Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta Read online

  “Please stay calm, dear heart.”

  “Get off me!” Rissa snarled, tugging even harder.

  “Don’t say that!” the woman in the painting frantically warned, but it was already too late.

  There was a blinding flash of light, and Rissa abruptly found herself still wearing the ring ... and nothing else. She was absolutely stark naked, surrounded by her clothing, which was spread out in a neat circle on the polished hardwood floor and Oriental carpet.

  Ever so slowly bending down, she saw that every garment was intact, not ripped or damaged in any way. Hesitantly, Rissa picked up her jeans, and found them still zipped and buttoned. No words came to mind, only a soft buzzing noise.

  “Better watch what you say, dear, or the next time it won’t be funny,” the woman in the painting chuckled. “The ring will obey you, up to a point, of course ...” Her voice trailed away, then came back strong. “And where, young lady, did you get that Chinese tattoo?”

  “Spring break, Cancun,” Rissa, said, grabbing her shirt, and quickly pulling it back on over her head. The hem hung to her thighs, offering some small degree of decorum. She was only a few pounds overweight, but to Rissa her stomach always felt like a giggling inner tube.

  “Mexico? What in the world does it say?”

  “Authorized personnel only.”

  “Clarissa!”

  “Joke, it’s a joke,” she murmured, stepping into her panties and pulling them all the way up to her ribs.

  Almost leaning out of the frame, the figure of her grandmother scowled at the decorative undergarment. “And who, may I ask, is Indiana Jones? Strange name. Your husband, I hope?”

  “We’re just friends,” Rissa lied, sidestepping the entire Spielberg issue.

  “At the very least, I would assume.”

  Grabbing the jeans, Rissa undid the zipper, sat down, and pulled them on. Standing, she closed the front and buckled the belt.

  “Better?”

  “Infinitely so, yes,” Rissa replied with a blink. Touching her nose, she frowned.

  “They’re on the sideboard.”

  Retrieving the wire-rimmed glasses, Rissa tucked them back into place and fluffed her hair to hide the ugly stems. “Okay, about the ring ...” she began, looking at the little amber dragon with marked trepidation. “It’s magic, and will do whatever I command.”

  Whether she wanted something to happen or not. Dangerous was a only mild way of describing the damn thing, kind of the same way a nuclear war would be a trifle inconvenient.

  “Yes, it will obey you,” the woman in the painting chuckled, “but only up to a point.”

  “Such as?” Rissa asked, unconsciously rubbing a palm on the dragon. As it started to purr, she immediately stopped.

  “I have no idea. It’s different for everybody.”

  Wonderful. “Is this another invention by grandfather?”

  “Yes, and no,” the painting said with a sigh, slipping off a shoe to scratch her bare foot. “Over in the tallboy is a letter from him that will explain everything.”

  “Why can’t you tell me?”

  “Because I’m just the answering machine, dear, not bloody Wikipedia.”

  How topical!

  Located in a small alcove, the tallboy was beautifully made of a very dark wood, and covered with mystic symbols. All of them were known to her—pentagram, ankh, crescent moon and such—except for one. It was very complex, and sort of resembled an ampersand combined with a treble clef. Bizarre.

  That was when Rissa noticed that the tallboy was also sans hinges, handles, or any other type of hardware. “How do I open it?”

  “Just place your palm on top.”

  Taking a dramatic stance, Rissa placed her left hand on the wood. Nothing happened.

  “The one with the ring, dearest.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” Rissa muttered, switching hands.

  Instantly the wood began to vibrate, rapidly building to a powerful hum. Then it stopped, and a section slid back to reveal a fat parchment envelope with her full name written on it in a glowing script. Eagerly Rissa reached for it, and a distant bell chimed. “Is that the burglar alarm?”

  “No, the front door,” the painting said, rushing to her chair, and snatching up the book.

  “Who cares?” Rissa said with a shrug. “If we wait long enough, they’ll go away.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Why is that?”

  There came the muffled sound of a door opening.

  “Hello, is anybody home?” a man called out loudly.

  “Because this house is never locked to a friend,” the painting whispered, precisely assuming her original position and going still.

  Trying not to explode from sheer frustration, Rissa shoved the envelope back into the secret compartment. Silently the opening closed, as if it were living flesh.

  Checking over her clothing, Rissa stormed from the sitting room and up the long corridor to the foyer. Whoever this was, she would get rid of them fast. The information in that envelope was top priority, much more important than anything else. Unless it was the antiques dealer come visiting.

  That slowed her down fast, then Rissa recalled her grandmother’s words that the house was only unlocked to friends. She fought back a giggle. Of course I’m safe! The magic portrait on the wall said so.

  In the foyer, a tall man with incredibly black hair was standing dangerously close to her backpack while ostensibly studying the grandfather clock.

  Stopping in the archway, Rissa frowned. The stranger was wearing a badly rumpled tuxedo that had a lot of water stains, several small rips, a cummerbund sticking out of a pocket, and the reek of stale beer. Oh, my, what classy bums they have in Savannah.

  “Can I help you?” Rissa asked sarcastically, tapping her sneaker.

  “Hopefully so,” he said, turning around.

  When she saw his face, Rissa gasped in astonishment. It was the rainbow! Obviously, the TV and newspaper had not done him justice. If Errol Flynn and George Clooney had a son, this guy would have been the result. He was built like a professional weightlifter, strong, with massive shoulders. But there was no sign of cruelty in his unshaven face. His deep blue eyes were gentle, thoughtful, and there was a tiny scar on his jaw that she had the irrational urge to kiss.

  Unbidden, there flashed through her mind the image of him wearing only a bow tie. Down, girl, he has a fiancée! Of course, that only meant he was not married, and a man did have the right to change his mind ...

  At the exact same time, Colt arched an eyebrow until it threatened to leave his face. Curly hair, glasses, green eyes ... yes, this is the woman in the crystal ball! But he honestly did not remember her being so incredibly beautiful! Even if she was dressed like a field hand. She had a wonderful zöftig figure, with real breasts and belled hips, not like those starving stick insects in Atlanta high society, plus a crooked little smile that just begged to be kissed. A lot. He bet that she even smelled wonderful, and took a sniff. Ah, the dulcet aroma of ... stale beer? Oh crap, that’s me.

  For a length of time that could only be measured in heartbeats, they stood looking at each other, trying to breathe.

  “Don’t I know you?” Rissa and Colt asked in unison.

  ***

  Bunching her long blonde hair into a manageable ponytail with a pink elastic scrunchy, Melissa Sumner lit an herbal candle sitting inside the sink basin, then crossed the bathroom to turn off the hot water in the tub. In the living room, the stereo was playing something soothing by Chopin, brownies were baking in the kitchen, and the bathroom was filled with the smoky aroma of sandalwood and steamy lavender. Ah, perfect.

  Checking to make sure that her cell phone was recharging properly, Melissa then locked the door and hung her bathrobe on a hook. Padding naked to the tub, she glanced into the wall mirror, tried not to preen, and failed. Melissa was damn proud to be a BBW, a big beautiful woman, and took every opportunity to show off her curvaceous shape. Since the dawn of time, every
woman wanted to be plump; it had been a sign of health and wealth. Boadicea, Cleopatra, and Helen of Troy were historically known to be full-figured gals, and Rubenesque was a compliment, not an insult.

  Sadly, that all changed with Hollywood, and the invasion of the stick insects. Women who were only coat hangers with feet, perfect for modeling designer clothes, and nothing more. Bah, bones are for dogs. Real men like meat in their beds!

  Balancing precariously on one foot, Melissa dipped a toe into the steaming water to test the temperature, then gratefully eased herself all the way down to the Celtic good-luck tattoo on her shoulder. Wonderful! A hot bath was one of the nine proofs of the existence of a loving god. Blessed be Her name!

  Or His name, Melissa amended diplomatically, starting to wash her arms. The jury was still out on that, and she had no strong opinion either way.

  It had been a long day at her Wiccan shop, Grand Arcana, and Melissa desperately needed some relaxation. But then, June was always a good time for business, what with the coming solstice and everything. Wiccans, pagans, witches and warlocks from across Chicagoland had come to purchase supplies for the big celebration, and she had barely been able to close.

  In spite of how Hollyweird portrayed the Craft, most practitioners of magic were quiet, peaceful folk who minded their own business and always obeyed the prime rule: Do what thou will, but harm none. Wise words, indeed. Unfortunately, mixed among the true believers were always a smattering of what she liked to called Kitchen Witches, rank amateurs more interested in learning how to get rich quick or steal another person’s spouse than in being righteous or helping others. Judiciously, Melissa steered them away from the more dangerous materials in her shop and over to the “toy department.” They happily left with bags full of expensive nonsense that was utterly harmless. Ignorance is bliss!

  As the Chopin concerto ended, the stereo switched to something even more soothing from Debussy, and Melissa began lathering all the way to the pentagram on her right shoulder, down to the symbol for karma on her stomach, then over to the sign for yarma on her left ankle. She always had liked that arrangement. Karma was your inescapable fate, while yarma was the ability to change that fate through intelligence. They were the yin and yang of destiny.

  Taking a washcloth off the side of the tub, Melissa then scrubbed her yin, along with the rarely seen yang. Clean body or clean mind, take your pick!

  Aside from her face and hands, every inch of her body was decorated with tattoos of occult symbols, mystic runes, and the occasional lines of poetry in ancient Latin or Hellenic Greek. The first tattoo had simply been a youthful act of rebellion, a tiny heart on her butt where nobody would ever see it. But for some reason the tattoo made her feel courageous, and less shy, as if she were reclaiming her own body. More tattoos quickly followed, and in short order she was a walking art show of erotic arcana that impressed her friends, and amazed her many lovers. Anybody who says that you can’t gild a lily doesn’t know a damn thing about lilies.

  Carefully standing, Melissa rinsed under the shower while the tub drained. Then she refilled it with even hotter water than before and took a glass jar from a wicker basket alongside the tub to sprinkle in copious amounts of pink powder. As the water bubbled, great mounds of foam rose high, and she slipped out of sight, trying to decide which erotic fantasy to indulge in tonight.

  Over the years, many customers had flirted with Melissa, but she had steadfastly refused to cross over the counter and accept an invitation. That would have been unprofessional and unethical. Most of her lovers were found at science fiction conventions where a BBW was cherished, almost worshiped, as long as she was highly educated and very well read.

  Happily, she was both and always found a bed partner for the weekend, many of them becoming long-term lovers. Melissa hadn’t found a potential life partner yet, but certainly was enjoying the hunt! Speaking of which ...

  Slipping a hand beneath the foamy suds, Melissa began to fantasize about a faceless stranger, young and lithe, eager to please and thoroughly unschooled. A virgin sacrifice ...

  Just then, a powerful gust of wind rattled the window shutters.

  “You can’t come in, I’m busy!” Melissa laughed, slightly quickening the tempo.

  The windows rattled again, louder this time.

  “And protected,” she added breathlessly, the bubbles sloshing over the rim of the tub.

  Even if there were a malign spirit outside the house, Melissa was certain that it could never breach her defenses. Aside from her arsenal of occult tattoos, the walls of the apartment were also covered with holy symbols, icons and talismans from a dozen religions, as well as her own primitive efforts to unlock the secrets of the universe.

  In her lifelong study of the occult, Melissa often ran across obscure references to a rune of power. But there were never any pictures, and descriptions ranged from it resembling the outline of a woman’s figure to a treble clef of all things! Crazy stuff. She had tried combining the two shapes just to see what would happen, but nothing ever did. That is, aside from a sheet of paper going oddly missing the precise moment she finished an experimental version of the design. Coincidence? Maybe. But the jury was still out on that, too.

  Closing both eyes, Melissa began to smile as the faceless man came out of the dark forest and into a pool of silvery moonlight. He was tall and strong, completely hairless where it counted, and smelled of honest sweat, and soap.

  Without reservation, Melissa flung herself into his waiting arms. They kissed, gently at first, tenderly, sweetly, soft lips only, his strong arms tight around her waist. Then their passion increased, and soon his amorous intentions became readily apparent. Hot damn, now we’re cooking with microwaves!

  It was always amazing to Melissa that few men ever understood that no woman liked for him to arrive ready to go, like a knight at a joust. She wanted to see him become aroused and know that it was because of his desire for her alone. I made this, it is mine. That was truly exciting, and a lot more so than poetry and chocolates. Men wanted to display their strength, but a woman wanted proof of her own desirability. Words could lie, but the flesh did not.

  As the water started to slosh in the tub, Melissa paused in annoyance as she heard the rubber stopper in the drain pop free. Sitting upright, she scowled as the foamy water at the far end of the tub began to move as something invisible rose from the open pipe.

  Rivulets of watery foam trickled across the ethereal being, outlining the form of a naked man. His body was beyond perfection, nearly divine, a young Hercules ready, willing, and more than able to sport with the plump mortal maiden splayed under the soap water.

  “Congratulations, you found a way inside,” Melissa growled, reaching over the side of the tub to fumble inside the wicker basket. “But if this is a seduction, you climbed into the wrong tub ... if you get my meaning.”

  Starting to glide forward, the figure paused, uncertain.

  “Men aren’t exactly my cup of tea,” Melissa lied outrageously, struggling to remove the cap from a small wooden container.

  Instantly, there flooded into her mind images of wealth and power. The visitor could show her the true rune of power. She could be eternally beautiful, and rich beyond belief! She would become a master of the occult, and slay the mindless hordes of Kitchen Witches with divine fire, then every Wiccan on the planet would bow before her in worship!

  The torrent of wild images made her reel drunkenly, and Melissa felt disoriented, as if she were chained in place, yet somehow flying free. Think of what I could do with all that power, with real magic at my command. The thousands of people I could help ...

  “Yes, yield to me,” the thing whispered from the steamy bubbles. “Yield, and I will give you everything!”

  Her heart beating wildly, Melissa paused in confusion, torn between achieving her lifelong dream and obeying the First Law:

  Suddenly, soft words began to flow into her mind like silver waters. Rissa was in terrible danger and would soon die. Only you
can save her from untold agonies ... and only with the secret of the rune. Forget yourself, save your friend, do the honorable thing ...

  Sanity was slipping from her dizzy mind, every thought becoming more confused and blurry. Barely able to breathe, Melissa started to agree, to pledge her soul to this dark thing. The temptation was strong, almost overpowering, when she caught a brief glance of the tattoo on her ankle. Yarma, make your own destiny.

  “W-who are you?” Melissa gasped, finally getting off the cap. “What are you?”

  “Whatever you wish me to be!” the thing whispered seductively, changing into the form of a comely young woman.

  “Wrong again, bucko!” Melissa snarled, pouring the entire contents of the container into the tub.

  As the deluge of bath salts hit the water, the soapy foam vanished in a loud hiss and the thing howled, recoiling as if in terrible pain.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Melissa scrambled out of the tub to dash across the bathroom. Salt and magic went together like sugar and gasoline!

  Grabbing a can of hair spray off the shelf and the sandalwood candle from the sink, Melissa turned around just as something invisible grabbed her painfully by the throat.

  “Mortal fool!” it bellowed, icy-cold talons starting to squeeze. “I’ll eat your soul!”

  Unable to inhale, Melissa unfortunately had to pass on a snappy comeback and merely pressed the button on top on the can. As the spray hissed past the burning candle, it ignited into a roaring column of flame.

  Squealing in terror, the thing hastily retreated back to the tub and dove down the gurgling drain. Maintaining the fiery assault for a few moments, Melissa placed the makeshift flamethrower on the toilet, and got a can of drain cleaner from under the sink.

  “Yeah, you better run, motherfucker!” she snarled, liberally pouring the acidic contents into the scummy tub. With a hiss, the last few bubbles dissolved instantly, and there came a pitiful wail from deep inside the plumbing. Bullseye!

  Taking a moment to catch her breath, Melissa stumbled across the bathroom to grab her cell phone from a recharging dock. Snapping it open, she hit speed dial. “Rissa, you’re in danger!”