LJ Idol, Season 10 Week 16: The Rent I Pay
“Holy shit! Holy shit holy shit holy shit oh my gods!”
One hand clawed at the sheets. The other grasped his hair. She squirmed. Her back arched. Her legs had to be held apart.
“Don't stop please don't stop!”
Somebody stormed into the bedroom and demanded, “Rafaela Torres, we must talk.”
Rafaela scrambled to cover herself in a blanket, and Ken shot straight up on his knees before realizing he should cover up too.
Catching her breath, Rafaela tried to get a look at the third person in the darkened room. Its figure-slender, but gently curved-identified it as a female or a male identifying as female. There was really long hair that could have been any color, just not blond or gray, and a floor-length skirt. So who was this?
The person took a step further inside the room, and Rafaela could make out a corset and a round face that would have looked very young had the eyes not been so ancient. She recognized her.
Rafaela turned to Ken and told him, “This is my friend Morgan, who has no concept of boundaries.”
“Hello,” he said, not looking her in the eye.
“Babe,” Rafaela requested, “why don't you give Morgan and me some time to ourselves. I have a feeling we've got much to discuss.”
“Oh, okay.” Very conscious of his nakedness, he put on a bathrobe as discreetly as possible and left the room.
As soon as she was sure he was gone, Rafaela stood up, her bed sheet clutched to her chest, and growled, “Was that absolutely necessary, Morrigan? Could you have timed that better? I was this close...” She held the tip of her thumb and index finger a couple of millimeters apart. “... to cumming so hard.”
“From what I've observed,” the Morrigan replied, “such orgasms have been a common occurrence since you've been with Ken. I hope you appreciate how fortunate you are.”
“Of course you watch me having sex. Why wouldn't you?”
The Morrigan tried to stay focused. “I have need of your skills.”
“I hope you're not talking about magic, because I don't do that anymore. I'm retired.”
“You're thirty-five years old,” the Morrigan reminded her. “You're far too young to speak of retirement.”
“I have my reasons.”
“You made a vow to me, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Rafaela sighed. “Though you have to forgive me if I did forget. I made that vow seven years ago, and in all that time I haven't heard a single word from you.”
“I prefer to handle my own problems.”
“What's different this time?” Rafaela asked.
“The human at the center of the issue is exceptionally clever.”
“You're going to have to be more specific,” said Rafaela.
The Morrigan explained, “Some time ago, a man called out to me, begging for the talent to share his soul with the world. I gave him this, in exchange for a sacrifice. And because I am a kind goddess, I gave him twenty years before he had to pay. His time was up three years ago. However, five years ago, he stepped into his home and has yet to emerge. I've come to discover that he spent the intervening years learning the magic it would take to keep me out.”
Rafaela got it. “So you want me to go in and force him to make his sacrifice?”
“You only need to break the wards so I can do it.”
“Is it a human sacrifice?” Rafaela asked. “Because I'm not sure I can get behind that.”
The Morrigan laughed. “Blood sacrifices are so passe.”
“Whatever it is, it's going to depress me, won't it?”
“Dress,” the Morrigan ordered. “You leave immediately.”
“Are you magically transporting me there?”
The Morrigan laughed again. “You're driving,”
Rafaela looked at the door for a moment. “What am I supposed to tell Ken? He doesn't know anything about my magical life, and I want to keep it that way.”
“It's a small thing to alter a human's memories so he doesn't recall certain details.”
Rafaela shook her head. “I think I'll make up a story.”
“That has a high probability of failure.”
“I'll deal with it,” she muttered. She wasn't thrilled with the idea of being dishonest with Ken. He was such a great guy-attractive, calm, put together, able to manage his own finances, and really generous in bed. Not being straight with him was just flat-out wrong. Of course she'd been lying to him since the beginning about her religion, but somehow that only made this worse.
She told him that her friend Morgan was having a crisis and that she would tell him the details later, planning on using the drive to make some details up. Ken, bless his heart, believed her. So she got in her car and took the long trip to Binghamton, New York, stopping only for gas, gas station coffee, and the restroom. She arrived at dawn.
The house was squat, and was surrounded by a privacy fence in the back and a shorter, hip-high chain-link fence in front. She opened the gate to this and stepped through a ward so powerful she could feel it in her molars. After placing a chunk of hematite in the entryway, she crossed her fingers, waved her arm, and said, “Permitir entrada para aqueles que você proibiu.”
The ward lifted.
Her next stop was the door to the house. She had two options: she could ring the doorbell and try to reason with the man inside, or she could break in and do all of her work in secret, running the risk of being seen by someone who was, by definition, always home. While she was pondering this, she suddenly stopped moving. “Oh, crap,” she mumbled, noting that at least her face worked.
The front door swung open to reveal a pale, shaggy man in pajamas and a bathrobe. “Why did you fuck up my wards?” he demanded. “I can't even go out in my yard now! I'm going to lose my fucking mind in this house!”
Rafaela's jaw dropped. “Holy shit! You're L.L. Rawlins! You're, like, my favorite author! I had no idea you were pagan. But seriously, Safe Passage is such an amazing book. It changed my life!”
L.L. Rawlins snorted. “It's not worth the price I'm paying for it. Now who sent you? Was it her? Who are you? Tell me! I have ways of extracting information from you, you know.”
“And that was a threat,” Rafaela sighed. “They always threaten. Entranhas esvaziar-se.”
L.L. Rawlins doubled over from some bowel discomfort, a look of horror on his face. “Did you just make me shit myself? You bitch!”
While he was cursing her, Rafaela whispered, “Morrigan, I beseech you, free me from this prison. Allow me to continue this mission I've begun for you.” A tingle ran up her arms and legs, and she had control over her limbs again.
L.L. Rawlins noticed this and turned inside, slamming the door behind him. Several loud thunks indicated that he was locking thoroughly.
That didn't slow down Rafaela at all. She kissed her pinkie, pressed it to each keyhole, and said, “Fechadura, falha em seu dever; Permita-me a passagem.” After doing that several times, the door clicked open. She slipped inside and immediately heard a low-pitched click.
L.L. Rawlins, waving a handgun, demanded, “Who do you think you are?”
“Entranhas esvaziar-se,” Rafaela replied, and his bowels emptied again. This distracted him long enough that she was able to snatch the gun from his hand and punch him in the face. She popped out the clip and emptied the chamber before tossing the pistol across the room. “There's no call for firearms, Mr. Rawlins.”
“Please don't let her in!” he begged.
“What's worth all of this?” she asked. “What is so important to you that it's turned you into one of the most famous literary hermits in history? Is her sacrifice all that bad?”
“She wants my photographs,” he told her. “Every single one, from when I got my first camera at the age of ten to my latest cell phone pic. I'm supposed to destroy them all. And twenty years ago, I thought I could. But I can't. It's my history.”
“That's pretty bad,” Rafaela agreed. “I received something from the Morrigan in exchange for three favors. I never dreamed that one of them would be tormenting my favorite author. Was it worth it? I'm never going to know, because the something in question never stuck around. But a deal's a deal.” She crouched down and pulled open the door, placing a chunk of hematite on the threshold. She crossed her fingers and waved her arms.
“Don't!” he pleaded.
She said, “Permitir entrada para aqueles que você proibiu.”
L.L. Rawlins hung his head in defeat.
The Morrigan pushed her way inside. “Leonard,” she declared, “you have something of mine.”
“You know,” Rafaela suggested, “maybe you don't have to be so hard on the guy.”
The Morrigan whipped her head around and struck her with a glare that could have been fatal. “Don't presume to command me!”
“I was just-” Rafaela stammered.
“Enough!” the Morrigan roared.
A gust of wind rose up from the interior of the house and blew Rafaela outside. The door slammed.
She picked her aching body up off the path, dusted herself off, and decided she wanted no further part in this. She walked to her car and headed home to Ken.
One hand clawed at the sheets. The other grasped his hair. She squirmed. Her back arched. Her legs had to be held apart.
“Don't stop please don't stop!”
Somebody stormed into the bedroom and demanded, “Rafaela Torres, we must talk.”
Rafaela scrambled to cover herself in a blanket, and Ken shot straight up on his knees before realizing he should cover up too.
Catching her breath, Rafaela tried to get a look at the third person in the darkened room. Its figure-slender, but gently curved-identified it as a female or a male identifying as female. There was really long hair that could have been any color, just not blond or gray, and a floor-length skirt. So who was this?
The person took a step further inside the room, and Rafaela could make out a corset and a round face that would have looked very young had the eyes not been so ancient. She recognized her.
Rafaela turned to Ken and told him, “This is my friend Morgan, who has no concept of boundaries.”
“Hello,” he said, not looking her in the eye.
“Babe,” Rafaela requested, “why don't you give Morgan and me some time to ourselves. I have a feeling we've got much to discuss.”
“Oh, okay.” Very conscious of his nakedness, he put on a bathrobe as discreetly as possible and left the room.
As soon as she was sure he was gone, Rafaela stood up, her bed sheet clutched to her chest, and growled, “Was that absolutely necessary, Morrigan? Could you have timed that better? I was this close...” She held the tip of her thumb and index finger a couple of millimeters apart. “... to cumming so hard.”
“From what I've observed,” the Morrigan replied, “such orgasms have been a common occurrence since you've been with Ken. I hope you appreciate how fortunate you are.”
“Of course you watch me having sex. Why wouldn't you?”
The Morrigan tried to stay focused. “I have need of your skills.”
“I hope you're not talking about magic, because I don't do that anymore. I'm retired.”
“You're thirty-five years old,” the Morrigan reminded her. “You're far too young to speak of retirement.”
“I have my reasons.”
“You made a vow to me, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Rafaela sighed. “Though you have to forgive me if I did forget. I made that vow seven years ago, and in all that time I haven't heard a single word from you.”
“I prefer to handle my own problems.”
“What's different this time?” Rafaela asked.
“The human at the center of the issue is exceptionally clever.”
“You're going to have to be more specific,” said Rafaela.
The Morrigan explained, “Some time ago, a man called out to me, begging for the talent to share his soul with the world. I gave him this, in exchange for a sacrifice. And because I am a kind goddess, I gave him twenty years before he had to pay. His time was up three years ago. However, five years ago, he stepped into his home and has yet to emerge. I've come to discover that he spent the intervening years learning the magic it would take to keep me out.”
Rafaela got it. “So you want me to go in and force him to make his sacrifice?”
“You only need to break the wards so I can do it.”
“Is it a human sacrifice?” Rafaela asked. “Because I'm not sure I can get behind that.”
The Morrigan laughed. “Blood sacrifices are so passe.”
“Whatever it is, it's going to depress me, won't it?”
“Dress,” the Morrigan ordered. “You leave immediately.”
“Are you magically transporting me there?”
The Morrigan laughed again. “You're driving,”
Rafaela looked at the door for a moment. “What am I supposed to tell Ken? He doesn't know anything about my magical life, and I want to keep it that way.”
“It's a small thing to alter a human's memories so he doesn't recall certain details.”
Rafaela shook her head. “I think I'll make up a story.”
“That has a high probability of failure.”
“I'll deal with it,” she muttered. She wasn't thrilled with the idea of being dishonest with Ken. He was such a great guy-attractive, calm, put together, able to manage his own finances, and really generous in bed. Not being straight with him was just flat-out wrong. Of course she'd been lying to him since the beginning about her religion, but somehow that only made this worse.
She told him that her friend Morgan was having a crisis and that she would tell him the details later, planning on using the drive to make some details up. Ken, bless his heart, believed her. So she got in her car and took the long trip to Binghamton, New York, stopping only for gas, gas station coffee, and the restroom. She arrived at dawn.
The house was squat, and was surrounded by a privacy fence in the back and a shorter, hip-high chain-link fence in front. She opened the gate to this and stepped through a ward so powerful she could feel it in her molars. After placing a chunk of hematite in the entryway, she crossed her fingers, waved her arm, and said, “Permitir entrada para aqueles que você proibiu.”
The ward lifted.
Her next stop was the door to the house. She had two options: she could ring the doorbell and try to reason with the man inside, or she could break in and do all of her work in secret, running the risk of being seen by someone who was, by definition, always home. While she was pondering this, she suddenly stopped moving. “Oh, crap,” she mumbled, noting that at least her face worked.
The front door swung open to reveal a pale, shaggy man in pajamas and a bathrobe. “Why did you fuck up my wards?” he demanded. “I can't even go out in my yard now! I'm going to lose my fucking mind in this house!”
Rafaela's jaw dropped. “Holy shit! You're L.L. Rawlins! You're, like, my favorite author! I had no idea you were pagan. But seriously, Safe Passage is such an amazing book. It changed my life!”
L.L. Rawlins snorted. “It's not worth the price I'm paying for it. Now who sent you? Was it her? Who are you? Tell me! I have ways of extracting information from you, you know.”
“And that was a threat,” Rafaela sighed. “They always threaten. Entranhas esvaziar-se.”
L.L. Rawlins doubled over from some bowel discomfort, a look of horror on his face. “Did you just make me shit myself? You bitch!”
While he was cursing her, Rafaela whispered, “Morrigan, I beseech you, free me from this prison. Allow me to continue this mission I've begun for you.” A tingle ran up her arms and legs, and she had control over her limbs again.
L.L. Rawlins noticed this and turned inside, slamming the door behind him. Several loud thunks indicated that he was locking thoroughly.
That didn't slow down Rafaela at all. She kissed her pinkie, pressed it to each keyhole, and said, “Fechadura, falha em seu dever; Permita-me a passagem.” After doing that several times, the door clicked open. She slipped inside and immediately heard a low-pitched click.
L.L. Rawlins, waving a handgun, demanded, “Who do you think you are?”
“Entranhas esvaziar-se,” Rafaela replied, and his bowels emptied again. This distracted him long enough that she was able to snatch the gun from his hand and punch him in the face. She popped out the clip and emptied the chamber before tossing the pistol across the room. “There's no call for firearms, Mr. Rawlins.”
“Please don't let her in!” he begged.
“What's worth all of this?” she asked. “What is so important to you that it's turned you into one of the most famous literary hermits in history? Is her sacrifice all that bad?”
“She wants my photographs,” he told her. “Every single one, from when I got my first camera at the age of ten to my latest cell phone pic. I'm supposed to destroy them all. And twenty years ago, I thought I could. But I can't. It's my history.”
“That's pretty bad,” Rafaela agreed. “I received something from the Morrigan in exchange for three favors. I never dreamed that one of them would be tormenting my favorite author. Was it worth it? I'm never going to know, because the something in question never stuck around. But a deal's a deal.” She crouched down and pulled open the door, placing a chunk of hematite on the threshold. She crossed her fingers and waved her arms.
“Don't!” he pleaded.
She said, “Permitir entrada para aqueles que você proibiu.”
L.L. Rawlins hung his head in defeat.
The Morrigan pushed her way inside. “Leonard,” she declared, “you have something of mine.”
“You know,” Rafaela suggested, “maybe you don't have to be so hard on the guy.”
The Morrigan whipped her head around and struck her with a glare that could have been fatal. “Don't presume to command me!”
“I was just-” Rafaela stammered.
“Enough!” the Morrigan roared.
A gust of wind rose up from the interior of the house and blew Rafaela outside. The door slammed.
She picked her aching body up off the path, dusted herself off, and decided she wanted no further part in this. She walked to her car and headed home to Ken.