The Devil May Care

Do you have any family heirlooms on the mantelpiece? They are old reminders of relatives past, but they are also relics of past lives — very human lives. Elizabeth finds that her jewel box, handed down to her from many generations ago, contains a memento that changes her life — and others.

Thanks to RexBrookdale for help with the editing.

*

I dropped it.... Okay? It was just an accident. Really. Look up 'klutz' in the dictionary, and you will find my name: Elizabeth.

Little did I know, that being a fumble fingers would start the whole thing....

******

I dropped my antique jewel box. Well, not that I have much jewel-type jewelry, but the box had been my many-greats grandmother's, and I had had it for years. My grandmother Louet had given it to me when I was about three. I didn't remember that part, but my mother had told me, some years later, that she had done so not long before she died. As her only living granddaughter, she had wanted to be sure I got it. She told my mother its story, to tell me later when I could appreciate it.

It wasn't that great, as stories go. The jewel box was an heirloom which had come down from my something-great grandmother, Prudence, who had been one of many people accused of being a witch in Salem, Massachusetts. Yes, that Salem. Fortunately for her, she had never been brought to trial. Many poor girls -- and even a few guys -- had been executed for witchcraft: a capital felony in those days. Even after the witch trials ended the stain had stuck, and Prudence lived the rest of her life under a cloud of suspicion. Her family had married her off to an older widower who had managed to have a daughter with her before he died — my something-minus-one great grandmother.

The box wasn't big; I'd accidentally lost it for like a whole month under a sheet of paper. Inside, it was only a couple of inches deep. The wood had dried out and cracked in places. The hinges were still in pretty good shape, though blackened and green with age; must have been brass or something. A well-meaning ancestor had put a coat of pink paint on it, but most of that had worn away, leaving just wood with a few pinkish spots in the deeper parts of the grain, and in the ding on one side.

I kept my jewels in it. Of course my 'jewels' were only trinkets and keepsakes: my baby bracelet, my class ring from high school, that kind of thing. There was exactly one semiprecious stone among them all — a specially polished star sapphire ring, a gift from my 'forever and ever' boyfriend from high school. The same boyfriend who had enthusiastically pursued my friend Melanie once her boobs got as big as mine.

Still the box was a family heirloom, and I knew I needed to treasure it and keep it safe. That's why I was devastated when I dropped it: I'd picked it up to move it, but the edge caught the corner of a book lying alongside it, and before I knew what had happened, there it lay on the floor.

The lid popped right off, but that wasn't any big surprise. The hinge screws had pulled out long before I'd gotten it, and I'd only taped them in place so I wouldn't lose them. I picked up both box and lid and fitted them back together as before; only this time I noticed there was a crack along the bottom of the box.

Oh nuts. What had I done now? I examined the crack ... the crevice was actually part of a thin, straight seam that ran along the base about a quarter inch from the outside edge. Since curiosity hadn't killed this cat — yet, I probed a little with my fingernail. The gap widened. The seam extended all the way around the box. A little more probing, and I discovered it was a separate piece that could be removed.

So far so good. I decided to stick my nose in a little farther. Who can resist the lure of a secret compartment? Not me. Inside lay a folded-up piece of old paper, brittle, and yellowed with age. It was a handwritten note, but what penmanship! Not calligraphy; none of the fancy changes in line weight and formalized structure and all that. No, this was everyday writing, but I'd never seen script so elegant. Some of the words didn't make sense; several 'f' letters were in the wrong places.

Suddenly I remembered seeing the same thing in a handwritten copy of the US Bill of Rights: 'Congress' had been spelled 'Congrefs'. My teacher had explained it was the way they used to write the letter 's' in some words. This was definitely an old note — maybe even written by Prudence herself.

The word 'Visitation'.was printed on the back — a title? What that meant, I hadn't a clue. Reading on it looked like some sort of recipe. 'Flowers of nitre'. 'Blood of a bat'. My English ancestors had had low standards about what constituted food; but even so, bat's blood seemed a stretch. Everything listed sounded gross, nasty, or vile, and the preparation directions were every bit as weird. "Mix at midnight under the light of a full moon. Stir only with a sprig of mistletoe."

A delightful chill of recognition scurried down my spine. Witchcraft! Multi-great grandmother Prudence had been a witch, and this was a magic potion. Then I gave myself a stout mental slap on the side of my head. Don't be silly.

Yet, here in my hand, I held the evidence.

* * * * * *

In July, I had a couple weeks of vacation coming to me. I decided that would be the time to experiment with umpty-great grandma Prudence's magic potion. In the weeks leading up to it, I had worked to find the ingredients. The Internet was a godsend. Who knew there were coven supply stores catering to the needs of modern witches? I didn't buy much, having more than a few doubts about their legitimacy; but I did find a vial of bat's blood. The man had said it was bat's blood.... Even if it turned out to be only 'blood of a small mammal', it might still be okay for the bat thing.

By the start of my vacation I had everything ready. I watched the sun go down, in the nude, as instructed. I was so shy I stood well back from my open bedroom window, out of sight. As the sun set, the full moon rose — I could see it out my bathroom window. At midnight, I began mixing ingredients in a cast-iron pot. When I'd finished the last incantation, the potion slowly turned luminous, and vapors arose from the liquid, giving off an intoxicating scent. I took one deep sniff, and spoke the command line of the spell. The concoction gave off a pulse of light, and a denser stream of murky vapor began to rise into the air. Hastily, I moved back from the kettle.

Up until this point the whole thing had been a lark, an experiment ... a way of feeling a connection with dear old whatever-great grandmother Prudence. Now for the first time, I was having second thoughts. Maybe being a klutz was not my only strong point. Maybe being stupidly foolhardy was my defining characteristic.

The vapor suddenly condensed into the figure of a man — tall, well-built ... and entirely naked. The naked part caught my attention, but then I noticed the overall reddish tint to his skin, and two short, sharp horns protruding from his forehead.

Uh oh.

He looked around my bedroom, took a deep breath, and sighed. "Ah, the mortal plane! It has been years and years." Seeing me cowering by the closet, he said, "And you must be the summoner." He smiled and I saw a mouth full of big, white normal looking teeth — not a pointy fang in his mouth.

I suddenly remembered my nudity at just about the same moment he'd turned and looked at me. I bent over to cover all my places, and did not find enough parts to do the job. Too embarrassed to look at him, I partially turned away but then realized I had nothing to cover my bum if I turned any farther.

"Modesty," he sighed. "So there is still work for me to do here." He made an abrupt gesture with his hand for me to stand up. "Come, come. I am just an apparition constrained by your summoning spell. No need to be bashful. Neither of us has anything to hide from the other. You summoned me, so I am here at your request."

I glanced back at him. He did appear pretty insubstantial. He hadn't moved from the spot directly over the potion, and as I watched, a spiral of vapor seemed to give him a little more substance. It was like he was projected onto the fumes rising from the pot.

"That's right," he encouraged, "there's nothing to fear. I can't move from this spot, and I can't touch you because I'm not fully a part of this plane. Why don't we talk a bit?" He smiled, the very image of a caring, compassionate friend.

I was not fooled. Nope. Never. I had summoned the Deceiver, the Father of Lies, and I didn't believe a word. However, I did uncurl enough to stand a little straighter.

"That's better," he said and gestured toward my bed along the wall. "Why don't you sit down and be comfortable? It's been so long since I've had any communication with this plane, I would like to hear what is happening." He raised a ghostly hand thoughtfully to his chin. "Judging by your attempt at decorum just now, the Adversary still holds sway with his grandiose structure of propriety and strict rules of morality."

He was talking over my head, and it made me feel a little foolish. "Are you saying you think we should be naked all the time?"

"Of course not. How could you get anything done?" He leered a little at that, at least I think he did. His eyebrows appeared to be naturally arched, and his grin had been lopsided from the start. He gave a little chuff of a laugh. "No, my dear girl, everything has its place. However, your churchified leaders of morality would have you believe that any glimpse of 'forbidden' skin is unnatural, immoral, depraved, and just ... really bad." He had a nice smile, and I felt a little more comfortable. "I would, if I could, free you all from the burden of pointless moral mandates."

I sat on the edge of the bed — with my legs crossed. "Pointless?" I said. "My mother always said that morality is the only thing that separates us from the animals."

"You really think you humans are more moral than the animals? Yes, they kill and humans kill, but animals kill for need rather than just for the sake of sport or wholesale slaughter. Your race is not even half as moral as the wild beasts," he said disgustedly.

He sounded like my old philosophy professor, back five years ago when I was in college. I smiled just a little. I'd always enjoyed the arguments in that class. "So what is your grand scheme of morality?"

"It's not a grand scheme at all. No, I work to return the human race to the same, innocent version of sexual morality you are all born with before your social overlords, inspired by the Adversary, impose their own strait-jacketed version on your natural physicality."

He looked at me, and suddenly it felt as if his eyes were boring down into my very soul. My life was as naked to him as my body. Fight or flight? My muscles tensed to run, but at the last second I drew a deep breath. The feeling passed quickly, and I sat still while the pulse of adrenaline ebbed.

"Ah, you are still a maiden untutored in the carnal arts," he said. "Oh, a little play here and there, but unmarked and inexperienced." He smiled knowingly at me, and I had a sudden flush of shame. I had never yet had a serious boyfriend, and lately my dates had been mainly first dates.

I flashed on an image of Johnny Crawford, the first boy to kiss me, back in seventh grade. There had been very few since. I shrugged. "Okay, you got me. Big deal. I suppose your 'miracle cure' for the human race will change all that. You want to turn me and all the people on the planet into a bunch of sex maniacs." One thing I had learned working at Arnold Collections: a good offense was the best defense.

My devil incarnate smiled. "I only want to restore the sexuality that is rightfully yours. Take you," he continued. "You have so much to discover. Wouldn't you rather learn things the right way, the natural way, rather than be bound by some arbitrary rules of right and wrong?" He gestured down at himself. "Here is a perfect rendition of the human male form. As long as the spell holds me on this plane, you have the opportunity to study and learn."

He was right about the study part. While we had been talking, I had been observing his body, and it was pretty darned perfect. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him — every muscle stood out in chiseled perfection. Except for the horns, he could have been Michelangelo's David. Well, okay, there was the penis thing. David, the statue, has very modest equipment for a man of his stature. My captive Lucifer was hung like a bull.

"Ah, yes. The male organ. Please feel free to study it. Although this one is identical to a human penis, it does have several additional capabilities. I mean, how could I be super-natural if I didn't have something a little extra?" He put his hands on his hips. "An ordinary penis has two states, up or down, erect or flaccid, while my penis is entirely prehensile."

While I watched, it swelled up into an erection of impressive size and pointed urgently upward. I felt a little quiver of response between my legs. Evidently my sexual parts didn't care that this penis was attached to a demon direct from hell. His erection flexed to the right, then left, while he remained stationary, still posed in front of me. Up, then down. Then it curved around in a spiral. I felt another little flutter in my vagina, and I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have it up inside me, twisting, turning, exploring....

"There is the size thing, as well. Some women like large ..." his cock swelled larger and longer until it was at least as big around as the barrel of a baseball bat, "... while others prefer a more delicate approach." Obediently, the organ diminished in size, but still retained its flexible stiffness. "I can be whatever is needful."

Never having seen a live penis, let alone one like this, I was enthralled. My lips were dry as toast when I licked them. "Nice," I managed to croak.

"Hmm, you are interested, yes? Why don't you come a little closer? It's perfectly safe, and you can see better."

Mesmerized, I slid off the bed and approached the kettle on my hands and knees. As I got closer, I could see better. In fact, the closer I got, the more substantial he seemed. That was perfect, because I could see more and more detail of that impressive organ between his legs.

"Notice how I can make it point in any direction I want," his voice soothed, his cock moving in a serpentine fashion back and forth in front of my face. Fascinatingly mesmerizing.

"I think it would look better a little larger," I said. My chest tightened, as he obliged. "Now a little longer." I was no stranger to porn, but his cock was beyond anything I'd seen before. "Magnificent," I breathed.

"A little closer, perhaps?" he said, and I unthinkingly scooched a little closer. Now, he appeared as solid and real as flesh and blood, and I was just inches from his magnificent cock.

"You can touch it. I won't mind a bit."

My pussy gave a little throb of encouragement, and I reached out, folding my fingers around his huge organ. Incorporeal though he had appeared when first conjured, I now had my hands on a very tangible cock. As I stroked up and down its length, I heard him sigh.

"That is just perfect. Now we can do what I came here to do." He took my arm, pulled me to my feet, and steered me toward the bed. "Time to see to your sexual awakening."

My hand still around his cock, I suddenly realized he had stepped out of the vapor stream over the kettle. I tried to jump back. "You said you couldn't move! You said you couldn't touch me!" I accused. The Father of Lies still had hold of my arm, and he stayed right at my side.

"And that was all true." He shook his head, shushing me as I started to protest. "I couldn't touch you, but you could touch me. That's all it takes to make the connection. You invited me to step into your plane."

With a thrill of horror, I realized I had indeed made it possible for him to enter the physical world. I finally let go of his cock and pried at the fingers gripping my arm. "Let me go," I said, sounding like a bad actress in an afternoon TV drama.

Another step, and my knees were up against the edge of the bed; with a slight push, he unbalanced me, and I fell back onto the mattress. I managed to gasp out, "So now you are going to rape me and turn me into a mindless sex slave?" I was close to hyperventilating from fear.

That accusation made him pause, albeit only to chuckle. "You will not become a sex slave," he said. "In fact, you will have much more control over your own sexuality than ever before. You will know your body so well you will be able to tell when you are fertile — or not. All of your old, patriarchal inhibitions will be gone. Yes, you will most likely have more sex, but it will only be the sex you want to have."

"So I'll probably catch some disease then." I was sitting up on the bed, and he still held my arm, but he had made no other moves. Yet.

"You will find yourself much more perceptive of another's state of health. Someone with a sexual disease will seem repellent." He took my arm and urged me back on the bed. "And I will not rape you." He smiled, and I felt a twitch down in my loins. Oh, body, betray me not. I couldn't take my eyes off his lips as he said, "I will not violate you against your will," his smile got broader, "but everyone welcomes me."

"Fat chance," I said as he pulled my arm up to the head of the bed.

"Hold that," he commanded. My hand involuntarily gripped one of the spindles on the headboard. He let go of that arm and took hold of the other one. "Hold that," he said again, and at his command my other hand gripped another spindle. Now I was flat on my back with my hands firmly clutching the headboard. I couldn't let go.

He stood for a moment and appraised me thoughtfully. "Now, if you should like to talk with me again, you don't have to go through all of this." He gestured at my witch's caldron. "No, all you need do is call my name out loud three times. Just say, 'Red, Red, Red.' [Actual name redacted for safety reasons, the Establishment.]."

At that point I just wanted him to leave me alone. I had no interest in ever, at any point in my hopefully long life, seeing him again and told him so. "But you're going to rape me anyway," I wailed, "so just get to it."

The bed sagged as he sat down alongside me. "No, I won't do anything you don't want me to. All I am going to do is give you one little kiss."

One little kiss? He was a guy. All right, a guy-devil, and he had me naked and helpless on the bed. I watched his eyes, as he got closer to my face. He was handsome in a diabolical way, and I probably would have kissed an ordinary guy who looked half as good.

When his lips touched mine, I got the surprise of my life. A wave of pure pleasure danced around the rim of my mouth. My lips spasmed with orgasmic bliss. I heard myself moaning and even squealing as he released my lips and withdrew slowly, pausing six inches away. I found it difficult to catch my breath so I could ask, "Oh my god, what was that?"

He smiled. "That was a foul oath you just used, but I'll excuse you this time." He tilted his head to one side and looked at me. "One of my talents is producing orgasms in humans. I said I would not do anything more than one kiss. So. There you go."

What a kiss! I still couldn't let go of the headboard, but I also couldn't help wanting to experience that kiss again. "Wait." And here you go making a deal with the Devil, I told myself — but I couldn't help it. "I, uh — I never knew you could have an orgasm on your mouth."

"You would be surprised at the number of places on your body where that is possible. What about your tongue?"

"My tongue?"

He leaned close and opened his mouth. I saw his tongue stretch out a little past his lips — then way past his lips. He had a very long tongue, and I knew I would really be in dutch if I let him probe my nether-lands with it. No, he was only offering to touch my tongue; the memory of how my lips had felt just a moment ago made me open my mouth and extend my own tongue until it just touched his.