Title: Giordano's Mask — Chapter 5 of 6

Codes: Ff+, viol, magic, rom, con

Summary: At last to Padua, where Rachel discovers the Curator's little secret, confronts him, and puts on the mask.

(Read chapter 1)

(Read chapter 4)

The waitress called it the "red room," but only the upholstery was red. Everything else was white and black. Our silver was real silver, arranged precisely around bone white china in what I supposed was the proper arrangement for knives, forks, and spoons. Our table was round with a starched white tablecloth and three chairs. It was too small. At least we were set apart from the next table, which held a fat, noisy French couple, who seemed not at all pleased with their meal.

"Can we afford this place?" Lauren asked.

"I hope."

I pulled out the ornate wooden chair and plopped down. I picked up one of my spoons and fiddled with it. The waitress gave me a dim look, waited for Fi and Lauren to sit, and handed us our menus.

I took a quick glance. Cappuccinos were only two-euros-fifty. "Don't go anywhere yet," I said to her, in Italian, "We just want three cappuccinos, extra sugar in mine."

"There's sugar on the table," she said, pointing to the obvious little jar of sugar.

"Ah, Fine."

I gave her a big fake smile. She gave one back. Then she spun around in place and headed out of the room.

"Nice service," I said in English.

"I think she has a nice ass," Lauren replied.

She smiled. I hadn't noticed the girl's ass.

Lauren scooted her chair. She got close and took my hand, resting her head on my shoulder and letting out a sigh.

"So," I said, back to Italian, "What's the big deal about this place? It's nice enough, I guess."

"It's a famous cafe," Fiorella said, "A historic spot in Padua. A revolution started here, or something. My aunt recommended it." She shrugged.

"Ah." I looked around. Whatever it had once been, now it was full of tourists.

I listened to a trio of Americans in polos jabbering about the differences between Italian and French wines. Italian wines were "earthier," or something. I expected them to yank out their dicks, or their Amex cards, or both.

"Everyone's pretending to be sophisticated," I said.

Fiorella smiled. "And we aren't?"

"Hah!" I pretended to launch something at her with my spoon. I turned and kissed Lauren's mouth, then looked around to see if anyone had a problem with that. Nobody seemed to.

"So," Fi went on, "What's our plan?"

"Hmmm. Well, we head down to the museum for a look-see."

"So soon? Isn't that risky?"

"I guess, but I don't know what else to do. Anyway, I've always favored the direct approach."

Our coffees arrived. This time, I noticed the waitress's little pencil skirt. It was black with a thin white stripe up the back. She must have caught me looking—she surely saw me holding Lauren's hand—in any case, she bent over, slow and obvious, and placed our coffees down. Then she gave me a smile, and asked, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I glanced at Fi and Lauren. Their faces were open and happy. Fi gave me a look. "You mentioned the direct approach," she said.

I looked at the waitress, letting my eyes drift up and down. She looked right back. She stood posing, holding her tray in front of her chest with both hands. She arched her brows.

"I wanna eat your pussy."

I said it pretty loud. I heard the French lady gasp. The Americans shut up. Somebody dropped a spoon.

She sneered and said, "You wish." Then she turned in place again and sauntered out of the room.

"Ha! What a tease," Fi said.

"Yeah. Pity too. She did have a very nice ass."

I looked around. The French lady looked away. The Americans just stared, leering with big stupid grins. I made a face at them, then turned and kissed Lauren again. She pressed in her tongue.

"This place kinda sucks," I said, "Let's get outta here."

We drank, paid, and left. We went north up a narrow street and past a little piazza with a garden and a fountain. Lauren walked close to me. She held my hand, leaning into me. When I stopped, she turned to me, nuzzling her head against me, and we kissed. I stopped several times.

"So," Fi asked after the third such episode, "Why don't you two just fuck already?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb the lovebirds."

Fi stood there. She crossed her arms. She shifted around, scraping her heel against the pavement.

"What's wrong with Fi?" Lauren asked.

"I dunno. Maybe she's feeling left out?"

I looked at her. She looked back, then turned and continued walking up the street. Lauren and I released our embrace and followed, still holding hands.

We entered a large piazza with modern glass storefronts and brick pavement laid out in an elaborate curved pattern. There was a raised pedestrian area with tables, benches, and trees in cement planters. Dozens of bicycles were parked here, and a big group of students in identical blue t-shirts milled about, avoiding the gaze of their chaperones.

Fi strutted out among them, right through their center. The boys all stopped to look at her. Some of the girls did too. Then Lauren and I came through. They shifted their attention to us, the boys, and the very same girls. Lauren smiled at them.

"Wait up, Fi," I said.

She stopped. She turned, crossed her arms again, and waited.

The street ended here. On the opposite side of the piazza two streets exited. They were both large and clogged with cars.

"I think we want to go to the right here," I said, "Up the Corso Garibaldi."

"OK," Fi responded.

She turned again.

"Fi, wait."

She turned back. "Yeah?"

I released Lauren's hand.

"Lauren."

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna walk with Fi for a bit, OK?"

"Yeah. Of course."

I walked up to Fi. I took her hand. "Let's walk together."

She smiled. "Sure," she said. She took my hand and shot a little smile to Lauren. Then she looked back at the students. She pulled me to her and kissed me. She squeezed my ass. I heard the the boys, and those few special girls, murmur and gasp.

We walked up the wide boulevard. I saw green ahead, a park with trees, only a hundred yards away. We drew close. Back, at the end of a long footpath, among the trees, nestled in their shadow, was a tan church, quite tall. We left the boulevard and walked up the footpath toward the church.

"We're going to the church?" Lauren asked.

"It isn't a church anymore," I said, "Now it's his museum."

A warm breeze blew, tossing dried leaves across our path. We walked over them, crunching them beneath our feet. We heard the laughter of children. There was a field to the right, beyond the trees. A group of boys were kicking a ball. I saw one break free, running full tilt, kicking the ball again and again with practiced motions. The other boys chased, but fell behind. He passed from our view.

We walked straight on, up the path.

The door to the museum was black with white trim. As we approached, it opened and a girl came out. She turned and closed the door behind her, then scampered down the steps.

We all stopped and looked.

She had thick black hair and a black dress, buttoned up the front, with a white collar. Her skin was a delicate cream color, not at all Mediterranean, except her knees, which were cherry red like she'd been kneeling. She had pink, pouty lips and wide dark eyes. She carried a little red clutch bag and a small leather bound book. She wore leather flats, tied in big, elaborate bow knots.

She neared the bottom of the steps. She took the last three at once, hopping off and landing, squatting a bit, with her arms outstretched, balancing. She got a big grin, and twirled about.

"Oh my god she's pretty," Lauren said.

The girl must have heard. A huge smile crossed her face.

"Thank you," she said, in English with a British flair. She stood still for a bit, getting her balance. Then she walked toward us at an angle, sort of catlike, still smiling. She stared hard at Lauren. Then she laughed. Her body relaxed. She stood on one foot and said, "You're very pretty yourself."

"How like an angel," Fi muttered.

I didn't say anything.

"Honey, What's your name?" Lauren asked.

"Sophia."

"Hi Sophia. How old are you?"

"Fourteen. And you?"

"Seventeen. I'm Lauren.

"Hi Lauren."

Lauren gazed at her. The girl gazed back, for a bit, then dropped her eyes. She shifted her feet. Then she got a big grin and looked back up.

"You're Americans?" she asked.

"Well, I am, and Rachel. Fiorella is Italian. She's from Milan."

"Hi Fiorella," the girl said, in perfect Italian.

"Hi," Fi responded.

"So…" The girl said, shifting her balance to one leg, "Nice to meet you."

She spun about and began to walk away.

"Wait," Lauren said, "Let's do something together."

"Oh? Like what?" She turned back.

Lauren stammered. "Oh, anything."

"What book is that?" I asked.

She looked down at it. "The Enneads, by Plotinus. It's a boring old Greek thing."

"I know what it is." I wondered, was it a translation, or did she read Greek?

We all looked at each other. I tried to think of a way to keep her around.

"We could get coffee and discuss Plotinus," I said.

She pinched her face. "I think I'd rather—uh…well…I can't think of anything more boring. That's it! That would be the most boring thing we could do!"

Lauren laughed. "We could kiss."

Everyone got quiet.

"OK," the girl said.

We passed through a hole in a hedge into a garden. A ring of trees surrounded a little pond. An old bench was set against it with tarnished bronze fittings and sun bleached wooden slats. In one direction, a bridge was visible, where the boulevard crossed a canal. In the other, just above the foliage, I could see a corner of the museum's roof. The sun was high, casting small shadows. A warm breeze blew. We were alone.

Lauren and Sophia walked directly to the bench.

"Sometimes a tourist will wander back here," Sophia said, "But if your friends keep an eye out, we should be fine."

Fi and I followed close behind them. I had no intention of keeping an eye out. I was going to watch nothing but them.

They sat side by side. Sophia set her book and clutch down, opposite Lauren. Fi came up and squatted behind them, leaning against the back of the bench. I walked around, just to the edge of the pond, gazing.

Lauren sat back and looked at Sophia. Sophia sat straight and stared ahead. Her eyes were wide. She rested her hands on her knees. They both smiled. I smiled. Fi had an intense look.

"So," Lauren said, "Shall we?"

They turned to each other and kissed, at first little pecks with puckered lips. Sophia giggled and squirmed. Lauren stroked her and nuzzled in close. She kissed the girl's neck. She kissed her ear. Then apart. Then together again, heads slanted, arms wrapped, lips locked in a deep kiss.

Sophia's eyes got huge. She released her embrace. Her arms shot out and her whole body squirmed. Even with lips pressed tight, I heard her squeal. Lauren held her, and kept kissing, just for a bit. Then she let go. Sophia shot back, quivering as if stunned. Just for a moment, then forward again. Another deep kiss. More squirming. Another squeal.

They released again. Sophia panted and twitched.

"Oh my god oh my god!" she said, "What was that?"

I smiled. I smiled huge. Only the gifted could feel the recharge.

Fi reached around and stroked Sophia's shoulder. I went and sat next to her, pushing aside her book and clutch. I kissed her cheek.

"Sweetie," I said, "Are you into magic?"

She turned to me. "Yes. Well—my father is. I've done a few little tricks, but he won't let me learn real magic. Girls aren't allowed."

I kissed her again. I cast illumination—it worked so well for this. Her eyes widened, even bigger than before. She gasped. She watched the little speck flicker and flit. Then she looked back at me.

"You dear thing," I said, "You precious thing, girls are allowed to learn magic."

Lauren kissed her face, down her cheek, and along her neck. Her eyes fluttered, and she reached up, cupping a hand against Lauren's head. She scooted back, slouching. I kissed her other side, her face, her neck. The Fi came forward, reaching across and stroking her chest. I sat back, giving Fi room. Sophia turned, her face transfixed. They kissed, on the mouth, deeply. Then Lauren again. A long deep kiss. A tremor and a squeal.

Lauren and I squeezed her between us, pressing in, embracing her, kissing, Fiorella too, wrapping her arms and nuzzling in. We kissed. All of us kissed. We kissed and kissed and kissed.

"Would you like to come back to our room, sweetie?" I asked, my heart pounding, "I wanna fuck you. I wanna watch Lauren fuck you…then, I'll teach you your first spell."

She sat breathless. She twitched.

"Oh yes!" she said, "Oh god yes. Please."

One wall of our hotel room was white. The opposite was a deep, rusty orange. It had a polished parquet floor, two big fluffy beds—set abut against each other, two windows—also side by side, two chairs—soft black vinyl, and two lamps—which gave off a harsh, antiseptic white light. There was only one bathroom, but it had two sinks.

The four of us entered. We strolled in, except Sophia, who came in slowly, looking around at everything with wide eyes. She seemed very nervous.

As soon as we closed the door Lauren grabbed her and sat her on the bed. She started petting the girl. She held her close.

"Lauren, sweetie," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Let's give Sophia some time to relax, OK."

"Uh—sure."

"Sophia, how do you feel?" I asked. I sat next to her and put my arm over her shoulders. Lauren's was around her waist. Fi pulled up a chair and sat.

"I'm fine," Sophia said.

"What spell will you teach her?" Fi asked.

"Illumination I suppose, but first—her recharge. Are you ready, sweetie?"

She looked at me, wide-eyed. She nodded her head.

Lauren went down. She pushed up the girl's dress. Sophia adjusted her butt so we could pull the hem up and bunch it around her tummy. Her panties were white cotton. They came off. Lauren kissed. Lauren licked, just her thighs at first, then—there.

I watched her face, watched the pleasure spread. I heard the wet sounds. I smiled, gazing into her eyes. I kissed her. "Isn't it wonderful?" I whispered in her ear.

"Oh yes," she muttered, "Yes."

She lay back, shutting her eyes. I kissed them on their closed lids. Her mouth opened. I kissed that too. Her body tensed. She moaned, long and deep. She grabbed the fabric of her dress and pulled hard. She twisted and squirmed.

The basic illumination spell was only three simple words, but it was so much more than words. She uttered them, again, perhaps her sixth try. Nothing happened.

"Why doesn't it work?" she asked, "Maybe I'm not really a witch."

She was dressed again, sitting on the bed, my arm around her waist, hers resting on her knees. Lauren and Fi lay together on the other bed, naked, kissing and petting.

"You're definitely a witch, sweetie. Only witches can feel the recharge."

"Oh."

"So, let's try again. When you speak the words, relax and let you mind flow. Feel the connection with the goddess."

"I've never worshiped the goddess. My father is Catholic. We worship God, Jesus, and Mary, and the saints and sometime the decans."

"Yes. I know. Try to feel her with your spirit. Trust me, she's there, and she loves you."

She spoke the words. Again, nothing.

"Did you ever meditate on the spheres?" I asked.

"Girls aren't allowed."

"But you tried anyway, right?"

She nodded her head.

"Did you see them? Did you feel them?"

"Yes, a little."

"The goddess is like that, but she comes from here." I motioned to her tummy. "And here." I ran my hand down—there. I began to rub her. She leaned forward. She parted her legs.

"Alright," I said, "Feel inside yourself. Meditate the same way you did with the spheres, but don't go out. Stay in your body. Feel what it's doing. Feel the flow."

I kept rubbing. Her eyes fluttered. She closed them. Her body tensed up, then relaxed, then tensed again.

"Picture her, lit by the moonlight with her hunting dogs around her barking. She's running through the forest, her bow and arrows in her hands. She's beautiful. Do you see her?"

She moaned. "Yes. She has black hair. The dogs are gray. I can barely see them through the trees."

"Good. Feel the surge of the hunt. Her prey is there. See him running, desperate. What does she do?"

"She fires the bow. The arrow hits his leg. He falls. He cries out and the dogs are on him."

"Yes. Now cast the spell."

She did. A little mote of light appeared before her. For a second it hovered completely still. She opened her eyes and gasped. She giggled. It danced about. She reached to touch it. It disappeared. She looked at me, beaming.

"Wanna try again?"

"Yes!"

She closed her eyes. She cast again. When she opened them, she saw another mote of light.

"Soon you'll learn to move it with your thoughts. You can even make it quite bright, as you learn to control your power."

She stared at it, wide-eyed, smiling. I pulled her to me and kissed her cheek.

"See sweetie. You really are a witch."

She turned to me.

"Thank you Rachel."

I looked at her, such a sweet thing. I reached out and caressed her face, running my finger down her cheek. She sighed. She reached and caressed me back.

"No problem dear," I said, "Now, to celebrate, I'm gonna eat your pussy, then you'll eat mine."

She smiled. She lifted the hem of her dress. I ate slowly. Her pussy was beautiful, her labia swollen and pink, like petals. When it was my turn, I lifted my skirt. Her tongue was soft and wet. It moved in interesting ways. The whole time, through all our moans and cums, we were lit by a tiny, dancing speck of light.

"Sweetie," I said to Sophia, "The museum you were in, how much do you know about the place?"

"A lot, why?"

We were still in our room, all dressed, all happy, as recharged as witches could be, thanks to our sweet wellspring. Lauren lay back in the bed exhausted and with Fi curled next to her. Sophia sat upright in the other bed. I lounged back in a chair.

"Well—Have you ever seen a mask there? An old African looking mask, with maybe some burn marks?"

She looked at me. "Yes."

I sat forward. "I'm gonna steal that mask."

"Oh."

She squirmed a bit. She seemed to be thinking, real hard. Something became obvious to me.

"Who's your father, Sophia?"

She just looked. She lowered her head, but turned up her eyes and kept looking at me. She stayed quiet.

"Is your father the Curator?"

A pause. "It's supposed to be secret."

"I would expect."

We stared at each other. Fi gasped. Lauren sensed something, and sat up. We'd been speaking Italian.

"What's up?" Lauren asked.

"Sophia is the Curator's daughter."

"He has a daughter?"

"Evidently."

"Sophia, my dear," I said, back to Italian.

"Yes?"

"If you want, you can leave now. I'm going to steal the mask. Your father and I will probably fight, and I'll probably beat him. He might get hurt real bad. If you want to go to him, or warn him, or whatever, you can."

"I don't want to warn him. I wanna become a witch."

"No matter what happens, you can become a witch. Fiorella will see to that."

"I wanna go back with you, to America."

"You can. We'll have to fake a passport, but it can be done."

"I don't want to go back to him."

"He's your father."

"He calls me his little mistake. He won't let me learn magic. He won't let me have friends."

"Oh."

"Do you want my help? I know where he keeps the mask."

Again we stood before the museum. This time, the shadows were long, the air still. The heat of the afternoon clung to us. Sophia removed a little copper key from her clutch, and we followed her to the side of the museum, along a little stone footpath grown through with grass. There was a small set of steps going down, and at their end a little hollow paved with flagstones. There was a door. Sophia's key fit that door, and we entered the museum.

"The public area is upstairs, where the main sanctuary used to be. The new sanctuary is a small shrine in the basement, where the reliquary once was. But there are also some old chambers down here, where we live."

We walked up a short brick passage that intersected another, which seemed to run the length of the building. It was narrow, its ceiling low. Electrical conduit ran exposed, with a series of old light fixtures placed along it. The light bulbs were dim and uncovered. Sophia led us to the right.

"At the end is a storage area, where the off-exhibit stuff is kept. There's a little nook in the wall, hidden behind some boxes. The mask is there."

We crept toward the end. We came to a heavy wooden door. Sophia grabbed the old brass handle and pulled it. The door didn't open. She tried again. It didn't move.

"This usually isn't locked." She shot me a panicked glance.

A door opened behind us. A man emerged. He was of medium build and medium complexion. He had thin brown hair, a somewhat sagging face, and small brown eyes. He wore a wrinkled white collared shirt, and heavy brown work pants. He had big shoes.

"Sophia," the man said, "Please go to your room. I need to talk to these young ladies."

I saw a momentary flash of defiance in the girl's face. I put my hand on her shoulder, before if flared up.

"Sophia, sweetie, go ahead. We'll come get you when this is over."

She turned and looked at me. "Go," I said, giving her a nudge.

She walked past her father, for surely this was him, and retreated down the passage to a far door. She went in. I noticed which door.

"So," I said, "What now? Shall we get down to it?"

"May I show you something first, in the sanctuary?"

"Oh? What?"

"Just come." He turned his back to me, and began to walk down the passage.

Fiorella grasped my arm. "It could be a trap," she said, "He'll be more powerful in the sanctuary. It will be covered with Hermetic symbols."

His back was to me. He stopped. "Let's agree to a truce, just until I show you this, then we can come back and fight here, or even outside if you prefer."

His back was still to me. I could've cast, taken him out easy. I could have just had the mask.

But I didn't do that. "I will look in the sanctuary," I said.

I followed him. As we drew close to a door near the end, he spoke, "So, the other evening, two days ago, a man phoned me, a Venetian magician of middling talent but strong faith. His nephew, it seems, had left in a drunken state with three girls, two of them witches and one a wellspring."

I began to get an uneasy feeling.

"He was very worried. I knew of this nephew, not personally, but by reputation. He was impulsive, young, still filled with lust. Easy prey for your ilk. You know the next part of the story, I think, but not the final chapter."

We reached the door. He grasped the latch, but didn't open it. He turned to me and continued, "As I said, his uncle was very frightened. So, I projected my spirit to check on the young man. I found him, writhing, panicked, drowning. I shifted him here."

He opened the door. We followed him in.

"I was too late."

The sanctuary was a small chapel, fifteen feet deep with room for maybe twenty worshipers. The ceiling was concave, with elaborate paintings of the zodiac, the planets, and the thirty-six decans. They reminded me of those in the Milanese coven, but these were painted with a modern brush. The colors were vivid, lots of reds and no blues, the designs abstract and fierce. The decans were more surreal, even freakish. There were tentacled figures and demons with nothing but mouths.

The alter was a large stone slab. On it, Paolo lay rigid; his lips turned blue long ago.

"Oh Paolo," Lauren said. She walked toward him.

I looked. Fi entered, and began to scoot along the back wall furtively.

"It was an accident," I said.

"Perhaps you didn't mean to kill, but this was not entirely an accident, was it?"

I said nothing. He went on.

"When I got him here, his spirit had left its body, but hadn't yet ascended above the lunar sphere."

"Ah."

"So, I could still contact him—without committing a sin. I did, a minor necromantic spell."

He waited for me to say something. I did not.

"He told me of you, of Lauren, her beauty—about which I must agree—and your jealousy, and your ambition, and the mask."

"I see."

"So, I released his soul to ascend as it will. It will not reach paradise, I'm afraid. He died in a state of lust. It will be stopped among the lower spheres, and fall again, to be reborn in the cycle of life."

He crossed himself. Lauren by now stood close to the body. Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed.

"So, what now?" I asked.

"I researched you, to prepare. It seems you two—you and Lauren—are a remarkable pair." He looked at us. "But I believe I'm ready. Shall we go outside and do this?"

"Yes. Let's"

When we got outside an angel was waiting for us, an actual angel. He was fifteen feet tall. Looking at him was like looking at the sun. The battle was over quickly. It was horrible.

Wave after wave of energy hit us. I cast. I spent everything. I let my power flow free, draining myself. It was like a grain of sand in a desert. I saw Fi get knocked aside, overcome, screaming, driven back into the trees. A crack opened in the earth. Lauren and I fell.

I caught something jutting out into the chasm, a tree root—I think. Lauren caught my hand. She squeezed tight, throwing up her other arm and gripping my wrist with two hands. She dangled beneath me, over—nothing—the crack went all the way down.

I held as tight as I could, my weight and hers, but I had spent everything. I felt the weakness coming. I strained, but would soon fall. I looked down at Lauren, into her eyes. She looked back, terrified.

A few brief moments passed. I spent them looking at Lauren.

I felt his hand, a strong grasp. I looked up. He had lain against the edge, reached in and seized my wrist. I gave out. I released. I hung, limp and useless. I was stretched, like an old piece of rope, between that girl I loved and a man I hated. He pulled us up.

"There must be no more death," he said, breathing heavy, "Will you submit?"

I looked down at Lauren. "Yes."

He got me over the edge. Lauren grabbed the firm earth, and scrambled up to safety. He laid me down, limp. Lauren came to me, her shadow falling across me, and kissed me. I felt power flow. Did he know she could recharge me with a kiss?

I heard the angel speak, his voice pealing like a hundred bells. I covered my ears.

"Why did you save them?" the angel asked.

"I only wanted you to weaken them, to subdue them, not kill them." His voice sounded so small. He was gasping for breath.

"So be it," the angel said.

Then it got dark. I looked around. The angel was gone. It was dusk, and the Curator was lit by the dying red sun. Lauren kissed me again. More power flowed. He watched. Moments passed while he caught his breath.

"Let's go inside and talk," he said.

We sat in a wood paneled study sipping wine from small, delicate glasses; him behind a large writing desk; Lauren and I in wooden chairs, next to each another, touching; and Fi leaning against the wall, a makeshift bandage on her arm. Lauren leaned and gave me a peck on the cheek, nothing extreme, just a little kiss. A little magic flowed, just a bit more, adding to the sum. I was beginning to feel pretty well charged. If he knew Lauren could recharge me with kisses, he was pretending not to.

"I want to apologize," he said, in English, "About the angel. I had no idea he'd go to such extremes. I merely wanted you drained, for you to submit. I didn't want you to—well—come so close to dying."

I sipped my wine. I had nothing to say to that. He looked at me, at my quiet face.

"That said." He paused and gave me a hard look. "You did have it coming."

That made me smile. Indeed I did.

"So," he went on, "Now that you're in my power, shall we discuss what you must do, in exchange for you lives?"

I smiled more. His apologies were boring. I preferred him ruthless.

"Yes," I said, "Let's discuss that."

"Good. First, why do you want the mask?"

"You know its power."

"Of course."

"What is its power, actually?" Lauren asked.

"Memory," I said.

"Huh?"

"The memory of everyone who's worn it, all through history."

"Oh."

He smiled. "Yes," he said, "So, whose memories do you want? Bruno's? I can't see a witch wanting his knowledge."

"Not Bruno," I said, "He was a silly little man."

"Then who?"

I smiled. "Take a guess."

He pondered. "Sappho? Did she wear the mask?"

I laughed. "No. Although I wish it were so, I doubt she wore the mask. It didn't come up to Alexandria until the second or third century."

"Oh? I had heard it was in Egypt a very long time."

"Don't believe your own myths. It's a tribal mask. It's old, but not as old as you think."

"Then why does everyone call it that Bruno guy's mask?" Lauren asked.

"He saved it from the fire when the inquisition tried to burn it," I said.

"Ah."

"Yes," he said, "Sadly for him, he didn't save himself."

I said nothing.

"So," he went on, "Who? Whose memories do you want?"

"Hypatia."

His eyes got big. "She wore it? Are you sure?"

"We witches know things."

"How would you know? She was a Platonist. She was chaste. What would you witches know about her?"

"She was chaste with men," I said.

He stared at me.

"Who's Hypatia?" Lauren asked, "Wasn't she a porno star or something?"

I laughed and squeezed her hand. He gave her a dirty look.

"Perhaps your friend should leave."

"No. She stays. Sweetie, Hypatia was a Greek philosopher in the fourth century."

"She was chaste," he said, "She heard the music of the spheres."

"She heard something. I guess the only way to know for sure is for me to wear the mask."

He looked at me. He didn't look happy. Lauren kissed me again, just a peck.

"So," I went on, "What do you want me to do?"

"Do you know how to activate it?"

Yes! I smiled huge. "You don't. I should have guessed." If he knew how to activate it, he'd have used it. If he had used it, he'd know that Hypatia had once worn it.

"Teach me and you're free."

"Bring the mask," I said.

He looked at me.

"I will wear it. I will become Hypatia. I will know what she knew. Then I will show you how to use it."

He went to get the mask.

It was such a simple thing, nothing like the elaborate monstrosities they sell tourists. Just a small circular disk, maybe nine inches in diameter. It had two eyeholes and a protrusion for the nose. The mouth was implied; there was no opening there. It wasn't an oracular mask. The wearer didn't speak. Its features, such as they were, were feminine—We witches always thought that made it ours. It had a small stud on each side with a leather strap attached. It was brown, except for several black streaks where it had been charred by fire.

He handed it to me. I put it on.

There was a small mirror on his bookcase, with a comb and grooming kit. I went and looked at myself. I saw myself in the mask. I studied myself. I moved my body, the mask's body. I tilted my head, the mask's head. It took me. I vanished into the flow of history. They swept past me, all their lives, all at once. I think I fell down.

Then they resolved, Bruno's first. His magic was perhaps the strongest, his mastery of memory the most profound. His should be first. I saw his books—my books, my spells, charts, and symbols. I saw women through my eyes, vapid, vain temptresses, turning me from the heavens. I saw the faces of the inquisitors. I saw the fire.

I broke from him. I swept through history again. I was a Russian witch, introducing a young wellspring to the pleasures of magic. What a beautiful girl, such joy on her face. I would have liked to stay there, but no—I was here for a reason. I broke from her.

I was a monk, giggling and running through the cloister, chasing one of my brethren, him laughing too. He bent and lifted his habit, baring his ass. I approached. I puckered my lips. I broke from them.

I was a magician, riding east from a burning city, Alexandria conquered for Islam. I had a chest of scrolls, spirited from the city, under the noses of the Caliph's soldiers. I hid them in my library and read them by candlelight. I was desperate for truth. The mask was with the scrolls. I wore it, but couldn't unlock its secret. I broke from him.

Finally, I was her.

By some perversity, I started at the end. I was pulled from my chariot by a howling mob, enraged by some minor religious dispute. The dragged me up marble steps into a church. They threw me down. They fell upon me, dozens of them, flaying my flesh with bits of stone and shells.

I focused. I let the vision wash over me. I didn't break from her, even as she died.

It was past noon, and a hot Egyptian sun cast his light through an open window. I was in a library, surrounded by hundreds of scrolls, in Greek, Aramaic, Hebrew, Coptic, even the old Egyptian hieroglyphs. I understood them all. Students surrounded me, men, women, boys, and girls. I read aloud from a scroll, about the one, the all seeing eye, the word unspoken, the center without diameter, the uncreated creator. My students listened, gazing at me with love. I loved them back.

I was chaste. The Curator had been right about that.

It was night. An assistant and I were miles south of the city in the open dessert. The air was dry, the sky clear. I saw the stars, all of them. They flickered brightly in the cold. I found Jupiter and Mars. Venus had fallen below the horizon. There was no moon. We began a ritual. We chanted deep into the night. We burned incense in large brass censers. We scrawled figures in the sand by flickering candlelight. Then we lay back, at arm's length, and gazed into the sky, our perception open.

I ascended. That night I ascended, all the way. I saw it.

I snapped back into my body. I was Rachel again.

I opened my eyes. He looked down at me.

"What did you see? What did you learn?"

I smiled.

"You were right. She was chaste."

He crossed himself. "Thank god," he muttered out.

"I saw it," I said.

"What?" His expression turned dark.

"The one. The word unspoken. The all seeing eye."

He crossed himself again. He muttered a prayer under his breath. I sat up and smiled.

"And?" he asked, waiting, his eyes wide.

I laughed. "I don't think he liked me very much. The all seeing eye was sort of a dick."

His expression was priceless. I rose from the floor.

"Anyway, it was kind of disappointing. Hypatia didn't really know anything I didn't already know. I mean—except about Egyptian tides and astronomy and stuff, and who cares about that."

He started to mumble something, but I continued.

"So—I'm going back to the hotel to fuck my girlfriends. I'm going to take your daughter too. She's gonna become my new apprentice…Come Lauren and Fi. Let's go."

It took a second for his brain to catch up with his ears. He started a spell, but I had the drop on him. I cast. His legs were swept from under him and he went down hard. A weird gray membranous substance sealed over his mouth and nose. He reached and clawed at it, his eyes wide with terror.

I looked down at him squirming.

"Usually this is when you'd die, but you did save our lives before, Lauren and me. I'm not ungrateful. For that small thing, you get to live."

I cast again. A small hole opened where the membrane covered his nose, and I heard him wheezing. However, more membranes appeared, spawning out of his flesh, wrapping up his arms and legs. He shuddered. He rolled about.

"The spell will wear off in a few hours. Just relax."

Fi came up. "You're letting him live?"

"Yeah."

"Is that a good idea? He can command angels. He won't be a good enemy to have."

I pondered. "No. You're right, but he was right too. There's been too much death. Plus, I'm sorta curious to see what he'll do."

I looked. "He gets to live."

I turned from him. Lauren and Fi joined me. We walked to the door.

"Oh, I almost forgot," I said, turning back, "To use the mask, just look in a mirror while you're wearing it, and sort of move around watching yourself. You'll go into the trance. It's really easy."

We left the room. The mask was still there, laying on the floor as if absentmindedly knocked off a shelf by the cleaning staff.

I went to her door and knocked. She opened. She smiled when she saw me.

"Did you win? Did you get the mask?" she asked.

"Yes, but it was hard. Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

We walked together.

Outside, she asked, "Did my father die?"

"No sweetie. I left him alive."

She pondered.

"I'm glad. I wouldn't want him to die."

When we got back to our room the fucking started. Fi and I were pretty well drained, and we needed it. Sophia just wanted it. We all three got it, one at a time from Lauren. Then it was her turn. I suggested that Sophia eat her. Lauren lay back, smiling, with her legs hanging over the bed. Sophia went down. Fi plopped down on the bed and went to work on her tits. I sat with my back to the baseboard and held her head on my lap.

I had lied to the Curator. I had seen the one, the word unspoken, the all seeing eye—but it hadn't hated me, far from it. It gazed into me with perfect love, fascinated by me, enthralled by me. It loved me more than than any other girl. That's why I had so much. That's why I wasn't worried about some pesky angel.

I saw Lauren get close, then over the edge. She passed from pleasure to desperation, then ecstasy, then joy. She curled up and giggled. She gazed at me. I looked. I just looked.

(To be continued …)

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