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From: voraxanimus@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} The Witch's Kiss (ff nosex)
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Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2006 16:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "The Witch's Kiss.doc" begin>

Shadows walked the gray streets of New York, the city's living
dead. 

Umbrellas and overcoats shielded the city's masses from the
elements and each other, as they shambled through winter's damp
misery. Thick, moist snow slowly fell, clotting the sidewalks
like plaque in the city's veins. Most storefronts were shuttered
and dark ahead of the storm; a smattering of shops and the
obligatory bars still shone with inner light. 

Sara hated the city. The people, the grime, the mocking,
monstrous rats. It had no soul, it had no life. It only slowly
drained it from those within, a vampire of concrete and steel.
She did not look up at the grim, sodden faces tramping to and fro
around her. She saw the same face in her mirror every night. 

A ghost, perhaps. 

An urban wraith.

She had been pretty, once. Or so the pictures said. They
whispered blond, they whispered healthy... how they lied and
lied. She caught a glimpse of a woman in the window, drawn and
tired, awash in monochrome. The woman blinked with her and
quickly looked away. With a shivered sigh she dug into her pocket
and drew out a crumbled scrap of paper, glared at it, and marched
on. 

11 blocks deeper into the city's rotted core, the masses had
thinned to a scarce, motley few, either scrambling to be off the
streets before deeper night, or sagging against a urine stained
wall as their fix wore off. No stores here, few lights at all.
Only one sign glowed in the shadows, garish in red, flickering
neon. 

Digging the scrap of paper out once more, Sara checked the name
against the sign. It had to be it. Closing her fist around the
address, her tiny frame began to shake, having nothing to do with
the bitter cold.

"This has to be it," she whispered, biting her lip against her
tremors. After so many years and so many frustrations... all the
money and hope devoured by charlatans... this had to be the one.


With a last glance up and down the near-empty street, Sara let
the scrap of paper fall with the rain and entered the small
occult bookshop. 

Delicate chimes sang out as Sara opened the door. Lamps covered
in red lace and scores of candles filled the place with warm,
diffuse light. An incense burner on the counter sent tendrils of
sweet smoke drifting towards the shadowed ceiling. Books of odd
sizes and dark matter sat quietly on their shelves. Behind the
small counter, crystal curiosities winked at her in the dancing
candlelight. The obligatory black cat lay curled on a chair,
oblivious to his customer. 

Sara reached a tentative hand to pet the sleeping cat. 

Very soft. 

Very dead.

"He won't bite." 

Sara bolted upright and turned towards the throaty, deeply
accented voice. 

"Asmodeus always loved that chair," the lush, dusky woman said,
as she brushed aside the red velvet curtain on the far wall and
slowly walked to the chair. "He passed in his sleep, right here,"
she said, crouching beside the chair and caressing the
well-preserved fur. She met Sara's eyes with sultry mirth in
hers. "Cats, even in death, stake their claims." 

"I wouldn't know," Sara said quietly, quickly brushing back her
damp hair and stepping back. She suddenly felt vulnerable and
exposed in the presence of this woman; as if she were a beacon
that threatened to illuminate her shadows and shine upon her
sheltered soul. 

"Now," the woman's dark eyes still held hers as she lovingly
kissed the cat's forehead. "How can I help you... Sara?" 

The room seemed suddenly hot, yet Sara shivered as if a spider
danced along her spine. 

"I've heard that you people say..." Sara stammered, suddenly
unable to put words together. 

Ibeth laughed, deep and sardonic, walking towards Sara along the
counter, running a black-polished fingernail along the shiny
metal edge. "People say, people say," she said in a mock whisper,
coming to stand so close to Sara that she could feel the warmth
bleeding from the lush woman's body. "What do people say about
Ibeth, eh? That she flies about on her broom, stealing children?"
she whispered, so close that her breath warmed Sara's ear. "Or
tricks young husbands into her bed?"
 
"N no," Sara stammered, hands clenched to her sides and her eyes
closed as Ibeth's presence seemed poised to envelop her. 

"People say many things," Ibeth said, turning towards a shelf and
adjusting wayward books. "Not all are true." 

Sara collected herself for a moment, still lightheaded from
Ibeth's intoxicating proximity. 

"You can bring back the dead," she said, finding her voice once
more. "That is what people say." 

Ibeth paused in place, book in hand. A slow, wicked smile crept
across her full lips as she glanced sidelong towards Sara. "I
think that Asmodeus is proof enough that I cannot bring him, or
anyone else, back from the dead." Sara looked mutely to the dead
cat, sensing that familiar, clenching hand of hopelessness and
failure reaching for her once more. "No one may bring the dead
back to life," Ibeth said, slowly sliding the book back into
place. "But," she said turning to face Sara again. "There are
times, rare times, when lines may be crossed... a rules bent,
just a little."

Sara felt flush and had to open her coat, for surely the heat was
rising in the shrinking room. 
"Charlatans and psychics will deceive and charade," Ibeth was
saying, voice deep and emphatic. "But they cannot do what I can
do." She half-turned to Sara once again, brushing her long black
hair from her face. "What you ask of me is very delicate, very
dangerous... and very expensive." 

"I have money," Sara said, hand unconsciously covering her worn
purse.

"Do you?" Ibeth asked absently, taking a curious coin from a
shelf.  Rolling it through her fingers, she turned her smoky gaze
back to Sara.  "How much did you bring?"

Sara stared at the glittering coin as it danced along Ibeth's
long, crimson nailed fingers.  "Five thousand," she finally
whispered. "Everything I have."

The coin stopped its dance.  Ibeth stared into Sara's deep brown
eyes, a crooked smile slowly spreading across her lips.  She let
the coin slide into her palm, slowly messaging it with her
fingers.  "That is a lot of money," she whispered, opening her
hand towards Sara.  Glittering, golden dust slowly trickled
between her fingers where the coin had been. 

"A lot of money," Ibeth continued.  "But not enough."  

"It has to be," Sara stammered, watching the golden particles
slowly fall to glitter upon the dark counter.  "It's all I have,
I've sold everything."  She looked up to Ibeth, tears glimmering
in the corners of her eyes.  "This is all I have.  I need to see
him again, please."

"You're husband?"

Sara could only nod, chin slightly quivering from deep emotion.

Ibeth studied the other woman in silence, dark eyes enveloping.
Sara felt herself growing oddly warm and shiveringly cold under
the woman's intense, penetrating gaze.  Ibeth's ruby lips slowly
took on a crooked smile once more.  She carefully edged the
golden dust into her palm and walked around the counter, taking
Sara's hand in hers.  

"For you, today," she said, still grasping Sara's hand firmly,
"It will be enough."  Slowly releasing Sara's hand, she brushed
closely by and locked the front door.  "Follow me," Ibeth said,
heading towards a deep green curtained door in the back.

Sara watched her go for a moment, then looked into her palm.  The
golden coin shone in the dim light, still warm from Ibeth's hand.
 Setting it carefully back upon the counter, Sara followed.

Tapestries and ornate silks covered the walls of the warm,
incense-laden room.  Numerous candles on small tables and shelves
cast flickering light across the small lace covered table in the
center.  Two chairs sat opposite the other.  There seemed to be
no other door, but Ibeth was nowhere to be seen.  Clutching her
purse tightly, Sara sat in the closest chair and tried to slow
her quickening pulse.

Soft hands on her shoulder made Sara jump.

"What we do here is not a trifle," Ibeth breathed, her lips
inches from Sara's ear, hands slowly caressing her shoulders. 
"We are stepping beyond the pale tonight, and into the shadow
world. Are you ready?"

Sara hesitated, but slowly nodded.

"Are you," Ibeth asked again in her throaty whisper, sliding to
Sara's other ear, brushing her hair back with her cheek.  "You
are about to see your husband again, this one and only time."
Sara's pulse began to thunder in her ears as Ibeth's hands slowly
slid from her shoulders to her blouse, delicately cupping her
breasts.  "He will be here, but he will be in me," Ibeth
whispered gliding around to face Sara.  "How will you greet him,"
she asked, her lips a heartbeat from Sara's.

Something tidal began to stir within Sara.  Reaching up with
unsteady hands, she wrapped her fingers in Ibeth's luxurious hair
and drew her lips to hers, drinking in the woman's exotic
essence.  Deep currents rose and swirled, nipples stiffening as
Ibeth's hands still danced across Sara's breasts, as their lips
remained fused in passion.

There was no Time, there was no Here.  There was only the flaming
heat of the witch's kiss.

Sara's eyes fluttered open.   Ibeth was sitting across the table,
lips again wearing that crooked smile.  Sara's hand went to her
purse.  Ibeth opened a small drawer on the table and lifted a
thick wad on currency, then set it into the drawer and closed
it.

"We are ready, Sara, yes?"

Sara could only nod, still high from Ibeth's narcotic lips.

"Stay still. Stay quiet.  You will know when he is here.  I will
still be here as well, but he will have the fore."

Sara nodded again, not really understanding.  She shifted
nervously in her seat as Ibeth slowly closed her eyes and seemed
to slow her breathing until she seemed as still as Asmodeus on in
his chair.   Time dragged on.  Several candles flickered and died
slow deaths, drowning in their own wax.  Sara glanced at her
watch... an hour had passed.  Ibeth did not stir, did not seem to
breathe.

Something had gone wrong.

"Ibeth?"

Nothing.

Leaning forward, Sara waved a hand before the woman's face.

Nothing.

Slowly standing, she walked around the table to kneel at her
side.  Reaching a careful hand, she laid it upon Ibeth's.  

Cold.

"Ibeth," Sara said again, this time shaking her shoulder lightly.
 "Wake up!"

Sara stood massaged her now-throbbing forehead.  Something had
gone wrong. Would she be blamed?  She quickly turned to go...
remembering her money, she turned back.  Hastily leaning across
the mute Ibeth, she found the small drawer and opened it.

"Sara?"

The voice, inches from her ear, made her choke down a scream as
she stumbled back, knocking a stand of candles from its shelf.  

Ibeth was looking at her.  Ibeth's eyes... but something else...
someone else.

"John?" she stammered, stepping away from the wall, oblivious to
the tapestry that was starting to catch fire from the fallen
candles.  "Johnny?"

"Sara," the voice said again, huskier than Ibeth.  "What's
happening?  I feel... strange."  That accent.  Brooklyn.

Emotions began to flood Sara, threatening to capsize what small
raft of sanity she still had.  She hesitated at first, walking
towards Ibeth... towards her husband.  She slowly pushed the
table away and knelt at his feet, taking his hands in hers.

"Johnny...  is it really you?"

"Yes... I can see you... you cut your hair..."  He tried to lift
his hand to her hair, but could barely move.  "What's going on,
baby?"

Sara stood and straddled his lap, cupping his face in her hands
and deeply kissing him, the flickering light from the burning
tapestry dancing across her face.

"All these years, I needed to see you again," she breathed into
his neck, one hand entwining in his thick hair, her free hand
reaching behind.  "I needed to see you one more time."  

Sitting back, she smiled once more, staring into his eyes,
pulling his head back.

The knife flashed in the growing flame as it quickly opened his
throat.

Under her weight the body convulsed and thrashed, but seemed
powerless to unseat her, hands rising but flopping back down like
a stringless puppet.

"What the fuck," he gurgled, frothy blood bubbling from his
mouth.  "What the fuck are you doing... stupid bitch!'

"I needed to see you one more time," Sara grunted, driving the
knife into his ribs,  "because having you killed just didn't do
it for me. I guess I just needed to watch you die."

"Sara," Ibeth gurgled, her voice now, once-mysterious eyes now
clouded, fading.  "How can you... do... this..."

Sara leaned down and softly, lovingly kissed her bloody lips,
tasting her waning life.  "Sorry, sweety... nothing personal."

JohnnyIbeth jerked again as the knife plunged in again, so deep
that it lodged between two ribs.  The slowly growing pool of
blood began hissing and steaming as it seeped into the flames
that now fed upon the entire wall.  Sara turned and opened the
drawer, and took out the wad of bills.  She peered into the
waning eyes, kissed the money, and threw it into the fire.

"Worth every penny, Johnny, worth every penny."

"Fuck... you... bitch..."

With a dark, joyful laugh Sara stepped around the chair and
shoved.  JohnnyIbeth 
fell into the flames, writhing and gurgling in agony as that
deep, lustrous hair caught fire and the fine velvet dress began
to burn. Sara stood and savored the sight for a few moments more,
then overturned more candles to add to the growing inferno. 
Taking up her purse, she littered the path to the door with fire,
so that when she stepped outside, the shop was fully embraced by
the voracious flame.

The cold rain cooled and caressed, washing the blood from Sara's
face and hands as she walked away, dampening the blood on her
clothes to a dripping sanguine shade.

Another ghost, another shadow.

Smiling with crimson joy.



<1st attachment end>


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