The Artifact of Foex (37 page)

“I did.” Her mouth was tight. “There was one
lifetime when he really got to me. I had a thriving herbal
import-export business based in Door, which was the center of the
Magician’s world back then. My business was a little too
successful. I came to the attention of Foex, and he proceeded to
break me down over the next twenty years. Speaking of rape. He was
psychologically abusive in so many ways. I went from a secure
business owner who rode with her own caravans to a degraded shut
in. All that, and he just wanted two things.”

“What?”

“Big tits and a tight box.” Her free hand,
lying on his chest, had curled into a fist.

“Pantheon. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, not your fault.” Quor smiled at him, and
it was a genuine smile. “Have you figured out your name yet? Your
old name? You have all the pieces in your hand, you know.”

Why was she being so congenial toward him?
She was treating him like, um, like a friend, or at least a benign
acquaintance who’d lost his way. “Does it make a difference when I
did those horrible things?”

She snorted. “Listen, the power-hungry
sociopaths are always with us. Doesn’t mean you’ve ever been one of
them. Think.”

With her hand cradling his scrotum? Not
likely. Yet his mind was racing forward, trying to put the puzzle
pieces together. He and Fenimore had been killing girls—he
shuddered at the memory of blood running down table grooves—and
making prongs, possibly for the Raptus. The Raptus... of
course
he knew the two Magicians who’d made it. Even if he
hadn’t heard about the Raptus until this week, he’d long been
obsessed with the Magicians Tene and Zang. He knew their writings
by heart, and...

Oh
. He looked at Quor, utterly
dumbfounded.

She smirked back. “You got it.”

But which one was he? Zang or Tene? Chet
wanted more than anything to have been Zang for his wisdom and
delicate prose, not Tene in all his fear mongering. Yet he didn’t
want wishful thinking to lead him astray. It occurred to Chet
that—if this were true—he’d lost much: his honey-colored eyes to
start, and many other attributes as well. Like fame and power?
Pantheon
.

Quor let go of his balls. Chet sighed with
relief and was about to say something about getting up when Quor
took hold of his cock. All thoughts left his head. She stroked him
slowly, making each movement count.

“What are you doing?”

“I told you, my bed, my rules. You took me
without my consent. Turnabout being fair play, notice how I’m not
asking for yours.”

“Are you sure?” He gasped under her practiced
touch. Her other hand was playing with his nipples, making him
writhe. He was so, so hard. “After what I did?”

“You don't get to decide for me. This is not
about you, either as a reward or punishment. It’s about me. I’m in
control, you are my meat, and you will take whatever I choose to do
to you.”

“Y-yes, good Flame.” It felt strange to be
put back on the bottom, but didn’t he deserve it?

Quor looked like she was pondering the
situation. Chet watched her for clues, both terrified and elated as
to which way she’d jump. He no longer feared for her sanity. She’d
survived Foex and undoubtedly many others, so she’d certainly live
past his aborted, botched rape. He waited upon her whim.

Her first move was to shapeshift to male.
Quor remained bisque skinned and many of his facial features
remained the same, only thickening his chin a bit. A feminine kind
of masculinity. Despite this, there was nothing womanly about Quor
as he positioned himself at the base of the bed and parted Chet’s
legs, lifting them above his head to study his ass. Chet’s anus
tightened reflexively at the thought of being penetrated again, and
Quor grinned in reaction.

Quor grabbed a bottle of lotion from nearby
bedside table and applied it with verve. Chet loved the idea of
taking another cock, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
Abyss, Quor had been so hot under him as female, though he cringed
from the thought. Quor positioned Chet’s feet on his shoulders and
was about to enter him, then paused.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I mean it. What?”

“It's just... you were so hot before. As a
girl.”

Quor’s lips quirked up. “Ah, I think I know
what you want.”

He pushed out his chest and—Chet gasped.
Tits! Beautifully rounded breasts, big enough for him to hold
securely. Was Quor still a guy? Yes, his erect penis hovered over
Chet’s thighs. Chet couldn’t believe it, yet it made sense, all
things considered. Quor smirked and slapped his belly, making him
yelp.

“Put your feet on my shoulders. Now.”

Chet scrambled to obey. Quor penetrated him
with a grunt; he didn’t mess around with a small cock like Journey
had. Chet whined under his breath, grimacing at the pain. Quor
settled himself above Chet with a satisfied expression and began
pumping him. The movement made his tits jiggle and shake. Chet’s
eyes nearly popped out of his head.
So
hot to be fucked,
his ass fuller than full with those amazing tits bouncing over him.
Loving every moment, Chet took hold of those breasts, caressing and
kneading them. Exactly what he’d always wanted, even if he’d never
admitted it to himself.

Pleasure washed over him in waves, and he
came, basting their stomachs with his juices. Quor didn’t even
pause. Chet lay back, his hands full of tits and his ass full of
cock, and just took it.

So perfect.

He came twice more before Quor shot deep
inside his ass. To his shock, Quor didn’t withdraw. Instead, he
rocked gently inside Chet’s ass, subtly pumping. Making himself
hard again? Chet groaned, but he had no choice. Quor was in
control. After a time—a shorter span than Chet had thought
possible—Quor began humping him again with vigor.

“Oh, please,” Chet moaned, his ass
protesting.

Quor didn’t hesitate: he slapped Chet lightly
across the face. “Who’s in charge?”

“You are, good Flame.”

“Don’t you forget it.” Nevertheless, he
slowed down. Long, toe-curling strokes that made Chet feel like his
hair was writhing like a sea creature.

Would it ever end? Did Chet want it to end?
All his nerves were singing, fully awake and alive. He’d never felt
more feminine, not even doing drag under Fenimore’s exuberant care.
Chet came again. His scrotum felt flaccid, emptied of semen.

Chet let go of his thoughts, his very being,
and let himself be fucked. It was like being a table again but
better. Quor didn’t ask anything of him, and Chet didn’t have to
give anything. It was pure fucking, nothing more.

When Quor finally released him, Chet glanced
at the clock, then looked again. “Pantheon.”

Quor was already burrowing into the
bedclothes, and covered them both with alacrity. “You’re lucky it’s
a weekday for me. If it had been a weekend... well. Your ass would
never be the same.”

Chet rolled onto his side, amazed he could
close his aching legs. “Thank you,” he whispered as Quor spooned
him.

“You’re welcome. Now shut up and let me
sleep; the alarm’s going to go off in an hour.”

“Yes, good Flame.”

Quor was shaking him. She was back in female
form and wearing scrubs again. “Come on, Chet. Get dressed, and
I’ll feed you something. Then I’m putting you on a plane to
Allistair before going to work.”

“Wha—? I thought there was a strike.”

“It ended a few hours ago. Hopefully we can
squeeze you in, and maybe you’ll even get to Allistair an hour or
two before the others arrive.”

“Oh.” Chet blinked, remembering why it was so
important to get to Allistair. “Yes. That would be good.”

“Chet... considering what’s at stake, do you
think I should come with you?”

It would make sense. Quor would be resistant
to the Raptus’s influence, thanks to Aiena’s attempt to close all
loopholes. Chet was not. She might solve all his problems for him,
and that was an issue, wasn’t it? “Don’t take this the wrong way,
but I kind of feel like I have to do this myself. Like it’s my own
nut to crack.”

“This is your manhood rite, eh? Like we used
to do in the coteries. You need to ride your doedicu three miles
and dismount successfully without getting walloped by the
tail.”

“Yes!” he cried, staring at her. She
understood. Her turn of phrase clicked in his head; it could be a
curious exercise, speaking to Flame. “Did
you
ever do it?
Ride a doedicu three miles to become a man?”

“Oh, yes. Didn’t stay a man long, but so it
goes. Come on, food first and the rest follows.”

“Right.” Chet frowned. He was forgiven one
transgression. Perhaps he could make this work after all.

Chet
wandered through the airport, a knapsack on his back, literally
kicking his heels while waiting for his delayed, overbooked flight.
It was four hours overdue.
So much for getting to Allistair
before the train arrives,
he thought dourly. He still felt
wrung out from the fever. While his ass ached deeply, it was a
satisfying kind of ache. Fortunately, Quor had given him snacks and
some cash. He also had Knife’s home address in his pocket along
with a map of Allistair. He was prepared as he could be for
whatever came next.

Chet wondered what Journey, Knife and
Fenimore were doing at this moment. Sleeping, if they were smart.
Was Fenimore toying with the Raptus even now, working on his goal
to gain ascendency over the Flame?

If Fenimore hurt Journey, Chet would—what?
What would he do?

He was too tired to keep pondering such
things. There was a fancy, sunken conversation pit with chairs and
tables for passengers to use; it currently held several families
and business people. Chet wondered whether he could nap with his
head resting on one of those tables. He paused, staring at a young,
bistre-skinned woman who was sitting with her back turned to him.
She looked familiar.

Oh!
It was Rory.

Chet swallowed. He didn’t know how he felt
about seeing her again. He’d missed her terribly. Chet was not
unaffected by their break up as he’d originally thought. On the
other hand... Rory had shown her true colors by becoming invisible
and rushing right through him. Then she’d met with Knife under a
street lamp in the most cliché god-affiliate scene he’d ever
witnessed. She hadn’t even stopped to say anything to him, let
alone apologize. Rory's Cluster was supposed to follow their group,
to keep an eye on them as they unlocked it, but so many bad things
had happened without their intervention. Was that why she was here?
She was late if that was the case.

There wasn’t anything around that looked like
a pulsating black hole, but she wasn’t alone. Rory’s companion...
Chet’s mouth opened and shut in rapid sequence. Her companion was
Professor Clementina. No longer wearing black, the frumpy professor
was dressed as any Tache citizen in a red skirt with a rustic
pattern and a fur-lined muff. Clementina and Rory were chatting as
if they were travel partners awaiting their flight. Exactly the way
he was.

They hadn’t spotted him yet. Chet considered
his position. Were they booked on the same flight? A distinct
possibility, especially since the recent strike had narrowed
everyone’s choices. Chet decided he preferred to make the first
move rather than be discovered. What would Knife do in this
situation? Knife would approach them in a casual, quiet manner to
see how they reacted, playing by ear. Knife would trade information
for information, a game of checks and balances.
Right.

Chet headed for the conversation pit at a
moderate pace. He grabbed a spare chair—there weren’t many—and
approached their table. Rory’s face when she finally caught a
glimpse of him radiated shock and... was that fear? Clementina kept
talking, her words trailing off as she realized her companion’s
attention was elsewhere. Then she, too, grew silent, her eyes
wary.

Chet positioned the chair backwards and sat,
legs spread wide and hands clasped across the back. “So, how’ve you
been, Professor? Rory?”

Rory licked her lips. “Chet. You’re here.”
She touched a bracelet around her wrist. It was a pretty piece,
bronze with a turquoise stone. Chet gauged it five or six hundred
years old.

Having secured the first word, he intended to
continue on the offensive. Chet smiled. “Rory, glad to see you’re
visible again. Professor, good to see you, too. Murdered any more
Flame, lately?”

“I do not know what you’re talking about.”
Clementina’s fallow skin was pale and she looked rather clammy.
She, too, touched a bracelet at her wrist, identical to the one
Rory wore—an oddly vulnerable gesture. Were the bracelets
significant somehow?

“So, what are you two doing here?”