My wife was straddling me in the bed, looking back down at me with an imperious gaze. No longer wearing her pajamas, she was now scantily clad in something black that appeared to be composed of tight-fitting leather and a touch of lace. It was something I didn't recall ever having seen in her wardrobe before, and that told me that perhaps I was now getting a glimpse of the contents from the overnight bag, up close and personal.

Her face had obviously been in recent contact with more than just a touch of makeup and was accented in such a way to enhance the severe expression lining her features. She continued looking down at me, and I started trying to convince myself that I wasn't really awake.

After a long pause she gave her head a toss then giggled and said, "That's better."

Even though the sentence was no more than two words, the uncharacteristic geographical drawl was obvious and intact.

Following the utterance, she placed a cigarette between glossy red lips and drew on it hard. The end grew bright, sizzling audibly as I watched the paper and tobacco slowly burn a full one-half inch down the length right before my eyes. In a fluid motion, she pulled the cigarette from her mouth, flicked the spent ash at my face, then pursed her lips and blew out a long stream of smoke.

Never once had she taken her eyes from mine, and now her mouth spread into a contented smile. I started upward again; knowing suddenly that telling myself this was a nightmare simply wasn't going to make it so. Fear was definitely starting to work its way into my spine.

Again I found myself unable to go far and realized that my arms were outstretched to the sides and above my head. I cast a quick glance to the right and saw my wrist encompa.s.sed by a wide, leather-looking cuff that was securely fastened to the bedpost. I didn't have to look to the left to know it too was similarly bound. I didn't feel anything around my ankles so I tried to move my legs, only to find they were bound in some unseen way.

I instantly regretted being a heavy sleeper.

"What's wrong, little man?" my wife asked.

Actually, it was the voice asking the question. It just happened to be coming out of my wife's mouth.

"Felicity?" I questioned out of reflex.

I didn't catch the blur of motion, but I definitely felt the sting of her palm against my cheek as she slapped me hard enough to crank my head to the side.

"And, who, pray tell, is Felicity, little man?" she asked.

"You are," I replied with a groan as I turned my face back to her.

Judging from the force of yet another slap that immediately followed my reply, apparently, it was the wrong thing to say.

"You will call me, Mistress Miranda, little man," she commanded.

What I had earlier thought to be fear was just a trial run of the emotion. In the grand scheme of things, it had been nothing more than a shot of anxiety with a confusion chaser just to get the ball rolling. Hearing the sentence just spoken by the evil inhabiting my wife's body was the catalyst, and now true horror set in.

At this stage of the game, I wasn't sure what this Lwa feasted on, but it was a good bet that pain played into that picture, and I suspected fear was at the very least an appetizer. If that was true, judging by her satisfied grin, I was apparently serving up the first course at this very moment.

"Oh, what's wrong?" she asked, feigning concern. "Am I scaring you?"

"No," I returned.

"Liar."

"Guess it's your word against mine," I said, mustering whatever semblance of calm bravado I could.

She sat back and regarded me coolly. Felicity truly didn't weigh much more than one hundred pounds, but with the panic starting to well in the pit of my stomach, even that amount of weight on top of me was making it hard to breathe.

After taking another long drag on the cigarette, she pulled it slowly from her mouth and smiled then let the smoke out in a thin stream.

There was no way I could read what was going on behind the still pretty, but frighteningly severe, mask her face had become. In retrospect, given what I knew from the crime scenes, I should have been able to at least predict what she was going to do. Unfortunately, a by-product of terror is that one doesn't always think straight.

I suppose that's why it came as such a complete shock to me when, without a word her smile grew even wider, and she began to slowly grind out the burning cigarette against my bare chest.

CHAPTER 26:.

Something kept me from screaming out in response to the pain. I wanted to in the worst way, and in fact, I even tried. However, the yelp instantly caught in my throat and remained there, emitting little more sound than a soft groan. The only reason I could imagine for the abrupt stifling was that I knew the spirit was feeding on my pain and fear, and I supposed it was just my subconscious attempting to deny it the meal. Of course, whether or not I screamed probably was a moot point. It knew I was afraid, there was no doubt of that, and my body definitely betrayed me in the pain department.

I tensed in reflex even as the sound stuck in my windpipe, gurgling quietly through my clenched teeth. As she continued to grind the burning ember into my flesh, I sucked in a quick breath, steeling myself against whatever might be yet to come. I couldn't help but notice the odor of singed hair and skin. If that wasn't bad enough, it had joined the spicy scent of her perfume, mixing on the air to become a peculiar, sweet funk that did little for my already queasy stomach.

Even though I was fighting to deny anything to the evil that had invaded our home, the look on my wife's face told me I was losing the battle before I had even started fighting back. No longer was she wearing the wide, mischievous grin. She had gone far beyond that. Now, her face was molded into an expression of near ecstasy. Her eyes were closed; and her lips were slightly parted as she slowly tilted her face upward. She began to pant, and suddenly a bizarre moan filled the room. It was something I could only describe as a poorly synchronized disharmony of sound, both human and inhuman. The worst part was that I knew they were both coming from deep within Felicity. One of them the product of her own hijacked voice, the other from somewhere on the other side of the veil, dwelling in an inky darkness that was blacker than I ever wanted to imagine.

She arched her back as the sigh of pleasure grew louder, and its jarring duality grew even stronger. Her posture served only to make her look like a player in an adult movie acting out the generally accepted portrait of an earth shattering o.r.g.a.s.m for an unseen camera.

Unfortunately, I knew all too well that this wasn't acting.

This was for real.

My wife began to sink as she literally allowed herself to slump backward. Her breathing grew shallow, coming in rapid pants as the unearthly sound continued trilling through the room, joined by a rapturous whimper of corporeal origin.

The initial shock of the lit cigarette against my chest had now faded to a dull burn that took up residence in the background, hiding behind my many other ignored pains. Lifting my head, I watched as Felicity tensed and twisted, all but writhing in unfathomable ecstasy. She was still straddling me but was pitched backward at an angle, bracing herself with one hand on the edge of the bed while the other roamed her body of its own accord. Had I not been fully aware of the why and how this was happening to her, it would have been an immensely humbling sight, being that I wasn't responsible for it. However, my prowess in regard to pleasing my wife was the furthest thing from my thoughts at the moment. What lived in the forefront was the horror of knowing that by succ.u.mbing to the ethereally dispensed pleasure, Felicity was only cementing her bond with the Lwa.

Of course, her ability to resist had been negated the moment the spirit had a.s.sumed control, and even in my present state, I recognized the power of what I was witnessing. Though I had no doubt that my wife had not initially given herself over to the Lwa willingly, I almost wouldn't have been able to blame her if she had. The apparent reward she had just received in return for what was, in the grand scheme of things, a fairly mild act of cruelty, was one that could not be easily refused.

I dropped my head back down and twisted it to the right, looking toward my hand. Without my gla.s.ses I couldn't see much detail, but the leather-looking cuff appeared to have a metal buckle and D-ring type of hardware securing it both to my wrist and then to the bedpost by a short strap. I twisted my arm slowly and found that the restraint was loose enough to allow movement within it. I glanced back quickly and saw that Felicity was still in the throes of her experience and paying little or no attention to me for the moment.

Rolling my head back to the side, I rotated my arm once again, this time pulling as well. The heel of my palm slipped down into the cuff and stopped cold, the hard edge of the restraint bit sharply into the back of my hand, and I could feel it abrading the skin as I kept applying the downward pressure.

Casting my glance to the left, I tried the same tactic on the other arm, gaining the same fruitless results. Still, I didn't give up until I heard my wife's breathing begin to come under control and then felt her weight shifting back fully onto my stomach as she pushed herself up and forward.

She was wearing an expression of pure contentment, with her eyelids drooping heavily and a pouting smile caressing her lips. But, simply the way she was breathing told me she wasn't going to roll over and go to sleep-nor did she have plans for cuddling.

No, Miranda was just getting started.

"Hmmmmmm," she purred. "That was good."

"Glad you enjoyed it," I quipped, unable to contain my disdain for the spirit inhabiting my wife.

She giggled, almost musically, looking down at me with a wicked smile.

"I did," she replied. "Didn't you?"

"Not particularly."

"Hmmmmm..." she purred again, a thoughtful tone underscoring the hum.

She rocked to the side, lifting up and planting her stocking clad knee in the center of my chest, then pitched forward and placed her weight on it. I grunted as the air was forced out of my lungs, and I felt my ribcage flex inward. I heard her quickly shuffle something off to the left of my head, then she rocked back and slid her knee down as she dropped herself hard onto my stomach, forcing me to huff out the breath I'd only just managed to suck in.

Settling herself in, she slipped the wrapper from a cigar and then nipped the end of it with my guillotine cutter. I recognized the stogie as one of the real-deal Cuban smokes a friend had recently brought back for me from a trip to the Caribbean. How he had gotten them back into the country I hadn't asked-not that it mattered now.

She was watching me watch her, and she seemed to find it amusing. After a moment of fiddling about with the dark brown roll of tobacco, she waved it in front of my face.

"You don't mind, do you?" she drawled in a mocking tone. "I helped myself."

"Go ahead," I returned. "Tell him it's with my compliments."

"Him?" she asked, c.o.c.king her head to the side.

"Papa Legba," I replied.

"What makes you think it's for Papa?"

"Educated guess."

"Hmmmmm," she purred once again.

Without another word she double-clicked a lighter then brought the long stream of flame against the foot of the cigar, rolling it slowly. Then, she carefully placed the tight roll of tobacco between her lips and proceeded to set the end alight, twisting it slowly and puffing hard. A cloud of blue-white smoke billowed around her, and she didn't even flinch. Just one more sign that my wife was no longer my wife, as she would have gone into a sneezing fit immediately.

My hands were already starting to throb where I had pulled them down into the restraints. I knew that the sc.r.a.pes were going to start getting inflamed, and swelling would be quick to follow. I wasn't even sure that I would be able to extract my hands as they were now, but if they became swollen, there wouldn't even be a thread of a chance. Of course, I also knew it was going to take more than a mere second or two and some obvious strain to accomplish, if at all. Therefore trying to make it happen while her attention was actually focused on me was out of the question. That would only prompt her to tighten them more or do something even worse. What, I didn't even want to imagine.

"So," she finally said, still regarding me as she puffed gently on the Cuban stogie. "How do you know about Papa?"

"I read a lot."

She didn't reply. Instead she hooked her dainty finger around the cigar and pulled it from between her lips. With a quick flick she knocked ash from the end, aiming it directly at my face as she had done earlier with the cigarette. Then, pursing her lips, she blew gently on the burning end of the roll, making the ember glow bright reddish-orange. Turning it in her hand, she then carefully placed the lit end into her mouth and closed her lips tightly around it.

Once again a billow of smoke began to encircle her head as she blew out through the cigar. Just as I knew from my research, that the cigar was intended for Papa Legba, I also knew that what she was now doing was, in effect, smoking it for him.

After a few moments, she extracted the cigar from her mouth and grinned at me. Once again, without warning she set about her regimen of torture. Reaching forward to my chest, she took my left nipple between her thumb and forefinger, squeezed hard, and then twisted.

This time my subconscious didn't intervene. I immediately yelped as the pain shot through the sensitive nerve cl.u.s.ter then grimaced as she continued to pinch and twist.

"How..." she began.

Even through my pain, I could tell that she had caught her breath before she could get the sentence out of her mouth, and that could only mean one thing. She was getting aroused all over again.

"How does that feel?" she finally said, managing to get out the entire sentence before she began to pant as she had done before.

The throb in my skull ramped up and seemed to pulsate in unison with her oncoming o.r.g.a.s.m. I fought to concentrate through both it and the pain she was inflicting on my chest. I knew an opportunity was soon going to present itself; I just had to be able to take advantage of it. Unfortunately, whether or not that would happen was going to be directly connected to how much pain I was going to be able to endure and still remain conscious.

She let go of the sensitive skin then slowly raked her nails across my chest, digging hard at the earlier burn as she continued watching my face.

The influx of pleasure that was overtaking her seemed to be coming faster-and even more intensely than it had the first time. If this was the normal pattern then it had to be like a drug. Something akin to the neuro-psychology experiment where a rat was wired to be able to self-stimulate the pleasure centers of its own brain with the press of a bar in its cage; which it did with relish, foregoing food, water, and sleep, until it simply expired. Only, this wasn't an electrode-wearing rat in a lab. This was my wife's body, and a malevolent spirit was using her as a vehicle in order to experience the same repet.i.tive rush.

Given what I was seeing now, it wasn't hard to extrapolate what had occurred at the various crime scenes. If progressively intensifying s.e.xual climaxes in return for increasingly cruel tortures were how this Lwa worked, I couldn't even begin to imagine what level of rapture the actual kill would trigger. I looked back up at her and watched as she carefully regarded the burning end of the cigar, flicking her gaze between it and me. It didn't take a genius to see what was coming, and I wasn't entirely sure I was prepared for it, even with the advance knowledge.

Still, the last climax had kept her occupied for a few minutes. If this was going to be even more intense, I just might have enough time to get free. What I was going to do after that was anyone's guess, but at least I would actually be in a position to do something other than die. I decided quickly that as insane as it seemed, antagonizing her into the next phase of cruelty was my best course of action. Judging from her present state, it wasn't going to take much to set her off.

She started to grin then pursed her lips and blew on the end of the cigar again, brightening the ember and creating a thin stream of smoke.

"Just what is your kink, little man?" she finally asked. "You males all have one. What does it for you?"

"You haven't found it yet," I croaked, my voice slightly strained from the earlier cry of pain.

"But, I will," she replied breathily.

She was starting to undulate her hips against me, and her chest would occasionally swell each time she would draw in a deep breath between the ongoing shallow pants. The ethereal moan was starting low within her, and her own voice was adding a nasal whimper of pleasure to the mix.

"We'll see," I returned.

"You don't think so?"

"You haven't impressed me yet."

She took hold of the tender nipple once again and twisted hard. I held my breath as I grimaced and clenched my teeth, struggling to keep from screaming. When she finally let go, I let the heated contents of my lungs spill slowly out then calmly as possible took a fresh breath.

After a moment I said, "Is that all you've got?"

She smiled back down at me, seeming to take great joy in my defiance.

"Tell me that you love me," she ordered.

"Go f.u.c.k yourself."

"Mmmm-hmmmm, that's the idea," she whispered.

I closed my eyes the minute she started to lean forward. I felt her touch the business end of the stogie to the nipple she had just tortured moments ago and then begin to twist it slowly. I could tell by the amount of pressure applied that she was purposely maintaining enough air s.p.a.ce between the ember and my skin to keep it lit and hot, so I knew this wasn't going to be quick.

On top of that, this time she not only had more fire, she had picked an even more sensitive spot on my body to attack. Once again my subconscious kept out of the way, not just because I wanted it to, but also because I could no longer contain myself in the face of the agony. I screamed out, giving her possessor auditory evidence that she was causing me excruciating pain. I felt her thighs tighten against my sides as she tensed, the first real wave of pleasure hitting her hard. She continued to press the cigar into my blistering flesh, moaning and whimpering in delight with each deliberately languid twist.

My own body tensed out of reflex, and my arms pulled inward, tugging hard against my bonds as I squirmed beneath her, wailing like a wounded animal. As I did so, I actually felt my hand slip deeper into the cuff and at the same time, the cuff bite deeper into its flesh.

Suddenly, the pressure that had once been firmly positioned on my stomach lifted. I twisted my face upward and squinted my watering eyes toward her, seeing that she was arched back once again, literally squealing with ecstasy as she struggled to catch her own breath.

The cigar had been forgotten and was now lying on my chest, smoldering as it singed hairs and blistered a new spot. Even though I suspected I would have longer than I had the last time, there was no guarantee, and I had to make my bid for escape now. Things were only going to get worse, and though I had repeatedly experienced death and torture on an ethereal level, I was now coming to the conclusion that facing it in this realm was just as bad, if not worse.

Pressing my thumbs in tightly against my palms, I gathered my fingers into a point, trying desperately to almost fold my hands. I continued to pull hard, feeling the leather cuffs raking my flesh and tearing my skin. I'm not sure if it was sweat or blood, but my hands were starting to feel slippery. I didn't take the time to look. My attentions remained focused on my possessed wife as she tossed her head back and emitted what sounded to be a mixture of both a groan and a delighted giggle.

I felt my left hand move slightly, and a sharp pain instantly radiated up my arm. I grimaced through it and continued to pull with renewed fervor, and a split second later it popped free of the cuff. Giving the right a hard tug, it too came loose, minus several layers of skin across the back and knuckles.

My hands were free, but my legs were a different issue. I wasn't quite sure what to do, but at this point I was committed. Once she settled down she would be ready to start again, and the fact that my hands were no longer bound would be plainly obvious.

Knowing I had no choice but to act, I sat up quickly and pushed Felicity off of me, using her somewhat p.r.o.ne position against her. A quick glance showed me that the restraint for my legs took the form of a mummy-like wrap of the bed sheets. Tearing at them with my raw hands, I rolled in the opposite direction of my preoccupied wife. In my haste I fell completely out of the bed, as I fought to disentangle myself from the twist of fabric, and crashed onto the floor. I heard Felicity and the spirit moaning in unison. I kicked and tore at the sheet, pulling one leg free then the other, partially. I scrambled up to my feet, tripping over the wound fabric as it fought to cling to me, managed to catch myself before hitting the floor yet again, then aimed for the bedroom door. As I barreled forward, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder and saw my wife reaching for me even as her body was being racked by an ethereal o.r.g.a.s.m.