DISCLAIMER: THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF THE HOLLOWS AND ALL CHARACTERS THEREIN ARE OWNED BY THE LOVELY KIM HARRISON.

In the Bedroom

CHAPTER 10

"A chastity curse is a particularly vicious spell," Al said, his voice slow and precise.

"I don't know," I countered, "I mean, it didn't feel particularly painful."

Al turned and fiddled with something or other on the tub and the choked, bubbly sound of water draining filled the silence between us. He reached down and grabbed his robe off the floor again, the garment vanishing in a red puff of energy as he presumably returned it to some place in his private chambers I hadn't yet seen. From what I was able to tell, demons didn't do laundry. Or perhaps that particular task was left to their familiars.

Al resettled himself on his perch at the edge of the tub, a small sigh escaping him before he continued our conversation. "There are a great many ways to be vicious, itchy witch, without inflicting physical pain."

I nodded. I couldn't really disagree with him there.

"The curse works by prohibiting the affected persons from removing their clothes while in each other's presence," he said softly.

I crossed my arms in front of my body but uncrossed them again to keep from wrinkling my robe. My hair, by this point, was everywhere and I shoved a hand through it when several errant strands of curly frizz fell forward into my eyes.

"Damnit back to the Turn," I fumed. "How could she do this to us?"

I may have been prone to fall for the dangerous bad boys and Al could certainly be one helluva bad boy demon, but I was pissed beyond belief at the thought of anyone taking away my choice.

"Why did she do this to us?" I shouted, my eyes pleading with Al's. "What about free will, damnit?" I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls of Al's bathroom in a cacophony of female rage.

Al looked at me and his eyes bespoke the endless years of torment he and the other few demons left had to endure at the hands of the last, crazy-assed female demon in existence.

"Rachel, Newt doesn't much care for the concept of free will as long as she gets her way," he said.

"And her way involves us not being together? This is absolutely ridiculous," I cried, "And this… godamn… hair!" I huffed, using both my hands as a headband to keep it out of my face.

I started pacing the room, my bare feet slapping against the wet stone floor.

"Try to calm yourself, love," Al said. "You're flitting around like an angry hornet."

"Ughhh!" I groaned. "Something must be done about that woman."

"Believe me. We've already tried to do something about her, Rachel," he said. "We've spent eons trying to deal with her in any rational manner. And even some irrational ones," he said, eyebrows raised.

I blew out a breath, directing it upward when I saw another curl making a stealthy trek into my light of sight.

"Here," Al said, rising from his seat and walking toward me. "Stop fussing and let me help you with that," he said.

I was about to protest that I didn't need his help, but something inside me thought better of it. I wanted his help. And accepting it didn't feel like a weakness. We were in this together and would get through this together.

Al was standing in front of me and my eyes traveled upwards to meet his. He reached a hand up and touched my hair, twining it around his finger before letting it fall in a springy red coil.

"It's beautiful, you know," Al said, his eyes shifting to the crazy mass of redness atop my head. "But it's always such a mess," he said, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth.

"Not always," I said in my hair's defense. I laughed and looked at him, my eyes playful and challenging. "And to think I spent all that time straightening it for y –" I stopped, realizing at the last moment what I was confessing.

Al didn't miss a thing, though, and it didn't slip past him that I had gone out of my way to look good for him.

"So you did straighten it for me," he hummed.

An air of conquest in his voice, Al brought a hand to the side of my face and caressed my cheek. My eyes closed briefly as I leaned into his touch, his hands warm and gentle and my body aching with need.

"Turn around, Rachel," Al said. And I did.

His fingers carefully combed my hair, somehow not snagging in any tangles as he tamed my angry mane back from my face. With eyes still closed, I savored Al's every touch. I couldn't tell what exactly he was doing back there. His hands were sure but never rough as he coaxed my head from side to side, fumbling with a few pieces. It felt like he was weaving them into place, his hands engaged in a delicate dance.

After a few minutes, Al's fingers stopped and he put his hands on my shoulders, turning me slightly to face a different direction.

"Open your eyes, itchy witch," Al said.

When I did, I found myself staring into a large, oval mirror set in a gilded frame and affixed to the wall above a mahogany chest of drawers. We were magically back in Al's bedroom, his large, four-poster bed visible behind our reflections.

Al had fixed my hair into an elegant French twist, the style showing off my neck perfectly. The bright red of my robe complemented my coloring well and Al stood behind me to my right, his hands lovingly draped on my shoulders. He had changed back into the black robe, the garment now dry as a bone leaving no evidence of our tub time escapades. We looked like the perfect demon couple, he and I. What surprised me most was how comfortable I felt with that thought.

I looked at him in the mirror and said, "It's perfect."

I brought my hand to rest atop his then turned to face him.

"Al…?" I said, my eyes heavy and my body once again craving his touch.

"Rachel," Al said, "I don't want to start something we can't finish."

"Just kiss me, damnit," I demanded. And he did.

His breath was hot as his mouth descended onto mine and I moaned at the feel of his lips pleading with mine for more of a taste, a request I granted without further demand. My hands traveled a southern route from his shoulders to his waist, my impatient hands fumbling with the belt of his robe before I realized my fingers were diving through the fabric as if it were devoid of physical, tangible substance. Al's clothes were there and real yet somehow weren't.

What the hell, I thought.

"Mmm," I muttered against Al's lips and he moaned a reply, clearly enjoying our makeout session as much as I was.

Summoning all the rational resistance I had in me, I pulled back from Al's mouth and leaned my head against his chest.

"What's the matter, Rachel?" Al asked.

I shook my head, willing my tears to retreat before I was overcome with grief and frustration.

Composing myself, I brought my head up to meet Al's gaze, a deep frown wrinkling my brow. "Newt's curse," I said. "You were right, Al."

I shook my head again, feeling the tears making inroads and attempting to overflow the dams of my eyelids. "You were right," I said again. "It's vicious and cruel."

Al grimaced and touched my lips with his fingers.

"I just… I just tried to untie your robe and it was as if it wasn't there. As if you weren't there, Al." I said.

"Mmm," Al muttered. "That's the general nature of it, yes."

"There has to be a way to dispel it, Al" I said.

"Newt used an elven magic curse, Rachel. It's not so easy to dispel. There are not that many demons well versed in wild magic," he said.

"What about your library?" I pleaded, no longer masking the desperation I felt. "You must have something in there that could help us undo what that crazy bitch has done."

"I may," Al acknowledged. "I so rarely fuck with their filthy magic. It's unpredictable and sloppy."

Al huffed and ran a hand through his hair, my frustration clearly contagious.

"And even if I did, you or I can't dispel it. Those who are affected by a chastity curse cannot undo it themselves," he said. "They must enlist the assistance of another."

"I'm sure some other demon in the ever-after could help us," I said.

"You think?" Al said, his posture flippant and his voice sarcastic. "And how many demons do you think would be willing to step up and place their lives on the line so that the only sane living demoness in existence can continue her intimate relations with a rival demon? Mmm?"

Shit, he's right, I thought.

"But we have to undo this, Al!" I said. "Isn't that what you want?" I asked, thrusting my splayed hands towards him.

"Of course it's what I want, Rachel," Al replied, the volume of his voice rising slightly to meet my own. "But the only conceivable way of undoing the curse is to have an elf do it for us," he said, his disgust of the entire elven race apparent in the distain with which he spat the word 'elf'.

Al must have read the hopelessness on my face because he continued, "And we'd never get an elf familiar to help us, even if we could get him or her away from their demon long enough to ask."

"So then where does that leave us?" I asked.

"That leaves us," Al sneered, "hip deep in elf shit with no shovel to dig ourselves out."

And then a thought occurred to me.

"No," I said softly. "That's not the only way."

Al looked at me expectantly with eyebrows raised. "You have another plan, itchy witch? Do tell."

I couldn't believe I was saying it out loud, but there was another way.

"We could… ask an elf."