They stumbled out of the lounge together, holding hands like teenagers. Except Chet had never actually held a girl’s hand as a teenager, or anyone’s hand, for that matter. Rory had come much later.
People were everywhere. They’d spilled out onto the decks and were drinking, smoking and chattering away. No one could leave the ship until it docked. Chet vaguely wondered whether the patrons were planning on staying up all night. He’d heard someone say there was gambling on the deck above with a piano act starting in an hour. Maybe the ship would calm down after a while, but Chet doubted it.
A couple of people in grass skirt costumes burst out of a door. They were—what were they doing? Aureate grinned and called out to them, but she was ignored. Chet’s eye finally decoded their tight cluster as wild kissing. Three women were kissing one of the men, his headdress still on. No, that wasn’t a man, it was Journey! Journey was the one being kissed—almost attacked, really—by the dance-troop women.
They banged against the deck railing, and Journey gasped, crying out, “Wait, stop. Don’t want to fall over the rail! Not in the wa—mph. Mph! Here, let’s move to the other...” He yelped as they pulled him back toward the ship.
One of the women reached under the grass skirt and grabbed hold of—well. Chet was fairly certain she’d caught his penis with both hands, but he couldn’t see in the dark. They slammed back through the door they’d just come out of, the woman with the handful of cock leading the way. Journey followed—by necessity—with a breathless grin, not protesting.
Aureate was laughing and shaking her head. “You get those girls going and they go. Journey should have figured that out before starting. They’ll take Journey apart, piece by piece.”
Chet drew Aureate close. “Glad I’m with you, then!”
She grinned up at him, her teeth showing. It was less a grin and very nearly a territorial snarl. “Oh, I could take you apart, too. I’m just not in that kind of mood tonight.”
Message received. He followed her down to the lowest deck; this area was much quieter. More private. She unlocked a door and snapped on the lights. It was a tiny room—a closet really—decorated as someone’s office space. An enormous, empty desk was built into the wall with a chair and not much else. It had a nice view featuring the sparking lights of Plainsdaugheau out curved windows, several of which were cracked open.
Aureate sighed. “Sorry there’s no bed. The troop is bunking down together in a communal room. I have a key is because the owner is a personal friend.”
“That’s okay. At least it’s private.” Chet realized that he hadn’t experienced privacy with a woman—or a female-shaped person, rather—since these events had begun. They could do anything they wanted without an audience.
Aureate pulled off her crocheted sweater, then removed the skin-tight shirt underneath. She wore no bra. Aureate leaned back against the desk as Chet stared at her naked breasts with rapt attention. She grinned and crooked her finger at him. “Come on, then. Journey says you’re a tits man. Try me out. Taste me.”
He approached and sank into the desk chair, scooting it closer so his head was exactly at the level of her chest. Giving in to his aching desire, he buried his face in her breasts. Both his hands engaged, he took a nipple in his mouth, then the other. Oh, Pantheon, that’s good. He couldn’t get enough. Chet rubbed her tits up, down and sideways, endlessly fascinated by how they moved and bounced. After a time, Aureate pushed him away. He reluctantly let go.
“I want you to fuck me in the ass.”
Chet paused, taken back. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He’d been fucked in the ass so many times since this had begun—by Fenimore, Journey and that dickhead smuggler in the truck—but had yet to inflict such treatment on another.
She smiled, her expression rather smug. “You can’t.”
Oh, yeah. Shapeshifter. Right. Chet smiled uncertainly. He turned off the lights, self conscious at the lack of curtains. “Um. I’m not sure how to begin.”
In answer, she pulled down her skin-tight pants and let them fall to the floor, then kicked off her heels. She was naked, now. Chet caught his breath. She was serious. Aureate turned her back and stuck out her behind, leaning against the desk.
This was going too fast. Chet touched her back and ran his hand down to her posterior. She had the best ass. Well, of course she did: whether she was twenty or a hundred and twenty, she could shape exactly what she wanted. It was heart shaped and firm, yet round and soft in the right places.
Chet realized he was in control. Aureate had her back turned, waiting for him to take the upper hand. He could do anything. As long as she let him, he could try something... new. Freedom rippled through him, and he grinned. Moved by instinct, he drew back and spanked her, his open hand slapping her firm, bouncy buttocks with an audible crack.
Aureate cried out in shock. Chet shrank away, a hand at his mouth.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to... uh...”
Aureate hadn’t moved. She was grinning, he realized, as she looked over her shoulder. “Why, Chet Baikson, I didn’t realize you had it in you. Do that again.”
He exhaled, his hand falling to his side. She’d liked it. He certainly liked it, now that he knew it was allowed. He liked being in control: it was such a new feeling to be in control of a sexual situation. Of any situation, really. Chet started rubbing her ass in earnest. He swung back and spanked her again. She cried out, but this time she undulated her hips and pelvis, obviously enjoying herself. He spanked her a few more times, then realized he wanted a different position.
“Climb on the desk,” he said. As she did so, he shed clothing rapidly until he was down to his boxers and tee-shirt. Chet arranged himself so that he was beside Aureate. “Drape yourself across my lap. Face down.”
She obeyed. She obeyed him! It was possibly the sexiest thing anyone had ever done with him. His cock was achingly erect, but he wouldn’t let it out yet. The pressure of her body draped across his lap was wonderful, yet he wanted to enjoy her, not focus on his own pleasure.
Her pleasure was what he really wanted.
Chet began spanking her, softly at first, building up to a faster crescendo. Aureate moaned and gave little sexy screams that sent chills up Chet’s spine. He wanted more. He did want to fuck her in the ass. Journey had told him days ago in the prostitute’s van that Flame basically lubricated their own rectums. That seemed... kind of gross. Yet what did he have to lose by investigating the claim? Women did the same thing in the front end, after all.
Chet rubbed Aureate’s ass and pulled her cheeks apart. She squeaked, hands splayed on the desk, attentive to his every movement. Her attention was sexy as her body. He fingered the outside of her little pucker of an anus. Then, taking a courageous breath, Chet stuck a finger inside. It was wet in there. He withdrew and rubbed his finger and thumb together; the wetness was thick, viscous. A lot like the way Journey’s cunt had felt, actually, not that he’d touched her there with more than his dick. That seemed like a bad call, now. Chet smelled his finger, still suspicious. It did smell of ass but also strongly of ichor. Well, then.
“Get up. I’m going to sit in the desk chair and you’re going to be on top of me, with my cock in your ass.”
“Yes," she agreed instantly, drawing herself up.
He climbed down and settled in the desk chair. It was solid and didn’t have armrests, fortunately. Chet pulled out his erect penis and held out his other hand to Aureate. With luxuriant, leisurely movements, her tits bouncing ever so subtly, she climbed off the desk and turned her back to him. Aureate sank slowly onto his lap. He found her rectum with difficulty, but once he fingered it open, he didn’t let go. Chet tucked himself inside of her, breathing harder as he did.
“You are to do all the moving, here. I’m not going to move at all.”
“Oh, yes.” Her face turned so that he saw her profile. On cue, she barely moved atop him, undulating just a little.
Chet reached around and rubbed her breasts, his hand open on her nipples. He slapped a tit and she cried out, sinking fully on his penis.
“Do that again," she said, her breath coming faster.
He grinned and took her at her word. After a time, curious, Chet felt down her body until he reached her hairless pubic area. It was very, very wet. He fingered her, and her breath caught. He brushed against the raised mound near the front, and she let out a little scream.
“You like that, huh?” he whispered in her ear. She whimpered in response.
Chet loved this. He felt entirely in his element for the first time in his whole life, the odd man out no more. He brushed against the tiny, erect mount again, and she leaned back into him, making wimpering noises.
“Please, please," she said in an unending litany.
He began rubbing her there. Endless circular movements, that seemed to be the trick. He realized his other hand was still hovering over her breasts. Reminded of their presence, he slapped her tit again. She moaned, head thrown back. Aureate’s reactions drove him on—every sound, every breath she took—let him know what to do next.
Her body was a roadmap in the dark.
Chet had almost completely forgotten his cock... but she hadn’t. Aureate pulled herself up, until just the glans head was inside of her, then settled down upon him again, so he was enveloped.
He rubbed Aureate harder, and she thrashed in his arms. Tit slap, rub, slap, pinch, lots of rub. Playing Aureate was far more interesting than woodwinds or the brass section. Chet’s hand—buried in her hairless sex—was so wet he might as well have been under water. He was enveloped by her, surrounded by her power, yet he was also in charge of the situation. Aureate was thrashing with such intensity, Chet feared he might accidentally come. The next time she arched up, he pulled out on purpose. Then he plunged both hands into her sex, still rubbing, his other fingers buried in her cunt and ass.
With almost clinical curiosity, Chet squeezed his fingers together. Aureate went insane. Her body became an electrical arc. She screamed in his ear.
The screaming stopped. Everything stopped. She sank into his arms, her body limp. “Thank you," Aureate said, sounding surprised in the dark.
He wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Are you okay?”
“Better than. Do you know how long it’s been since a man did that to me? Not this lifetime, for certain.” Her words were slurred, and she cuddled against him, her knees drawn up. “You know, I usually like women. I don’t normally pick up guys, if I’m the one doing the choosing. Guess I knew something was different about you. You did well.”
Chet settled back in the chair and breathed out. He wasn’t exactly limp, but he wasn’t erect, either. He felt absolutely no desire to fuck her again or come. It was as if her orgasm had somehow illuminated him. Made him larger. Probably the effect of little sleep and lingering alcohol, but still.
They dressed out of necessity in the cool room and settled on the desk. It was hard and lacked covers, but Chet dozed, warmed by the soft, perfect Flame curled in his arms. He’d never felt this way about another human being. Not even Rory, though he felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. A piano tinkled upstairs. People were laughing and talking, their voices blurry noise that merged together.
The windows were still cracked open, and cool air moved over Chet’s bare feet, keeping him from sleep. An occasional wisp of cigarette smoke drifted into the room. Chet should really get up and shut the windows, but that might disturb Aureate.
She was breathing evenly, her body curled against him with implicit trust. Her crocheted sweater had an interesting texture under his hands. He stared upwards, the lights of Plainsdaugheau making strange patterns on the fabricated ceiling. Chet closed his eyes and lolled against her bald head, loving how soft she felt against his body. A breath of poetry sped around his head like a cynodict on a race track. Who’d written it? The Magician Zang? No, that wasn’t it. The Magician Tene, that’s right. Something about eyes. Traitorous honey eyes, not of magic but sex...
Chet’s eyes sprang open. His whole body came awake, though he didn’t move. Tension rippled through him, his muscles contracting involuntarily. “I know you.”
“Mmm?”
“I know you. You’re the traitor! The affiliate turncoat.”
Aureate sprang up as if she were being attacked, her hands reaching for weapons that weren’t there, her eyes wide in the shadows. “What? What did you call me?”
Chet could recall the whole verse now that he was awake. He gazed at her, dark legend come to life. “The Magician Tene wrote about you. I’m sure it’s you! You must be the Magician who turned away from the fold...”
“Stop.” Aureate looked like she wanted to leap out the window, glass and all. “You can’t—you don’t—who are you? Answer me! Answer me now!”
Chet blinked. She was shaking. Hard. He realized what he’d said, what he’d done. “Aureate, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I read it in a book years ago. Since I met you, I kept thinking something about you was familiar. I just figured out what it was.”
A pause, then Aureate began breathing again, though her shaking grew worse. Chet hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She murmured, as if to herself, “That’s right, Journey said you’re an archaeologist with a really good memory for classics.”
“Is it... is it true? Were you a Magician?” Now he was the one holding his breath.
She stared at him in the dark, then quietly crept back into his arms. He accepted her—she was crying. “Yes," she said, sniffing.
He held the forgotten past in his hands, yet she still breathed. It was strange and wondrous and scary as Abyss. “Tell me about it. I—I think I need to know.”
Why did he need to know? Such a frightening question to ask himself. He’d been obsessed with the past far too long with an intensity that had—for all intents and purposes—kept his own life in check. Now that he was in a position to learn the answers he craved, he wasn’t sure what question those answers pertained to. It was like staring down the fabled Abyss: Chet felt excitement and fear in equal parts with a sprinkling of horror, though regarding what he could not say. If Aureate asked, how could he assure her he was serious? He had nothing. Chet held his breath, awaiting her reply.
Aureate was silent. Then she whispered, “For a long time, it was easy. I liked it. Blood magic was... very powerful. But there was this little problem, you see. I don’t think anyone ever wrote about the problem. It’s not the sort of thing most Magicians worried about.”
“What was it?”
“Death," Aureate said with a shaky laugh. She sniffed again.
Chet found a handkerchief in his jacket pocket, silently thanked Journey for its existence and offered it to her. Aureate sat up to wipe her face and nose. He said, “What do you mean, death? You face death as Flame, too. What’s the difference?”
“As a student of the classics, you must understand that Magicians, like Flame, were reincarnating affiliates. Yet all Magicians were men. Did it never occur to you to ask why?”
“Um.” Chet blinked. “No. I—I guess... there aren’t too many women represented in the classics anyway.”
“Foex was a sexist asshole who didn’t like women except to fuck them. Oh, and he also liked pregnant women because they popped out babies to carry on the line of whatever race he was sculpting. He tinkered with the flaxen race for millennia; his hands are all over the roots of your racial memory, did you know? Foex had no other use for women. But the thing is, if you pick up a reincarnating soul over and over again, half the time they’ll be born as a girl.”
“He couldn’t control that?”
“No. Don’t know why not. One of the larger rules I guess the gods cannot break or sully. Pelin doesn’t care—never has, never will—but Foex did.”
“You said... the problem was death.”
“When his Magicians were reincarnated as girls, he killed them. Us.” Aureate took a deep breath. “Me.”
“Oh.”
“Usually, he’d bring the baby girl to a practicing Magician to use in blood magic. That’s how Foex liked it. He utilized every resource and didn’t waste energy. He had an appalling amount of energy; that’s why I liked him as an affiliate. But... sometimes the girl wasn’t a baby. Sometimes she was older. Sometimes she remembered.”
“You remembered.”
“Oh, yes. I didn’t really think about it until I was born female six times in a row. Foex was mindful about finding us early, but I escaped once during that streak of lives. I grew up and found a really good man. I miss him sometimes or at least the memory of him, which isn’t the same thing. I was pregnant—near term, in fact—when Foex found me.”
“He killed you.”
“Of course he did. He killed me the next time and the time after that. By that point, I was going out of my mind. Then I was born a boy. Foex was much happier. He let me grow up and instructed me personally in changes in magical workings that had taken place while I was out of circulation. I smiled and took his instruction until his back was turned, and then...”
“And then?”
“I grabbed the first ship to Palister and rode like abyss until I reached the first Flame node I could find. The nodes are an old thing we used to have back in the Cobalt Era, before our current system with the Flame Council. I begged them to hear me out. The Flame, I mean. Pelin was curious and came down to talk with me in person. I was absolutely raving mad, but she listened. And here I am.” Aureate took a deep breath. “Well, here I am a few thousand years later. My eyes were permanently dyed yellow by Foex, no helping that. They’re with me every lifetime, thus my initiate name. Pelin gave me the name knowing full well what I just told you. I don’t remember the last time I’ve told this story to an outsider. I hardly ever talk about it.”
Chet could barely think or breathe with this living legend in his arms, sharing real secrets from the past. Nevertheless, he frowned. “They must not have liked that. The Magicians, I mean.”
She chuckled ruefully. “You’ve been reading Tene, have you? He was such a doedicu. He hated everything I stood for, waging his own private smear campaign against me, to use the modern phrase. I haven’t heard the accusation ‘traitor’ in ages.”
“Oh.” Chet blinked. He hadn’t considered the authors of his books as biased, somehow. As political. I should have, he thought with a snort. No god affiliate on Uos had the luxury of being apolitical.
“Chet, you said you needed to know all this. Why?”
“Because... because I’m bound to this weird Magician’s tool, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why it chose me. Did Journey tell you what happened?” Chet was distracted by an odd noise outside. Was that a motorboat? It seemed incongruent that someone would be messing around with a motorboat in the middle of the night. Well, they were at sea. The motor cut, and Chet ceased worrying about it.
“Briefly. Tell me more.”
Chet explained how the Raptus had reacted when he’d touched it during the tug-of-war. “I can’t get the feeling out of my head that it wants me for something. It didn’t bind us until I touched it. But I'm just a guy!”
Aureate grunted. “I have guesses, but you have to understand I was never at that kind of skill level. Even Zang and Tene were really pushing the envelope to create it. They must have sacrificed a lot of girls to do so.”
“Oh. Yes, I can see that. Blood magic always sounds so romantic in the abstract, but it must have been horrible and messy on the practical end.” Chet chewed it over. “I was always taught Foex’s brand of magic stopped working when he died, but the Raptus is still operational.”
“I don’t believe in perpetual motion, so my best guess is that they must have linked it to its victims in an endless loop. The more blood it spills, the more powerful it becomes. There are problems with that theory, the most obvious being that the Raptus has been mired in lucid mud for three-hundred years, yet it hasn’t run down. Don’t know how they did that. I would have been curious about it—once.”
“Aureate, I hate to ask, but is it possible for you to find out? Journey said back in Wetshul that you were the best consultant on why the Raptus is acting this way.”
She looked away, fiddling with her crocheted sweater. “Yeah, Journey asked me before we went on stage.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her no. I really don't want to meddle with the Raptus. I expect she and Knife will ask me again, try to talk me around. But my answer is final.”
Chet jerked back, then glared. She didn’t want to meddle with it? He and the others were linked by an invisible umbilical cord by a mind-control device—like being strapped to a ticking time bomb—and she didn’t want to even try? Screw that, he thought. “Why not?”
Aureate looked him in the eye. “Because I don’t want to kill someone to find out.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“You can still... does blood magic still work?”
For a long moment, he wasn’t sure whether she’d answer. Her shoulders slumped, her athletic, dancer’s body curled away from him. Then Aureate nodded once, her eye downcast. “I don’t practice it. Much. Hardly at all. Only in dire emergencies, and most the time not even then.”
The answer seemed to cost her much. It occurred to him that Aureate’s reaction—her whole being—was consumed by shame. Based on everything she’d said, he could understand why. “I see.”
“Obviously the Raptus isn’t a toy just anyone should be using, or using at all. I’m glad Knife and Journey are set on destroying it. Good riddance.”
Chet sighed. “Did Journey have you unlock it with your words and blood, backstage earlier?”
“Yep.” Aureate stretched, then climbed down from the desk. “I gotta take a piss, Chet.”
“Is there a bathroom around here?”
She snickered. “There’s the ocean. Flame can aim and fire just like a guy, you know. When I come back, maybe we can play some more. Me on top, this time.”
He grinned at her. Though she hadn’t specified a gender, he rather thought she’d be fantastic as a man. His cock stirring at the thought. “Sounds good.”
Chet hummed under his breath as she strode out, leaving the door open behind her. The summer breeze was a little too cool. He rolled onto his belly. If Journey could do all sorts of tricks with a penis, maybe Aureate could, too. Maybe they’d...
A scream, a splash. Chet scrambled to his feet, eyes wide. There was more screaming outside. Real screams.