The Wicked: A Love Story

[ChrisGibson]

These are two goog couple. In fact the story is really filled with great twosomes, but all of them have to undergo their testing and there is more to follow tomorrow when the other vampires arrive.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT, OLD FRIENDS BRIEFLY SEPARATED ARE REUNITED, AND LOREAL FINALLY MEETS LAURIE AGAIN, WAITING FOR NEWS OF WHAT SEEMS TO HAVE CHANGED HIM


When Lewis answered the door he seemed completely unfazed by the appearance of Lawrence Malone, Kruinh and Myron Keller.
“Loreal is down the hall in her own room,” Lewis told Laurie as he opened the door to let them in.
“Kruinh I now know. You, I don’t.”
“I’m Myron Keller.”
“Oh,” Lewis said in an amused voice as he gestured for them to sit and went into the kitchen to bring out drinks.
“Another Keller. Things are getting deeper and deeper.”
This afternoon, Seth had returned with Jim Keller, and the whole time Lewis socialized with the golden haired Strauss he thought, Does he know that Seth has been sleeping with us? What in the world is Seth planning? But since he’d turned forty, Lewis realized that his problems were few, and Seth’s problems were not his, and this was something for his cousin to figure out, so he said to these new visitors, as he had said to Jim Strauss:
“Thirsty?”
He looked to Kruinh.
“No, friend Lewis.”
“Laurie, Bourbon? Bourbon. You Myron? The same?”
“You’ve changed, Lawrence,” Lewis said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something lighter about you.”
Lewis was coming with drinks when Chris came out of the bathroom, and he actually was surprised. He cocked his head, looking at Laurie so sharply that the other vampire went red.
“What?”
Chris shook his finger at Laurie, grinning, and said, “You and me will talk.”
“But first,” Lewis said, his arms out, “it seems like we all need to talk.”
“We were attacked by a rival vampire clan,” Kruinh said simply.
“The clan that Evangeline is a part of,” Chris guessed.
“Evangeline is no more,” Kruinh said, simply, and Chris nodded.
“We can,” Kruinh’s eyes were lowered for once, “talk about this privately, if you wish.”
“I don’ t want to talk about it at all,” Chris said, his eyes wide open and somber.
“I have no doubt I would have been next on her last after you,” Chris said. “It’s taken me a long time to realize that she was my enemy… That…”
Now Chris did looked briefly pained, and Lewis wanted to touch him, but stopped himself
“Nevermind,” Chris said, regaining himself. “Please go on.”
“Evangeline was not only part of the clan. She founded it. She had separated from Rosamunde. Laurie’s baby and Lynn were her undoing. She knew we were bringing a mortal with us and assumed it was Lynn, and so she attacked us. Our destruction was a bonus. Eve Moreland was tied to this,” Kruinh said to Lewis. “But I doubt Augustus knew anything.”
“So do I,” Lewis said. “His bloodlusts were always in different directions.”
“What about Lynn?” Chris said.
They were silent and it was Laurie who said, “She is dead. Evangeline or one of her crew killed her in Chicago.”
Lewis sucked in his breath and covered his mouth.
“There is more to it than that,” Laurie said. “But for now let that be enough.”
Chris and Lewis nodded somberly and though Kruinh looked somber as well, he spoke.
“There was one other thing,” Kruinh said, “and it was this: Evangeline mentioned, quite casually, that she killed the Strausses. The original ones. Doubtless, you will know more about that. She said her clan was once allied to the old werewolf clan, but things fell amiss, and so the vampires destroyed nearly all of them, but Friederich Strauss. We found out that there was another one, a ghostly man, a man who was not a ghost, but not living like the others, who was also a werewolf, and that he had taken Friederich away and protected him.”
“Marabeth would probably like to know about this,” Lewis said.
“Marabeth?” Myron said.
“Yes, she inherited your Aunt Pamela’s journals. She’s learning all about this now.”
“So Marabeth knows,” Myron clapped his hands to his knees, his mouth a little open, his eyes slits as he looked about the room.
“Not always. It is new to her.”
“Then none of us has known.”
“I doubt that,” Lewis said. “More likely, some of you have known. I know your cousin Peter has always known.”
“Peter.” Myron’s voice changed.
“Oh, yes,” Lewis said. “Peter has kept close records of your entire family history.
Myron’s eyes grew large and he looked to the carpet before speaking.
“Well, fuck him.”



“You and Dan?” Chris said, when the two of them were alone.
“What?” Laurie said.
“You shared with him. You’re sharing with him.”
“In the fight he almost died,” Laurie said, “It made us closer.”
“No, it didn’t. You were always close. Don’t you think everyone knows the hold Dan has on you? You’re like some schoolboy throwing rocks at a girl you have a crush on. Since the day you guys saw each other he couldn’t stop razzing you, and you couldn’t stop pretending he bugged you.”
“He does bug me.”
Then Laurie shrugged. “Sometimes. But, God, the other night… I got so scared. Kruinh saved him. If Dan hadn’t drank half of Kruinh’s blood he’d be dead, and then…”
Chris touched his cheek, “It’s sweet Laurie, It’s about time you all stopped pretending to squall all the time. It was meant to be. We can all see it. You’re bonded to him the way you’re bonded to me. I can almost see him standing right next to you. It’s amazing.
“But what of Lynn? How are you?”
“Lynn left me,” Laurie said. “I mean, it seemed probable that she would. We were all but over when she knew the truth, which makes sense.”
“But the baby.”
“She had an abortion. I think—we all thing that’s why Evangeline killed her instead of taking her hostage or something. Without the baby, Lynn was just another mortal, and one who had gotten rid of a baby Evangeline wanted to see born.”
“But you wanted to see him born too.”
Laurie looked away from Chris.
“When she told me,” he said, “I tried to be that modern understanding guy. I tried to be the man I want to be and not some medieval monster. But I am a monster. Evangeline saved me from doing something I might have done myself in the end.
“I try to rise above myself, above being a monster, try to find my humanity. But the last time I was a human, it was in the eighteen hundreds, and men beat their wives and even killed them and folks said, well you know, she had it coming. So it’s hard to not be angry. The moment she came to me and told me she had done wit, and had not told me because I would have tried to stop her, I knew I could never see her again.”
Chris said nothing. In three hundred years he had only been with one woman, and it was in Yorkshire as a boy doing what all boys did. Someone having his baby had never been a possibility, and yet, he could not imagine that the Lawrence Malone he knew, could have let Lynn Draper go unpunished. Looking back on their lives, which had occurred before the modern world, where their strength and power exempted them from human law, it would have only been a matter of time before Laurie’s grief had grown lethal and yet, Chris realized, now it could remain grief. The sweet thing Laurie always was, but always risked leaving behind, he could now remain.
“I don’t know how I feel,” Laurie whispered into his folded hands.
You’re grateful. Grateful my sister removed the temptation of Lynn away from you forever, so now you can mourn like a normal man.
“Perhaps I am,” Laurie said tiredly, and Chris blinked. He had forgotten that the could never really hide his thoughts from his former love.
“Me and Dan,” Laurie said, almost to change the subject, “do you think Loreal will understand?”
Chris shrugged, and touched Laurie on the cheek.
“There’s really only one way to find out.”


Loreal shrieked when she opened the door and gathered Laurie to her.
“You must think I’m the biggest idiot because it’s only been a few days, but I’m so glad to see you.”
She closed the door behind him and said, “You have to understand. I’m so glad to see you.”
She stopped, looking at him sideways, and Laurie said, “What?”
“Lawrence Malone, you’re… Something’s happened to you. You look different. Young. But sadder too. You look… like a little boy. Something’s happened to you.”
“I was almost killed by a gang of vampires,” Laurie said, “But yes, something has happened to me.”
Loreal blinked and shook her head, then said, “Are you going to tell me?”
She gestured for Laurie to sit on the bed, and then she said, “Firstly, you need to hear something. You need to hear that I love you. I know that’s what it is. Not lust or not just lust, not just a fascination. A love. I am close to you. I dream of you. I know I belong with you. Let’s stay the night together. I don’t mean sex. I don’t even mean that. I mean, I want to lie beside you and talk with you all night. I want us to be together all night.”
He was so earnest, earnest in the way that boys were before they got dull and afraid and became men, earnest and happy and something had happened. He was in love with her, but there was a love in him that had little to do with her. She sensed this and she said, “Laurie, you have something to tell me.”
“I do,” Laurie said, “and I have to tell it to you gently, and slowly, and explain it, and when I’ve told you, you may not want me for your man, but I still hope you’ll want me.”
But Loreal looked into Laurie’s face which was the face of a killer, to be sure, and of a man with great complications, but which was shining with love for her, and she said, “I do want you to be mine. I don’t think anything’s easy with you. I don’t guess. We can talk about it all tonight, if you wish.”
Laurie nodded seriously and caught her hand.
“Lynn is dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Loreal said. She was sorry. She had wanted him to stop dating her. She had not wanted the woman dead.
“Was it natural?”
She had to ask.
“Evangeline,” Laurie said. “Or of her people.”
“Oh… No. But, they wanted her. They wanted the baby.”
“She chose not to have the baby,” Laurie said. “Once she did that….she was no good to Evangeline.”
Chose not to have the baby…
“Did you know?” Loreal asked. “Did she tell you?”
“She told me after it had been done,” Laurie said simply.
“Oh,” was all Loreal said.
Laurie said, “It is done now. “There is no need to speak of it anymore.”
Loreal was not about to.
“The others are going to see the Stausses. I’m staying behind. I feel like I could be a bit much for them.”
“Too much?” Loreal said as she sat on the bed, her legs folded under her.
“It’s enough they have one vampire,” Laurie said, as he sat beside Loreal, folding his trousered legs under him as she had done.
“I don’t think Chris said he was a vampire, and I don’t think I’m going with them to see Grandpa, or at least not for long.”
“What’s that?” Laurie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the whole reason you came?”
“The reason we came was to find truth,” Loreal said. “It was the truth about this family, the Strausses, but what if there is a truth to be found out about my own family? I’d rather not think about it now.”
“Leave it for tomorrow,” Laurie suggested.
“I will,” Loreal said. “But as sad as what happened to Lynn is, that wasn’t what you came to tell me. Now it’s time for your business. That’s going to be for tonight.”

MORE TOMORROW?

 

[CharmedFan28]

Some very interesting chats in today’s portion. I enjoyed seeing more of the characters come together again. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, some very interesting stuff did come up tonight, and it looks like more interesting things are going to pop up in tomorrow's portion.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT THERE ARE A WHOLE LOT OF REVELATIONS GOING ON AS WE CLOSE OUT THIS CHAPTER

That night there was a sharp wrap on his door, and Peter was pretty annoyed because it was much too late for company, but if company was coming, far too late for it to be so rude. Madder stuck his head out of the twin’s room, and Peter, pulling his housecoat over his pajamas, said, “Go back to bed. Dad’ll be right back up.”
The kids never crossed Dad. He didn’t have to worry about that. He came down the old wide staircase that had been his grandparents’ and before that his great grandparents and down to the foyer of the old house. He peered through the white door curtain and saw Myron, scowling, and he shrugged, then opened the door.
“Myre—”
Just like that Myron punched the shit out of him, and sent him skidding across the hallway, past the doorway to the living room.
Myron kicked the door closed with his foot.
“You mother—fucker.”
Peter, on the floor, rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I feel like Marabeth is at the bottom of this.”
Myron pulled the wheel of pills out of his pocket and tossed them at his cousin.
“Marabeth,” Peter shook his head, frowning, as he got up.
“Marabeth doesn’t have shit to do with this. I didn’t learn any of this from Mara. Apparently she just found out herself. But you knew, you son of a bitch. You knew. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t fucked in the head. I was… a fucking werewolf.”
“If Marabeth didn’t tell you, then who did?”
“Is that really the most important thing?” Myron said. “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you? You and your little vendetta with Mara, and we’re… what we are, is what is important.”
Myron was furious and Madder had come down the steps. Both men stared up at him and Peter said, “Madder, what did I say?”
“Are you guys fighting?’
“No, little man,” Myron was still breathing heavily, but he had made himself smile. “Me and your old man are just… you know how it is with brothers.”
“Yeah,” Peter grinned. “Sorry, we gotta little loud. Go back to bed. Love you.”
Madder nodded. “Love you dad. Love you, Uncle Myre.”
They both looked after Madder, smiling, murmuring they loved him too. But when he was gone, Myron pulled Peter by his neck, squeezing his throat. Peter had tested letting himself become the wolf, and he was the oldest in his generation, Myron had always been his goofy, affable cousin, so he had never counted on what was clear when the blue eyes were staring into him,
Myron is stronger than me.
Myron let him go.
“You want to know how I found out?”
“Yes,” Peter rasped, rubbing his throat.
“A vampire told me.”
Peter frowned at Myron.
“You’re trying to figure out if I’m fucking with you, but I’m not. There is, even now, talking with Marabeth, a witch’s coven, a real witches coven—”
“The Dunharrows.”
Myron frowned. “Well, I guess you know every fucking thing.”
“Not about the vampires,” Peter said. “Tell me about them.”
For a childish moment, Myron thought of not telling him, of saying, Well, that’s for me to know and you to find out. But Myron was not a child.
“It turns out Friederich—”
“Great- Grandfather?”
“Yes, and for fuck’s sake, quit interrupting. Friederich’s father was killed by a group of vampires, a group of vampires which I fought yesterday. Or was it the day before Nate’s funeral? Shit start’s to blur. Is all of this sounding strange to you?
When Peter said nothing, Myron added, “And our great-great grandmother was some German witch who helped Friederich fight off these vampires and… it gets crazier and crazier the more I say it, but I know it’s true because I’ve met them. I’ve been with them for the last two days.”
“The… vampires?”
“Yes, Asshole, the vampires!” Myron made a mad flying gesture with his hands, “Because we’re with vampires now, cause we’re werewolves, who have witch blood, though if you think about Amy, that makes a lot of sense. And, and, you know who the vampire who was supposed to tell me about this is?”
“No,” Peter said. They had come into the kitchen now, and he sat at the table looking defeated.
“Dan Rawlinson.”
“Dan!” Peter looked almost disgusted. “Dan from high school?”
“Yup,” Myron said. “Dan’s a vampire.”



“Dan is the boy with the wide dark eyes and the chocolate colored hair we left Levy with,” Loreal said.
“Yeah,” said Laurie.
“The one who likes cheesecake.”
Laurie tried to stop himself from laughing, but said, “Yeah. that’s Dan.”
“He’s sweet,” Loreal decided.
“You were about to say for a vampire.”
“I was not,” Loreal said. Then, “Maybe I was.”
They were quiet for a while and Laurie said, “You haven’t told me what you think.”
“I don’t know what to think. I know the questions I’m supposed to have. I know how I’m supposed to feel, how ordinary people would feel, how an ordinary woman is supposed to feel. But I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if the feelings matter.”
“They do matter,” Laurie insisted, “because I want us to be together.”
“But I’ve always been alone,” Loreal said. “I have. I don’t know what to do when I have someone and, I’ve never had you to myself, Laurie. You were with Lynn and now you’re with Dan—”
“I’m not with Dan,” Laurie said. “It’s different. “
“I do know that,” she said. “Only, it’s just that I don’t know how it’s different.”
The silence went on. Loreal was fine with silence. She got up and went to her mini fridge. She pulled out a juice bottle and asked if he was thirsty. He kept looking at her strangely.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Laurie. I’m glad to see you. You’ve been gone a few days and now you tell me that Vampire Dan is your lover, but that you’re more in love with me than ever, and I don’t know what you want me to say. I can tell you want me to say something. I can even guess what it is.”
She handed him the unasked for juice and he opened it.
“You want something predictable to happen. With Lynn she knew nothing. With all the other girls they knew less than nothing. With your wife, she knew the word for what you were, but not the reality of it. For me, I know everything, even this. And I could say never see him again. Never touch him again. Just be with me. Or I could tell you how much I understand this and move on.
“But you see, I’m not a jealous person, not like that. I don’t really care if you sleep with Dan. If it makes you happy, I want you to. And it seems to make you happy, and I do get that it’s a little more than that, or a lot more than that. Or I guess I’m supposed to say I fully understand that you two are not human, or not human in the same way I am, and this means something different for you than it would if you were, and I fully accept it, and please carry on, but I don’t think I would be honest if I said that.”
“Alright,” Laurie said, “Then what would you be honest in saying?”
“The truth is, I just want to have sex. I’m tired of not having sex. I’m fighting that training in me, that little Catholic girl that’s saying I won’t sleep with you until you stop sleeping with Dan. And… that’s stupid. And then there’s a part of me that feels like, I’m not going to sleep with you until I know I have someone else to sleep with, to even up the score. And that doesn’t sound right and…”
Laurie had not spoken. He also did not stare at her. He sat quietly waiting for Loreal to work out her feelings. After all, he didn’t entirely understand his own.
“It’s like,” Loreal said, “it’s like you’re telling me that when you’re with me you’re being your human self, but with Dan you are your vampire self.”
“That’s exactly it,” Laurie said, snapping his fingers. “That’s exactly it.
“You know I was with Chris, A long time ago.”
“Yes.”
“But with my wife, with Lynn, with every woman it was different. With Veronica I was the husband and the father of her children, but with Chris, I was… the blood drinker.”
“And that’s the problem,” Loreal realized.
She stood up and Laurie looked up at her.
“With all of them, even with Veronica, you were playing a part. You were supposed to be everything before me. Not everything to me, I don’t need that. But you were supposed to be your whole self, your vampire self for me. I have to have all of you. I can’t have one part of you and Dan have the other. The vampire self has to be mine.”
“I understand,” Laurie said.
He cleared his throat, and said, “Loreal, what if I told you Dan is right here, in this room with me, right now?”
Loreal only looked at him.
“What if I told you that the more we’re together, the more we become each other? That, the way you’ve seen me, happier, lighter? Younger? That’s Dan. And he is probably getting more… crabby and fussy, poor guy. We… I meant what I said. When mortals talk about two becoming one, it’s kind of bullshit. Me and Dan are…”
“I know what you’re telling me even if you don’t,” Loreal interrupted him. “I know what you’re telling me even if the part of you that you want to be separate, that is asking me to understand and not be jealous is jealous.”
When she said it, it was then that Lawrence Malone understood, and after all, it was something Chris and Lewis were already doing.
“If I am to have the whole you,” Loreal said, “I’ve got to have Dan too.”


MORE AFTER THE WEEKEND

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great end to the chapter with some very interesting revelations! The whole wolf thing is causing a lot of fights and rightfully so. Hopefully things calm down when everyone knows. Loreal is so understanding. I am glad about that and with any luck she can make things work with Laurie and Dan. Great writing and I look forward to more after the weekend!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, the covering up and the lying is causing quite a bit of pain in the Strauss family, and our friend Loreal is understanding, but she is als a witch. So let's see how that business turns out. Revelations upon revelations. And more come Saturday night.

 

[ChrisGibson]

LOREAL MEETS DAN WHILE SETH IS TORN BETWEEN OLD DESIRE AND NEW LOVE. THE STRAUSSES BECOME CLOSER AS THEY LOOK FOR THE TRUTH TOGETHER, AND MARABETH AND HER COUSINS LOOK AT AN OLD STORY IN A NEW WAY



F O U R

STORIES
ABOUT
US



Every man and every woman is a star.

-The Book of the Law


Dan Rawlinson had shown up at the door of Loreal’s room, leaning against the wall, looking, she realized, delicious. She couldn’t blame Laurie and she remembered something about Laurie saying they shared, not the same mind, but the same self. That if he loved Loreal, Dan loved her too. And she felt, looking up and down him, that a feeling like and unlike she had felt the first time she saw Laurie touched her now.
She let him in, and they ended up talking for three hours. It was on the third that Laurie showed up, but by then, she and Dan were reading through Susanna Dunharrows journals.
The book was open, and Loreal’s hands were tracing a very old drawing, a quartered circle, and at the top was North, and to the sides, East and West and South at the bottom. In the first quadrant there was a blue circle, and then in the second a yellow circle with a dot in the center, and beneath it, in what would be the south east was a green circle, quartered like the original circle, and then, beside it, was a red circle with a bar through it.
“Ynis Witrin,” Laurie read, his eyebrows furrowed. “The Glass Castle, Glastonbury.”
By the yellow circle he read, “The Golden Castle, Fensalir, the Land of Elphame.
“What is this?” Laurie asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” she said.
And then, “Read this. Here. In the South.
“The Maid,” Dan said, “The Golden Bowl.”
In the center, three spirals moved out, and in the middle of it was written, “The Spiral Castle.”
“I don’t know anything about this,” Loreal said.
“But your grandmother did. It’s in her book. Did she ever say anything about it?”
“No.”
“Well, then,” said Dan, “you could…”
“What?”
“Maybe this is a dumb idea, but you could look it up on the Internet. It is the twenty-first century.”
“I’m already with you,” Loreal had pulled her laptop out of her bag. It was not elegant and slim. It was much too heavy, and usually much too slow. She swore a little bit as it cycled on and then she typed, “Spiral Castle.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“It’s the only think I’ve ever heard of,” Loreal said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of it in stories.”
She waited for the search to come up, and then said, “Well, there it is.
“Prydain. That’s it. From the Lloyd Alexander books, but that can’t be it. It’s an album too. I see pictures of it. Looks like the tower of Babel.”
“Why,” Laurie laid a hand on her knee, “don’t you try another search?”
Loreal frowned. “Nothing else on here looks searchable.”
And then she typed in, “Golden Castle. North East.”
She typed, and deleted, and typed and deleted and finally said, “Fuck, all I’m getting is Golden Castle of Stromberg, and that’s some type of video game.”
“Why are we just flipping through these books and the internet?” Laurie said. “In the morning, why don’t we ask Lewis?”



The door opened and Seth looked up to see Chris.
“I didn’t know you’d be in here,” he said.
“No?” Seth said.
“I thought you might be out. With Jim.”
“No,” he and his family had something over at Marabeth’s apartment,” Seth said. “We may get together later.”
And then Seth said, “But why did you come, if you didn’t think I’d be here?”
Chris took one of the great chairs by the door and dragged it with what Seth was beginning to call vampire strength to sit beside Seth.
“Lewis was with Loreal, going over Susanna’s books. And he went to sleep. And I don’t really—” Chris stopped.
“I sound stupid to myself. I sound like someone who isn’t three hundred years old. I sound confused.”
He looked at Seth. Chris was taller, so he actually looked down on him. His face was narrow and high plained, and his pale blond hair was sticking up a little.
“I did hope you would be here. You’re comforting. Lewis is too, but you’re your own type of comforting, and it has been a while since the two of us have sat side by side. What with everything.”
“There is a part of me,” Seth said, “that assumed I was an interruption.”
“An interruption?’
“Between you and Lewis. That you put up with me.”
Chris laid a hand on Seth’s knee.
“You are not an interruption. You are a sweet, sweet strangeness, and the truth is we’ve missed you. I have missed you. I love having Lewis to myself, but I’ve missed you being with us.”
Seth nodded, smiling a little.
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.”
“How are you feeling?” Seth asked.
“About?’
“About your sister.”
“I…. I don’t rightly know.”
“I think,” Seth said, “if my sister died, if she was killed because she had come against me and what was mine, even if I was the one who had to kill her, I think at least part of my heart would be broken. Because I think all this time I would have held out the hope that one day she would be the person she once was. I think no matter how bad she got, I would always hope. And then once she was gone, once it was all over I would be hurt in a place it’s hard to show.”
Seth looked up at Chris.
“I think you feel like you don’t have the right to feel that way. But I think it’s the way you do feel? Am I right?”
And when Chris turned to him, his blue eyes were deep and wet, and a stream of tears was running down each of his cheeks. He didn’t blink, as humans would, and he nodded his head, his lips parted.
Seth had offered himself to the vampire, been bitten by him, but he had not gotten up out of his chair and held him until now, letting Chris Ashby weep on him. And suddenly, he kissed Chris. He kissed him hungrily, not out of pity or because he was with Lewis, but because he wanted him, and Chris kissed him back and they held to each other with a tight urgency until it was Seth who brought Chris to the floor, and they began to struggle out of clothing. Now Chris blinked away tears as he knelt naked over Seth, and the length of his cock bobbed before Seth.
Seth took him in his mouth. He wanted to. He wanted to take away his pain and sadness, or be part of it. And Chris cried out and his eyes closed as Seth’s mouth worked on him. And maybe, Seth thought, as he took Chris deeper and deeper down his throat, he wanted to know what his night with Jim had meant to who he was, because this was who he was. He lay on the floor and wrapped his thighs around Chris’s waist, and as Chris entered him, deeply, and they both groaned, as Seth’s whole body prickled with the pain, with the ache, with the ache dissolving into pleasure of Chris’s entry, he knew who he was. Ancient words played in his mind, but this was not the time to think about them.

This is the secret of the Holy Graal, that is the sacred vessel of our Lady the Scarlet Woman, Babalon the Mother of Abominations, the bride of Chaos, that rides upon our Lord the Beast.

Drain out the blood that is your life into the golden cup of her fornication.
Mingle your life with the universal life. Keep not back one drop.

No this was not the time for thought. This was the time to be and to feel, to wrap thighs around waist and drape them down so hiss heels landed on the soft round hills of Chris’s ass. This was the time to feel Chris Ashby move up and down and in and out of you like rivers, to lift up your shoulder and receive the bite that stung and connected, that drove in and then felt at home, to at that moment dig in fingernails like claws over Chris’s back and draw that same blood. This was the time to bite down on his lip while Chris moved in and out of him, shuttling faster and faster as the iron sweet taste of Chris Ashby’s blood dripped into his own mouth. They came together, their bodies crashing, shaking, toes curling, limbs twisting, hands and feet bunching, clinging to each other as the only things that could get them through the orgasm and keep their souls from flying out of their bodies.
They lay together exhausted, redeemed and crushed by each other, heaving on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.
At last Chris turned on his side and stroked Seth’s cheek. Seth turned to him. And they looked with love on each other.
“Come to bed with us,” Chris told him.
Seth nodded.
The two men, the taller and the shorter, pale and cream colored, rose little unsteadily, still shaken by their sex. Chris opened the door first. Naked and heedless if anyone might come down the hall of the elegant hotel, he walked out, taking Seth by the hand, leaving their clothes and notebooks, and phones. They crossed the hall into the darkness of the room where Lewis slept. They closed the door, once in the dim and silent room, and on either side of him, climbed into bed.


They were all in Marabeth’s apartment, which she was finding pretty strange because she imagined her family safely in Germantown and not here. Myron kept walking around the painting of the wolf devouring the girl, and though he looked approvingly at it, almost happy, she wanted to cover it up.
Joyce brought Marabeth the story she had printed off and Marabeth said, “Just listen to this.”
Kris was there and Jim was there, and Peter was standing, arms folded over his chest and legs planted apart on the other side of the easel Myron kept looking at. Strangely enough, Marabeth got comfort from the woman Anne, Myron’s friend who had come with him, her hair tea colored, her large Bette Davis eyes hooded.
Marabeth read.



Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a little red riding hood made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding Hood.
One day her mother, having made some cakes, said to her, "Go, my dear, and see how your grandmother is doing, for I hear she has been very ill. Take her a cake, and this little pot of butter." Little Red Riding Hood set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.
As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, "I am going to see my grandmother and carry her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother."
"Does she live far off?" said the wolf
"Oh I say," answered Little Red Riding Hood; "it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village."
"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."
The wolf ran as fast as he could, taking the shortest path, and the little girl took a roundabout way, entertaining herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and gathering bouquets of little flowers. It was not long before the wolf arrived at the old woman's house. He knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
"Your grandchild, Little Red Riding Hood," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter sent you by mother."
The good grandmother, who was in bed, because she was somewhat ill, cried out, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
The wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the good woman and ate her up in a moment, for it been more than three days since he had eaten. He then shut the door and got into the grandmother's bed, expecting Little Red Riding Hood, who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
Little Red Riding Hood, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had a cold and was hoarse, answered, "It is your grandchild Little Red Riding Hood, who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter mother sends you."
The wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
Little Red Riding Hood pulled the bobbin, and the door opened.
The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Put the cake and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come get into bed with me."
Little Red Riding Hood took off her clothes and got into bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, "Grandmother, what big arms you have!"
"All the better to hug you with, my dear."
"Grandmother, what big legs you have!"
"All the better to run with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!"
"All the better to eat you up with."
And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up.


“And then the woodsman comes,” Myron said.
Marabeth said, “There is no woodsman.”


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

A great start to this new chapter! I am glad Loreal and Dan met and are getting along. Seth has some choices to make about lovers. It will be interesting to read what happens as I don’t remember the outcome. Marabeth and co are learning even more. I am enjoying this story and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, Seth does have a lot of choices and a great part of the Wicked is new, so much of it you won't remember because it wasn't there. Marabeth and the rest of the Strausses are indeed on a very strange road.

 

[ChrisGibson]

THE FOLKTALES LEAD THE STRAUSSES DEEPER AND DEEPER INTO MYSTERY, BUT LEAVE THEM WITH MORE QUESTIONS, NOT LESS


The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Put the cake and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come get into bed with me."
Little Red Riding Hood took off her clothes and got into bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, "Grandmother, what big arms you have!"
"All the better to hug you with, my dear."
"Grandmother, what big legs you have!"
"All the better to run with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!"
"All the better to eat you up with."
And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up.




“And then the woodsman comes,” Myron said.
Marabeth said, “There is no woodsman.”
“I think I heard that before,” Jim said. “That there was a different version of the story.”
“Jim, that’s the story Pamela learned, the story Hagano taught her.”
“Hagano is the guy who protected Friederich. The… spirit?” Myron said. “Or whatever.”
“Yes,” Marabeth said. “But, listen to this.”
She read.



Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a a hooded cloak of wolf fur made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Hood.
One day her mother, having made some cakes, said to her, "Go, my dear, and see how your grandmother is doing, for I hear she has been very ill. Take her a cake, and this little pot of butter."
Rosamunde set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.
As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, "I am going to see my grandmother and carry her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother."
"Does she live far off?" said the wolf
"Oh I say," answered Rosamunde; "it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village."
"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."
The wolf ran as fast as he could, taking the shortest path, and the little girl took a roundabout way, entertaining herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and gathering bouquets of little flowers. It was not long before the wolf arrived at the old woman's house. He knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
"Your grandchild, Rosamunde," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter sent you by mother."
The good grandmother, who was in bed, because she was somewhat ill, cried out, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
The wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the good woman, slaughtering her. He cut up her flesh and drained her blood into a vial and put them on the fender by the fire. He then shut the door and got into the grandmother's bed, expecting Rosamunde, who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
Rosamunde, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had a cold and was hoarse, answered, "It is your grandchild Rosamunde, who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter mother sends you."
The wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
Rosamunde pulled the bobbin, and the door opened.
The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Have yourself some wine and cake. It is there on the fender. then come get into bed with me."
Rosamunde at her grandmother’s flesh and drank her blood, and then she took off her clothes and got into bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, "Grandmother, what big arms you have!"
"All the better to hug you with, my dear."
"Grandmother, what big legs you have!"
"All the better to run with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see with, my child."
"Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!"
"All the better to eat you up with."
And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Rosamunde, and ate her all up.”



Myron looked from his cousin to the painting, and back at Marabeth and said, “That’s really fucked up.”
“It is… really fucked up,” Peter pronounced, “but I don’t know why the five of us are sitting in your apartment listening to fractured fairy tales when there are other things to do.”
“And what exactly is it that you have to do?”
It was Anne who spoke.
Peter looked at her, and the annoyance he would have loved to feel died gazing on her, sure that he knew what she was.
“We… need to know the truth.”
“And how do you plan to find out that truth?” Anne asked him, “because at the moment your cousin is looking into very old stories, stories that come from your aunt that she inherited from your family long ago, and while she is trying to see something in them you are… being a cunt.”
Anne lowered her eyes and Myron said, “Peter, in forty years you’ve never been that concerned with finding out the truth, and whatever world you thought we lived in, we’re in a world of blood drinkers and magicians and shape changers, and these stories might tell us whatever it is we need to know. I felt my power for the first time the other night, something I had been terrified of all my life, and it was wonderful and the world was bigger than it’s ever been. I want to know what I am, and if sorting through fairy tales can tell me… shut the fuck up, alright?”
No one else said anything and so they were surprised when the first person to speak was Peter.
“What do the stories have in common? There is no woodsman. The girl is always eaten by the wolf. The grandmother is always eaten.”
“And how are they different?” Jim joined in. “The girl has the red cloak in the first story, and is named for it. In the second she has a wolf cloak.”
“Like the Volsungs,” Kris said. “Like a shapeshifting cloak. Or a pelt, but made from a wolf no matter what.”
“But her name is Rosamunde in the last one.”
“Rose of the World,” Kristian said. “But a rose is red. Red. So she is—”
“Not necessarily Rose of the World,” Marabeth said. “Red of the World,”
“Or Red in the World,” Kris said.
“So always red.”
Anne’s eyes moved from one to the other smiling, but she said nothing.
“She eats her grandmother’s flesh and drinks her blood,” Peter said. “It’s like…’
“It’s like Communion,” Myron crossed himself.
“It’s a ritual,” Kris said. “Is her grandmother some type of… goddess maybe?”
“Maybe?” Marabeth shrugged.
“But her grandmother gives her the cloak,” Jim said. “So… is she like, is the grandmother how Riding Hood becomes the wolf, because I think that her being eaten by the wolf is her becoming the wolf.”
“That’s what Pamela said,” Marabeth and Peter said at the same time.
“This is reminding me of another story.” Jim said,
“Well, spit it out,” Kris clapped him on the back.
Jim opened his mouth, but Kristian had already guessed, “Bisclavret.”
“Yes.”
“What the hell is Bisclavret?” Myron demanded.
“It’s a French story. It’s medieval.”
“Can you find it?”
“It’s the twenty first century,” Jim took out his phone, “Of course I can find it.”
And then Jim read: “Eight, the Lay of the Were Wolf.”
He read on.


“AMONGST THE TALES I tell you once again, I would not forget the Lay of the Were-Wolf. Such beasts as he are known in every land. Bisclavaret he is named in Brittany; whilst the Norman calls him Garwal.
It is a certain thing, and within the knowledge of all, that many a christened man has suffered this change, and ran wild in woods, as a Were-Wolf. The Were-Wolf is a fearsome beast. He lurks within the thick forest, mad and horrible to see. All the evil that he may, he does. He goeth to and fro, about the solitary place, seeking man, in order to devour him. Hearken, now, to the adventure of the Were-Wolf, that I have to tell.
In Brittany there dwelt a baron who was marvellously esteemed of all his fellows. He was a stout knight, and a comely, and a man of office and repute. Right private was he to the mind of his lord, and dear to the counsel of his neighbours. This baron was wedded to a very worthy dame, right fair to see, and sweet of semblance. All his love was set on her, and all her love was given again to him. One only grief had this lady. For three whole days in every week her lord was absent from her side. She knew not where he went, nor on what errand. Neither did any of his house know the business which called him forth.
On a day when this lord was come again to his house, altogether joyous and content, the lady took him to task, right sweetly, in this fashion, "Husband," said she, "and fair, sweet friend, I have a certain thing to pray of you. Right willingly would I receive this gift, but I fear to anger you in the asking. It is better for me to have an empty hand, than to gain hard words."
When the lord heard this matter, he took the lady in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her.
"Wife," he answered, "ask what you will. What would you have, for it is yours already?"
"By my faith," said the lady, "soon shall I be whole. Husband, right long and wearisome are the days that you spend away from your home. I rise from my bed in the morning, sick at heart, I know not why. So fearful am I, lest you do aught to your loss, that I may not find any comfort. Very quickly shall I die for reason of my dread. Tell me now, where you go, and on what business! How may the knowledge of one who loves so closely, bring you to harm?"
"Wife," made answer the lord, "nothing but evil can come if I tell you this secret. For the mercy of God do not require it of me. If you but knew, you would withdraw yourself from my love, and I should be lost indeed."

And then Jim stopped and he passed his phone to Kris.



When the lady heard this, she was persuaded that her baron sought to put her by with jesting words. Therefore she prayed and required him the more urgently, with tender looks and speech, till he was overborne, and told her all the story, hiding naught.
"Wife, I become Bisclavaret. I enter in the forest, and live on prey and roots, within the thickest of the wood."
After she had learned his secret, she prayed and entreated the more as to whether he ran in his raiment, or went spoiled of vesture.
"Wife," said he, "I go naked as a beast."
"Tell me, for hope of grace, what you do with your clothing?"
"Fair wife, that will I never. If I should lose my raiment, or even be marked as I quit my vesture, then a Were-Wolf I must go for all the days of my life. Never again should I become man, save in that hour my clothing were given back to me. For this reason never will I show my lair."
"Husband," replied the lady to him, "I love you better than all the world. The less cause have you for doubting my faith, or hiding any tittle from me. What savour is here of friendship? How have I made forfeit of your love; for what sin do you mistrust my honour? Open now your heart, and tell what is good to be known."
So at the end, outwearied and overborne by her importunity, he could no longer refrain, but told her all.


And suddenly, as if they were performing a liturgy, they passed the phone one to another.



"Wife," said he, "within this wood, a little from the path, there is a hidden way, and at the end thereof an ancient chapel, where oftentimes I have bewailed my lot. Near by is a great hollow stone, concealed by a bush, and there is the secret place where I hide my raiment, till I would return to my own home."
On hearing this marvel the lady became sanguine of visage, because of her exceeding fear. She dared no longer to lie at his side, and turned over in her mind, this way and that, how best she could get her from him. Now there was a certain knight of those parts, who, for a great while, had sought and required this lady for her love. This knight had spent long years in her service, but little enough had he got thereby, not even fair words, or a promise. To him the dame wrote a letter, and meeting, made her purpose plain.
"Fair friend," said she, "be happy. That which you have coveted so long a time, I will grant without delay. Never again will I deny your suit. My heart, and all I have to give, are yours, so take me now as love and dame."
Right sweetly the knight thanked her for her grace, and pledged her faith and fealty. When she had confirmed him by an oath, then she told him all this business of her lord—why he went, and what he became, and of his ravening within the wood. So she showed him of the chapel, and of the hollow stone, and of how to spoil the Were-Wolf of his vesture. Thus, by the kiss of his wife, was Bisclavaret betrayed. Often enough had he ravished his prey in desolate places, but from this journey he never returned. His kinsfolk and acquaintance came together to ask of his tidings, when this absence was noised abroad. Many a man, on many a day, searched the woodland, but none might find him, nor learn where Bisclavaret was gone.
The lady was wedded to the knight who had cherished her for so long a space. More than a year had passed since Bisclavaret disappeared. Then it chanced that the King would hunt in that self-same wood where the Were-Wolf lurked. When the hounds were unleashed they ran this way and that, and swiftly came upon his scent. At the view the huntsman winded on his horn, and the whole pack were at his heels. They followed him from morn to eve, till he was torn and bleeding, and was all adread lest they should pull him down. Now the King was very close to the quarry, and when Bisclavaret looked upon his master, he ran to him for pity and for grace. He took the stirrup within his paws, and fawned upon the prince's foot. The King was very fearful at this sight, but presently he called his courtiers to his aid.
"Lords," cried he, "hasten hither, and see this marvellous thing. Here is a beast who has the sense of man. He abases himself before his foe, and cries for mercy, although he cannot speak. Beat off the hounds, and let no man do him harm. We will hunt no more to-day, but return to our own place, with the wonderful quarry we have taken."
The King turned him about, and rode to his hall, Bisclavaret following at his side. Very near to his master the Were-Wolf went, like any dog, and had no care to seek again the wood. When the King had brought him safely to his own castle, he rejoiced greatly, for the beast was fair and strong, no mightier had any man seen. Much pride had the King in his marvellous beast. He held him so dear, that he bade all those who wished for his love, to cross the Wolf in naught, neither to strike him with a rod, but ever to see that he was richly fed and kennelled warm. This commandment the Court observed willingly. So all the day the Wolf sported with the lords, and at night he lay within the chamber of the King. There was not a man who did not make much of the beast, so frank was he and debonair. None had reason to do him wrong, for ever was he about his master, and for his part did evil to none. Every day were these two companions together, and all perceived that the King loved him as his friend.
Hearken now to that which chanced.
The King held a high Court, and bade his great vassals and barons, and all the lords of his venery to the feast. Never was there a goodlier feast, nor one set forth with sweeter show and pomp. Amongst those who were bidden, came that same knight who had the wife of Bisclavaret for dame. He came to the castle, richly gowned, with a fair company, but little he deemed whom he would find so near. Bisclavaret marked his foe the moment he stood within the hall. He ran towards him, and seized him with his fangs, in the King's very presence, and to the view of all. Doubtless he would have done him much mischief, had not the King called and chidden him, and threatened him with a rod. Once, and twice, again, the Wolf set upon the knight in the very light of day. All men marvelled at his malice, for sweet and serviceable was the beast, and to that hour had shown hatred of none. With one consent the household deemed that this deed was done with full reason, and that the Wolf had suffered at the knight's hand some bitter wrong. Right wary of his foe was the knight until the feast had ended, and all the barons had taken farewell of their lord, and departed, each to his own house. With these, amongst the very first, went that lord whom Bisclavaret so fiercely had assailed. Small was the wonder that he was glad to go.
No long while after this adventure it came to pass that the courteous King would hunt in that forest where Bisclavaret was found. With the prince came his wolf, and a fair company. Now at nightfall the King abode within a certain lodge of that country, and this was known of that dame who before was the wife of Bisclavaret. In the morning the lady clothed her in her most dainty apparel, and hastened to the lodge, since she desired to speak with the King, and to offer him a rich present. When the lady entered in the chamber, neither man nor leash might restrain the fury of the Wolf. He became as a mad dog in his hatred and malice. Breaking from his bonds he sprang at the lady's face, and bit the nose from her visage. From every side men ran to the succour of the dame. They beat off the wolf from his prey, and for a little would have cut him in pieces with their swords. But a certain wise counsellor said to the King,
"Sire, hearken now to me. This beast is always with you, and there is not one of us all who has not known him for long. He goes in and out amongst us, nor has molested any man, neither done wrong or felony to any, save only to this dame, one only time as we have seen. He has done evil to this lady, and to that knight, who is now the husband of the dame. Sire, she was once the wife of that lord who was so close and private to your heart, but who went, and none might find where he had gone. Now, therefore, put the dame in a sure place, and question her straitly, so that she may tell—if perchance she knows thereof—for what reason this Beast holds her in such mortal hate. For many a strange deed has chanced, as well we know, in this marvellous land of Brittany."
The King listened to these words, and deemed the counsel good. He laid hands upon the knight, and put the dame in surety in another place. He caused them to be questioned right straitly, so that their torment was very grievous. At the end, partly because of her distress, and partly by reason of her exceeding fear, the lady's lips were loosed, and she told her tale. She showed them of the betrayal of her lord, and how his raiment was stolen from the hollow stone. Since then she knew not where he went, nor what had befallen him, for he had never come again to his own land. Only, in her heart, well she deemed and was persuaded, that Bisclavaret was he.
Straightway the King demanded the vesture of his baron, whether this were to the wish of the lady, or whether it were against her wish. When the raiment was brought him, he caused it to be spread before Bisclavaret, but the Wolf made as though he had not seen. Then that cunning and crafty counsellor took the King apart, that he might give him a fresh rede.
"Sire," said he, "you do not wisely, nor well, to set this raiment before Bisclavaret, in the sight of all. In shame and much tribulation must he lay aside the beast, and again become man. Carry your wolf within your most secret chamber, and put his vestment therein. Then close the door upon him, and leave him alone for a space. So we shall see presently whether the ravening beast may indeed return to human shape."
The King carried the Wolf to his chamber, and shut the doors upon him fast. He delayed for a brief while, and taking two lords of his fellowship with him, came again to the room. Entering therein, all three, softly together, they found the knight sleeping in the King's bed, like a little child. The King ran swiftly to the bed and taking his friend in his arms, embraced and kissed him fondly, above a hundred times. When man's speech returned once more, he told him of his adventure. Then the King restored to his friend the fief that was stolen from him, and gave such rich gifts, moreover, as I cannot tell. As for the wife who had betrayed Bisclavaret, he bade her avoid his country, and chased her from the realm. So she went forth, she and her second lord together, to seek a more abiding city, and were no more seen.


But when Myron had finished reading, he gave the phone to Anne who read:


The adventure that you have heard is no vain fable. Verily and indeed it chanced as I have said. The Lay of the Were-Wolf, truly, was written that it should ever be borne in mind.”



“I remember the end of that story,” Joyce said, and it was the first time she had spoken. “But I always thought it was just… fun.”
“Leaving aside stuff like, was the wife a bitch, was the werewolf gay for the king,” Kris said, “we don’t even know how he became a werewolf.”
“What if he didn’t?” Jim said. “What if he was born that way?”

MORE ON TUESDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

Some very interesting folktales in today’s portion indeed! I don’t know where this is all leading but I am fascinated to see how the questions these stories bring up are answered! Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Last time we were with the The Wicked, Seth and Chris made furious love while, at Marabeth's apartment, the family and Joyce began to read the tales of Red Riding Hood, and of the Bislclavret, hoping for answers, but only gaining more questions.


“I remember the end of that story,” Joyce said, and it was the first time she had spoken. “But I always thought it was just… fun.”
“Leaving aside stuff like, was the wife a bitch, was the werewolf gay for the king,” Kris said, “we don’t even know how he became a werewolf.”
“What if he didn’t?” Jim said. “What if he was born that way?”
“It’s a French story, but there’s more to it than that,” Kris said. “Where does it come from. The part of France? Brittany”
“Where was Perrault from?”Peter said.
“Paris,” Anne said, without looking at her phone.
“What are you thinking?” Peter asked.
“Just,” Kris said, “that if we can trace the stories, maybe we can trace where it all began, and if we can go to where it all began, we can find out more.”
They had stopped talking, and Kris and Jim were both working on their phones, looking at each other’s work, tongues between their lips, whispering back and forth, and then Jim said, “Well, shit.”
“Holy shit,” Kris murmured.
“Share?” Marabeth said.
“We were trying to figure the distance between Brittany and Bavaria,” Kris said.
“And then Jim did the distance between Quimper—”
“Because it’s the only town I could remember in Brittany—”
“—and Bavaria,” Kris said. “And it made, get this, a straight six hundred mile line.”
“That should mean something,” Myron said.
“If this has gone on a long time,” Marabeth said, “if Hagano is very very old, then… along time ago the French and the Germans were one people.”
Kris blinked at his sister.
“Kris, I went to school just like you.”
“Yes,” Kris allowed. “It’s just sometimes I forget.”
“Anyway,” Marabeth continued, “when Charlemagne ruled, his empire spread across both. After he died it was eventually split into France and Germany, through his descendants. But, Germanic people, our ancestors, were nomadic, or partially.”
“And when they weren’t nomads, they would have still traveled between the two lands,” Kris said. “I mean, back then it would have been a bunch of different lands. The borders would have always been changing. This whole stretch of land, from Brittany to Bavaria could be our stomping grounds.”
“You are close,” Anne said. “Closer and closer. I am not old. I have not met one of your kind before. When you are so close and you find the source of everything, have you considered this? What will you do?”

Myron wanted to leave, not that he didn’t want to be with his cousins, but the night was drawing on, and Anne had a look that said this, and Myron wanted to leave with her, talk with her.
“So,” Jim said, yawning, and thinking of Seth, “all of you have been talking about these pills, this medicine.”
All day, he had reminded himself not to be desperate, not to call Seth, and when he had finally messaged him an hour or so ago, there had been no answer.
“Yeah,” Kris said. “Right around thirteen, or puberty, we took it.”
“Dad took it too,” Marabeth said. “And Granddad.”
“Now I think that what I thought was happening to me,” Kris said, “the madness? That must have been my Change.’
“It was the Change,” Peter said, certainly.
When Kris looked at him, Peter said, “There are chains in the basement of your house and in mine, chambers that they used to use before the pills. I used them. Sometimes. When I wanted to Change.”
All of his cousins looked on him in surprise.
“I’ve done the Change,” Peter said. He looked to Joyce. “Joyce was with me the last time.”
When they looked at her, Joyce tried to not look guilty and Myron said, “But what was it that happened to me the other night? With the vampires? It wasn’t the Change.”
“It was your natural strength,” Anne said. “It came out because you needed it. It is possible all of you could warg when pressed to it.”
“Here’s the thing,” Jim said, “I don’t know anything about this Change.”
“Of course you do,” Kris said.
“No,” Jim said. “Not the pills, not the madness, not the Change. I’ve never known anything like that.”
All of his cousins frowned and Peter said, “All of us but Marabeth and Jim?”
“But the women in the family and Jim,” Myron said.
After a bit, Jim started, “Maybe it’s because—”
“It’s not because you’re gay,” Kris said, flatly.
“But you thought it.”
“No,” Kris said, “I thought that you thought it, because I’ve known you for thirty years, but I don’t think it, and… we don’t really know enough. We haven’t asked everyone.”
“I have,” Peter said,” I mean, I have to. It’s my business. My dad kept the records of everyone who made the Change. He had to. And so I have too.”
“I seems,” Marabeth said, “that if there are two generations of women between Friederich and a male descendant, those male cousins don’t go through the Change.”
“So, like….” Myron was thinking, “any of Aunt Claire or Aunt Maris’s daughters, their sons…”
“Don’t go through the Change,” Peter said.
“It makes sense,” Kris said. “I mean, if every descendant of a… werewolf became one… the whole world would be taking pills.
“So Jim isn’t the only guy in the family who doesn’t Change,” Kris said.
“But I am the only one who violates the rule,” he said. “Why?”
“Pamela wasn’t forced to change, and neither did Friederich,” Kris said. “Maybe you’re a throwback. You’re the only one of us who’s a blond too. Except for Amy. You could just be like, more of an original Strauss.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “But I’m not Pamela and Friederich and I can’t change at will. So… it doesn’t answer any questions.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Kris said, frowning and touching his cousin’s back. “Not to have to worry about losing your mind or turning into a wolf?”
“We need to stop asking Marabeth to finish that book,” Jim said. “We all need to read the book. We all need to learn.”
Anne yawned luxuriously and looked toward the window where, because it was winter, the sky was still black despite the late hour.
At this Jim actually yawned too, and Myron said, “We need to go to bed.”
Jim’s phone buzzed and he took it out, feeling silly at his disappointment because it was not Seth, just a 419 area code. But then it sent a message, and when he checked it, the message was:

Hey, Jim. It’s Ryan? You busy?”

Jim looked around the room where they were all dispersing before writing back.

I just got free.

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

The Strausses are certainly learning a lot about their history and the way some of them change. I enjoyed today’s portion and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I'm glad you enjoyed it. As always, thank you for reading

 

[ChrisGibson]

S E V E N

COMMUNION




For I am divided for love's sake, for the chance of union.

-The Book of the Law



The phone rang, and Marabeth touched the number that had called her before she thought of it. By the time she remembered who it was, and thought of hanging up, Jason had answered.
“Marabeth?”
“It’s awfully late.”
“I know,” Jason McCord said. “I meant to leave a message but hit call instead. I did leave a message. I mean...”
And then he said, sounding not very bright, “I left a message.”
“Yeah,” Marabeth said.
Myron had been the last to leave the house, with Anne. Peter and Joyce. Jim and Kris were gone, and Kris had been on the phone with whoever he was currently banging.
“Well, since you’re on the phone, what was the message?”
“I was just wondering how you were. After the funeral and everything.”
“Well, my father’s funeral days ago, so…”
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“Thanks for calling,” Marabeth said. And then she said, “You know that was sarcasm, right?”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Jason said. “I didn’t want to jump in and presume.”
“So you waited to make sure I’d be mildly pissed with you?”
And then she said, “Look, here’s the thing, you don’t owe me anything, and I don’t want to act like some angry girlfriend. I’ve been the angry girlfriend. That shit is exhausting. Thanks for calling.”
Marabeth, was swiping to end the call—she missed rotary phones and the finality of an actual hang up—when she heard Jason’s voice.
“Yeah,” she said, and she yawned, and it started out as an affectation, but it was late, and she was tired.
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Yeah… all right,” Marabeth said.
“Yeah,” Jason said.
Neither one of them seemed to be saying anything, but neither one of them was hanging up, and Marabeth was walking around her apartment, looking at the wolf painted on the canvas.
“Well,” Marabeth said with a shrug in her voice, “what are you doing now?”



Ryan always came to him, and so tonight Jim would pick him up and bring him back. He knew Ryan loved his apartment, and he knew Ryan had two roommates. They touched hands in the car, and Ryan smelled good. He’d been at the club because he was still the age where clubs were worth going to. It had never made sense to Jim, even though he was only about a year or two older. They drove in silence until they came to the long low beige modern building, parked and, catching hands again, came up the bush lined walk. Jim unlocked the door, and in the lit lobby they made out, hands on hips, and then on cheeks, exalting in the pleasure of not caring, of kissing in a public hallway before heading into the elevator.
Ryan had been so good to him over the last few years, never a boyfriend, but better than most boyfriends with those deep dark eyes and the dark hair that, even half a day after shaving, always showed up on his handsome face. He wanted to treat him as good as Ryan always treated him, surprise his old friend. When they entered the apartment, Jim unzipped his pants and took his thick cock in his mouth. Ryan cried out, his voice high, and placed the backs of his hands on the door and then finally in Jim’s hair while Jim took all of him in.
They were naked in the living room, and in the living room, against the sofa, Ryan thrust his tongue deep inside of Jim and licked him out from behind, took Jim in his mouth from behind. In the living room, they pleasured each other every way they could, and in between they rested, not speaking, sometimes laughing, both surprised by their lust and then starting up again before Jim led him to the bedroom.
Jim had never shut his curtains and the place still smelled of Seth. Jim kissed Ryan on his mouth, tasting liquor and smelling his cologne. He felt Ryan’s tongue thick in his mouth, his hands strong as Jim remembered. As the sky turned grey and morning was coming, Jim fucked him. He surprised himself. He knew his body so well, but now the orgasm took him unawares. He almost screamed as it was wrenched from his curling body, and the force of sex almost pushed him out of Ryan before the final wave doubled him over and, deep in the tight heat of Ryan, clinging to Ryan, he pumped him full of his seed.




“I’m sorry,” Jason said from where he lay in her bed. “I’m stupid. I didn’t know what to do.”
He had just pulled his Jockeys on, and she was in her tee shirt and shorts wondering if she should wear a black negligee. No, fuck that. He didn’t deserve that.
“It’s alright,” Marabeth said. “I’ve been married. I know men by now.”
“Hold up,” Jason sat up, touching her shoulder.
“Do you want me to go?” he said.
“No,” she said, almost exasperated, “No, I don’t want you to go.”
“Do you think we could try?” Jason said.
Marabeth nodded.
“Yes,” she said. Then she said, “Stay. Don’t go. But I want to read a lttle bit of what I’ve put off.”
“The book your father sent you.”
“Yes.”
Jason got up. He was tall, broad shouldered. Small assed in his black Jockeys, his orange hair hanging to his shoulders.
“I’ll make some coffee.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’ll make some coffee,” Jason said, pulling on his trousers and leaving the bedroom. Marabeth went into her closet, digging through the mess of clothes and boxes she believed a forty year old woman should have organized better to find her housecoat. There it was, and how this place needed to be cleaned. She pulled the plush housecoat from between the air conditioner and the pair of skis she had taken from the laundry room, Jason entered the bedroom again.
“Uh…”
“They’re skis.”
“You ski?”
“No,” Marabeth said. “But if I ever wanted to… You know?” she shrugged.
Jason said. “Yeah. And… No, that’s not what I was even thinking about. I just had a question.”
“Yeah?” Marabeth said.
“Where do you keep the coffee?”



THE BOOK OF PAMELA STRAUSS

I TOLD NO ONE where I was going, or even that I was going. I had been surprised to find two tickets, one for the journey south and another for the journey back already sent me. I took a cab to the great station in the center of the city. Traveling up there I realized what a parochial soul I was. In my growing up, I never left our village, and only once in my lfie had I seen all of Germany, this land I had such a strange connection to which, from so far away had caused us so much trouble and might be causing trouble again. I had come, in a train, a much different one, almost thirty years ago to, again, a very different Germantown, and I had hardly left it save to go to college. But now, if I were to travel east to Wallington, where once there were woods and track, there were whole burgeoning neighborhoods and townships, asphalt roads that took one quickly where once it had taken me hours to reach, and now the downtown and this great train station had also come to life.
The journey by train was the first long journey I’d taken since coming to America, and I traveled far better than I had then. I noticed, and how could I not, that Negroes were sent to the back cars, a petty indignity, because I could not see the actual difference between their cars and the one I sat in. I cannot idealize what I do not know, but it seems like they had what these white people I was among did not, a camaraderie, an irony mingled with joy about life, and an easiness in their expectations. It was beyond, I think, the way that Germans back in our part of town were with each other, beyond, I suppose even the Jews. Perhaps it was because whatever small oppressed culture we were in we had the hope and ambiguity of being seen as white, the hope that the signs of our exclusion might be, for better or for worse, erased. Our culture was a precarious thing. My sisters spoke no German at all. They were a little embarrassed by old Friederich and perhaps even by me. They were white young women who would marry white young men. But when would it be thrown in their faces that they were, after all, German? There was a fragility in whiteness. One was never really safe. At least a Negro knew she or he was a Negro, and from what I saw, there was a peculiar rejoicing in this.
Then, again, there was the strange business of my riding in this fine car on a ticket bought by a man who, regardless if he wished to or not, could never sit where I was sitting now.
I know I thought these thoughts then, but not as much as I think them now, when I am old, and most of that business in the past, though, I believe, not as much in the past as one would like to believe. But at the time I was, of course, filled with thoughts of my own trouble, the trouble of my brother and of Steiger, for Steiger, undeniably became ill, and almost mad at the same time his best friend suffered and I thought, if this Augustus Dunharrow could do something for both of them, relieve the madness in both boys, I would be eternally in his honor.


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

A great start to the chapter! I understand why Marabeth is pissed but I am glad she is giving Jason a chance. A hot scene between Ryan and Jim! Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Hotness upon hotness and Marabeth and Jason finally coming back together. Marabeth has been through so much and already known one untrustworthy man. Hopefully this one will work.

 

[ChrisGibson]

THE JOURNAL OF PAMELA CONTINUES


This is a mighty house. I have never see anything like it. I did see that Gone With the Wind movie, and it is the closest thing to which I can compare this house. But it is hidden, back among woods with hanging weeping trees, set among ponds and lakes and wild birds, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Augustus Dunharrow is a man who has decided to live away from the greater world. I cannot blame him. The train that stopped in the nearest city led to a cab that took me into a village where an oxblood painted limousine arrived for me. I thought others would be afraid of what was to come, but I felt a marvelous tingling in me, as if I were coming home, as if a veil, always put up before me, was, at last, being pulled away.
“He is waiting for you,” the driver had said, and he was black and beautiful and nothing like any servant I had ever seen, and then, as soon as I could say thank you, he was gone. Where Augustus was waiting the driver had not said, and I wondered, putting my bags down, if this was part of the test. I walked from the great foyer into an even greater living room, filled with light and air cool from large, turning ceiling fans. I did not call, but continued to walk through a house filled with oil paintings of noble looking people, black and white alike, and followed my intuition through this quiet house to the next room where a man in immaculate trousers and vest, silk white shirt, rose and said, “Pamela Strauss, welcome. I have been waiting for you.”
I bowed slightly to him, and this was the first man to whom I had ever inclined my head.
“You are Augustus.”
“I am,” he said, “and now, for the first time in a long time, you are home.”


“This is your home because the witch blood is in you,” Augustus said. “Where there is magic there is your home. I have no love for white people,” Augustus said, “and why would I? I wonder, if so many of them had not lost their magic, would they be as greedy as they are? Something was taken from them, something sucked out, and this wound, this lack, made them reach and reach. The white men who came here to this land, were fleeing. They were running from something and when they came here they kept running, and in running they ran off, in experiencing whatever violence they’d experienced, they dealt violence.”
“Then are you in sympathy with them?” I asked. “You cannot even ride anywhere but the back of their trains. And this is their country. No one denies that.”
“This is their nation,” Augustus said, “but not their country. The country is the land and the land can never be theirs. As long as they try to rule over it, the land will rise up and drive them out. She always does.
“But no, there is no sympathy. There is understanding. Understanding is a different thing. My life has been most out of sympathy with white men.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Are you a white man, Pamela Strauss?”
“Well, then, what do you know of the wolf?”
“You must tell, then, what you know, first. It is your heritage. Surely you must know a thing.”
“I do not even know my mother,” I said, and then realized, “That is a lie. Even after so many years, I lie about this and do not know why. My mother was a wolf. My father, in wolf form got me on her. He is the only human blood I have. I was taught by a… friend… a man, Hagano, one my father does not know, to transform into a wolf. My father could always do it. My brother is cursed into doing it. As far as I know, he is the only one of my blood who is cursed to become a wolf with no control at the rising of the moon, though… though it seems others suffer, go into madness, but do not transform.”
“This is strange,” Augustus said, “because I have heard of those in battle, especially in the North, where you ancestors came from, who could transform in the heat of battle, or who put on a skin and transformed until the skin was removed.”
“As in the story of Sinfioltli and Sigmund.”
“Exactly. But for such a variety in the nature of the change to exist in your family is strange. Perhaps your power is strong because your blood is undiluted.”
“I had wondered.”
“But what of Friederich and those before him?”
“I do not know.”
“Then you must ask. You must ask so that you know. And this Hagano, who is he?”
“He is… real. I know he is real. He is flesh and blood, but can come and go. He is, it seems, attached to me. He says he is always with me. He comes when he wishes, or when I call. He is, in that way, a ghost. But still, he is flesh and blood. I know it.”
“You all have been lovers,” Augustus said, plainly.
“Well, yes,” I said. “We have.”
“But who has he said he is?”
“He says he is the first of us, whatever that means. He has never said more, and I have even thought he was the first werewolf.”
“No,” Augustus shook his head.
“My Pamela, you must become serious about questioning him, for he seems to possess the elements of a family genius.”
I did not wish to repeat the words. I would only sound ignorant. He understood this and explained
“It seems to me that he is a family spirit, not the first werewolf, but the first Strauss.”




Jason felt as if he was reading the book as well because most of it, Marabeth read outloud, furiously smoking and downing coffee.
“So this Hagano isn’t a ghost?”
“He is, but he isn’t,” Marabeth said. “He was inside of you, right? But he travels from place to place. He was inside of Pamela, but Friederich didn’t know him.”
“In the Bible,” Jason said, “I remember after Jesus comes back, from the dead, he says he’s flesh and blood. He can eat and everything. But he can pass through walls too.”
“Yes,” Marabeth allowed. “I think I remember that. But Hagano isn’t the Savior of the world.”
“No,” Jason allowed. “No, but…. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to reach for something. It seems like if you’re trying to figure out all of these different powers, then one that none of you has but him is immortality, and…. the ability to be corporeal, and not to be. At will.”
“That is actually something I’d never thought of!” Marabeth said. “If he is one of the family, the first of the family, then he has a whole different skill that none of us has.”





”Wolfbane,” Augustus said, holding the plant up.
“Of course.”
He was pounding the plant with a mortar and pestle when he said, “Bring me that bottle, my dear.”
I did and he said, “Not too much. Just.” He took it and with his elegant brown hands, he poured a little into the mixture.
“This should do.”
“What is it?”
“Silver nitrate.”
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Yes,” Augustus said. “There are actually many ways to prevent a werewolf, but it depends on the type of werewolf. I don’t know what your father’s story was, but he seems to have one power which comes out at a particular time, and which it seems like he can control. You have ultimate control. You do not have to transform at all. Your brother has no control which turns out to be a sign, not of him being more of a werewolf, but less of one, with blood that is less pure. Your parentage was strange. What, I wonder, was your father’s. You will have to ask him, ask him as much as he knows.”
“And ask Hagano?”
“Oh, you have to.”
“I have not seen him in many years.”
“Then you must call him up, because you must know.
“Did you know,” Augustus continued, as he set the mixture to boil, and began to add a thick, dry bay leaf, “there are some which say the werewolf is what joins the witch to the vampire.”
“The vampire.”
“Yes.”
“You mean those creatures from dime store novels? Count Dracula?”
And then when I saw the look on this man’s beautiful brown face, a face smooth and noble like mahogany, I said, “Augustus, do the vampires symbolize a thing?”
“They symbolize themselves,” Augustus said, “They are real. As real as you. The specifics differ from the novels, but they are real and in this world. Just as myself. Just as you.”
Well, now, this was a surprise, and it led me to wonder if I had ever met one. The truth is once I think I did, but he said, “It was said, in the long ago, that vampires could take the shape of wolves, and that werewolves who were killed and not properly attended to could return as blood drinkers. Why, even in that dreadful book, Dracula can become a wolf and has control over wolves.”
“Do,” and this mattered to me, personally, “do vampires have control over werewolves?”
“No,” Augustus said. “Vampires have control over very little, except perhaps common mortals, and many mortals are quite uncommon. But it is said that witches used to summon the wolves to ride upon them, that the greatest witches are riders of wolves and even transform into them.”
“Then the witch has power over the wolf.”
“You are concerned with power?” Augustus smiled at me. It was a predatory, powerful smile, but it did not frighten me. Rather I was chastened.
He said, “Pamela, you are not hearing me. The witch once rode the wolf. I believe in a long ago time when men and all other animals were closer, when men were more… spiritual, but that is not the right word, for the spirit I talk of is not of Our Father in Heaven, but of our Mother in the Earth, back then, the wolf and the witch became one, which is why there is witch in you. Before there were werewolves or shapeshifters, many men, many people believed themselves descended from animals, and Mr. Darwin tells us this is so. The line between man and beast is a thin one, but it can only be reached through the spirit, through witchcraft. Ah, I have already said too much, but,” Augustus turned the flame of the stove down.
“If you can, you must go through with your idea of the Kellers, you must marry them to your siblings. Their blood will make you stronger, less subject to what Jimmy is going through now.”
“Are you sure of that?”
Augustus sighed, looking humble for once, and humility in such a man was a strange thing to see.
“Not truly, Pamela. I have dealt with one, maybe two wolves. An entire family history? This is new to me. But you must talk to Hagano as soon as you can.”

Frau Inga would have bowed at this man’s feet. Power always knows power. Wise power always honors it. He pulled from one of those cabinets two mushrooms, a toadstool, brown and grey and withered, and one that was dried but had been high in color, red and white spotted.
“Just a touch, just a touch,” he murmured, and he pulled from one of his many drawers a long wooden spoon of dark wood, fragrant and evergreen.
“Yew,” I recognized it.
“The death tree,” Augustus said. “And poisonous. You would not make a common ladle from it. We will make you something, dear, and Hagano will come to you through it. I promise.”



MORE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WEEKEND. CHEERS!

 

[CharmedFan28]

Lots of Pamela in this portion which I like to see! It was cool to read more about the mythology of the wolves. Great writing and I look forward to more after the weekend! I hope you have a nice one.