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From: Bad Fred <badfred99@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Giordano's Mask -- Chapter 5 of 6 (Ff+, viol, magic, rom, con, slow)
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Date: Fri, 26 Mar 2010 15:10:04 -0400
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BadFred
Read my stories: http://www.asstr.org/~badfred/
<1st attachment, "giordano5.txt" begin>

Title:  Giordano's Mask -- Chapter 5 of 6

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

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


*****


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.

I smiled.  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, sort of 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 leaned and 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.  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.
We went 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, he'd have known she wore 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 
along it, 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 ...)


*****


Tell me what you think: (badfred99@gmail.com)

Read my other stories: http://www.asstr.org/~badfred
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