Chosen Ch. 02

Neither had I. But I imagined the candle again, burning, wax trickling down the side; I imagined dripping wax on her skin-

She was licking my chest, and her hand moved up and down the length of my cock; her leg stroked mine, suggestively.

-fucking her with the end of the candle-

She shuddered, rolled onto her hands and knees, staring at my impossibly rigid cock. I'd been good for two hard fuckings, back to back, a couple of times, with the right woman. But nothing like this.

I pictured her body, dancing in the flame of the candle. She gasped and began masturbating, eyes wide, lips parted, staring at my cock, and then she kissed and licked it, begging...

It wasn't possible. But I didn't argue. I fucked her from behind, and she sobbed and shuddered, and arched...

"Don't come," I snarled.

"Please! Please you don't understand, I need to! I can't stop myself, I can't!"

I imagined her trying to blow out the candle, but it wouldn't go out-

Thrashing, she came over and over, masturbating and writhing around my cock. I didn't let myself come, but I could have. I didn't pull out until she was collapsed on the floor, still twitching spasmodically.

More time passed.

"I s-should visit patios more often," she whispered softly. "Or drink more Sangria, or worship the moon, or... no, it's simpler if I just let you kidnap me. Because it's none of those things; somehow it's you. No wonder you said the women resisted but succumbed in the end. You make me hot, molten; I'm soft, moldable wax to be shaped by your hands..."

I gathered her up, and carried her to the bed. My mind was racing.

A candle with unusual properties, to be kept in a monastery. But it could not be the same candle. The candle had been mentioned twelve hundred years ago; even unburned, they don't last forever. And the candle had been burning when I found it, just recently lit, from the look of it.

I stroked her body, slowly. She shivered. "How do you do it? You're handsome but I've actually had prettier. You know how to touch and command a body but this is something more. I'm imagining opening my legs, and my belly tightens even now. Your hands make me burn, and melt."

"Magic," I said.

Except... I wasn't kidding.

I have my long history of stealing artifacts, and there are many legends that spring up about items like that. They are all false; the only point in the legends is to make the items more expensive to buyers. I was as cynical as it got when it came to claims of miraculous cups or swords that would only kill in the hands of a virgin. And if a tenth of the curses surrounding historic artifacts were true, I'd have been dead ten times over by now.

But that candle-

"Please no more," she moaned. "Whatever you do, let me rest now. I'm not going to be able to walk tomorrow."

I kissed her, softly. She smiled against my mouth, and stroked my hair. "Maybe I haven't had prettier," she murmured. "You get more handsome by the second..."

"That's the sangria talking."

"You didn't leave me time to drink much of it. Tell me honestly, did you drug it?"

"There's no drug that makes a woman feel what you felt."

"If there ever is, I want it. You release the animal in me."

I kissed her again, slowly.

"No affection," she murmured. "Only sex. Affection is dangerous. Just fuck me, over and over..."

I chuckled, and kissed her nipple.

"Mmm, your mouth.... I liked that you teased my clit with it, but didn't try to get me to come that way. You only made me want, and then it had to be your cock, your hard,demandingcock..."

She was getting worked up again. This was crazy.

I kissed her belly, got up, and under the excuse of a drink of water, moved the bag containing the lantern to the bathroom, as far from the bed as possible. Holding the bag, I felt energetic, alive, powerful.

I took the lantern out, and on a curious whim, lit the candle. Immediately, relaxation filled me. I suddenly felt well and truly sated.

I returned to the bed. I found Sophia asleep, with the most relaxed of smiles on her face. Sated to exhaustion.

Not possible. But what else made sense? They kept it burning, all the time. Or this happened. But didn't it melt?

I went back to the bathroom, wincing a little at how sore I already was. I watched the candle for a bit.

The wax wasn't being consumed. Whatever had happened to this candle, the laws of physics no longer applied. How had they kept this secret – and why?

++++++

"Adrienne, please. I can maybe do the deal with someone else but you really are perfect for this shoot. The customer went through everyone in my portfolio and demandedyou. The cover ofJanemade you must-have."

I sighed, bitterly and deliberately, into the phone. For months I'd been going to Steve to get modelling work. When things had been tight, I'd done little bits of more risqué work. Book covers – that was my mostly naked torso and hair on the cover ofJane In Chains– ads for phone sex, clubwear... some weeks I'd been reduced to begging him for work. Now that I didn't need the money, suddenly he had no lack of projects.

I'd quietly liked the book cover work, though I'd never admit that to him. I'm of mixed Northern Spanish and Austrian descent, naturally blonde and fair skinned, and when the makeup artist was done I'd looked in a mirror and seen a living embodiment of the noble born Englishwoman, Jane. But the pretty bodice was mostly ripped off for the photos, making it a very, very topless shot. The other model's hand had cupped my breast from underneath, and he had a... nice hand. My nipples had liked it, anyway, especially when he stroked his thumb over them a few times. The photographer had been very successful in capturing my embarrassed and obvious arousal, which is why I'd pushed for the shots where my face was turned away. The resulting cover was a very hot, very coy girl being ruthlessly seduced by a man with a muscled chest and long, dark hair - and a dismissive, cold smile. I still get chills when I see it.

But it was also a limit.

"Steven... you know I don't do nude. You want to put me in a bikini and lean me against a car, fine. But you've been pushing to get me into porn for a year."

"This isn't porn. No one's asking for penetration. You're not giving any hand jobs."

"Naked, entwined with two naked guys, and wrapped in chains? What the hell else do you call it?"

"I call it profitable and the customer calls it art. I can't tell you his name, but he's rich, he'll be in the studio and his work is very, very highly regarded in Japan. Yes, it's exploitative as hell, but these aren't pussy shots, babe."

"But you want my face in them."

"Your face fascinated him. You do wide-eyed innocence really well. He was entranced. Look... I think it's just possible that he's doing this just to meet you. He's spending quite a lot for the privilege. Isn't that flattering?"

"It's closer to creepy. He wants to meet me, he can meet me with my clothing on, over dinner. What he's doing is not that different than buying my services as a whore."

"Baby, that's part of the fantasy. Every man who rents models for ads or art is making you his whore, in his mind. You've felt the sexual tension in the air when you actually meet the customers."

"Yeah, and it's disturbing, not hot. Look... I don't need the money right now and I don't care who he is, I don't curl up with two strange naked guys on camera. No means no. Listen, I have to go. I'll still do modelling, but clothed only. Talk to you later."

"Sigh. Bye."

I'm free,I thought. The book had freed me from so many things. And I could never explain it to anyone.

I stared at the book, from across the room. The last time I opened it, there hadn't been any new text, and my Thank You was still there. But I could not believe that it had appeared in my life only to get me out of my financial difficulties. There would be more messages; there had to be. It was an awful lot of pages, for two sentences.

The eeriest part was that I could never prove to anyone that this book was anything other than a collection of pages. Magic – or something – was loose in the world, and I couldn't prove it to a soul.

I had been chosen. What did that mean? Chosen for what? Had anyone else been chosen? Had this book appeared in other lives? Where there other books? What happened to those chosen? Why had no one ever heard of this before? That was the frightening question. What if anyone with one of these books came to a bad and sudden end?

Why would a book mean anyone harm?

But for that matter, why would a book care about anyone, either way? It's not what books do.

But I couldn't exactly manage to be frightened. It was a book. If it was scary I'd put it in the trash and never have to think about it again.

Unless it reappeared on my bookshelf.

Ok... that was a slightly scary thought.

"You're not a... bad book, are you?"

The book did not reply.

I turned on the computer. I was researching careers, because if I knew anything, I knew I was done with data entry.

Massage Therapist. I like working with my hands. I don't mind people and I'm not put off by the elderly, who need massages for legitimate medical reasons. But they don't make more than I did in my last job.

Tattoo artist. Wait, what? One hundred dollars an hour? Seriously? Sheesh, for that kind of money and the chance to inflict a little pain on guys trying to act all macho... And it took two years to learn the skill. I could do that.

Whispering. What? I looked up.

Silence.

I shivered. Nothing in here should be whispering. Especially not books.

I walked over to it. The whispering had been faint, echoey, and I couldn't say for certain where it had come from. But the book needed to be checked, now. I opened it.

You have been chosen.

(-)

Add a drop of your blood to the ink.

My Thank You was gone. So was the hint about the floorboard. Instead... this.

Blood? I started shaking.

"Hello? Is someone... here? Was that you, whispering? Why do you want blood? Who are you?"

Silence.

"That's just... creepy. Really,reallycreepy. Frightening. I can't do that."

Could I? I was eighty thousand dollars richer and all it was asking for a drop of blood. On the other hand...blood? Blood and magic have been linked in legends for centuries, right? And the ink was kind of a rusty brown... was it blood, somehow? Wait, if I mixed in my blood was I then somehow part of the book?

Did that mean I could talk to... whoever it was that wrote in it?

I shook myself and closed the book, and backed away. I had to talk to someone about this. This had just gone from unbelievable to frightening. What if it had been after my blood from the beginning, and the money had just been a way to get me to trust it?

"I... refuse."

Sudden whispering.

I shrieked and bolted from the room.

+++

It was an hour before I crept out of the bedroom, and timidly approached the book again. I opened it, trembling.

You have been chosen.

(-)

Add a drop of your blood to the ink. You must.
You will.

"No. Please. I don't understand. I don't know what happens."

Silence.

The book was male, I decided. If it had nothing to say, it just stopped talking. That wasn't fair.

Maybe the book was something alive. Maybe it needed a drop of blood as food.

One drop wasn't much.

Was "You will" a threat? It could find pearl necklaces, maybe stop trucks from crushing me. What if it got... angry with me?

"Please. Just tell me if something bad happens. I don't know what you are! Tell me something. Tell me anything!"

I closed the book, and opened it. No change.

"You are asking me to trust you. But you have to speak to me. It's why girls don't trust guys, they don't talk. Without words, how do you know who anyone is?"

Nothing.

"Please."

Nothing. I was losing an argument to a book.

I was about to give in, but my hands were shaking and I decided I had to talk to someone, no matter how crazy it made me look. Ellen had studied both history and religion in college. And then gone on to do completely unrelated involving lab work for some genetics lab involving fruit flies, which shows you that all that stuff counselors feed you in high school about careers and education is garbage. Of course I suspected that Ellen had slept with the interviewer for the lab job; maybe that's the kind of career advice they just can't give you in high school.

She'd be at work. I texted her.

Hey, you around?

The dots, and then.Hey sweetie. How's the book thing going?

I stared at my phone. What the fuck?

I hit call. She dropped the call and texted back:2 min.

How did she know about the book thing? I hadn't told anyone. Not a soul. How? Was she in on some kind of prank?

The phone rang, and I picked up.

"Sorry sweets, I had to euth a bunch of mutant bugs and the vent fan gets pretty loud. What's up?"

"You mentioned a book..."

"Yeah. How is it going? Did you ever figure out who sent it to you?"

We were having a conversation about something that hadn'thappened.

"El... is this some sort of weird prank?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"How did you know about the book?"

"I only know what you told me last week. You sound pretty shook up, what's going on?"

"I-" I closed my eyes. I didn't know what was going on and I needed someone to make sense.

"El... I have no memory of asking you about this book. It just showed up on my bookshelf a few days ago. I don't know how it got here and I don't remember talking to anyone about it, not you, not anyone."

"Sweetheart," she said. "That's... not what you said happened. You got the book in the mail, with no return address, and you called me and sent me a picture. It was just a few days ago, how can you not remember?"

"Do you still have the picture?"

"Probably, let me look... huh, no, I must have deleted it."

If I'd taken a picture it would still be on my phone, I was horrible at deleting things. I opened the folder. There was no picture of a book.

I checked the call log. And gasped.I'd called Ellen last Thursday.

"Sweets... what's going on?"

"I don't know. Something's really wrong. Tell me what I told you when I called you."

"Um... ok. Book in the mail, no return address but a postmark from Madrid. It looked really old. You opened it up and it was full of pages of writing in a language you didn't know. I guessed Spanish from some of what you sounded out. You decided your boyfriend had it sent to you but you had no idea why. You were mad at him and decided not to ask him about it. How can you possibly not remember? Did you party that weekend?"

"C-can you stop by tonight?"

"Um. I have a date."

"Ellen... please. Something's going on. Something weird."

"Alright. This sounds like an official sisterhood emergency and you're worrying me. I'll swing by for a half hour right after work. I can't stay long though. I'm not blowing this guy off."

"Thanks. See you then."

I hung up, and took a picture of the book. I looked at the picture. It was fine. I looked in the folder of pictures. It was there.

I tried to remember getting a package. I couldn't.

I started shaking.

+++

She walked in at 5:30 on the dot. She hugged me – she hugged everyone, public private, girl, guy, didn't matter – and looked at the book on the table. "Hey sweetie. Yeah, that's the book you showed me. Now, seriously, you don't remember talking to me about it?"

"I don't, I swear. The phone says we talked but I don't remember it. I don't remember getting a package. I've been freaking out because it just showed up on my bookcase and I didn't know how it got there."

"You put it there. You told me you were going to dust everything and then put it on the shelf and wait to ask Bob about it. You said it came with ink in a plastic vial, and you mentioned the inkwell. You... have there been other things you've been forgetting?"

"I don't know! I don't think so."

"Alright. I'm kinda concerned about you. I'd think it was some weird prank if you weren't so shaken up. Did you fall and hit your head or anything?"

"No, but... there was that horrific traffic accident..."

"You were in that?"

"Not exactly. I was walking nearby. I ducked and almost got hit by a truck."

"Ha, that's it. You probably banged your head and got a concussion. I think it's possible for that to happen even when you don't feel pain. Still, sweetie, check with a doctor, ok? Because... wait. You were sounding kind of rattled even before the confusion over what we talked about."

"Uh... yeah. Could you look at the book for me? It kind of... creeps me out, I guess..."

"It's just an old book. I'll take a picture of the text, and I know a guy who can maybe translate the Spanish or whatever, even if it's old."

"Yeah, about that..."

She sat and opened the book.

"...see, I don't remember seeing any Spanish, just that little bit of writing in English that I really don't underst- um... Ellen?"

She was sitting, immobile. I looked at her face. It was motionless, staring at the page.

I looked at the page. It was a blur of shifting symbols and I was immediately dizzy, and I closed my eyes and wobbled.

"Oh... oh no... Ellen..." I knelt down and waved a hand in front of her face.

She just sat there, her grip on the book slowly loosening.

I grabbed the book, closed it, and put it under the table. "Ellen? Ellen!"

"Wait... what?" She looked up, vague and disoriented. "Sheesh. Adrienne. That was the weirdest thing. I just totally spaced. Literally, like I have no idea what I was just saying. I know this guy gets to me but I didn't know it was this bad! And... wow. Wow am I horny. I'm going on a date tonight and I'm like... yeah. I hope he can't tell."

I had to get her out of here before something else happened.

"I guess it depends on what you're wearing."

"Hehe. Maybe I should... I mean he and I have only made out, and he's got that down. I could see dressing a little hot this evening, seeing what he thinks of that... shit! I was just going to stop by and check up on you after your accident, but I really have to get out of here and get ready. Wish me luck tonight!"

"Get crunched, babe."

We did the hug, and she fled.

I stared at the book.

It could hypnotize people. And make them forget things. And it had done it to me, and now Ellen. Hypnosis? Really? What else could it do with that? Ellen had suddenly been horny out of her mind; no way would her boyfriend not notice.

"Tell me what this is about," I said. "Tell me what you are doing. Please."

I opened it.

You have been chosen.

(-)

Add a drop of your blood to the ink.
Never show this to anyone.
Take the job.
Obey my words.

"I saw what happened to Ellen. You could hypnotize me and make me give you the drop of blood. Couldn't you. Or can you only make people forget things? But you made Ellen crazy horny. How am I supposed to trust words that just appear? You're magic. You're the scariest thing I ever met and that's saying something after a truck nearly killed me. I don't know what you want me for. Please, I need... you can make whatever you appear on the page, I saw the writing change for Ellen. I know you must be able to understand me. So you could answer me right now if you wanted to! I know you helped me, but why? Please! I always half believed in magic, deep down, maybe everyone does. But you... this... I don't know what bloodmeans,but it must mean something. Blood oaths, pacts, sacrifices, don't you understand how terrified I am?"

I closed the book, and opened it. No change.

"Please," I whispered, weakly. "I don't know what will happen. I'll become... part of something, won't I. What am I being chosenfor? What do you mean bymywords? Are you a person? What are you? Why did you come here? You're just adding more and more commands. You're pushing me." I giggled, suddenly and nervously. "Didn't your mother teach you to say please?"