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fellowshippers2003-06-23 10:36 pm
azrhiaz.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-06-23 10:36 pm
FIC, Of Lilies And Remains, Domlijah, NC17
Title: Of Lilies And Remains
Author: Azrhiaz
Pairing: Domlijah
Series: Sequel to Shiver, and won’t make much sense unless you read that first.
Rating: NC17
Warning: Blood, dark themes.
Disclaimer: Fiction, completely. Author not implying otherwise.
Archive: Night’s Garden, others please ask.
Author’s notes: Happiest of birthdays to the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maidazia! For you, pretty. Research was done, but I have no idea if Erzulie’s is really purple. The web page, however, most certainly is. Miss Lady’s is fictional.
I did it once and they wondered
Yet I need to go, once more around
Up breathtakingly
Across rigidly
Down easily—and foolishly
I endeavored again
To climb the wall in vain
And capture back my chain
Of lilies and remains.
-- Bauhaus
The cab ride back to the bed & breakfast had been dead silent.
Arriving at the ornately gingerbreaded gray Victorian, Dom pressed a wad of crumpled bills into the cabbie’s greasy hand. Elijah and Orli were already halfway up the steps, Elijah using the last of his energy to bolt for the door, keys already in hand. For a second it seemed like the key would not turn, and Elijah gave it a furious jiggle. Nothing was behind him on the wide porch except Dom, taking the steps at half-speed. Elijah knew this, but tiny beads of sweat still bloomed on his forehead. He cursed under his breath and tried harder, the edges of the key digging painfully into his thumb. Next to him Orli stood with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, flicking his gaze back across the moonlit lawn. When the latch gave and the door cracked open, slight stick of old painted wood, something let go in Elijah’s throat and he took the inside stairs two at a time, not bothering to wait for the others. He opened the door to his and Dom’s room and threw himself down on the candlewicked coverlet. He heard Dom come in behind him and close the door gently.
“Elijah?” Dom began softly. “Don’t you want to get undressed?”
Elijah didn’t answer him. He was already slipping down into the refuge of the nervously exhausted.
His last thought before sleep claimed him utterly was that he prayed he did not dream.
The next morning Elijah woke with a start. Sunlight was streaming through the balcony window, catching flickering patterns from the chinaberry tree branches. He was alone; a touch of Dom’s pillow revealed that it was cold. Stretching, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up with a groan. All of his muscles seemed to have knotted tightly, and a dull headache was shifting back and forth behind his eyes like wine slopping over a too-full glass. Elijah shuffled to the shower and turned the water on. When it was just about scalding he stripped quickly and got in, hissing at the red flash of pain as he reached for the soap.
When Elijah came downstairs, dressed in frayed jeans and an old khaki t-shirt, his skin was scrubbed bright pink and the knots in his shoulders had loosened somewhat. He found Orli and Dom in the breakfast room, picking at grits and sausages. Dom looked up when Elijah entered and he jumped up to pull out a chair.
“Hey, Lij…sleep okay?” Concern was clearly evident in the taut set of Dom’s face.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Elijah replied as he sat down. Orli looked up and smiled a too-bright smile, and Elijah guessed that Orli was very much determined to forget that last night ever happened.
“Want some grits?” Orli said. “They really aren’t too bad if you put sugar on them.”
From the next room Elijah heard what sounded distinctly like a snort of disgust. Probably Miss Lady, their ancient but feisty proprietress. “No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
And he wasn’t. Suddenly the thought of food made Elijah’s stomach lurch violently. The rich, greasy meat-smell of the sausages coated the inside of his nostrils and he pushed away from the table quickly.
“You still up for walking around the French Quarter today?” Dom asked.
Elijah looked at him, could see that, despite his concern, Dom also wanted to forget about last night. Not that Elijah blamed him.
“Yeah, okay.”
The sun was out in full force when they made their way down Decatur Street. The chill mist of evening had burned away with unseasonable heat, and Elijah soon found himself sweating again. Music filtered out of the sanitized, corporate House of Blues. Other bed & breakfasts were tucked in among the shops and restaurants, their profusion of iron grille work eyelashes beneath their windows. Every now and then a head turned and Elijah caught snatches of whispered giggles from behind girl’s hands, but they were left alone.
Orli stopped to look at a table set up outside a shop that sold leather goods, poking idly at the hand-woven belts. Dom looked too, showing slightly more interest in the chained wallets. Elijah squinted at the harsh light; he wished he’d brought his sunglasses. The headache had not gone away. If anything, it was getting worse, and his mouth felt like dry paper.
Elijah
He turned around. Someone had said his name. He was sure of it. But the other tourists kept walking, not looking at him. Not speaking to him. Elijah felt a wave of dizziness pass over him, vanishing before the world could tilt.
“Guys…can we get something to drink? It’s hot.”
“Yeah, sure,” Dom said, turning back. He looked around. They were at the corner of Decatur and Dumaine. “How about we go that way for a bit, see what we find?”
Elijah agreed, and Orli did as well, uncharacteristically malleable. They hadn’t gone very far up Dumaine when they stopped in front of a garish purple shop.
“Erzulie’s,” Dom read from the pink painted sign, “Authentic Voudou, Honoring the Great Voudou Goddess of Passion, Pleasure, and Prosperity.” A smile cracked his face. “Passion, eh? Sounds good.”
“Voudou? I really don’t want to go in a voudou shop, Dom,” Elijah said, that same sense of tightness clenching his throat. He’d had more than enough of the weird for this trip. Or for the rest of his life, for that matter.
“Says they’ve got iced tea. C’mon, we’ll get your drink and go.” Dom was already opening the door, setting off a tintinnabulation of bell chimes. Elijah gave up and stepped inside.
Blessedly cool air conditioning met him. The room smelled of spices, but nothing too exotic. Elijah thought of baking apple pie and for the first time that day his stomach rumbled. On a long glass counter various displays of soap and oils were set out, all promising love and passion at a reasonable price. Orli picked up a red bar of soap and gave it a tentative sniff. Books lined the walls, drawing Dom’s attention, and Elijah saw a giant jar of what appeared to be black salt. He didn’t see any tea.
Voices were coming from another room on the right, and Elijah looked through the doorway. A tiny Creole woman with an enormous pink and orange head wrap was talking to a pretty red-haired girl. The woman was not precisely beautiful, of indeterminate age, but something in the set of her high cheekbones made Elijah think of a queen. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“You use dis for nine days, I tell you, he stay,” the woman said in a thick accent, indicating a small black bottle with a dropper. “Always work, chere.”
The girl looked doubtful and bit her lip, but after a moment she pulled a twenty from her purse and handed it to the woman. Elijah watched it disappear lightning-fast into some mysterious fold of her caftan and then she was gently ushering the girl to the door. Elijah stepped aside so they could pass.
“Don’ forget—nine days,” the woman called out the door after the girl. When she shut the door she turned back, her face set into what was clearly a greet-the-customers smile.
“Welcome to Erzulie’s, mes beaux garcons,” she began with a flourish, stepping closer to Elijah. “I am Maman Renie. What can I do—” Maman Renie broke off abruptly. She looked Elijah in the eye and he shifted, looked away. A chittering brushed by his ear, some winged insect, and he swatted at it blindly.
“You smell of rum,” Maman Renie said in a low voice. Elijah blinked, surprised, and automatically sniffed at his arm. Surely the shower…
“Yeah, we drank a bit last night,” Dom said. “He just wants some tea.”
“Rum and black coffee,” she continued, giving no sign she’d heard Dom. She reached out and took Elijah’s hand and turned it palm-upward in her own. “And graveyard dirt,” she finished, tracing a slow figure eight in Elijah’s palm.
Elijah jerked his hand away as if burned. “How…how do you know that?” he managed to sputter, his heart pounding along in an excruciating echo inside his already-throbbing brain.
“You’ve got the mark of Baron Samedi on you, plain as day,” Maman Renie replied. “The Baron and his wife rule over the dead and the dark. And sometimes, when the Baron’s in a fine, high mood, they come a’courtin’.” She smiled again, but there was no warmth in it. Elijah felt his insides run slippery-cold.
“That’s nonsense,” Orli said, stepping closer to Elijah, his voice sharp. “Superstitious nonsense.”
“If you say so, chere,” she agreed, but she stepped past Elijah and slid behind the counter. She bent over so that she vanished momentarily from view. When she straightened up Elijah saw she had a small red pouch in her hand. It wasn’t very attractive. The cloth looked old and faded and was distinctly lumpy. Elijah wondered what was in it. Maman Renie stepped back over to Elijah and opened the pouch. When she did Elijah caught a whiff of thick, dark spice that made him think, inexplicably, of Easter. Then he realized what it was.
“Myrrh,” Elijah said.
“Smart boy,” Maman Renie said, “good Catholic boy. But smart and Catholic won’ help you none.” Dom had moved to stand beside Elijah. Elijah felt his hand on the small of his back, safe and comforting.
Maman Renie reached inside the pouch and pulled out a long, rusted nail, then set the pouch carefully on a small table. Before Elijah could protest she grabbed his hand again and drew the sharp point across his palm, leaving a welling crimson trail in its wake.
“Hey!” Dom shouted, “stop that!” Elijah tried to jerk his hand away but Maman Renie had his wrist in an iron grip. It stung terribly, and even worse when she rolled the nail back along his palm, coating it in blood. Orli started to reach for her hand but Maman Renie stopped him with a single flash of her dark eyes.
“Wait,” she said, and they did. Elijah held his breath and watched, wide-eyed, as her tongue slid out, cotton-candy pink and wet, to lap up the blood like an indolent, tawny cat.
“Elijah—“ Dom began, but then Maman Renie released his wrist. She picked up the pouch again and tucked the nail inside, pulling the drawstring tight. She handed the little bag to Elijah, and it seemed to him that there was a strange light burning in her dark eyes now.
“You keep dis on you all de time, cher. Maman Renie give you dis one for free. You need some powerful gris-gris, you do.”
“I, ah…thank you,” Elijah mumbled. Orli already had the door open.
“C’mon, Lij, let’s go,” Orli said, his voice cracking slightly.
Elijah reached around and entwined the fingers of his uninjured hand with Dom’s.
“Yeah, uh…bye.” He shoved the pouch down into his front pocket and turned to go.
Behind him Elijah thought he heard her laughing, but when he looked back, she wasn’t there.
Back out into the glittering sunlight, Elijah turned immediately in the direction of their inn. Belatedly he remembered to let go of Dom’s hand—no sense causing more of a scene if they were recognized. He clutched his wounded hand against his chest, but the bleeding had already nearly stopped. Orli, however, was only getting started.
“Jesus Christ, what a fucking lunatic. You could get tetanus, Lij. Tetanus and God knows what the fuck else.” The muscles in Orli’s jaw twitched. Dom walked quietly beside Elijah, lost in thought.
“You know what I think? I think you ought to press charges. Shut that fucking whackjob down—“
“Oh, right, Orli,” Elijah cut in. The headache, momentarily forgotten while in Erzulie’s, was back with a vengeance, and Orli’s yammering was more than he could stand right now. “Might as well just call the National Enquirer first. ‘Elijah Wood Caught Practicing Secret Voodoo Love Ritual, Story Page Three.’”
“Fucking whackjob,” Orli muttered one more time, but then he fell silent, black murder on his face.
When they got back to Miss Lady’s it was too early for dinner. Elijah drank three tall glasses of sweet iced tea in quick succession and managed to nibble on a couple of the peanut butter cookies Miss Lady had left out on the buffet. Orli was bouncing on the balls of his feet, irritation seeping out of every pore.
“I’m going back out. See you guys later,” he said, and took off. The screen door slammed behind him, doing Elijah’s head no favors whatsoever.
“What do you want to do?” Dom asked, but Elijah was already heading for the stairs.
“I just want to take a nap. Head hurts.” Elijah’s hand slid along the satiny oak banister.
“Want me to wake you up for dinner?” Dom called after him.
“No,” Elijah replied.
He was so very glad that they were going home tomorrow.
For the second time in twenty-four hours Elijah woke with a start. The room was dark. He’d been dreaming of a laughing man in a black top hat and a pale woman who smelled like lilies, although he couldn’t remember what it was she’d whispered in his ear. The little red pouch sat on the bedside table next to him and Elijah reached over and touched it, quick brush of fingertips. Still there. His headache was gone.
He realized that he was hard, achingly so. A thin beam of moonlight fell on the carpet. In the black of the room the shadows of the chinaberry leaves danced like mute ghosts. Elijah looked over. Dom was curled away from him, shirtless, his skin the same shade as his eyes in the low light. Elijah slid over to him, slid his hand around the warmsoft planes of Dom’s stomach, breathing in Dom’s sleep-smell. Brushed wet flicks of tongue against the shell of Dom’s ear as his hand dropped lower to cup Dom through the thin cotton boxers. Dom moaned softly, instinctively pressed back against Elijah’s erection. Awake now, or close enough; he turned over, opened to Elijah’s kiss as Elijah’s hand stroked him surely to answering hardness.
No words as Dom opened his eyes and sat up. Pressed Elijah back, and under, taking control. Blistering heat shimmered in the room, the ceiling fan revolving in slow ineffectual circles while Dom kicked away his boxers. Pulled Elijah’s off with a single quick yank. Elijah pulled Dom down into another kiss, frantic tangle of tongues and sweat-damp limbs. Dom broke away and sat back, fumbling momentarily in the bedside drawer.
Elijah
Cold wet invasion of Dom’s finger and Elijah gasped, but it wasn’t enough. He squirmed and lifted his hips, whimpered slightly when Dom added another and scissored them, brighthot sparks. Still not enough.
“Dom…please,” Elijah whispered, and Dom pulled his fingers out. Moved further between Elijah’s legs and Elijah felt the tip of Dom’s cock press against him. Elijah reached up, reached around Dom’s neck and caught his mouth just as Dom pushed inside, burningburning slow sinking oh yes in. Dom waited the space of two heartbeats for Elijah to adjust—
Elijah
-- and then began to thrust hard, pounding Elijah down, so full so hard so motherfucking sweet that Elijah thought he just might die from the pure hot pleasure of it.
Elijah brushed in his ears, brushed on the windowpane, whisper of antique voices or the wind through the chinaberry branches and Elijah didn’t stop to think, sunk his teeth deep into soft flesh of Dom’s chest as he came, hard, the dirty penny taste that flooded his mouth coating his scream.
When the world stopped shattering Elijah realized that Dom was bleeding. Rather badly. And hard on the heels of that—he’d caused it.
“Oh, God, Dom, I’m sorry,” Elijah said, crawling out from underneath Dom and touching the bite gingerly with his fingertips. Dom winced, and Elijah scrambled to the bathroom. He came back with peroxide and Band-Aids and patched Dom up as best he could in between more apologies. At last Dom shushed him—“’s okay, Lij, really”—and pulled him down into a close spoon, his arm slung across Elijah’s chest.
Elijah reached out and picked up the little red bag, curling it tightly into his fingers. He drifted off to sleep with half-formed thoughts of Dom in their kitchen back home.
Sometime around midnight, with the wind howling obscene litanies outside, Elijah’s fingers relaxed.
The bag rolled out, and rolled underneath the bed.
Elijah
Elijah watched himself unfold himself away from Dom as if in a dream. Watched his own feet, thin and white, walk across the threadbare Oriental carpet to the window. Open. A vague thought occurred to him-- it wasn’t open-- but the harder he tried to think about it, the further away it got, until he couldn’t remember what it was he was thinking anymore.
Then time began to blur. He didn’t remember climbing down the chinaberry tree, but he must have. The night clung damp and chill to Elijah’s bare chest and he shivered, but he kept walking. The phosphorescent glow of the street lamps bled hallucinatory fingers into the darkness.
He kept walking.
Watched his hand come up, slow through dead-sea water, to touch the massive iron gates of Lafayette Cemetery. Watched them swing open soundlessly, aural vacuum of nothingness that reverberated against Elijah’s eardrums and the blood pounding helplessly there.
Watched the blind dirt of the path come up between his toes, fertile and horrible.
Could not watch himself open the gate between the black angels; mercifully, he was allowed to shut his eyes.
The arms that slid, cold silk, around his neck smelled of lilies.
Elijah, the voices whispered in a breath of charnel rum, stay for always.
In time his kiss grew as cold as his dead flesh, but precisely when that happened, Elijah never knew.
End.
Author: Azrhiaz
Pairing: Domlijah
Series: Sequel to Shiver, and won’t make much sense unless you read that first.
Rating: NC17
Warning: Blood, dark themes.
Disclaimer: Fiction, completely. Author not implying otherwise.
Archive: Night’s Garden, others please ask.
Author’s notes: Happiest of birthdays to the lovely
maidazia! For you, pretty. Research was done, but I have no idea if Erzulie’s is really purple. The web page, however, most certainly is. Miss Lady’s is fictional.I did it once and they wondered
Yet I need to go, once more around
Up breathtakingly
Across rigidly
Down easily—and foolishly
I endeavored again
To climb the wall in vain
And capture back my chain
Of lilies and remains.
-- Bauhaus
The cab ride back to the bed & breakfast had been dead silent.
Arriving at the ornately gingerbreaded gray Victorian, Dom pressed a wad of crumpled bills into the cabbie’s greasy hand. Elijah and Orli were already halfway up the steps, Elijah using the last of his energy to bolt for the door, keys already in hand. For a second it seemed like the key would not turn, and Elijah gave it a furious jiggle. Nothing was behind him on the wide porch except Dom, taking the steps at half-speed. Elijah knew this, but tiny beads of sweat still bloomed on his forehead. He cursed under his breath and tried harder, the edges of the key digging painfully into his thumb. Next to him Orli stood with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, flicking his gaze back across the moonlit lawn. When the latch gave and the door cracked open, slight stick of old painted wood, something let go in Elijah’s throat and he took the inside stairs two at a time, not bothering to wait for the others. He opened the door to his and Dom’s room and threw himself down on the candlewicked coverlet. He heard Dom come in behind him and close the door gently.
“Elijah?” Dom began softly. “Don’t you want to get undressed?”
Elijah didn’t answer him. He was already slipping down into the refuge of the nervously exhausted.
His last thought before sleep claimed him utterly was that he prayed he did not dream.
The next morning Elijah woke with a start. Sunlight was streaming through the balcony window, catching flickering patterns from the chinaberry tree branches. He was alone; a touch of Dom’s pillow revealed that it was cold. Stretching, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up with a groan. All of his muscles seemed to have knotted tightly, and a dull headache was shifting back and forth behind his eyes like wine slopping over a too-full glass. Elijah shuffled to the shower and turned the water on. When it was just about scalding he stripped quickly and got in, hissing at the red flash of pain as he reached for the soap.
When Elijah came downstairs, dressed in frayed jeans and an old khaki t-shirt, his skin was scrubbed bright pink and the knots in his shoulders had loosened somewhat. He found Orli and Dom in the breakfast room, picking at grits and sausages. Dom looked up when Elijah entered and he jumped up to pull out a chair.
“Hey, Lij…sleep okay?” Concern was clearly evident in the taut set of Dom’s face.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Elijah replied as he sat down. Orli looked up and smiled a too-bright smile, and Elijah guessed that Orli was very much determined to forget that last night ever happened.
“Want some grits?” Orli said. “They really aren’t too bad if you put sugar on them.”
From the next room Elijah heard what sounded distinctly like a snort of disgust. Probably Miss Lady, their ancient but feisty proprietress. “No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
And he wasn’t. Suddenly the thought of food made Elijah’s stomach lurch violently. The rich, greasy meat-smell of the sausages coated the inside of his nostrils and he pushed away from the table quickly.
“You still up for walking around the French Quarter today?” Dom asked.
Elijah looked at him, could see that, despite his concern, Dom also wanted to forget about last night. Not that Elijah blamed him.
“Yeah, okay.”
The sun was out in full force when they made their way down Decatur Street. The chill mist of evening had burned away with unseasonable heat, and Elijah soon found himself sweating again. Music filtered out of the sanitized, corporate House of Blues. Other bed & breakfasts were tucked in among the shops and restaurants, their profusion of iron grille work eyelashes beneath their windows. Every now and then a head turned and Elijah caught snatches of whispered giggles from behind girl’s hands, but they were left alone.
Orli stopped to look at a table set up outside a shop that sold leather goods, poking idly at the hand-woven belts. Dom looked too, showing slightly more interest in the chained wallets. Elijah squinted at the harsh light; he wished he’d brought his sunglasses. The headache had not gone away. If anything, it was getting worse, and his mouth felt like dry paper.
Elijah
He turned around. Someone had said his name. He was sure of it. But the other tourists kept walking, not looking at him. Not speaking to him. Elijah felt a wave of dizziness pass over him, vanishing before the world could tilt.
“Guys…can we get something to drink? It’s hot.”
“Yeah, sure,” Dom said, turning back. He looked around. They were at the corner of Decatur and Dumaine. “How about we go that way for a bit, see what we find?”
Elijah agreed, and Orli did as well, uncharacteristically malleable. They hadn’t gone very far up Dumaine when they stopped in front of a garish purple shop.
“Erzulie’s,” Dom read from the pink painted sign, “Authentic Voudou, Honoring the Great Voudou Goddess of Passion, Pleasure, and Prosperity.” A smile cracked his face. “Passion, eh? Sounds good.”
“Voudou? I really don’t want to go in a voudou shop, Dom,” Elijah said, that same sense of tightness clenching his throat. He’d had more than enough of the weird for this trip. Or for the rest of his life, for that matter.
“Says they’ve got iced tea. C’mon, we’ll get your drink and go.” Dom was already opening the door, setting off a tintinnabulation of bell chimes. Elijah gave up and stepped inside.
Blessedly cool air conditioning met him. The room smelled of spices, but nothing too exotic. Elijah thought of baking apple pie and for the first time that day his stomach rumbled. On a long glass counter various displays of soap and oils were set out, all promising love and passion at a reasonable price. Orli picked up a red bar of soap and gave it a tentative sniff. Books lined the walls, drawing Dom’s attention, and Elijah saw a giant jar of what appeared to be black salt. He didn’t see any tea.
Voices were coming from another room on the right, and Elijah looked through the doorway. A tiny Creole woman with an enormous pink and orange head wrap was talking to a pretty red-haired girl. The woman was not precisely beautiful, of indeterminate age, but something in the set of her high cheekbones made Elijah think of a queen. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“You use dis for nine days, I tell you, he stay,” the woman said in a thick accent, indicating a small black bottle with a dropper. “Always work, chere.”
The girl looked doubtful and bit her lip, but after a moment she pulled a twenty from her purse and handed it to the woman. Elijah watched it disappear lightning-fast into some mysterious fold of her caftan and then she was gently ushering the girl to the door. Elijah stepped aside so they could pass.
“Don’ forget—nine days,” the woman called out the door after the girl. When she shut the door she turned back, her face set into what was clearly a greet-the-customers smile.
“Welcome to Erzulie’s, mes beaux garcons,” she began with a flourish, stepping closer to Elijah. “I am Maman Renie. What can I do—” Maman Renie broke off abruptly. She looked Elijah in the eye and he shifted, looked away. A chittering brushed by his ear, some winged insect, and he swatted at it blindly.
“You smell of rum,” Maman Renie said in a low voice. Elijah blinked, surprised, and automatically sniffed at his arm. Surely the shower…
“Yeah, we drank a bit last night,” Dom said. “He just wants some tea.”
“Rum and black coffee,” she continued, giving no sign she’d heard Dom. She reached out and took Elijah’s hand and turned it palm-upward in her own. “And graveyard dirt,” she finished, tracing a slow figure eight in Elijah’s palm.
Elijah jerked his hand away as if burned. “How…how do you know that?” he managed to sputter, his heart pounding along in an excruciating echo inside his already-throbbing brain.
“You’ve got the mark of Baron Samedi on you, plain as day,” Maman Renie replied. “The Baron and his wife rule over the dead and the dark. And sometimes, when the Baron’s in a fine, high mood, they come a’courtin’.” She smiled again, but there was no warmth in it. Elijah felt his insides run slippery-cold.
“That’s nonsense,” Orli said, stepping closer to Elijah, his voice sharp. “Superstitious nonsense.”
“If you say so, chere,” she agreed, but she stepped past Elijah and slid behind the counter. She bent over so that she vanished momentarily from view. When she straightened up Elijah saw she had a small red pouch in her hand. It wasn’t very attractive. The cloth looked old and faded and was distinctly lumpy. Elijah wondered what was in it. Maman Renie stepped back over to Elijah and opened the pouch. When she did Elijah caught a whiff of thick, dark spice that made him think, inexplicably, of Easter. Then he realized what it was.
“Myrrh,” Elijah said.
“Smart boy,” Maman Renie said, “good Catholic boy. But smart and Catholic won’ help you none.” Dom had moved to stand beside Elijah. Elijah felt his hand on the small of his back, safe and comforting.
Maman Renie reached inside the pouch and pulled out a long, rusted nail, then set the pouch carefully on a small table. Before Elijah could protest she grabbed his hand again and drew the sharp point across his palm, leaving a welling crimson trail in its wake.
“Hey!” Dom shouted, “stop that!” Elijah tried to jerk his hand away but Maman Renie had his wrist in an iron grip. It stung terribly, and even worse when she rolled the nail back along his palm, coating it in blood. Orli started to reach for her hand but Maman Renie stopped him with a single flash of her dark eyes.
“Wait,” she said, and they did. Elijah held his breath and watched, wide-eyed, as her tongue slid out, cotton-candy pink and wet, to lap up the blood like an indolent, tawny cat.
“Elijah—“ Dom began, but then Maman Renie released his wrist. She picked up the pouch again and tucked the nail inside, pulling the drawstring tight. She handed the little bag to Elijah, and it seemed to him that there was a strange light burning in her dark eyes now.
“You keep dis on you all de time, cher. Maman Renie give you dis one for free. You need some powerful gris-gris, you do.”
“I, ah…thank you,” Elijah mumbled. Orli already had the door open.
“C’mon, Lij, let’s go,” Orli said, his voice cracking slightly.
Elijah reached around and entwined the fingers of his uninjured hand with Dom’s.
“Yeah, uh…bye.” He shoved the pouch down into his front pocket and turned to go.
Behind him Elijah thought he heard her laughing, but when he looked back, she wasn’t there.
Back out into the glittering sunlight, Elijah turned immediately in the direction of their inn. Belatedly he remembered to let go of Dom’s hand—no sense causing more of a scene if they were recognized. He clutched his wounded hand against his chest, but the bleeding had already nearly stopped. Orli, however, was only getting started.
“Jesus Christ, what a fucking lunatic. You could get tetanus, Lij. Tetanus and God knows what the fuck else.” The muscles in Orli’s jaw twitched. Dom walked quietly beside Elijah, lost in thought.
“You know what I think? I think you ought to press charges. Shut that fucking whackjob down—“
“Oh, right, Orli,” Elijah cut in. The headache, momentarily forgotten while in Erzulie’s, was back with a vengeance, and Orli’s yammering was more than he could stand right now. “Might as well just call the National Enquirer first. ‘Elijah Wood Caught Practicing Secret Voodoo Love Ritual, Story Page Three.’”
“Fucking whackjob,” Orli muttered one more time, but then he fell silent, black murder on his face.
When they got back to Miss Lady’s it was too early for dinner. Elijah drank three tall glasses of sweet iced tea in quick succession and managed to nibble on a couple of the peanut butter cookies Miss Lady had left out on the buffet. Orli was bouncing on the balls of his feet, irritation seeping out of every pore.
“I’m going back out. See you guys later,” he said, and took off. The screen door slammed behind him, doing Elijah’s head no favors whatsoever.
“What do you want to do?” Dom asked, but Elijah was already heading for the stairs.
“I just want to take a nap. Head hurts.” Elijah’s hand slid along the satiny oak banister.
“Want me to wake you up for dinner?” Dom called after him.
“No,” Elijah replied.
He was so very glad that they were going home tomorrow.
For the second time in twenty-four hours Elijah woke with a start. The room was dark. He’d been dreaming of a laughing man in a black top hat and a pale woman who smelled like lilies, although he couldn’t remember what it was she’d whispered in his ear. The little red pouch sat on the bedside table next to him and Elijah reached over and touched it, quick brush of fingertips. Still there. His headache was gone.
He realized that he was hard, achingly so. A thin beam of moonlight fell on the carpet. In the black of the room the shadows of the chinaberry leaves danced like mute ghosts. Elijah looked over. Dom was curled away from him, shirtless, his skin the same shade as his eyes in the low light. Elijah slid over to him, slid his hand around the warmsoft planes of Dom’s stomach, breathing in Dom’s sleep-smell. Brushed wet flicks of tongue against the shell of Dom’s ear as his hand dropped lower to cup Dom through the thin cotton boxers. Dom moaned softly, instinctively pressed back against Elijah’s erection. Awake now, or close enough; he turned over, opened to Elijah’s kiss as Elijah’s hand stroked him surely to answering hardness.
No words as Dom opened his eyes and sat up. Pressed Elijah back, and under, taking control. Blistering heat shimmered in the room, the ceiling fan revolving in slow ineffectual circles while Dom kicked away his boxers. Pulled Elijah’s off with a single quick yank. Elijah pulled Dom down into another kiss, frantic tangle of tongues and sweat-damp limbs. Dom broke away and sat back, fumbling momentarily in the bedside drawer.
Elijah
Cold wet invasion of Dom’s finger and Elijah gasped, but it wasn’t enough. He squirmed and lifted his hips, whimpered slightly when Dom added another and scissored them, brighthot sparks. Still not enough.
“Dom…please,” Elijah whispered, and Dom pulled his fingers out. Moved further between Elijah’s legs and Elijah felt the tip of Dom’s cock press against him. Elijah reached up, reached around Dom’s neck and caught his mouth just as Dom pushed inside, burningburning slow sinking oh yes in. Dom waited the space of two heartbeats for Elijah to adjust—
Elijah
-- and then began to thrust hard, pounding Elijah down, so full so hard so motherfucking sweet that Elijah thought he just might die from the pure hot pleasure of it.
Elijah brushed in his ears, brushed on the windowpane, whisper of antique voices or the wind through the chinaberry branches and Elijah didn’t stop to think, sunk his teeth deep into soft flesh of Dom’s chest as he came, hard, the dirty penny taste that flooded his mouth coating his scream.
When the world stopped shattering Elijah realized that Dom was bleeding. Rather badly. And hard on the heels of that—he’d caused it.
“Oh, God, Dom, I’m sorry,” Elijah said, crawling out from underneath Dom and touching the bite gingerly with his fingertips. Dom winced, and Elijah scrambled to the bathroom. He came back with peroxide and Band-Aids and patched Dom up as best he could in between more apologies. At last Dom shushed him—“’s okay, Lij, really”—and pulled him down into a close spoon, his arm slung across Elijah’s chest.
Elijah reached out and picked up the little red bag, curling it tightly into his fingers. He drifted off to sleep with half-formed thoughts of Dom in their kitchen back home.
Sometime around midnight, with the wind howling obscene litanies outside, Elijah’s fingers relaxed.
The bag rolled out, and rolled underneath the bed.
Elijah
Elijah watched himself unfold himself away from Dom as if in a dream. Watched his own feet, thin and white, walk across the threadbare Oriental carpet to the window. Open. A vague thought occurred to him-- it wasn’t open-- but the harder he tried to think about it, the further away it got, until he couldn’t remember what it was he was thinking anymore.
Then time began to blur. He didn’t remember climbing down the chinaberry tree, but he must have. The night clung damp and chill to Elijah’s bare chest and he shivered, but he kept walking. The phosphorescent glow of the street lamps bled hallucinatory fingers into the darkness.
He kept walking.
Watched his hand come up, slow through dead-sea water, to touch the massive iron gates of Lafayette Cemetery. Watched them swing open soundlessly, aural vacuum of nothingness that reverberated against Elijah’s eardrums and the blood pounding helplessly there.
Watched the blind dirt of the path come up between his toes, fertile and horrible.
Could not watch himself open the gate between the black angels; mercifully, he was allowed to shut his eyes.
The arms that slid, cold silk, around his neck smelled of lilies.
Elijah, the voices whispered in a breath of charnel rum, stay for always.
In time his kiss grew as cold as his dead flesh, but precisely when that happened, Elijah never knew.
End.
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*repeat*
*deep breath releasing*
Whoa!!!! *shiver*
Love it!
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Oh my. Oh my God. That was just the perfect amount of New Orleans creepiness. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. The old voudou woman? Maman Renie? The way you wrote her dialect amazed me. It was fabulous. Her character was fantastic.
Just...wow.
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Wow back at you...thank you so much for the lovely feedback! *is thrilled*
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Poor Lij... even the dead want him. *G*
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Thank you very much for reading and commenting. Am glad you liked it. :)
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