The beginning of the end, pt. 2.
28 June 1928
Marilena's research had been most fruitful. She had learned a bit about her client, as well as her project, and it was with eagerness that she wrote Amon to tell him of her trip to the mountains. She was uncertain of the length of her trip, but the rumours were too promising not to investigate. Scrolls, written by the hand of Vlad Tepes himself, it was said, guarded in a small chapel, nestled in the foothills of the Carpathians. It was too good to pass up.
Her assassin reported success, one of the old priests had "died peacefully in his sleep". Her Magister Templi confirmed that the Church was sending his young replacement... chosen specially for the position, with only a little pressure brought to bear. It was time. With luck, she would arrive just as the young priest was settling in.
Sasha and Safiya were used to her research expeditions, and said little as they sat together in the sun room, sipping honeyed tea and nibbling delicate, glistening segments of mandarin orange, fastidiously peeled, that not the slightest trace of pith remained to bitter the fruit... Marilena's favoured breakfast.
Marilena hugged and kissed her children, as she always did before such an expedition, out on the front steps of the Manor. She bade them to mind their governess well, and to not torment the inhabitants of the stable.. yes, including the stable boy, Marilena chided, ruffling Sasha's hair. She cupped their faces and said soft words of blessing in Latin over her children and her house, then let Jared help her into the carriage.
*****
Marilena arrived at the small chapel early in the afternoon, and found Father Gregor and his young companion awaiting her. They made quite the fuss over her, unused as they were to women who did things other than scratch out some meager sustenance from the grudging soil. Even Father Gregor's failing eyesight caught how young Father Viktor's eyes lingered on Marilena's very conservatively dressed curves. Marilena smiled inwardly, and paid most of her attention to Father Gregor, discussing philosophy, theology, and history, asking him for his personal interpretations of this verse or that from the Old Testament. The wizened old priest seemed satisfied that Marilena's visit was, indeed, purely for her stated purpose of recording the history of the oldest chapel in the Carpathians, as she settled in to a chess game with him. She kept him far too occupied to notice the burning gaze of young Father Viktor following her, and staring daggers at him.
Within a week, Father Viktor was her constant shadow. The dust in the chapel library was too much for poor old Father Gregor's weakened lungs, and so he tended the grounds as Father Viktor aided Marilena in her "research". Marilena had chosen Father Viktor knowing his reputation for less... priestly pursuits, a reputation which had made the good bishop in Rome all the more willing to send the lad out to the remote chapel. She pretended not to notice his eyes on her, the report her contact had sent her about the man had indicated a strong preference for being dominant. She was, however, by no means passive. As he leaned over her shoulder to look at something she pointed out, the faint scent of honeysuckle, jasmine, vanilla, and incense resins caught him, luring him closer. She dressed with care, her skirts chosen for the way they draped against her legs as she leaned on the ladder to select a tome, her blouses finest Chinese silk, shimmering under her well-fitted jackets, her hair up loosely, with errant, wispy curls escaping to brush the back of her neck. As he relaxed in her presence, and stood closer, spoke more softly, she grew more shy, looking up at him from beneath the thick veil of her dark lashes.
Father Viktor stood, stabilising the ladder for her, one afternoon. The dusty light from the small windows limned her form softly as he watched her stretching to reach a book, and as he was distracted by the dark thoughts languidly playing across his mind as she descended, she caught the opportunity and "misstepped" ever so slightly, jostling the ladder. His strong hands caught her, biting into her waist, against the thin silk of her blouse, and she let him hold her weight, sliding against him as he set her down. He stood, unmoving, as she turned to smile prettily up at him, exclaiming her surprise and gratitude softly. She was completely yielding as his mouth crushed over hers, turning her exclamation to a soft gasp. He took her there, against the books, so lost in pleasure that he never heard the incantations she muttered softly even through her orgasm.
A fortnight, and he was completely obsessed. When Father Gregor commented on the dark circles under his eyes, he blamed it on the howling of wolves. Marilena wove her entrancement around the young priest skillfully, ensnaring him quite thoroughly. She refused to let him come to her room at night, but in the day, in the library, she was his. And so it continued for nearly two months. Father Viktor's obsession with Marilena devouring him, Father Gregor growing more and more concerned. One night, Father Viktor could stand it no longer, and tapped at her door. Marilena feigned to not hear him, and his tapping grew louder, more insistant. Finally, she went to the door, opening it just enough for him to see the teasing glance of her silhouette against the diaphanous silk of her bedgown, limned by a single flickering candle, and she looked up at him with eyes wide with fear as she hushed him, exclaiming that Father Gregor would hear.
"Oh, I have heard quite enough already!" Father Gregor rasped from directly behind his young companion. Viktor turned on his heel, and brought his arms up to ward off the blows Gregor rained upon him with a scourge. The elderly priest was stronger than his wizend visage implied, he flung the surprised Viktor aside easily, and bashed in Marilena's door before she could bolt it. She cried out, and backed away from the crazed old priest as he shrieked words of exorcism at her, splashing holy water from a vial, and advancing upon her. She backed all the way into a corner of the room, her arms crossed to protect her face as he beat at her with the scourge and kept splashing holy water on her. Viktor grabbed him suddenly, spinning the old man around, and punched him. Gregor spat bloody froth as he continued the attempted exorcism, and Viktor caught sight of Marilena, her long hair loose, ends damp, her silk gown wet with blood and holy water, and torn by the lashes. She was careful to look thoroughly terrified, crying, and cowering slightly, but not so much as to keep him from seeing her exposed breast, hip, thigh... Viktor went mad, roaring at the older priest, and beating him with his fists.
Marilena had to drag Viktor off of the completely unidentifiable ruin that was Father Gregor. Father Viktor's hands were dripping viscera, his eyes were wild as he grabbed Marilena's shoulders, gore dripping onto the remnants of her bedgown. She pushed him out of the room, and back into his own chamber before she let him have his way of her. For the first time, Marilena stayed the night with him.
Waking to find herself alone, Marilena washed the priests off her flesh, and dressed quickly in her room. She would have to have Viktor clear the mess, she thought to herself as she made her way to the library, mildly curious as to where her young priest had got off to. She stopped short just inside the library, and blinked. Well. That certainly makes things easier, she thought, then set about searching the shelves. It only took her the afternoon to find the scrolls, tucked away in a box with the chalice, ciborium, and other communion items. She took a few rare tomes from the library, as well, and leaned up to kiss Viktor's cold, bare foot gently as she walked out. She loaded her luggage back onto the carriage, and drove herself eastward, to pick up her footmen in the village, stopping long enough to pen and post a brief missive to Amon, to let him know she had been successful, and was on her way home. Looking back, she imagined Viktor's dead eyes watching her from where he'd hanged himself, from the beam above the site of their first tryst.
Marilena's research had been most fruitful. She had learned a bit about her client, as well as her project, and it was with eagerness that she wrote Amon to tell him of her trip to the mountains. She was uncertain of the length of her trip, but the rumours were too promising not to investigate. Scrolls, written by the hand of Vlad Tepes himself, it was said, guarded in a small chapel, nestled in the foothills of the Carpathians. It was too good to pass up.
Her assassin reported success, one of the old priests had "died peacefully in his sleep". Her Magister Templi confirmed that the Church was sending his young replacement... chosen specially for the position, with only a little pressure brought to bear. It was time. With luck, she would arrive just as the young priest was settling in.
Sasha and Safiya were used to her research expeditions, and said little as they sat together in the sun room, sipping honeyed tea and nibbling delicate, glistening segments of mandarin orange, fastidiously peeled, that not the slightest trace of pith remained to bitter the fruit... Marilena's favoured breakfast.
Marilena hugged and kissed her children, as she always did before such an expedition, out on the front steps of the Manor. She bade them to mind their governess well, and to not torment the inhabitants of the stable.. yes, including the stable boy, Marilena chided, ruffling Sasha's hair. She cupped their faces and said soft words of blessing in Latin over her children and her house, then let Jared help her into the carriage.
*****
Marilena arrived at the small chapel early in the afternoon, and found Father Gregor and his young companion awaiting her. They made quite the fuss over her, unused as they were to women who did things other than scratch out some meager sustenance from the grudging soil. Even Father Gregor's failing eyesight caught how young Father Viktor's eyes lingered on Marilena's very conservatively dressed curves. Marilena smiled inwardly, and paid most of her attention to Father Gregor, discussing philosophy, theology, and history, asking him for his personal interpretations of this verse or that from the Old Testament. The wizened old priest seemed satisfied that Marilena's visit was, indeed, purely for her stated purpose of recording the history of the oldest chapel in the Carpathians, as she settled in to a chess game with him. She kept him far too occupied to notice the burning gaze of young Father Viktor following her, and staring daggers at him.
Within a week, Father Viktor was her constant shadow. The dust in the chapel library was too much for poor old Father Gregor's weakened lungs, and so he tended the grounds as Father Viktor aided Marilena in her "research". Marilena had chosen Father Viktor knowing his reputation for less... priestly pursuits, a reputation which had made the good bishop in Rome all the more willing to send the lad out to the remote chapel. She pretended not to notice his eyes on her, the report her contact had sent her about the man had indicated a strong preference for being dominant. She was, however, by no means passive. As he leaned over her shoulder to look at something she pointed out, the faint scent of honeysuckle, jasmine, vanilla, and incense resins caught him, luring him closer. She dressed with care, her skirts chosen for the way they draped against her legs as she leaned on the ladder to select a tome, her blouses finest Chinese silk, shimmering under her well-fitted jackets, her hair up loosely, with errant, wispy curls escaping to brush the back of her neck. As he relaxed in her presence, and stood closer, spoke more softly, she grew more shy, looking up at him from beneath the thick veil of her dark lashes.
Father Viktor stood, stabilising the ladder for her, one afternoon. The dusty light from the small windows limned her form softly as he watched her stretching to reach a book, and as he was distracted by the dark thoughts languidly playing across his mind as she descended, she caught the opportunity and "misstepped" ever so slightly, jostling the ladder. His strong hands caught her, biting into her waist, against the thin silk of her blouse, and she let him hold her weight, sliding against him as he set her down. He stood, unmoving, as she turned to smile prettily up at him, exclaiming her surprise and gratitude softly. She was completely yielding as his mouth crushed over hers, turning her exclamation to a soft gasp. He took her there, against the books, so lost in pleasure that he never heard the incantations she muttered softly even through her orgasm.
A fortnight, and he was completely obsessed. When Father Gregor commented on the dark circles under his eyes, he blamed it on the howling of wolves. Marilena wove her entrancement around the young priest skillfully, ensnaring him quite thoroughly. She refused to let him come to her room at night, but in the day, in the library, she was his. And so it continued for nearly two months. Father Viktor's obsession with Marilena devouring him, Father Gregor growing more and more concerned. One night, Father Viktor could stand it no longer, and tapped at her door. Marilena feigned to not hear him, and his tapping grew louder, more insistant. Finally, she went to the door, opening it just enough for him to see the teasing glance of her silhouette against the diaphanous silk of her bedgown, limned by a single flickering candle, and she looked up at him with eyes wide with fear as she hushed him, exclaiming that Father Gregor would hear.
"Oh, I have heard quite enough already!" Father Gregor rasped from directly behind his young companion. Viktor turned on his heel, and brought his arms up to ward off the blows Gregor rained upon him with a scourge. The elderly priest was stronger than his wizend visage implied, he flung the surprised Viktor aside easily, and bashed in Marilena's door before she could bolt it. She cried out, and backed away from the crazed old priest as he shrieked words of exorcism at her, splashing holy water from a vial, and advancing upon her. She backed all the way into a corner of the room, her arms crossed to protect her face as he beat at her with the scourge and kept splashing holy water on her. Viktor grabbed him suddenly, spinning the old man around, and punched him. Gregor spat bloody froth as he continued the attempted exorcism, and Viktor caught sight of Marilena, her long hair loose, ends damp, her silk gown wet with blood and holy water, and torn by the lashes. She was careful to look thoroughly terrified, crying, and cowering slightly, but not so much as to keep him from seeing her exposed breast, hip, thigh... Viktor went mad, roaring at the older priest, and beating him with his fists.
Marilena had to drag Viktor off of the completely unidentifiable ruin that was Father Gregor. Father Viktor's hands were dripping viscera, his eyes were wild as he grabbed Marilena's shoulders, gore dripping onto the remnants of her bedgown. She pushed him out of the room, and back into his own chamber before she let him have his way of her. For the first time, Marilena stayed the night with him.
Waking to find herself alone, Marilena washed the priests off her flesh, and dressed quickly in her room. She would have to have Viktor clear the mess, she thought to herself as she made her way to the library, mildly curious as to where her young priest had got off to. She stopped short just inside the library, and blinked. Well. That certainly makes things easier, she thought, then set about searching the shelves. It only took her the afternoon to find the scrolls, tucked away in a box with the chalice, ciborium, and other communion items. She took a few rare tomes from the library, as well, and leaned up to kiss Viktor's cold, bare foot gently as she walked out. She loaded her luggage back onto the carriage, and drove herself eastward, to pick up her footmen in the village, stopping long enough to pen and post a brief missive to Amon, to let him know she had been successful, and was on her way home. Looking back, she imagined Viktor's dead eyes watching her from where he'd hanged himself, from the beam above the site of their first tryst.