Necromantic (15 page)

Most were for paving the way or making the transition of the dead easier. Some were for calling forth the deceased for the purposes of wisdom. A few, though, were darker...considered forbidden magic by even their standards. Those were what interested me. I continued forward in my research. Sure enough, I found mention of a spell that would open a door through which to call forth a spirit to inhabit the body of the living. Unfortunately, as was my experience, there seemed to be an egg timer associated with whatever door that opened.

Wait a second...pay-dirt! I had been hoping to find perhaps some insight into making my forays last longer. On the outside, I had my fingers crossed that maybe I could even find a way to take control of things, so I could come back during a time of my choosing and not whenever Harold’s prick twitched.

The word that caught my eye, though, promised far more than that...far more than I could have ever hoped for.

That word:
resurrection
.

* * *

Unfortunately, if I was hoping for an easy fix, it wasn’t to be had. The surviving original texts of the book contained bit and pieces of the ritual, but seemed to be purposely vague. If anything, it looked like the same spell that called forth the spirit. The problem there being that Harold had somehow cobbled together bits and pieces from other cultures to supplement that. Even then, it had been a crap shoot. A part of me was tempted just to start messing with ingredients to see if I could get a reaction, but I knew that would be idiotic. I didn’t quite dare take a shot in the dark and risk ruining everything.

I narrowed my search, seeing if I could dig up anything else on this forbidden ritual. There was very little to be had, sadly. Many so-called experts on the subject even considered it little more than a fanciful mistranslation. The results were not encouraging.

I was just about to quit, when at the bottom of the fifth page I saw a link that caught my eye.

Bringing Forth The Dead: the marriage of science with necromancy

A white paper by Dr. Peter Gibbons.

The title itself didn’t exactly speak volumes. If anything, it looked like a crackpot term paper that some pothead might turn in. Why was it catching my eye, though? Then I realized it. That name...I had seen it before. But where? Was it online? Maybe it was on the nametag of one of the store clerks I had screwed. No, that didn’t sound right.

That’s when it hit me. Hadn’t there been mention of a Gibbons in Harold’s notes? Something about him being...wait a second. Hadn’t he referenced someone of that name talking about making resurrection permanent? I could have sworn it.

Either way, I clicked the link, giving it my rapt attention.

* * *

It was no mystery why Harold had dismissed him as a crank. The guy was obviously a loon and not a very useful one at that. Sure, he claimed it was possible for the spirit to be brought back. He even wrote that he could re-bond it to its original body. Unfortunately, where he fell short in his claims was on how to do so. The best he could offer was what he theorized to be a secret passage hidden deep within the
Book of the Dead
. He had found it using some cryptography of his own making. Translation: the nutball had probably made it all up.

The window shall close, the door will be shut, and the ba reunited with the ib. Spurn the husband for he is fallen. Call upon the ren of the mother wife. The flesh of the priest bound to the fallen shall feed the body and the ka will once more burn bright
.

I could see what Harold meant. That made absolutely no fucking sense. Some of it was easy enough. A quick web search brought up the Egyptian concept of the body and soul. Ba was the soul and Ib referred to the body. That was all fine and dandy, no mystery there. Ka referred to the spark of life. The rest of it, though...well, it beat the hell out of me. Ren meant name. Call upon the mother wife’s name? My mother’s name had been Sylvia. Somehow, I didn’t see calling upon her as being overly significant, especially since she popped by in the afterlife every now and then to chat.

Regardless, I copied it all down. Harold had obviously been aware of it, but dismissive. I could understand why. He had no intention of actually bringing me back. This bit of information, though, could prove useful to me...assuming I could figure it out, and of course, also assuming it wasn’t complete bullshit.

Unfortunately, that was the extent I was able to find out. I tried to search out whether anyone had ever analyzed Gibbons’s findings and that was where I found the writing on the wall. Ignoring Harold’s dismissal of him, I found mentions by several noted Egyptologists. The bottom line: they all thought Gibbons was a sloppy researcher and a bit of a fruitcake. That he wasn’t even an expert in this area further helped strengthen their disdain. Gibbons was a sociologist at some minor college. Egyptian spiritual beliefs appeared to be more of a hobby for him. In other words, he was like Harold: an amateur with delusions of grandeur.

I almost erased my notes on him then and there, but for some reason I stopped myself. Delusional or not, hadn’t Harold been successful in his quest? Hell, he had succeeded in spades. The guy had literally gotten away with murder and was now living the high life with a veritable parade of ass. That he had brought his dead wife, me, back from the grave so as to continue sticking it to me - in more ways than one - was just icing on the cake. Thus, who was to say that Gibbons hadn’t made his own breakthroughs?

I considered this. Worst case scenario was that Gibbons was a lunatic. The best case...well I dared not even hope. Still, it’s not as if I had anything to lose.

Chapter 22

Even with the clarity of thought that the beyond brought with it, I was still stumped. Before leaving, I had committed Gibbons’s little riddle to memory. It wasn’t hard, well that part at least. Trying to figure it out was proving damn near impossible, though. I considered seeking out other spirits for guidance on this. Heck, maybe I could track down Albert Einstein, if he was still around and hadn’t decided to be reincarnated as a turtle or something. I quickly quashed that thought, however. I wasn’t sure how others would react if I started asking them to help me figure out how to return to life. Most of them were blissfully unaware of their state. In opening that can of worms, I’d potentially be putting them into the same state of anxiety as I was. At least I had my weekly trysts to keep me sane. The others would surely go mad knowing the truth and being able to do nothing about it.

No, I couldn’t do that. I refused to be the serpent in this Garden of Eden. Doing so would possibly make me even worse of a prick than Harold. I was on my own. Thus, I found a quiet corner, my own little slice of heaven if you will, and began trying to analyze the passage.

Spurn the husband? Did that mean Harold? That was easier said than done. I wasn’t sure how he’d react if I showed up and said, “Hey, dear, can’t we spend this week just talking?” Also, it’s not like I really had much of a chance to. I was lucky if I had time to get my bearings in order before I felt him penetrating me. The asshole probably purposely timed it that way.

I had learned enough to know how the process worked. Right before each “date,” Harold would mix his ingredients and perform a little mini-ritual in the kitchen. There was no need for the altar, that part of the spell was little more than an add-on to his main ceremony binding my soul to my body. He would say the girl’s name then burn a picture of her - no doubt gotten from whatever website he’d picked her up from - in the mixture. I hadn’t been around to see the actual details, but from what I had read in his notes, he would call upon Osiris at a time when his
victim’s
defenses were down - which I took to mean when they were properly aroused - which would activate the temporary soul swap.

That would do it. The connection would be made and I’d be sucked into their wet and willing bodies, just as Harold was ready to thrust into them. It was two violations, physical and spiritual, for the price of one.

No, avoiding Harold's dick wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t make sense either. I had seen nothing in my research to indicate sex itself had anything to do with the ritual. I highly doubted giving Harold a case of blue balls would do much more than tick him off...a worthy enough outcome, but one that wouldn’t exactly help my situation much.

Then there was that feeding the body part. Whose body and what did I feed them? Argh! In life, I had never been particularly strong with riddles. In death, I didn’t seem to be having much luck either.

Eventually I turned my thoughts elsewhere. I hated to admit it, but mucking with the mixture seemed like the only hope I had. There had to be some other ingredient substitute that would have the same effect as switching out the belladonna for the mandrake. The problem was I had no idea what that would be. The mandrake thing had been a lucky mistake on Harold’s part. I had only about a million different herbs and combinations I could try. Any of them could potentially work, but more than likely, I’d foul up the spell completely. Who knew what that might do? I could be stuck here forever, or maybe something really weird would happen. The possibilities were...well, I had no idea. My knowledge was much greater than it had been, but it wasn’t like I was a master sorceress by any means.

My only hope in that regard was probably a
lot
more research. If I could learn what alchemical properties of the mandrake had affected the ritual, perhaps I could narrow down my possibilities for other substitutions. It was still a risky shot in the dark, but it would have to be better than just randomly changing out, say, bloodroot with some paprika.

Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to wait long. I must have spent more time trying to solve Gibbons’s passage than I had realized, for I was just coming to my research conclusions when the vortex of energy appeared before me. I was immediately sucked through it toward whatever new perversion fate and Harold had in store for me.

* * *

The first sensation I noticed was the course scratchiness of carpet beneath me. I was on the floor. The next thing I felt were my legs being slid apart and the curved hardness of my husband forcing its way into me. I sucked in a heavy breath, once more feeling the taste of air inside of my lungs. Harold felt so big, even larger than usual. I quickly realized that wasn’t the case, though. Whoever’s body this was, she was tight. As I settled into my flesh, I realized it was a familiar feeling, too. I had been inside of her before.

I opened my eyes to find Harold above me. He had my hands pinned to the floor and was pounding me with his cock. He would slowly pull out before quickly penetrating me again. His balls slapped against my bottom and the roughness of his public hair rubbed against the bare skin below, fully shaven. I knew this body.

Since Harold had me pinned, I couldn’t do much to confirm it at the moment. Oh well, there would be plenty of time for that later. I began to grind with my hips, matching him thrust for thrust. I felt my breathing speed up. I was scratching my ass raw against the carpet, trying to beat Harold at his own game, but somehow that only served to excite me more.

“Harder!” I grunted, losing myself in the moment. He obliged and quickened himself to a furious pace.

His chest scraped against my sensitive nipples and I felt myself losing control. Dammit, he was going to beat me this time, the asshole, but oh well, win some lose some.

The curvature of his penis ignited a fire inside of me. I drew in a breath and held it, letting myself go. My legs turned to jelly as the climax began to take over. I was soon a spirit trapped within a quivering piece of meat. I exhaled and again sucked in air, smelling the raw primal musk that rose between our bodies. It enveloped all my senses, causing a second wave of pleasure to come crashing through me.

I opened my mouth and the only thing that escaped was a moan of pure ecstasy. My body tensed, trying to ride out the explosions that coursed through me. That was what apparently sent Harold over the edge.

The familiar feeling of his release flooded through me. He emptied himself in a hot torrent and then collapsed on top of me.

I just lay there, barely able to breathe with him crushing me with his body, feeling the final spasms of his spent penis sending a few last tingles of excitement through me. It was almost enough to make me forget my purpose.

At last, he rolled off of the nubile body I was in possession of. I ran my hands down myself, feeling the perky breasts, the tight stomach, and finally the bare patch between my legs - now sopping wet thanks to a combination of our fluids.

“Julie again?” I asked conversationally, still letting my hands roam.

Harold raised himself on one elbow beside me and replied, “She called me again out of the blue, so I figured why not?”

“You’re becoming a dirty old man, Harold.”

He laughed at that. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy her the last time.”

He was right, I couldn’t.

* * *

The wonderful thing about Julie’s young acrobatic body was that she was up to the challenge. Her stamina was more than a match for Harold’s, even hopped up on magical dick juice as he was. As myself, I jacked him off again, using my hands and mouth to drive him slowly over the edge. When he came, he exploded all over me. Julie was definitely going to need a shampoo when this night was over.

As usual, a short while later I pretended to leave, and then proceeded to fuck Harold again as her. When I climbed on top of him and spread my legs in a perfect split, it had been enough to finish him off. What little jizz he had left spurted inside of me, and then he settled himself down for a nice long nap.

It didn’t take long at all before he was snoring. I would have to look up Julie’s info on his computer and see if maybe I could somehow get her over here again. Physically, she was more than able to knock Harold’s socks off. The fact that her body reacted so nicely to sex - cumming easily and quite intensely - well, that was just an added bonus.