?” It made my shaft hard just to remember how wet and open her sweet little pussy had looked spread out under the white triangle of silk.
“Yeah, those.” She was glaring at me now. “You expect me to believe you just had those lying around, ready to hand?”
“Exactly. Just as I have a number of clothes ready for you that I can conjure to me at will,” I said mildly. “I prepared thoroughly for this trip, mon ange. Why—did you think I had bought them for another?”
She looked down, still frowning a little.
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Banish it then,” I told her. “And believe me when I tell you I have thought of no one but you from the first time you summoned me to the mortal plane.”
“Really?” She looked up at me uncertainly.
“Really,” I assured her—it was the absolute truth. My little witch consumed me—I just wished I knew why. “Now, if you’d care to try that gown on—” I began. But at that point the knocking sounded again, louder and more persistent than before.
Gwendolyn’s eyes widened. “That must be him.”
“Get dressed and come out when you’re ready,” I told her. “I will keep him in the living area so you need not fear for your privacy.” I nodded at the dress I’d given her. “And that should cover far more than the red silk gown—you need not worry about him ogling you this time.”
Her face softened. “Thank you, Laish. I appreciate that.”
To my surprise, she stood on her tiptoes and gave me a swift kiss on the cheek. I liked the brush of her soft lips against my skin but even more, I liked the fact that she had kissed me spontaneously, without any coercion. Maybe the trust that had begun to form last night was still growing? I hoped so.
“You are welcome, mon ange.” I cupped her cheek, loving the feel of her skin against my palm. “I do not wish for you to be uncomfortable. And besides,” I added as the knocking sounded again. “I do not like the thought of another male lusting over that which is mine.”
Her eyes widened and then she slapped my chest lightly.
“Laish!”
Smiling, I left her in the bedroom and went to answer the door.
Druaga was standing there, behind a minor demon who was pushing a huge cart covered in flowing white linen. There was a large silver domed platter resting in its center—presumably the breakfast feast he had promised us.
Seeing the tray reminded me that Gwendolyn’s only source of food from the upper realm had been ruined the day before. I had a way to feed her without tying her to the Infernal Realm—which I knew she feared greatly. But I hadn’t had time to talk to her about it or convince her to take food from me. I sighed inwardly. I supposed we would see exactly how much she trusted me…and much sooner than I liked.
“Good morning, Master Laish!” Druaga bustled in importantly. Today he was wearing a tailored burnt umber suit and it seemed he had taken extra care with his tusks—their gold tips shone in the weak green light coming from the windows. His genitals were on display as always, I saw with distaste. Though I am a demon of lust, I find it unseemly to put one’s appetites and desires to the forefront in such a brazen manner. Subtlety is most underrated—both above in the Mortal Realm, and below in Hell.
“Good morning, Druaga,” I said shortly, stepping aside to allow him and his underling to pass. “Let us get this meal over with quickly—I must be on the road again as soon as may be.”
“Of course, of course.” He directed the imp to arrange the breakfast platter on the low table in the living area and then waved him away.
I sat down opposite Druaga and poured myself a small cup of tea. I knew I must eat and drink at least one bite and drink one sip in order to satisfy the terms of our contract. Such were the niceties of Hell.
“And where is your lovely concubine?” Druaga raised one bushy eyebrow at me. “I hope she is feeling well and did not succumb to the devilkin venom?”
“She’s fine, thank you,” I said dryly. “Thanks to your suspiciously quick intervention in the affair she was bitten only once. I was able to rid her of the poison and bring her back to full health.”
The boar-demon snorted.
“I’m so glad to hear she’s feeling well that I will ignore your remark as to my timely help in the manner.”
I simply looked at him and held my peace. I knew what Druaga wanted from Gwendolyn—it was what any demon who got close enough to scent her would want. She had a pure, unblemished human soul—a great delicacy in Hell. But here, at least, it was perfectly safe. Druaga and I had struck the bargain already—I would break bread with him in payment for his intervention in her attack. After this meal, the debt would be paid in full and Gwendolyn and I could move on.
Just then, my little witch came out of the bedroom wearing the long green gown I had given her and looking absolutely lovely. I thought her face had a soft, contented glow—perhaps from her pleasure last night? At any rate, she was a vision to behold and I could scarcely take my eyes away from her.
Druaga too, was looking at her—his small, greedy eyes filled with lust.
“My, my, don’t you look lovely this morning, my dear,” he remarked to Gwendolyn.
“Thank you.”
She gave him a cool smile and came to sit beside me on the couch. I was glad to see that she didn’t put a great deal of distance between us but sat close enough for our thighs to brush. Truly, her trust in me was growing!
“Good morning, mon ange,” I murmured, brushing her temple with a kiss. “As you are here, I do believe we can begin to dine.”
“Of course!” With a flourish, Druaga lifted the large silver dome lid, revealing a steaming array of Earth-type delicacies. I frowned when I saw he had really done his research—almost everything on the platter was from Gwendolyn’s country of origin. How did he know so much about her?
Gwendolyn was looking at the food with wide eyes.
“Wow—look at all this! Pancakes, muffins, bacon, eggs, cinnamon rolls…it all looks amazing!”
“Then you must help yourself!” Druaga started filling a plate eagerly. “Would you care for one pastry or two?” He tried to hand her the overfilled china plate but she shook her head.
“Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“But you must, my dear,” the boar demon insisted.
Gwendolyn smiled at Druaga graciously, though I could tell the expression was forced.
“Thanks so much for going to all this trouble but I’m afraid if I ate all this I’d get too fat for Laish to want me anymore,” she said lightly. “So I have to pass.”
“As to that,” I said easily, “I will never stop wanting you, mon ange. But I’m sure our host will understand that your dietary requirements do not allow you to eat such heavy, rich fare.”
Druaga frowned mulishly.
“But you must eat at least a bite and take a sip.” He tried to hand he
r a glass of juice which she declined.
“I’ll just have some of this,” she said, holding up her plastic water bottle with the words Zephyrhills printed on it.
“But she must eat,” Druaga said looking at me. “You know the rules!”
“I’m well aware that we must each take a bite and drink a sip with you while breaking bread,” I said evenly. “But at no time did you specify that what we ate and drank had to be what you provided. I told you last night that Gwendolyn is on a special diet.”
“Very well, she’s drinking her own libation—well and good,” he grumbled. “But she must eat as well—what about that?”
“I will provide for her.”
I took the black handled sacrificial knife I had brought for just such an occasion out of my breast pocket and balanced a thin china plate on one knee. Holding my wrist over the plate, I sliced neatly into the vein running just under the skin. Not much can harm me but in this case the pain was intense. I kept my face impassive, however, as I held my cut wrist over the plate. Three pure ruby-red drops fell onto the plate and resolved themselves into chunks of fruit, fresh bread and soft, crumbly cheese.
I wiped my wrist and the knife with a clean white handkerchief and returned it to my breast pocket. Then I handed the plate to Gwendolyn. She took it but just sat there staring at the contents.
“Laish,” she said at last, looking up at me. “Can I have a word? In private?”
“I’m afraid it’s considered very rude to leave the table before the meal is over,” Druaga snorted before I could reply. “In fact, some might see it as a breach of contract.”
“What?” Gwendolyn looked at me. “Is that true?”
“Regrettably yes.” I leaned closer to her and lowered my voice. “You have concerns about the food I have provided for you?”
“You’re damn right I have concerns.” She also spoke in a low voice but her eyes were flashing green fire. “You know I can’t eat any food from Hell and you know why too.”
“This food is not from Hell,” I explained patiently. “It is from me.”
“Yes, but you’re from Hell—you’re a demon.”
“That is my classification,” I acknowledged. “But it is not truly what I am.” I looked at her intently, holding her eyes with my own. “Do you remember I told you I was not always as you see me now?”
I didn’t want to get into the details with her and not just because Druaga was watching us avidly, doubtless soaking up every detail of our conversation though we were speaking in near whispers. I did not wish to delve too deeply into my past—even with Gwendolyn. That way lay pain—a pain so ancient and yet still so sharp it would cut much deeper than the black handled knife it I let it.
“I remember what you said.” Gwendolyn nodded unwillingly. “I also remember the story of Persephone and the pomegranate seeds. How she had to stay in Hell six months out of the year after only eating six of them.”
“That will not be your fate—I swear it to you, Gwendolyn. Please…” I put my hand on her arm. She tensed but I was marginally heartened when she didn’t actually jerk away. “Please,” I repeated. “Trust me enough to eat a single bite—that is all I ask. It is all that is needed to fulfill our contractual obligation.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Just one bite?”
“Just one,” I assured her.
“Well…” I could see her thinking. She was reasoning to herself that even if I was playing her false, one bite would only mean a single month out of the year spent in Hell. Of course, that is not strictly the way it works, but as I was not lying to her about the fact that the food I offered her was safe, I saw no need to explain further.
“Gwendolyn,” I said, catching her eyes again. “I swear to you now—the food I offer will not damn you or trap you in my realm. I will explain more later but for now, please eat.” Then I waited—would her trust in me be enough? Would she give in and taste the food? I could not help hoping so very much.
“Fine.” At last with a sigh, she took a juicy piece of cantaloupe and popped it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. “Delicious.” Then she picked out a grape and offered it to me. “You eat too.”
If she thought the food was somehow poisoned, she was incorrect. However, I didn’t mind eating from her hand—if anything, I relished it. Opening my mouth, I allowed her to place the grape between my lips. As I bit down the small fruit burst, filling my mouth with sweet juice. I kept my eyes locked with hers while I chewed. She was every bit as ripe and luscious herself—I looked forward to tasting her juices.
Gwendolyn must have read the desire in my eyes because she looked away quickly.
“There,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “We’ve eaten and we’ve both had a drink.” She nodded at the tea cup beside me which matched the bone china plates. “Now can we go?”
“I don’t see why not,” I remarked. “Our contract here is complete.”
“Perhaps the one you and I made, Lord Laish,” Druaga said, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. “But I am afraid that the contract I have with your lovely little concubine is still outstanding.”
“What?” I rounded on him, glaring. This farce we were playing out with Druaga was trying my patience. “What do you want now? How dare you make a claim on my Gwendolyn?”
He shrugged, the dark orange suit shifting with the motion.
“Do no blame me, Lord Laish. It was not I who initiated the contract—it was your concubine when she accepted the shoe from the devilkin.”
“What?” I demanded again. “What are you speaking of? Her shoe was lost in the crowd at the Great Central Square.”
“And it was recovered and brought into my establishment by the devilkin,” Druaga said with a snort. “He offered it to your concubine who subsequently took it. She was to pay with the human food I believe is called a samm-ich but the payment was not forthcoming. So the debt is still owed.”
With a sinking heart, I looked down and saw that Gwendolyn was, indeed, wearing both of the small black shoes she’d had on yesterday. How could I have missed such a detail?
“It’s a sandwich, you ass.” Gwendolyn’s eyes flashed at Druaga angrily. “And I didn’t give it to him because the little bastard decided he’d rather bite a chunk out of my arm than the PB&J!”
“Also, the shoe was recovered by the devilkin and offered by him—not you,” I pointed out to Druaga. “Therefore if there was any debt—which I do not acknowledge, by the way, it would be owed to the devilkin, not you.”
The boar-headed demon got a stubborn expression on his face.
“The devilkin was in my hotel illegally, trespassing on my premises. It is therefore my right under the law to claim any property he had on him as my own. I claim the shoe which was given to your concubine and I have not been paid for it. I demand compensation!”
“You want the damn shoe?” Gwendolyn slipped the small flat shoe from her foot and hurled it at Druaga’s head. It slapped him in the face, causing him to snort again and shake his gold-tipped tusks. “There, fine—you’ve got it.”
“Most certainly I do not want the shoe—nor can I take it. It was offered to you and you accepted it, my dear,” he remarked, tossing the shoe back at her. “What I want is my rightful payment for the shoe.”
“And what do you calculate that might be?” I could feel the growl building in my throat and the protective fury growing in my body. Only this time, my body didn’t want to retain its human form. Another shape was trying to get out…another creature I kept locked inside me along with all the others. But though it was not human, it was still me, and no less protective of Gwendolyn for all that it was a beast. It was difficult, but I tried to hold it back as I waited for Druaga’s answer.
“What do I want as payment? Why her soul of course—or part of it, anyway.” His eyes gleamed as he produced a long, curving silver straw half as tall as myself. “A soul for a sole—do you see?” He nodded at the little black shoe, which Gwendolyn had declined
to pick up, and snorted laughter.
“What? You want to use that on me?” Gwendolyn had gone pale, her eyes wide in disbelief. “How would you even…” She shook her head, clearly unable to finish the question.
“It goes right down your throat, my dear—quite painless, I assure you. Well, if you don’t mind gagging a bit—but any good concubine should be able to control that reflex, wouldn’t you think?” Here he actually had the nerve to wink at her.
Gwendolyn ignored his crude insinuation—or maybe she was still just too horrified to grasp it.
“And then you what—suck it out?”
“Oh, not right away. First you must catch it. The soul—especially in a living, undamned human—is quiet a slippery little fellow. That’s where this attachment comes in handy.”
Druaga pressed a button at the top of the curving silver straw and a wickedly sharp hook popped out of the bottom. There was a gleaming silver barb at its tip that was almost as long as the blade of my sacrificial knife.
“Oh my God.” Gwendolyn was shrinking back against the white leather couch, her eyes growing bigger and bigger.
“You see once you hook it, you can carve off a little piece or two and suck them right up through the straw,” Druaga explained, grinning nastily at her. “And the soul does regenerate, you know.” He leered at her, leaning forward and gesturing with the silver instrument. “So you can stand to give your old friend Druaga a little taste. Right?”
“No!” Gwendolyn looked at me. “Laish, you’re not going to let him…let him do that to me? Are you?”
I do not often lose my temper but this was beyond the pale. At the sight of the cruel, wicked-looking soul-hook in Druaga’s hairy hands and the terrified look on Gwendolyn’s face, my protective wrath rose too fast to control it. I could feel my anger overflowing at what he was suggesting, bubbling up like a pot of oil with no lid over a raging fire.
“You…dare,” I roared and I felt myself lose my carefully kept human form, shedding it like a snake sheds it skin in favor of something larger, stronger and much more deadly. My immaculate suit split and then ripped completely asunder, lost in the change. “You dare to suggest that I allow you to take part of Gwendolyn’s soul?”