“Forget it!”

  Lennox licked his lips, took another look up at the ravine’s edge and then smoothed my hair against the side of my head with his hand. He gave me a resigned smile, released my wrists, and ran down the side of the ravine. The blackness swallowed him up, leaving only the sound of falling gravel and sand behind.

  Another branch cracked above, and I looked up, a gasp escaping my lips. I didn’t know what was up there but according to Lennox, I was in danger.

  The hair stood up at the base of my skull, as alarm coursed through my body.

  Earlier, I had crushed my alternate personality, driving her down where she couldn’t influence my interactions with Angus. She was nasty, courageous, dangerous.

  I needed her now.

  Releasing the inner lock I had on my other, I spun and leapt into the air.

  It seemed I fell forever.

  Then She took hold and instinctively, I bent my left knee to match the angle of the slope just before my feet sunk into the sandy gravel. The momentum carried me, and I slid through the loose soil.

  The gravel tumbling from my slide hadn’t stopped rolling down the ravine, before I leapt again. Falling through the darkness, my feet struck the side and slid for a second time. On the third jump, I spread my arms in the air like wings to steady myself. The grit buried my feet, wrapping around my skin with the left-over warmth of the day’s sun.

  Then, I halted, alert, listening for the sound of Lennox’s boots. His thuds were softer, more muffled. He had reached the bottom where the trees dropped their leaves to cushion the black, damp earth.

  A shift twitched beneath my breastbone. I did not look behind to see who pursued me, but lifted my nose to smell the air ahead.

  Forest moss, snail trails and the scent of a man’s sweat as he flees in fear swirled into my sinuses. I released a hot breath and it pooled into pillowing white frost before me.

  It seemed I was no longer steeped in the black ink of a woodland night. I could see shades of grey speckling the dark spaces ahead. Each shape was an object within the forest. Blades were grass, octagons rocks.

  I squinted at the bottom of the ravine, trying to see Lennox. Below, between the pillars that were tree trunks, a rectangle of white flashed.

  The expectation of having him drew me into action. I leapt the last twenty feet to the bottom, angling my jumps to cut off the distance between us.

  Then I was on his trail, and I burst into a run, bounding over bushes and swerving between tree trunks. My skirt bunched up at the top of my thighs as my long legs stretched out for speed.

  Lennox’s gasps for air filled my ears as I passed him, my soft soles never touching the dry branches he snapped with his clumsy flight. I wrapped a smooth tree trunk with my arm, spinning my body around and slamming into his front like a juggernaut.

  He launched backwards into the air, flailing his limbs as he thudded to the ground.

  I landed on him before he stopped moving. My calves were bunched beneath my thighs, my bare knees almost touching my shoulders as I squatted above his still form.

  I clawed my hands into the cool soil at either side of his head.

  Lennox’s eyes were closed. A low groan slipped from his lips.

  Yearning radiated through me at the sound. I leaned over his torso, my breasts growing full and heavy as they hung above his overheated body.

  “I’m itchyyy,” the words rasped in my throat.

  He groaned again, unable to find his way from wherever his jostled brain had taken him.

  The night, the flesh, the strength coursing through my body urged me to follow my darker instincts.

  I pressed my nose into the hollow of his throat, desiring to chew on his heart. It called to me with its racing beat, reminding me of the rhythmic dance our organs had shared in the Albion.

  My back arched as if the Goddess Diana drew her arrow on my spinal cord. Facing the blanket of stars that pinpricked the night sky, I became alert in a way I had never been before. And then, I was intoxicated by the scent of his sweat mixing with the dust of ancient crustaceans ground into the ravine’s gravely mix. A heady purr escaped my lips.

  Chasing him had aroused me, and I ached to finish the game that thrummed between my thighs. I leaned in over his body. His face looked spilt cream against the dark soil.

  “Wake up, Lennox,” I ordered, as if he could rise from unconsciousness at my command. “Wake and amuse me.”

  His hands twitched in the dirt, the fingers clenching over his open palm. A hard coil of awareness tightened his stomach muscles under my crotch. His eyelids fluttered open.

  I grinned knowingly as his glance scurried around my face, and then scanned the dark treetops above my head.

  “Whaur ur they?”

  He grunted out the last word as the pain from my tackle reached his awareness.

  I leaned forward, dangling my breasts above his mouth, and pretended to look back the way we had come.

  “Nobody there,” I whispered.

  Then I dragged myself down his chest, the buttons of his jean jacket catching like clawing fingers on my blouse.

  “Please me, Lennox,” I begged.

  Dragging my tongue along his throat, I flicked his jaw line with the end. He released a shuddering groan, which might have been fear or passion. It mattered not.

  “We have tae gie out ay here.”

  A familiar pressure rose in me at his rejection. My alter’s sulky voice cast its rich velvet over the silence of the night.

  “A gentleman would nevah make a lady beg.”

  Lennox’s nostrils flared. His hands grabbed my hips, and he almost threw me off, but I locked my thighs and clutched his chin, my red nails pressing shadowy dents into his skin. I forced him to meet my eyes.

  His pupils, wide with terror, dulled to a vacant stare beneath my steady gaze.

  He was mine. I knew it as surely, as I knew a rabbit was watching from beneath a pine tree ten feet from my right. He was mine, and he would do anything I asked him to do.

  His surrendered state filled me with a savage need to test his willingness. I drove my mouth down onto his, crushing his lips against his teeth. He pressed up into the kiss until the tang of his blood greased the end of my snaking tongue.

  CHAPTER 23: SÉANCE WITH MR. SPIRITOE

  ~

  WITH A GASP, I BOLTED upright in bed. A few moments of blurry-eyed blinking in the dark helped me recognize my surroundings.

  “Jesus!” I gasped with relief. I was safe at home, in my bed, in my apartment, alone.

  My bra was suctioned to my breasts with sweat and I pulled it away from my skin to let the air circulate underneath. I started to take it off altogether, when a faint noise from the direction of the couch stopped me. A sleepy mumble followed.

  I blurted out a screech, clutching the sheets to my chest.

  “God, Rachel,” a bored voice carried across the dark room, “It’s five-thirty in the morning.”

  Magda.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello? Sleepover?’

  “Right.”

  The flick of a Bic lighter scratched, spitting out a spark that gave birth to a flame. It lit Magda’s face, casting strange shadows around her eyes, and giving her a sinister look.

  I watched, wishfully, as the flame caught the end of the cigarette dangling loosely from her lips.

  The tobacco curled away in bright agony.

  “Do you have to smoke?” I asked.

  “It’s not my problem…” she took a drag, making the red ember glow, “if you choose to make stupid rules for your habits”.

  I rubbed my arm.

  She blew the smoke out noisily, and I drew in a deep breath trying to capture some of the second-hand glory.

  “So, why did you leave me at the restaurant, last night, hm?”

  I tensed as the night’s events tumbled into the forefront of my mind. I hadn’t meant to leave her. Hell, I hadn’t even thought about her. I had needed to get out of the restaurant, so, yeah, I’d run….

  Like a linear film, the night played out in my mind’s eye until I recalled the chasing, the capture, Lennox.

  I yanked off the covers and leapt out of bed.

  “Rachel!”

  “Give me a minute to piss, will ya?”

  Slamming the bathroom door behind me, I leaned against it and clenched my hands in my hair. The wooden door was cool against my back, for I was only wearing my red bra and panties. At least I still had on my underwear.

  I replayed the memories again. The kiss, a joining of the lips, and then my memories stopped at a black wall. I needed to figure out what had happened with Lennox, afterwards.

  Flicking on the light, I turned to the mirror and faced myself. I ran my glance up and down my body, searching for clues, for signs of Lennox, and what might have become of him.

  There were dirt and grass stains on my knees. Scratches slashed up and down my shins, marks from being pushed through the bush at the top of the ravine, and then the run through the forest.

  When had I ever run like that, immune to pain, moving so fast it was like flying? Not since I’d been a wild child, racing the wind to escape my life. And in my bare feet? I hadn’t felt much at the time, but now my feet were sore. I lifted my right foot and checked the bottom. It was coated with a dirty stain along the sole. A slice in the skin of my heel yawned open bloodlessly, as I inspected it.

  I met my eyes in the mirror, blinked and then looked away, disappointed in myself. A woman knows when she’s had sex.

  “Damn it!”

  It was only the second day after my birthday, and I’d already broken my promise to Patrick. If he was right, I’d just ruined my chances at getting better, anytime soon.

  A bang against the door made me jump. “Are you still pissin’?”

  “I’ll be out in a minute!” I barked.

  I stared at the mascara smudges darkening my eyes. Tear streaks made tracks along the dust on my cheeks. I touched my lip where it was swollen and red above a raw spot on my chin. My fingernail was broken in a jagged line and filled with black earth. I absently dug it out with my other nail.

  It wasn’t as bad as I had thought it might be. Hell, I didn’t look any worse than the night I’d spent with the carny at the Erin Fall Fair. Maybe that’s all it had been, just one more night with one more carny. Maybe Lennox was stretched out on his bed, alive and well.

  But just in case, I couldn’t let Magda get a good look at me or she’d start to guess.

  I turned on the sink tap, then stripped off my panties and my bra, noticing a dark stain running along the inside of the bra cup. It was a dark, rusty stain. It could be blood.

  “Oh, God,” I whispered.

  I checked my breast, and my neck, and the inside of my nostrils and my gums to see if I had been the one bleeding. I had a few scratches on my shoulders, but nothing that would have left the amount of blood needed to soak through a padded bra. I would need the blouse I had been wearing to know how much blood had actually been spilled.

  I thought back to Lennox lying still on the ground beneath me. Had he been injured? I tried to recall, but couldn’t remember anything past the first kiss.

  With shaking hands, I rinsed out a washcloth and washed off as much of the dirt and semen as I could. Then grabbed my Madonna “Like a Virgin” nightie off the door and put that on.

  When I came out, Magda was back on my couch. She hadn’t flipped on any lights. The red eye of her cigarette winked at me.

  I stumbled through the dark to my bed.

  “So?” She was determined to get her explanation. “Why’d ya ditch me?”

  I sat up against my pillows, tucking the blankets around my waist and released a loud sigh. “I didn’t feel like sticking around.”

  “Seriously!” She scathed and sucked on her cigarette.

  “Listen.” She wasn’t going to shut up until I apologized. “I didn’t feel like watching Karen and Angus get it on, alright?”

  There was a long silence while I waited for her highness to lay off

  “Well,” she said, “I brought your jacket home.”

  I barely squeezed a “Thanks” from between my tight lips.

  I heard the cardboard lid of the cigarette pack open and Magda’s nails scratching out another smoke. She used the butt to light the new one.

  “Chain smoking? Seriously?”

  She ignored my complaint.

  I grumbled, “Give me one, then.”

  She threw the lit cigarette at me. I watched the red tip tumble through the air and caught it before it landed on my quilts. Sparks flew off the end and burned the soft skin between my fingers.

  “Jesus, you’re a dipshit, sometimes.” I sucked on my finger.

  She laughed.

  My nic-fit dissolved with the incoming smoke, relaxing my neck and shoulders. The empty pit in my stomach closed up nicely.

  “Don’t give up on Angus just yet, Rachel.”

  “Oh,” I sneered into the darkness. “I don’t want him now that he’s been in the cashmere folds, thank you very much.”

  “He didn’t go home with her, hoser.” The squeaky springs of my old couch protested as Magda shifted around. “We were too busy looking for your sorry ass.”

  “What?” I blew out a stream of smoke, then picked a piece of tobacco off my lip.

  “What d’ya think? You went to the can, leaving behind your jacket, and you never came back.”

  A smile plucked at the tops of my cheeks. “He was worried?”

  Maybe there was hope for Angus and me, yet. Unless word got out about my ravine encounter.

  She didn’t say another word, and I took it as a yes. I finished my smoke in silence, dropping the butt into the glass of water beside my bed. Then, I fluffed up my pillow, getting ready to lie back down.

  “Not so fast Sleeping Beauty,” Magda was up, padding across the kitchen to the light switch.

  “Ughn,” I groaned when the florescent square lit up.

  “I called Jean last night.” Magda rummaged in her bag on the kitchen chair.

  “What for?” I sat up.

  Magda pulled out a piece of paper and carried it over to my bed. She sat cross legged on the bottom. “Well, duh, you were missing. I asked her to have an impromptu séance with Mr. Spiritoe.”

  I laughed. “Are you legit?”

  Mr. Spiritoe was Magda’s family ghost. I generally didn’t believe of their encounter stories with Mr. Spiritoe, but it always made for good entertainment.

  Magda was looking at me with barely contained excitement.

  “Alright, fine, I’ll bite. What did Mr. Spiritoe say?”

  “You might want to stay calm for this,” she warned, before ceremoniously unrolling a white sheet of paper.

  “What is that, your scroll?”

  “Here ye, Here ye!” She laughed at her own joke.

  I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the pillow. “That’s mental. Forget the paper, just say it. But say it quietly in case the landlord thinks we’re having a party and decides to come down for a cluster f-.”

  She interrupted me. “Fine! This was all I could find to take notes on, but if you don’t want the details…” She rolled up the paper with a vengeance.

  She held her deadpan expression.

  I waited her out.

  “Mr. Spiritoe says your new man is the cure to what ails you.”

  Which one?

  “Really.”

  “There are more particulars here.” She flicked her lighter and waved the roll of paper around in front of the flame. “If you care to know them.”

  I sighed. “Fine. Read from your scroll, Magda.”

  She slowly unrolled the paper. She really did resemble a full-sized Tinkerbell, with her big eyes and heart-shaped face.

  “As you know, Mr. Spiritoe does not speak in full or grammatically correct sentences.”

  “Got it.”

  “Mr. Spiritoe, under the guidance of ma mère, said the following when asked about your new man, ‘Reactant A Reactant B Organic catalyst cross-coupling’”.

  “Cross-coupling?” I laughed. “So… we’re going to have sex?”

  “Pretty much.”

  That made me feel warm and fuzzy.

  “And he’s my orgasmic capitalist? I can see that.” I grinned.

  “Get it straight, Rachel. Organic catalyst.”

  I looked up to the left. “Umm, that means nothing to me.”

  Magda stabbed the air with her finger. “Exactly! Welcome to the world of Mr. Spiritoe.”

  “Oh Lord.” I waited but she didn’t continue.

  “C’mon!” I urged, thinking of the wasted sleeping time. “What else?”

  “Mr. Spiritoe, under the guidance of ma mère, said the following when asked if you would have a lasting relationship with this new man: ‘Transformation Transoceanic Transitional’”.

  I chewed on the words for a few moments, then blurted, “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That’s what Mom asked.” She consulted the scroll again. “Mr. Spiritoe said, “Cross your T’s for sacrifice.”

  “Sacrifice?” The image of Christ strung out beneath the Pope’s hand in The Mercury picture came to mind. I frowned.

  “That was all Mr. Spiritoe would surrender.” Magda’s tone was lofty. “But note there are four T’s in Transformation, Transoceanic, and Transitional.”

  “Actually, there are five.”

  “Who’s counting,” she snapped.

  “So five sacrifices have to be made for me to get an orgasmic catalytic reaction?” I reached for another of her smokes and lit up. “Sounds worth it.”

  “Mr. Spiritoe said ‘crossed t’s’, so if we put caps on Transformation, Trans…”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Two crossed t’s, two sacrifices.”

  “Takes two to tango,” she sing-songed.

  I was having this conversation with bravado, but inside I was feeling shaky. I didn’t like the idea of sacrifices. “Did your mom translate this for me? As in, what the hell does all that mean?”

  “Well,” Magda tossed the scroll across my apartment, and dug out another cigarette. “She’s worried.”

  “Ye-ah! You told her about me taking off!”

 

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