Scholomance is longer than the other stories in the series, with a good
long time before the first sex scene. If graphic, immediate sex is what
you're looking for, skim. If, on the other hand, you wish to avoid the violent stuff, stop reading after the shower scene and assume that Alyssa and Jared lived happily ever after.
Alyssa surveyed the ingredients assembled on the kitchen table, checking to make sure that everything she needed was readily available. Yep, it was all there: aluminum mixing bowl, Abramelin oil, herbs, a purple plastic easter egg full of black, coarse ashes (where do magicians in movies get those mysterious bottles, she thought, and why am I always left grabbing whatever comes to hand when the stuff is ready?), her brass-handled dagger, a fork. The usual weird mix of common household items, mysterious Magickal paraphernalia, and indefinable junk. I must look like Suzy Homemaker from hell, she thought.
The sound of Leonard Cohen's deep voice coming from the stereo in the next room provided an appropriate soundtrack. She wiped the steam from the lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses, replaced one precariously balanced comb in her curly brown hair, and double-checked everything one last time. Being asked by the Master to make this elixir for the working was an honor (and a pain in the ass, a little voice added), and Gods help her if she fucked it up. Taking a deep breath, she centered herself and went to the refrigerator to get the last ingredient.
Gee, at last, an impressive bottle, she thought, picking up the green glass jar with the pewter crescent moon on top, even if it was just the cotton ball container until last night. She brought it back to the table and extracted the sea sponge from inside. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of her own menstrual blood. The things I do for higher education, she thought, and laughed sarcastically. As she squeezed the sponge into the bowl and began creating the liquid that would play such an integral part in the ritual tonight, her Magickal consciousness took over, performing the physical tasks automatically and channeling the necessary energy without involving her rational mind, the way she had been trained. Her ordinary consciousness now freed, it drifted into thoughts of the thirteen years that were about to come to an end, seeing her growth from an eighteen-year-old magician wanna-be into a skilled Mage, and as usual when she remembered the past, wondering how in the hell she ever had the guts to go to that first meeting at the Scholomance.
She had been dabbling in "the black arts" since she was thirteen. She'd done all the required reading for socially inept nerds who wanted to hex their way into popularity and a larger bra size: Cavendish, Sybil Leek, Your Love Signs. She had gotten as far as reading, and totally misunderstanding, the demon Crowley by the time she entered college, where she found a coven of feminist "Wiccans" who took her in. Within a few weeks she was "high priestess" (which she enjoyed mostly because it meant she got to wear a purple polyester mantle instead of staying "skyclad" in their forays into the wash behind the school, although she would have preferred shoes). Within a few weeks more the other coven members had fled for a variety of stated reasons (her lack of commitment to "the cause," her "controlling" personality) that really boiled down to stark, raving terror at the clearly visible black and purple "thing" that had appeared above her upraised hands at the Samhain gathering. Alyssa herself had no clue about what she had summoned, but she wasn't about to tell that to her cronies, and the thought that she might really have some power beyond that of creating feminist allegory was too much for them.
Alyssa began to ask questions at the local occult bookstore about teaching organizations. She rejected the Golden Dawn (too Christian), the Temple of Set (too in-your-face), the OTO (too undisciplined), and a variety of "the One True Order"s because she had no desire to worship at some loser's feet. She had pretty much given up the search when, just before the winter break, she picked up her mail and found a thick vellum envelope addressed to her in spidery black calligraphy. There was no postmark or stamp; apparently it had been hand- delivered. On opening it, she found a note in bold, sure handwriting. "Dear Ms. Markham," the note read, "I have become aware of your interest in locating a teacher in the Hermetic Arts. Our school will be accepting students soon for a comprehensive course of instruction. If you would care to be considered, I am available to speak with you on Tuesday of next week, at two o'clock. I will send a driver to pick you up at one. If you would prefer to pass on this opportunity, simply let my driver know. Yours, Soren Tate" She was impressed at the utter lack of sigils, seals, or little dots after his (her? No, the handwriting was far too masculine) name. But she was leaving for home on Friday, to spend the holidays with her family. This guy had to be even more arrogant than the last jerk who wanted her as his "neophyte." Of course, the last guy could never have come up with stationery this expensive, much less a car and driver. Alyssa was intrigued, but could hardly see herself putting off her holiday and hanging around to be whisked off to parts unknown to meet with someone about a "comprehensive course" she probably didn't even have time for. Where was this "school" located, she wondered. Well, it was an hour's drive from the colleges, which could put it in L.A., or the desert, or the mountains, or at the beach. Well, that certainly narrows it down, she laughed to herself as she walked back to her dorm room.
Almost everyone else had already left campus for the break. Alyssa's roommate had left the night before (which was no great loss, as they cordially detested one another), so she had the place to herself. She turned on the stereo, putting on a new wave album that she usually only played if she wanted to send her rock-and-roll roommate ballistic. She wandered around the room for a while, tidying up, picking up half- finished books and putting them down again, pretending to pack. She considered going out for a cup of coffee, then sighed disgustedly and undressed. As she turned to pick up her flannel nightgown she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on her closet door. She dropped the nightgown and approached the mirror, looking at herself as if searching for some sign of who she was. She saw a slightly plump, studious-looking girl with long curly brown hair that was usually kept tightly braided and chocolate-brown eyes behind oversized glasses. Her Portuguese and Irish blood had combined to give her skin that tanned easily in summer but faded to the color of old ivory in winter, revealing the freckles on her nose and upper chest. Her breasts had finally filled out, but her hips and thighs had, too. She touched herself, running her hands over her breasts, then lower, over her slightly rounded stomach to the vee of dark hair between her legs. She tried to see herself as her few lovers had. She had a hard time getting dates, but the boys she slept with always seemed to come back for more, although she usually turned them down the second time. She liked sex, had begun making herself come with a pillow when she was eleven, but she hated the idea of losing control in front of someone else. She only felt comfortable when she could keep her distance, and so she had few close friends. Even her family seemed to treat her more and more like a guest as each year passed. Her studies in pre-law were routine, uninvolving. Her quest for magic took most of her spare time, and she had little to show for it but a few creepy stories. And one very cryptic note, she mentally added, eyeing the piece of paper on her bed.
Suddenly tired, she decided the quest for self-knowledge could probably wait until morning, and she turned off the stereo, brushed her odd invitation onto the floor and crawled into her jumbled bed. She turned out the light and lay on her side, staring into the darkened room as her eyes adjusted. Just before dozing off, she noticed that she was staring at her own face in the dim mirror. Then sleep took her.
She was standing in the wash behind the school with her coven around her as she chanted the invocation to the moon goddess, but somehow the words seemed different. She could hear them in her own voice, but she could not understand them. She was in the center of the circle, with her tacky mantle nowhere in sight, and her naked skin gleamed in the moonlight. The chant became harder and harder to pronounce, the words not sounding like any language that she had ever heard. The coven stared, hands raised, as she threw her head backward and shouted the last of the call up into the night.
As a spectral image began to form in the air above the circle, she thought "oh, no, not again," not remembering what she meant. The faint outline became the image of a giant bird-like creature, shifting from black to flame-red and orange as she and the coven watched in awe. A sense of relief filled her at first at seeing the unfamiliar shape. She half-formed the thought, "what was I expecting?", then cast it aside when panic began to sweep the circle. The other girls began to scream as flames rained down from the entity above them. Horrified, Alyssa stood rooted to the spot, feeling that there must be something she could do, some way to stop what was happening. Coven members were falling around her, their hair and bodies engulfed in flames, and still she could not move. Wake up, oh God, I've got to wake up, she thought, but could not, could not even convince herself that this was a dream.
At last, her paralysis lifted and she managed to stagger one step forward. As she did, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her and a strong body press itself against hers from behind. Suddenly her fear was gone, replaced by an enormous wave of power.
A voice she had never heard before whispered in her ear, "the choice is yours, Alyssa," and the black-robed arms enfolding her slid down her own, strong hands wrapping around hers. Suddenly, she realized that she held a dagger, a long, black curved blade with a plain hilt and a red gem blazing in the pommel. Guided by his hands, she lifted the dagger and drew a sigil into the air. Instantly the arms around her were gone and the scene transformed. She was no longer in the weedy open space the coven used, but in a magnificently appointed temple.
The coven witches had disappeared, and instead she was surrounded by a circle of figures, robed and hooded in black, arms outstretched toward her. A low, chanting hum filled the temple. She was overwhelmed by a feeling of belonging, of power, as she looked up to see the firebird hovering in the air above her, its presence now not foreboding but welcoming. She instinctually lifted the dagger up to the magnificent creature, and the dagger disappeared.
A tall figure robed like the others stepped from behind her, and she half-turned to look at him. She could not see his face clearly, only his eyes, which shone like polished steel, and the dagger in his hand. He glanced up for a moment and she could hear the pleasure in his caressing voice when he again spoke.
"A firebird for Alyssa - will you claim it?"
She opened her mouth to say "I will," when she felt the dream being ripped from her.
She took one last look up at the bright spirit above her, and as it faded, she thought for one moment that its brilliant gold eyes took on a gleam of black - or purple. She woke up suddenly, covered in sweat.
Alyssa spent the next day changing her travel plans, arranging with the housing office to stay another week, and calling her family with some lame excuse, even as she tried to deny to herself that she had decided to meet with the mysterious Mr. Tate. Whenever she started to think logically about what she was doing her fear overwhelmed her, so instead she focused on trivia - rewriting her last term paper, which had been completed for a week, going out for farewell drinks with her friends, shopping for last minute gifts.
By Sunday, the campus was as silent and lifeless as a tomb, and the time until Tuesday dragged on and on. On Tuesday morning she awoke early, so nervous that she was sick to her stomach. Finally the thoughts that she had postponed poured in.
Dear God, she thought, what the hell am I doing? I haven't even told anyone where I'm going. This guy could be another Manson, for all I know. And even if he's legit, I'm not sure that I want what he's offering. She stood in the middle of her room, surrounded by half- packed boxes and scattered debris, feeling as if she was about to throw up.
Then, as if drawn, she moved to the mirror and put her forehead against the cool glass. Frightened brown eyes stared back at her. She closed them, taking a deep breath, as the image of a glorious bird with flaming plumage took shape in her mind. She opened her eyes and gazed with new resolve at herself. There was no real life for her here, nothing to tie her to her plans for the future, nothing she had ever really cared about.
But the feeling in her dream, the sensation of power and of belonging - if she could find even a fraction of that with Soren Tate, it would be worth any price she had to pay. She opened the closet door and began to dress.
A few minutes later she was dressed in the nicest outfit she had, one that she always thought of as her preppy drag. After her first week of school she had given up on her normal jeans skirts and tie tops and bought a few things to help her blend in with the young republican crowd. Her kelly green polo shirt showed above the crew neck of her navy wool sweater. She added a gold kilt pin to her pleated plaid wool skirt, and checked her cream cotton tights for runs before slipping into a pair of penny loafers.
She braided her hair tightly back from her face, and put on a little pink lip gloss. There, she thought. I don't look like your average baggy-clothes-and-Birkenstocks occult weenie - I look like I have a life (even if I don't). I also look like the L.L. Bean catalog threw up on me, she laughed to herself, but this'll have to do. Then she looked at the clock. Gee, only three hours until it's time to go, that was cutting it close.
And she went out to find some lunch.
One picked-at salad, several attempts to read, and a thousand checkings of the clock later, she went downstairs to see if she could find the car. It turned out not to be hard - she guessed that there were very few students on campus expecting black Rolls limousines. As she came out, a tall, imposing driver left the car and moved around to open the door for her. The driver looked less like the standard doing-this-until- my-screenplay-sells type and more like something from a British miniseries - he was older, clean-shaven, with an air of unflappable calm about him. And a British accent, of course, she added, when he asked, "Ms. Markham? I'm Williams, your driver. Our trip should take about an hour. Mr. Tate asked me to make you comfortable. Is there anything you require?" He handed her into the back of the car.
"No, thank you, but where are we-" Before she could finish the question, he had closed the door. The partition was up between the front and the back, and she decided that rather than fumbling with the control, she should just relax. She looked around. The limo was luxurious, but not ostentatious - the seats were roomy, covered with plush leather, and the carpet was thick, but there was no television, phone or refrigerator, just a floor-mounted ice bucket with a few bottles of mineral water and juice. The car is black, too, like a limo should be, and not that tacky white, she thought. She sat back to enjoy the ride.
The car drove toward L.A., then past downtown on the 101, finally exiting at Hollywood and driving up into the Hills. When at last it pulled to a stop on a long private drive at the top of one of the canyons, Alyssa saw that she had been brought to the rear of a house that was as classy and old-fashioned as the car itself. A mock hacienda from the 1930's, the house (well, mansion, really, she thought) was white stucco with a red-tiled roof, "U"-shaped around a tiled central courtyard.
The windows were large and many were open to catch the afternoon breeze. The gardens around the house were more California native than manicured, but obviously lovingly cared for. Williams helped her from the car as french doors on the courtyard opened.
A man stepped out of the house and moved to greet her. "Alyssa, such a pleasure to finally meet you!" he said, warmly, grasping her hands in his. He was older, although he could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty. His unfashionably long graying hair was pulled back and tied at his neck. A yellow-green peridot glinted in his earlobe. His face was long and thin, framed by a neat, medieval-prince beard, and his eyes behind the round wire-rimmed glasses were an odd shade of blue-grey. His hawk- like nose combined with his intense gaze made his face look predatory, but his smile seemed genuinely welcoming. He was wearing a dove- gray linen shirt, very expensive looking, with darker gray flannel pants. He seemed unperturbed by her examination of him.
"Mr. Tate?" she said, finding her voice.
"Please, call me Soren," he said, drawing her up the low steps and inside the house. The doors led into a study, with walls the same Spanish white as the outside. Bookshelves ran halfway up the walls all the way around, with large cabinets above them on the wall opposite, and a large, glossy cherrywood desk took up most of the floorspace. The desk was neat, with a few papers and books piled in stacks around the leather blotter. Soren gestured to a comfortable, round-backed leather armchair in front of the desk, and moved to sit in his own large chair on the other side.
"Was your drive pleasant?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the glossy wood.
"Yes, very, but Mr. Tate-"
"Soren, please, Alyssa, and I'm sure you have many questions. If you'll allow me, I'll tell you what you need to know about what we can offer you here at the Scholomance."
"Scholomance? I think I've heard that word before...but why did you-"
He interrupted her, placing his hands flat on the desk and looking into her eyes. "Alyssa, I'm asking that you let me answer your questions in my own way. If you cannot control yourself long enough to listen to me, perhaps we should end this interview now. What will it be?"
His abrupt, commanding tone made her angry - but it also intrigued her. Few of the "gurus" she had spoken to would have dared to alienate a potential sucker like this. She sat back and raised her eyebrows, gesturing for him to continue.
He smiled at her affected nonchalance, and went on. "Thank you. I apologize for my overbearing manner, but I have found that the fastest way for us to find out if we suit is for me to give you the facts with as few interruptions as possible. Now," he said, leaning back in his chair, "Scholomance means simply, `school of Magick.' We are a continuation of an ancient tradition that began in the hills of Austria many years ago. We teach true mastery of the Magickal Arts, in the original sense of the term. We do not teach elaborate, symbolic methods for self-psychoanalysis, nor do we preach the dogma of any religion or philosophy. We are interested in one thing - creating true Masters of Magick, capable of controlling the physical and spiritual universes, as well as themselves - and to that end, we will go to any lengths. Do you understand what I am saying?"
She leaned forward and cocked her head, quizzically.
"If I hear you correctly, you're telling me that you teach the kind of magic that only exists in horror movies and old books. I have a hard time believing that." He smiled. "Of course you do. And at this point in our conversation, I could, I suppose, support what I say with an elaborate show that would amount to little more than occult pyrotechnics. But I imagine that wouldn't prove anything to you, would it?"
She frowned, thinking. "Well, no. There isn't a whole lot you could do that couldn't be done with elaborate special effects, and you obviously have the money to pay for them."
"Obviously. So perhaps I should just show you the banner we have made for you, should you decide to accept. Each student chosen already has made great progress, either consciously or not, in attaining the initial steps of Magick, and each is therefore given a personal device which represents his or her inner knowledge of their inmost self."
He stood, gesturing for her to join him behind the desk. He opened a cabinet and extracted a rolled piece of white cloth. He handed it to her, and, puzzled, she unrolled it, to reveal a brilliantly-rendered firebird appliqued in many shades of silk on the white cloth.
As she stared in shock, Soren put his hands on her shoulders and murmured, "A firebird for Alyssa. Will you claim it?"
Mute, her knees weak, she shook under his hands. Her boneless fingers almost dropped the banner. He plucked it from her hands and helped her back to her chair. Returning the banner to its place, he moved back to his seat and regarded her, gravely.
"Of course, you mustn't answer that question just yet. You must first understand how serious a commitment the Scholomance requires. We accept only one class every thirteen years, and their term of study is of thirteen years' duration. The class has, of course, thirteen students, and they and their instructor form, together, the strongest possible bonds. This allows them to create a powerful, all-encompassing group mind, a separate entity that, when at last dissolved, grants each of the newly made Magicians enormous power. It is this as much as it is the training that the students receive that makes the Mages of the Scholomance greater than any in the world. Do you understand, Alyssa?"
She looked at him, absorbing his words. After the realization that this man could appear in her dreams and read her inmost self, the added revelation that she would have to give up her old life for the Scholomance was nothing. "I understand," she answered quietly.
He continued. "The bonds that each class forms are not merely friendships, nor are they based on what most people would think of as love. If you become a student, you will be expected to work as one with your fellow students - and with me. We use every possible method to attain this goal, Alyssa, and we teach every form of Magick, including Sex Magick. If this is a problem for you, you should seek training elsewhere."
He leaned forward again and lowered his tone. "There is one more requirement. At the conclusion of your thirteen years' study, when the entity that is the group is dissolved, a sacrifice is required. As the only true sacrifice comes from one's self, the class must provide the needed offering. Thirteen students begin the course - but only twelve complete it. The thirteenth student becomes the basis for the others' power. Again I ask you, Alyssa, do you understand?"
Alyssa's mind had become silent. She knew that he was asking for much more than her understanding - he was asking for her assent. She saw herself as if she were balanced on a high, precarious cliff, poised on one foot, balanced to leap or to retreat. Her former life stretched behind her, formless, pointless - and a life of almost inconceivable experiences waited before her.
She understood, clearly, what she was giving up, and knew that there was no certainty that she would gain what she sought, only a chance that she might lose everything in the attempt. She realized almost hysterically that in the back of her mind a tiny part of her was trying to calculate the percentage odds of a twelve- to-one chance. At that, she laughed out loud, and the spell was broken. What, really, did she have to lose? She looked at Soren, who seemed unfazed by her outburst, and spoke, as solemnly as he had. "I understand."
"Fine," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as he leaned back in his chair. "Then please remove your shoes and tights, and your underwear. You can put them on the chair."
Suddenly plunged back into shock, she sat, frozen, and stared at him.
His eyes took on the appearance of polished steel as he stared back, coldly. He spoke slowly, as if to a child. "I was under the impression that you understood. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. As a student of mine, you will do what I say, unquestioningly, and this is the last time I will ever make a request twice. Now, you have a decision to make. Will you kindly remove your stockings, or shall I call Williams to take you home? As I said last week, the choice is yours, Alyssa. Will you accept?"
The words he had spoken in her dream broke her trance and she whispered, "I will," then rose, numbly, and kicked off her shoes. She stared at his face as he watched her expressionlessly, then she looked down, humiliated, as she lifted her skirt to pull down her tights and underpants. She stepped out of them and picked them up, folded them, and placed them and her shoes on the chair as he had asked. She felt the wetness from her cunt start to slick the insides of her thighs and an embarrassed flush rose to her cheeks as she realized that she was aroused.
He gazed at her for a moment as she stood, rigidly, facing the desk, her eyes unable to remain on him. He leaned forward and she involuntarily drew back, then made herself return to her former position.
"Good," he murmured, and began moving the piles of papers and books from the desk in front of her. After he had cleared a space, he rose gracefully from the chair and moved to stand next to and a little bit behind her, very close. He did not touch her.
"Bend over the desk, please," he asked quietly, and she forced herself to obey. She realized that she was trembling with fear and anticipation. She rested her palms on the cool wood of the desk, leaning over it, but his hand came gently to the back of her head and pressed her firmly downward until her face was flat on the leather blotter, her arms outstretched. He moved to stand behind her and pushed her forward until her body was against the edge of the desk, then his hands left her.
She began to whimper slightly, trying to hold back the sounds that were welling up in her throat, as she heard him undoing his belt and his zipper. She felt him lift her pleated skirt, and he raised her slightly to tuck the gathered fabric under her to keep it up over her ass. She felt bare and exposed, realizing that the french doors were still open and that anyone passing could see her. Then he grasped her hips with one hand and guided himself into her cunt with the other, and she stopped thinking of anything but him.
He shoved into her with one smooth motion, her wetness making it easy for him (and giving him ample evidence of how weak she was, she thought). He fucked her slowly at first, seeming to gauge her reactions. She tried to restrain herself, to seem as emotionless as he, but quickly lost the fight as the feeling of being filled and emptied, filled and emptied overwhelmed her reserve and sent her into that place of need and helplessness that she so hated to reveal. She moaned and thrust against him and he encouraged her by fucking her harder, faster, inflaming her passion with his own.
She felt hot, stifled, and wished perversely that she could remove her sweater and shirt and bare herself even further. He was slamming into her womb with each stroke, the sharp pain only increasing her desire. She forgot everything, where she was, who was plunging into her, and lived only for the cock that was ramming itself home in her cunt. He shoved one hand under her, finding her clit and stroking it, and she screamed, her release coming at last as she writhed on the wood of the desk.
He pulled out of her and fastened his pants, leaving her lying exposed and wet, her juices running down her thighs. As she came back to herself she realized that he wasn't even breathing hard, and her humiliation returned.
"You may straighten up now and dress if you wish," he said, as coolly as he had issued his other instructions, and, her face burning, she quickly lifted herself and sat to put on her underclothes.
She did not look at him as he returned to his seat behind the desk, but fought her stockings on over her wet and sticky thighs as gracefully and rapidly as she could. She knew her hair had come loose from its braid and that she reeked of sex, and her mortification increased. When she had done as much as she could to restore her appearance and her calm, he spoke again.
"That was a good start, Alyssa. You responded more strongly than I'd anticipated you would. Your passion will serve you well here."
She looked up at him to see him smiling warmly at her, and felt a little better.
"Now," he said, coming to his feet, "I'd like you to stay here for the next week as the class assembles. Williams will go back to your college and gather your things, if you wish, and you may make any calls you must to explain your change of plans. The initiation will be on the 21st. You will be required to live here for the first six months, at which time you will be allowed, if you are ready, to move into the city. I'll locate a place for you then. Until then, let's find you a room."
He opened a wooden door and gestured for her to precede him. With a sense of unreality, Alyssa heard her life being calmly rearranged. But then, she had already acquiesced, hadn't she? She rose and walked out of the room.
Two weeks later Alyssa was too exhausted to question the wisdom of her decision. She had spent the week before her initiation tying up loose ends, explaining to her family that she was taking a once-in-a- lifetime opportunity to study abroad and that she wouldn't be home for the holidays, withdrawing from school and unpacking her things. She saw Soren only once or twice in passing, and spent most of the time alone.
She avoided spending time with the other students as they arrived, her usual reserve keeping her from trying to get to know them. I'll know them, intimately, soon enough, she thought to herself. The night of the initiation was an incredible blur. She was aware even at the time that very little of her conscious mind was involved in the ritual. It seemed as if some inner part of her that she hardly suspected existed had taken over, and later, when Soren reviewed her Magickal journal, he told her that this was perfectly appropriate.
She vaguely remembered the rite itself, the pansexual frenzy that had possessed them at its height, and the things she had done and felt. The only clear memory was of seeing the ritual blade that was used for the banishings and invocations - it was the same black dagger that she had held in her dream. The initiation left her feeling a deep sense of closeness to her fellow students, but the week following the ritual was so consumed with lessons, workings and rites that none of them had any time to get to know one another.
Just after dawn Alyssa stumbled into her darkened upstairs room on the west side of the Scholomance. She took off the red raw silk mantle she had been wearing for the ritual they had performed the night before and dropped it on the floor, then sighed and bent to pick it up. She took a padded hanger from the back of the door and carefully hung the mantle on it, taking the extra effort to avoid having to iron the heavy material later that day. She collapsed on the cool cotton sheets, grateful that the sun wouldn't shine into her window until late in the afternoon. With any luck, she could nap until then. She was almost asleep when she heard her door open quietly and looked up to see a tall figure silhouetted against the light from the hall.
The figure entered and the door clicked shut, and Soren's voice quietly said "Hello, Alyssa. Not yet asleep, I hope?"
She sat up, quickly, pulling the sheet up around her naked body.
"No, Master Soren, I just got back from cleanup."
He came and sat next to her on the bed, his robed thigh touching hers through the thin sheet. She could see his face in the dim light from the window. He looked as he always did, expressionless and distant. He drew the sheet from her hands and folded it down, away from her naked body, then stood and removed his silk robe. She had become familiar with the sight of his wiry, strong body in the workings they had performed, but not since her first day had she been alone with him, and now, faced with the evidence of his arousal and her own hatred of losing control, her fear of him returned. She shivered, and he smiled.
"Please lie down, Alyssa," he murmured, and she slid quickly down in bed, moving the sheets and covers away. She lay stiffly, her hands at her sides, as he knelt up on the bed and moved to straddle her shoulders, his cock brushing her lips.
She gasped as he cupped the back of her head with one hand and shoved his cock deep into her throat, gagging her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she moaned, thrashing against him in her struggle to breathe. He pulled out enough to let her gulp some air and paused, his weight crushing her chest, her mouth filled with the taste of him, his scent filling her nostrils.
She felt the length of her naked body, scorned and untouched, her cunt wet and empty, her breasts pressed flat by his buttocks. He braced his hands on the pillow on either side of her head and murmured low in his throat, "your unwillingness to give yourself over to your passion is proving an obstacle to your development - and to me. I can't allow it to continue any further."
He began thrusting his hips, driving himself into her throat on each stroke. At first she gagged each time he rammed into her, but as his continuing efforts aroused her and she surrendered to the sensation, she was able to allow him deeper and still deeper, her moans muffled by his length.
Unable to control herself, she slid one hand down into her wet slit, rubbing her clit and sliding two fingers deep within herself, only to have Soren reach back and wrench her arm away, purring, "no, my dear, that's against the rules. I'm going to have you, again and again, actually, but you won't receive your release until I give it to you. Understand?"
And she moaned her assent as he plunged further into her throat.
She had never felt so neglected, so abused - his cock was painfully fucking her throat, his crotch grinding against her face with each stroke, but her body was ignored, her writhings unnoticed and unwanted by the man taking her. His breathing grew rougher as his strokes grew more vicious, until at last he groaned and pulled out of her mouth, shooting his cum on her face and in her hair. He used his cockhead to rub the cum into her face as she mewled and tried desperately to get him back into her mouth. Then he lifted himself off of her and said calmly, "roll over, please."
He took her ass, painfully, the first time she had ever been fucked there, and left her burning and torn, his cum hot on her back. Then, with scarcely a pause, he rolled her over again and straddled her belly. By this point she was incoherent, frenzied, and desperate to have him fill her cunt, to touch her, to provide any release. He looked down at her sweat- and tear-streaked face and smiled, gently. He reached behind him and rubbed one hand along the top of her inner thigh, soaking it with her wetness without even brushing her cunt. She whimpered and pushed upwards, but he laughed and lifted his hand away.
"Are you ready to give in yet, my love?" he whispered, and she moaned her assent, but he merely laughed again and rubbed her own moisture into the cleft between her breasts, then moved up to shove his cock between them. He used his hands to cup her breasts and push them almost painfully together around him as he fucked her tits.
This last indignity had her sobbing and clutching at his shoulders by the time he shot onto her chest and face. She was covered with his cum, drying stickily onto her hair, her ass, her breasts - and she was powerless to come herself. She closed her tear-filled eyes as he leaned over her, watching her. He slid his body down hers, making her cry out at the feel of him on top of her, and brought his face close to hers.
"Now, Alyssa, See," he said, in the tone he reserved for Magickal invocations, and he gently kissed her closed eyelids. All at once she could see the flow of energy between their two bodies - the luminous greenish glow that was Soren's power covering and enveloping her own reddish-orange fire, which was building and growing in power.
"Yess," he hissed, and used his knees to shove her legs far apart. He plunged his rock-hard cock into her wetness, and as he did, she came, shatteringly, seeing her power pour from her, surrounded by his, and be drawn into him. He was draining her, taking their energy from this sexual act and linking them in him. She let go completely and gave it all to him, as they both cried out in union. When she was able to think again, she saw Soren standing, robed, by her bed in the strong morning light. He looked down on her impassively, back to his usual infuriating self, and said quietly, "Excellent, Alyssa. You've taken the first steps toward becoming one with the Scholomance. I'm very pleased." And he left her, aching in every muscle, covered with sweat and cum, tears and blood, lying on her stained sheets.
She sat up, groaning, feeling the pain in her thighs, her ass, her throat, and wondering how to begin to clean herself off, when the door opened again. Startled, she turned around too quickly, sending a jolt of pain through her abused body. She groaned again and looked up to see one of the other students, a tall thin auburn-haired boy a little older than herself named Jared. He was wearing jeans and a t- shirt, and carrying towels and some things on a tray.
She looked at him, too exhausted to be embarrassed, as he came and sat on the bed. He smiled at her and said, "Soren said you might need some help. Here, take these," and he handed her some pills.
"What is this stuff?" she croaked, hoarsely, startled at how bad she sounded.
"A pain pill, I think, and something to help you sleep," he answered, handing her a glass of water.
She swallowed the pills and drank thirstily, downing the glass in a few seconds.
"Thirsty, huh? I'll get you more in a minute. Now let's get you cleaned up," he said, gently taking a wet washrag to her face. She started to pull away, then leaned into his touch, amazed at how good it felt.
Jared spent about a half an hour helping her get clean, dressed in a soft nightgown and back in bed on fresh sheets. By the time he was finished, the medication was kicking in and she felt pleasantly drowsy. He lay on the bed next to her, his blue eyes inches from hers, as they talked about Soren and the Scholomance in soft voices.
Jared, it turned out, had been already well-known as a Mage before he was recruited by Soren for the Scholomance. He had met Soren at a ritual gathering and had jumped at the chance to take a place among the members of the fabled school. By the time Alyssa dozed off, she felt closer to Jared than she ever had to anyone before. A few days later, during one of their rare free afternoons, Jared sat curled up on the plush plum velvet couch in the library, regaling her with tales of some of his Magickal catastrophes, while Alyssa prowled the shelves, looking for something interesting to read that wasn't in Hebrew or Sanskrit.
On one shelf, next to a stack of ancient folios, she came across a small, white onyx idol of a tall, thin deity with a strange face. The lower part of the face protruded outward in a long, curving snout or trunk which ended in fingerlike tentacles, but it was the eyes which drew Alyssa's attention. The statue had two pairs of eyes, one set just above the others. The lower eyes were of smooth, cabochon black onyx, and the upper were of faceted amethyst. The statue sent a chill through Alyssa, and she stared at it, silent, while the sounds of the room faded away.
The next thing she knew, Jared was standing next to her, saying, "Are you listening to me? Gods, Alyssa, you can't be that zoned out, I know we got enough sleep last night. What's the matter, isn't my having my ass kicked by a demon interesting enough for you?"
Alyssa forced herself to turn away from the statue and face her friend. Doing so seemed to clear her mind.
"Well, actually, Jared, that's the fifth ass-kicking demon you've told me about today, but that's not really it."
He mock-slapped her for the insult and let her continue.
"It's this statue - what deity is this? I don't remember seeing it in our classes."
Jared leaned forward to take a closer look, when from behind them came Soren's dry voice - "Has something caught your eye?" he asked.
Alyssa spun around while Jared turned to face him more slowly. Soren was dressed as casually as he ever was, in an open-collared shirt and linen pants.
Jared waited for a moment but when Alyssa continued to remain silent, he spoke. "Alyssa was wondering about the idol on the shelf, here."
Soren moved forward to stand between the two students. When he saw what they were looking at, he turned, rather sharply Alyssa thought, to look at her. He spoke, slowly, seeming to measure his words. "That is a representation of one of the Elder Gods, with whom you are not yet familiar. It's actually a rather inferior piece of sculpture - what about it captured your interest, my dear?"
For some reason Alyssa felt uncomfortable telling Soren how the statue made her feel. Hell, she hardly even knew how she felt. "The shape of the face, Master Soren - I hadn't ever encountered anything like that before." Soren looked deeply into her face for a moment before turning to include Jared in the conversation and putting one hand on the little idol. Alyssa felt, oddly, that he was relieved by her answer, then dismissed the strange notion as her imagination.
Soren caressed the onyx trunk of the idol and answered, "Yes, it is strange-looking, isn't it? This particular deity has many forms - but you needn't concern yourself with that. He's actually rather unimportant for our work."
He walked away from the shelves and moved to stand on the oriental carpet near the mantle. He looked back at them for a moment in silence and then said quietly, "Jared, I've been looking for you. Come here if you please."
Jared quickly obeyed, going to take a position in front of Master Soren, his hands clasped behind him, as they had been taught to do when called to order. Soren looked into Jared's eyes, then put his hands on Jared's shoulders and drew him closer.
Alyssa, uncomfortable, started to move toward the door, but Soren froze her in place with a look and a shake of his head. She stopped where she was and watched, as Soren pushed Jared to his knees. Jared, understanding his Master's intent, placed his hands on Soren's belt and looked up at him inquiringly. When Soren nodded, Jared undid the buckle and the zipper and carefully extracted Soren's cock. Jared seemed to have forgotten Alyssa's presence, or was ignoring it, and all of his attention was focused on the man before him.
Alyssa watched, her cheeks burning. It was one thing to be involved in a sexual ritual with the whole group. It was quite another to watch her dearest friend, forced to service their Master on his knees in the streaming daylight from the french windows. She had learned to turn her own humiliation into passion, and to give it up to her trainer, but she was unsure if she could continue to watch what was unfolding before her. Then Jared closed his eyes and impaled himself on Soren's cock with a moan.
Soren's hand came up to cup the back of Jared's head and force him to take it deeper. After a moment, he fisted his hand in Jared's hair and pulled him almost completely off; then Soren shoved his head down again. And repeated the motion, again. Jared strained to keep Soren's cock deep in his throat, moaning and leaning into his Master when Soren pulled out, and when his throat was filled completely, his cries muffled, Jared's whole body relaxed.
Slowly, Alyssa moved slowly closer to the two men, almost hypnotized by their passion. The sounds of Jared's moaning, Soren's grunts of pleasure, and the wet slap of fucking intoxicated her further. Involuntarily she whimpered low in her throat. Soren glanced at her and smiled, then closed his eyes and threw his head back as his cock hit the back of Jared's throat yet again.
Finally Alyssa dropped to her knees a few feet from them and scrambled closer, watching Jared's tear-streaked face as the cock plunged in and out of his mouth, his chin covered with spit and pre-cum. His eyes were closed in ecstasy, his hands were clasped behind his back, and he was making guttural sounds deep in his well-fucked throat. As she watched, her own sounds of pleasure blending with his, Soren brought one hand up to her neck and drew her close to him to lean against his hip as she watched.
She wrapped one arm around Master Soren's well-muscled leg, and used the other hand to brush Jared's auburn hair back from his face tenderly, eliciting another moan from him. In this position, rapt, she watched as Soren shoved himself home deep in Jared's throat as he gasped his orgasm. She watched Jared's throat spasming as he struggled to swallow all of Soren's cum.
When he was finished, Soren pulled out abruptly and stepped away, leaving Jared to fall forward onto his hands and knees, gasping, while Alyssa moved to put her arms around him and gaze up at Soren as he fastened his pants.
His face was as expressionless as usual as he looked at them, then he smiled slightly and said, "Thank you, Jared. You are welcome to relieve yourself with Alyssa - if that meets with your approval, Alyssa."
She nodded, mute, and as Jared pulled her forcefully down, she heard the library door click shut.
The rest of their initial six months of training continued that way. In addition to their Magickal work, the students were forced into an ever more elaborate web of relationships, as Soren threw them together, exploited natural affinities and antipathies, then broke them apart again. He continually shifted power and control from one person to another, one group to another, using any tool at his disposal, until the thirteen and himself were remade into a unified group.
Alyssa remembered spending an entire week on her knees, serving (and servicing) a student named Christa, honing her initial dislike of the prettier, more confident girl into a nearly perfect hatred. Then a week later, she was given a vicious, thin bamboo cane and asked to demonstrate its use on the manacled Christa's back during a class on Pain Magick.
One night, Alyssa lay beneath Richard, his cock deep within her, while Jared savagely took Richard from behind. And always there was Soren, watching, evaluating, playing the group's emotions, thoughts and natures like instruments in an ever more perfect concerto.
After six months, Soren called her into his office. He had her Magickal diary open on the desk, and he pointed to certain drawings she had made in the margins, asking her questions about her interest in art, which she had abandoned when she was twelve. After their discussion, he announced that he had rented a guest house for her down in West Hollywood, and outfitted one room as a studio. "The Scholomance will, of course, support you, but in return, I expect you to use your spare time creating whatever you wish. If you need more supplies, let me know. Williams will help you move. Can you drive?"
Alyssa, just as shocked by this sudden rearrangement of her life as she had been the last time, managed to nod, and without pausing, Soren told her that her car was waiting downstairs. He handed her the keys to her car and her house along with the address, her new phone number and his private number, and a large sum of money.
He rose as she sat there, wondering how many times she would end up feeling like a deer in the headlights after one of their "conversations." He continued, "of course, you will still be spending a large amount of your time here, and you should maintain your old room with the basic items you need for your comfort. You should take your Magickal implements home with you, but leave your robes and mantles here. Do you have any questions?"
She laughed. "No, I think you covered them all - it'll just take me a little while to recuperate."
He grinned and said, "then I'll leave you to it."
An hour later, she found herself blinking in the light of the drive, her car in front of her, her bags packed, the last few months seeming like a dream.
The twelve and a half years that had followed had been pretty weird as well, she thought, as she finished the elixir. After a year or two, she had found that she had a talent for making bizarre masks, many of them based on her occult studies. Her masks were a big hit with collectors, selling especially well just before West Hollywood's Halloween celebrations.
She had learned to take great pleasure in her less-than-perfect body and to understand and appreciate her passionate, emotional nature while not allowing it to control her. Most of the other students of the Scholomance also moved out into niches in the community, and Jared, to her delight, was placed just a couple of miles from her. Scholomance acolytes were discouraged from having relationships outside of the circle, and while she had become intensely intimate with all of her fellow students, she still valued Jared as her closest friend, and they spent most of their rare free time together.
And now it's about to end, she thought. Her Magickal powers had grown beyond anything she could have expected. The being that was the group mind of the Scholomance enhanced and magnified her abilities, as it did for the rest of the class. Tonight, that entity would be dissolved in a final ritual and its energies would be reclaimed by the newly made Mages. And in that final ritual, she thought, one of us will die. It was a sign of how strong their unity of purpose had become that the thought evoked no fear in her.
She was as willing for the sacrifice to be herself as she was for it to be any of the others. Soren had suggested first that she act as if she were sure she was one of the twelve, then later he had told her to proceed as if she knew she was the thirteenth.
A few years ago she realized that the effect of both exercises was the same - to stop the mind from involving itself in useless speculation. The Scholomance students were one, and as one they willed this ritual to take place. Her more mundane self, the part of her that dealt with the "normal" world, might rebel at the idea, but her inner self was calm, at peace, looking forward to the final culmination. The Magickal elixir, her portion of the preparations for this final night, was complete. Jared, she knew, had made the candles, just as Nick had sewn the robes, each student creating alone something for the group's use. She bottled the liquid in a brown glass bottle that Soren had given her (for which she was grateful; if she had had to provide a container, it probably would have been an olive oil bottle - she laughed at the picture of presenting the liquid to Soren with a label on it reading "extra virgin"), and went in to take a shower and get ready for the evening.
When Alyssa heard the door to the bathroom open quietly, she stayed where she was and continued her terrible imitation of Courtney Love, waiting until the half-glimpsed shape got closer to the shower curtain. When the figure was only a foot or so away, she broke off and said in an artificially high and grating voice, "Norman, is that you?"
Jared whined nasally, "yes, Mother," before laughing and yanking back the curtain.
She snatched it out of his hands and closed it, leaning her head out and glaring at him. "Unless you plan to mop the floor, I suggest you either save your leering for when I get out or get your butt in here with me."
He grinned and immediately began to strip off his black collarless shirt and jeans. She watched appreciatively. The years had been good to Jared - his slim form had filled out, acquiring a layer of hard muscle that accentuated his androgynous beauty. He had allowed his shaggy auburn hair to grow out to shoulder length, and he wore it long and straight about his finely sculpted face.
As he undressed, she pulled the shower curtain back far enough to allow her still to see him, then went back to washing herself. He sat down to take off his black leather boots and looked up at her.
"Have you heard the latest rumor?" he asked.
She snorted. "Which one? Since about three months ago, I've heard nothing but rumors - who's going to move where, who they'll have to battle to do it, who's being recruited for the next class-"
He interrupted her. "Yeah, it's about the new kids. I heard that one of them, a pretty promising one by all accounts, may have been eaten by a werewolf."
She laughed as he joined her in the shower. "That's an old one, Jared. You don't keep up on the news much, do you?"
He pulled the curtain back into place and shoved her aside.
"You're blocking the water, Lys. Move over. Do you think its true?"
She slapped him with the sponge. "Sure, it could be. After all that we've seen, I'd hardly be surprised, would you? Hey, you're totem's a wolf - what do you know about it?"
He grinned, showing all his teeth. He growled at her. "Maybe I did it. Are you afraid, little girl?"
She looked wide-eyed at him and lisped, "Why Grandma, what a big cock you have!"
"The better to fuck you with, my dear," he rumbled, and backed her into the corner, pressing himself against her and bringing his hands up to knead her wet breasts.
She pulled her mouth from under his long enough to murmur, "now who's hogging the hot water?" and then the ecstasy of being close to a fellow acolyte, another part of herself, overwhelmed her. When he pushed her down to kneel on the shower floor, she did not resist. She took his hard cock deep into her throat, feeling the hot water stream down her face, feeling him fill her. As he spurted into her throat, his ice-blue energy and her flame color combining, she came too, feeling her cock jerking between her legs even as she swallowed, unable to distinguish between his body and hers.
Two hours later they were in her car, heading up into the hills. The night was cool but clear, the breeze pleasant; there was no mist from the ocean to cloud the sunset and no smog to obscure the view of the city below. She had tuned the radio to KROQ, despite Jared's protests, and White Zombie was booming from the speakers at deafening volume.
"You have terrible taste in music," he shouted, and she pretended not to hear him.
"What?"
He smiled and shook his head, and laid a hand on her shoulder, pushing aside the crinkled cotton and lace collar of her black dress so that his skin touched hers. They traveled the rest of the way to the Scholomance like that, comforted by the contact, without speaking.
They were among the last to arrive, even though the ritual wasn't to start for another two hours, and after they delivered their parcels they went straight up to their rooms to prepare themselves and dress for the ceremony. Alyssa closed the door to the room that had been hers for the past thirteen years, and spent a moment looking around, realizing how much she would miss this place, these people. Even though they would all remain close, bonded by the time they had spent together and the things they had done, after tonight the group would be dissolved, their mingled energies separated and returned to them, with only the common thread of the sacrifice to bind them. The current from the thirteenth student would blend with their own, tingeing it and marking the twelve remaining Mages forever. And Soren, she wondered, would she see him again?
There were stories that each class had a different Master, perhaps drawn from the previous class, while others said that Soren, under one name or another, had been leading the Scholomance at least since it moved here, in the 1930's. There was even a wild rumor that each Master of the Scholomance taught for thirteen classes. Soren refused to say, and discouraged such speculation. It was true that he had not changed much, if at all, she thought. His hair was now almost entirely iron-gray; other than that, he was identical to the man who had greeted her thirteen years before.
She broke off her musings and began to ready herself for the ritual. Her shower had begun her preparations, and she had put in her contact lenses to avoid having to deal with her glasses during the ritual. She removed all of her jewelry and set it aside, then undressed and sat down on the rug by the window to inwardly prepare herself.
After some centering and meditation, she donned her robes - an inner, transparent silk chemise, the color of flame, and the jet-black hooded velvet mantle that all the acolytes wore. Both robe and mantle opened down the front, and closed at the neck with an intricate brass clasp. Barefoot, her hair brushed gleaming down her back, she picked up the small, brass-handled dagger that was her Magickal blade and tucked it into the sheath sewn into her inner robe. She checked the time. Gee, only an hour early - I'm improving, she thought.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, her robes spread around her, and went still, her thoughts slowing, her body unmoving, while she waited. Finally a high, clear bell sounded throughout the house, and Alyssa came out of her trance and moved to the door. She turned for only a moment and looked back, then went out into the hall and closed the door behind her.
They gathered in the anteroom to the thirteen-sided chamber beneath the mansion. Earlier, the students assigned to prepare the temple would have gone in and lit the candles, set up the altar, and made sure that all was in readiness. Thirteen robed, hooded forms lined up to enter the chamber. She caught glimpses of the inner robes of her fellows - Richard's golden yellow, Jared's pale blue, Christa's emerald green.
Then the ebony doors to the inner temple opened, and she filed in with the others. Soren barred the way for each, momentarily, while each made the gestures which would admit them to the temple - one sign for the Scholomance, and one which was unique to the acolyte. The temple was black, with ebony walls and dark, barely-veined marble floors. The altar in the center of the room was a high oblong of polished white stone, with only a chalice and the curved black blade of the Scholomance on its glowing surface. Their banners hung on the walls, firebird, serpent, blue-eyed wolf, and Alyssa scanned them one by one as she walked to her place, fixing each symbol into her mind.
They moved to form the circle that had become so familiar in the past thirteen years, with Soren standing behind them outside the circle, and after the necessary banishings and invocations, they began the chanting which would bring into manifestation the demigod that was the sum of their work together.
At first the chanting moved across the circle, bouncing back and forth between the acolytes, drawing lines of force between them. Then the current began to move around the circle, deosil, faster and faster. Alyssa could See the colors - blood-red, silver gray, sable brown - as they began to blur together, and each time the flowing current reached her she added her own flame thread as if she were helping to weave a tapestry.
All at once, the energy shot upwards, and a rapidly-shifting figure began to coalesce above the altar from the multicolored strands of power. The shape became clearer even as its form changed more rapidly. Serpent, lion, waterfall - it was each of these, and all of these, and none. It was the Scholomance, as it had been for the past thirteen years, and it was reaching the culmination of its existence, the moment at which it had to be destroyed to be reborn with thirteen new parents.
Alyssa could feel the binding energy that Soren had provided - his intense pale green basilisk current - winding about the circle, entwining them all, providing the loom on which they wove, even as she sensed him moving in a widdershins circle behind them.
The chanting grew in volume and intensity even as it accelerated, becoming a rising keening as the thirteen sought to find the will of the circle, the identity of the sacrifice. Alyssa felt drawn out of herself, pulled up into the swirling, ever-changing figure above her head - elder tree, tiger, firebird, serpent, bull - firebird. As the light in the room changed to flame red, Alyssa fell back into her body just as Soren's hands came down on her shoulders.
The chanting stopped as the firebird above the circle dissolved and the light returned to normal, the orange-red energy released back into Alyssa. "For now," thought a tiny part of her mind, even as the rest of her was submitting gratefully to the weight of her destiny as she moved forward at the pressure of Soren's hands. Just before she reached the altar she felt Soren undo the clasp of her mantle and draw it from her shoulders, leaving her clad only in her transparent robe. The other acolytes moved closer to the altar and those nearest Alyssa moved as one to lift her onto the gleaming white stone.
The smooth surface felt cool beneath her back as Soren picked up the knife and chalice and gently pressed her down onto the altar. She lay staring upward at the yellow-green basilisk of Soren's banner, wrapped in a blissful haze, as the twelve gathered around her. She turned her head slightly to see Soren gesture Jared forward and hand him the curved dagger.
The barely-functioning intellectual portion of her mind registered comprehension that one of the acolytes must perform the sacrifice, but the thought was overwhelmed by the hazy pleasure she felt that Jared was to join her in this last act of passion. Jared looked down into her eyes with the same rapt expression that she felt she must have, and the others gathered close, pushing back their hoods and unfastening their mantles, for the final sacrifice.
Soren stood at her head and put the chalice beside her, his hands coming up to hold her shoulders. The others followed his example, pushing aside her robe, caressing her. At their touch the pleasurable haze she was wrapped in began to dissipate, and she felt a tingling like tiny shocks run through her as each person put his hands on her. They're drawing out my energy, she thought, and the realization made her moan and twist on the altar. The pressure of the caresses increased, to hold her flat and still against the stone.
She realized that the others were moaning and gasping their pleasure as well, as the hands on her body became more insistent, more sexual. She felt her legs opened and fingers inserted into her wet cunt. A woman's long nails scratched at the nipple of one breast, while a man bent his head and began to bite at the other.
She thrashed her head from side to side and saw that many of the acolytes had one hand on her and were fondling themselves or someone else with the other - she heard Richard's low groan as she saw Elena grab his straining cock and stroke it, roughly, while Antony was being bent over her, his hands outstretched on her legs, and taken from behind by someone she couldn't see who clasped her ankles in a hard grip. At each caress, she felt a little more of her energy, her soul, leave her, but it seemed a small thing, more pleasure than pain.
And then Jared, who had been standing frozen, staring down at her, ran one hand over her torso to push aside the caresses of his fellow students, and then brought his other hand down to stroke at her breasts with the razor sharp dagger.
As the edge of the dagger carved the skin of her chest, Alyssa screamed a high, keening cry and thrashed around wildly, trying to escape the burning line Jared was drawing. Soren leaned over her and grasped her head in his hands, forcing her to stare up into his steel-gray eyes. Even as the pain of the first line was subsiding into a hot stinging, Jared was beginning another, bringing another scream to her lips. At each cry the sounds from the others became more frenzied and passionate, and their caresses grew more painful and savage. She could feel a hand being thrust up her cunt, tearing her, and someone bit hard at her thigh.
She suddenly realized, looking up into the merciless pools of Soren's eyes, that with each cut and bite, each tear in her flesh, her power was leaving her body along with her blood. The light in the room was tinged with flame, again, and from the glyph that Jared was intently carving on her breasts, she could feel the current flowing steadily. Even as the pain became unbearable, the lassitude was overwhelming her, and the two now began to combine in an immense pleasure.
She realized that her screams had changed in tone to those of ecstasy, and that her cunt was contracting hard around the fist that had invaded it. She began to strain to move, not to escape, but to offer her body more fully to the blade that savaged it, to the hands and mouths that clawed and tore at her. Behind Soren she saw her firebird forming for the final time, and she sobbed at the beauty of its red-orange plumage and fiery gold eyes, even as she felt herself letting go her hold on the current which formed it. She heard Jared's voice, muttering a chant that she had never heard before, and saw Soren's eyes glow with a sudden satisfaction.
Soren lifted one hand from her head and picked up the gleaming golden chalice, offering it to Jared. As Jared grasped the cup and lifted the blade from her breasts to her throat, Alyssa felt her climax overtaking her. She heard herself as if from a distance, moaning an incoherent assent, as Jared laid the blade against her throat. Soren left her and stepped back, and she could see only Jared's avid blue gaze below the golden eyes of her firebird, as he prepared to slash open her throat.
She stared upward, her body arching itself toward the blade, ready to fling the last of her life's current into her totem, into its golden eyes, into its black and amethyst eyes... suddenly her body convulsed with pain as she heard a vast and horrifying voice in her head say, emotionlessly, "No." Jared pressed the blade hard against her throat and for a moment she felt the sting, then heard a sickening crack - and the blade shattered against her throat.
Alyssa's trance was broken and her arousal gone, her body left in agony from the wounds that had been inflicted on her. She could only stare with the others as they stepped back from her and looked up to see the firebird change to a monstrous, shifting black-and-purple thing: now bat, now dragon, now god with tentacled face and black and purple eyes.
She heard Soren shriek from behind her, "NO!" And then heard the terrible voice in her head, again, saying in an amused tone, "you won't be needing this." And she felt her link with the Scholomance dissolve, as if it had never been. Then the horrifying being above the altar folded itself into a red-orange cloud, and flowed back into Alyssa, as if it had never been.
For a moment no one moved and the temple was silent, but for the sobbing of a couple of the acolytes. Then Alyssa heard Soren shift behind her.
"Leave, Alyssa," he said in frigid tones, making her wonder if the fear she had heard in his voice before had really been there at all.
Soren lifted her from the bloodstained altar and set her on her feet. She stared up at her Master, the man who had been the center of her life for so long, uncomprehending. He continued, staring down at her coldly.
"You are no longer of the Scholomance. Your sacrifice was not accepted. But the link is still there for the others, and the ritual must be completed." He pushed her away gently, toward the door, and she staggered a few paces, then turned back to see him take Jared's shoulders. Jared's face, she could see, was stunned, mirroring her own incomprehension.
Soren spoke. "Jared, give me your dagger." Slowly, Jared pulled a black stiletto from the sheath in his inner robe and handed it to Soren. Soren gestured and the other acolytes lifted Jared to the altar top. Soren handed the dagger to Christa and stepped aside.
Horrified, no longer able to feel her link to the group that had been so much a part of her for so long, Alyssa tried desperately to reach out to her classmates, to tie herself back in so that the death of her friend would not seem unbearable to her, but necessary. But all she was able to do was to See, faintly, the flows of power from the members of the Scholomance: Soren was right, the link was not dissolved for them! She saw the passion, the will in their faces, the desire in Jared's eyes before Christa moved and obscured her view of him. She turned, sobbing, and ran to the door, hearing the rising sounds of ecstasy and pain beginning again behind her as she fled.
Just before dawn, after grabbing her clothes and a few possessions in a blind panic and fleeing the Scholomance (never to return, a voice inside her head told her), Alyssa stopped her car at an overlook above the city and got out to stand staring down at the lights of Los Angeles. She shivered in the biting wind that had seemed so pleasant driving up into the hills earlier in the evening, a lifetime ago. Her dress stuck to her half-healed cuts and bites, and she hurt, everywhere - but the anguish of being an outcast, of being alone, surpassed anything her body felt. She gazed out at the twinkling lights, smelling the astringent smell of eucalyptus on the wind, and knew that if there was any future for her, she would have to find it for herself, down there, alone. And she cried for the blade that had shattered.