DISCLAIMER: THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF THE HOLLOWS AND ALL CHARACTERS THEREIN ARE OWNED BY THE LOVELY KIM HARRISON.
~ The Dressing Room ~
Things had been going really well between us since the coven temporarily revoked my shunning and was no longer posing a real threat to my life. Al was not pleased when I had told him what happened at Fountain Square, and afterwards at FIB headquarters, but he was not at the point of insisting he had won our bet and forcing me to move in with him. Yet. I had no doubt, though, that if I was unable to get the coven permanently off my ass at the witches' convention this summer, Al would waste no time helping me pack my bags and choose furnishings and paint color for the room I'm sure he had already reserved for me. Lucky me.
Today was one of our usual Saturdays where we played "teacher" and "student" and Al had already pulled a few books for me to read when I arrived and got settled in. He even set me up at a table in his library and had a warm fire burning in the fireplace when he jumped me through the lines and into his house. Al led me to a carved wooden table in the center of the room, away from the fireplace. The table was flanked on both sides by classic club lounge chairs with green leather upholstery, brass buttons and tufting on the inside of the arms.
Al pulled out one of the chairs and gestured, with one gloved hand. "Sit down, my itchy witch. We have a great deal of work to do today," he said in a rather business-like fashion and with his usual cultured British accent.
I walked around to the front of the chair and as I started to sit down, Al leaned into me, placing his hands on both arms of the chair, one arm on either side of me, and breathed in the scent of my hair as he pushed the chair in towards the table. Surprisingly, I didn't even get a chill down my spine, something I usually experienced when Al did one thing or another to elicit a response from me. My demon really loved making me squirm.
"Knock it off, Al," I sighed, rather annoyed. I rolled my eyes and smirked as I pushed my unruly hair behind my ear and looked up at him. "We're here to work, remember?"
Al chuckled to himself and winked at me. "Indeed we are, my little witch."
Al watched me intently as I settled myself into the chair. I have to admit. It was probably the most comfortable chair I'd ever sat in in my entire life. And probably the most expensive. It's something Trent would have in his study. Hell, I'm sure Trent had an entire fleet of chairs of this quality, but it was a real treat for me to be able to sit in something so luxurious.
"Right!" Al exclaimed enthusiastically. "Now. I've pulled a few of the.. umm.. safer.. texts and have tabbed the sections you will be reading. I've decided it's time for you to read up on the fundamentals of soul-stealing and aura enhancement. We certainly cannot have another Krathion incident, can we, Rachel? Mmmm?"
Curling my lip, I frowned and looked up to find the chiseled face of an aristocratic Englishman staring down at me, red, goat-slitted eyes hiding a glint of irritation as we both recalled the debacle that ensued the last time we had messed with a spell involving an aura. Problem was, the aura wasn't an aura. It was a soul. And it nearly pushed me out of my own body to claim it for itself.
"Are you going to keep reminding me of all my mistakes?" I asked.
"Yes," he said forcefully. "Now. I must run out to check on a few business endeavors. Be sure to take copious notes and we shall discuss soul capture when I return. Won't be gone for more than a tick."
Ever since Al took back his summoning name he had been quite busy with what we agreed to call his "business endeavors." In my time with Al, I learned the market for demon familiars was quite a lucrative one, as most demons were always looking to upgrade to a familiar with more skill. A well-trained familiar was to a demon what an over-powered, over-priced sports car was to a human businessman. Well. Not really. Both were expensive toys. Only demons knew how to use theirs. And use them they did, until a familiar went virtually insane from the amount of power a demon forced the person to hold to twist curses and bend the laws of nature. Demon society was not for the faint of heart, and the less I thought about it the better I was able to sleep. Suffice it to say that thank God I had avoided becoming anyone's familiar. I didn't approve of the way Al made his living, but I had to admit the man lived well. Still, I wasn't thrilled that Al was probably going to pop out to meet with a demon or two who wanted Al to procure them fresh meat.
Al flicked his wrist and a pair of shaded glasses appeared. He deftly perched them atop his nose and then bent down to meet me at eye level, glaring at me over the frames. "Until I return… Don't. Touch. ANYthing. Do you understand me, Rachel?" He licked his lips and grinned evilly before adding, "If your clumsy, itchy witchy self gets into any trouble while I'm out, I will solve your curiosity of what my bedroom looks like. And I guarantee I will enjoy it much more than you will."
While I could have played it off and responded with something witty and sarcastic, the image of Al in his scary-ass demon god form flashed before my eyes and sent a shiver down my spine. Instead, I met his eyes and said, "Understood."
Al nodded in satisfaction and a sheet of ever-after rose up to envelope him. With a pop in the displacement of energy through the ley lines, he was gone.
I reached down to find a notebook and a few pens, the charms on my bracelet clattering against themselves as I sifted through the bag I had brought with me. If I were Ivy, everything in my bag would be color-coded, labeled and readily identifiable. As it was, it took me a few minutes of rummaging until I found what I was looking for. With a deep sigh, I stretched my neck and settled into the chair, the plush leather squeaking a bit under my butt as I found a comfortable position and started in on the first of the demon texts Al had left for me.
The books were all written in Latin, of course, and my mastery of the language was far from complete. I liked to think myself reasonably competent, but Al still winced more than occasionally when my syntax and pronunciation missed the mark. Okay, he yelled. But "wince" just sounds so much better. And the yelling happened far more often that I'd like to admit. So I found that today, as usual, my progress through the texts was slow and, at times, painful. I was taking notes as I made my way through several incantations and spells that seemed of particular importance. I didn't have too much to complain about. Al was allowing me use of his exquisite library. The smell of old, leather-bound books almost out-competed the stink of burnt amber and a rather strange thought came over me that Al's home felt, in a way, like my home. And hey - I was using a pen and paper to take my notes. It beat the hell out of having to write on stiff parchment using my own blood.
After what felt like half a day but that must have been only a couple of hours, my eyes felt dry and achy and I leaned my head back, feeling the vertebrae of my neck popping back into place. I stretched my arms up overhead in an attempt to release the tension from my shoulders. As I was rolling my neck from side to side I glanced towards the fireplace. Huh. Al had left his overcoat behind, draped casually over one of the wing chairs flanking the hearth.
I pushed my chair back and stood up, curiosity and the need to stretch my legs bringing me out of my chair and towards the one holding Al's coat. Without a second thought, I reached out and touched the soft material of the frock I had come to identify with Al. It was typical of those worn by affluent gentlemen in 18th century England. This wasn't the 18th century. And Al wasn't much of a gentleman. But nevertheless the coat fit his personality to a 't'. The garment was magnificent - single-breasted, with a broad, flat collar, waist pockets, and felt-covered buttons running down the chest and along the sleeves. The back of the coat had elegant tails that swished dramatically when Al turned on his heels.
Sure, I could have walked around for a bit, stretched my legs, and gone back to my reading. But I sort of missed him not being here with me right now, and something in me wanted to try on his coat. I'm sure this fell outside the scope of the whole "don't touch anything" mandate Al gave me before he left. After all, it's not as if I was leaving the library and touring Al's house unattended. I wouldn't wander around Al's house alone even if I knew how. And it's not as if I was touching anything else in the room. I certainly wasn't going to go looking through any of the other books on the shelves, especially after I made that mistake a couple weeks ago and nearly had the flesh burned off my hands. Al kept some nasty books in here.
I reached out and took the coat into my hands, and slowly threaded my arms through the sleeves. His stature being much larger than my own, the coat was quite large on my frame, and instead of trying to button it I simply wrapped it around my body like a robe, swathing myself in the heavy material. Al's scent billowed up in a waft of air when I pulled the coat around me. I grabbed the collar of the coat and brought it up to my nose. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply. Al's scent was intoxicating. Funny that I didn't even smell any of the characteristic burnt amber that was redolent of the ever-after. Instead, the scent was uniquely Al and rather exotic - a musky, decidedly male smell, with undertones of sandalwood and bergamot. The subtle tang of bergamot reminding me of the tea Al liked to drink while we spent long hours in his kitchen, stirring spells and twisting curses over the fire pit.
I looked up and saw my reflection in the shiny hematite sculpture Al had decorating the mantle. The sculpture was a pair of rather large hands from wrists to fingertips and arranged so the palms were facing out towards the room, the pinkies of each hand touching. Each hand was posed in a mudra - the thumb and forefinger of each joined to form a zero, with the rest of the fingers gracefully extended. I had noticed this sculpture once before when I sat here with Al and he made me dinner. I still found it strange Al would collect such a peaceful piece, reminiscent of a Hindu or Buddhist work of art, though I recalled Ceri once telling me that Al had at one time been particularly fond of Asian culture. It was either that, or maybe those hands used to belong to somebody and Al kept them as souvenirs. Ick.
Allowing my eyes to gaze into the shiny surface of the sculpture, I smiled. I looked elegant. And radiant. And even with the red tinge of ever-after transmuting the natural coloring of everything this side of the lines, I could tell the sage green of Al's coat complemented my coloring perfectly. The material felt supple against my skin, the silk lining caressing my arms and the velvet collar softly stroking my cheek.
It was then that I felt the subtle change in air pressure and my breath caught as a large, warm, hand clenched my left shoulder. I spun around quickly to find myself face to face with Al.
Al wasn't smiling but he wasn't angry either. Instead he wore a look of desire and lust, and his eyes scanned the entire length of my body before he reached up with one hand and ran his fingers underneath my chin, his other hand still firmly grasping my shoulder. With eyebrows raised and red eyes staring into mine, he said softly, "And what, Rachel, love, are you doing wearing my coat?"
… to be continued…