Chapter 4: Sweet as Chocolate

Charles awoke with a gasp, still feeling claws trailing down his belly as the dream lingered in his mind. He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, finding that it was damp with sweat, his sheets sticking to his skin. He took a few minutes to center himself, remembering where – and who – he was.

It shouldn’t surprise him anymore. This was the third time, after all. He was certain now that he was reliving the experiences of ancient people who had interacted with Tez at various points throughout her existence. It was impossible to put an accurate date on any of them. Some of the memories could be five or six hundred years old, and others could be ten thousand for all he knew.

The purpose of his vivid dreams was another question. Why was Tez showing these scenes to him? Was it a roundabout way of giving him some brief glimpses into her past, or were their increasingly provocative themes just another means of enticing him? Maybe she expected him to want to relive the scenarios that were playing out in his mind.

Charles rose and headed to the bathroom to freshen up, finding Tez waiting for him in the mirror behind the living room couch when he arrived downstairs.

“Good morning,” she chimed, lying on the backrest like a giant housecat basking in the sun. “Did you sleep? You do not look rested, Tlamatini, “ she added with a grin.

“Weird,” he replied with a shrug. “I slept like a baby.”

He walked into the kitchen and set the coffee machine brewing, glancing up at the clock on the wall.

“Damn, it’s already ten? I guess I must have been out for a while. Oh! That means...”

Tez lifted her head to watch him as he hurried through the living room and into the hallway, opening the front door and returning with two packages stacked in his arms. He laid them on the coffee table where she could see them – one large and flat, the other small and square.

“What is it?” she asked, opening her feline jaws in a yawn.

“This is what we call next-day shipping,” he replied as he began to tear open the larger of the two packages. Tez rose a little higher, perching on the back of the couch like a gargoyle to get a clearer view. As the cardboard and bubble wrap came away, her eyes lit up.

“A mirror!” she exclaimed.

Sitting on the table was a black oval mirror about a meter long and half as wide, its surface reflecting a shadowy and somewhat indistinct interpretation of the room. It reminded Charles very much of the one he had broken in the museum archives, albeit machined rather than carved by hand, and much less impressive. Around its periphery was an ornamental frame painted with gold leaf, probably intended to make it look older than it actually was.

“Ninety-five bucks with overnight shipping,” he declared as he lifted it to give her a clearer view. “It’s real obsidian, too. Turns out there are all kinds of crazy Wicca chicks who think they can use these to see the future,” he chuckled. “Uh ... maybe I shouldn’t be so disparaging, considering that magick is real and you can use obsidian mirrors to see into the future...”

“That is not gold,” she complained, gesturing to the frame. “But that is obsidian,” she added, her tone softening. She seemed somehow soothed, like someone taking their first drag of a cigarette after a hard shift. He had known that she had an affinity for the stone, but perhaps she was more connected to it than he had realized. She described herself as the first knife, after all.

He began to open the next box, pulling out some paper packaging material, Tez watching as he withdrew something on a long jewelry chain. He draped it around his neck and turned to face her, her eyes widening as she saw the reflective obsidian pendant that hung from it. Much like the mirror, it was oval in shape, its surface polished to a shine. A band of silver attached it to the necklace, running around it vertically. It was fairly big – about large enough to fill the palm of his hand, and rather heavy.

“It’s a little gaudy for my tastes, but it was the closest thing I could find in a pinch that was similar to the pendants your priests used to wear,” he explained as he lifted the stone. “Other than just stealing one from the archives, that is. I figure it’s better than carrying my phone around on a lanyard.”

As though her mirror was merely an empty window frame, Tez crawled through it, a tangible weight pressing down on the cushions as she lay her hands on them. He noted that there was no reflection behind her. This was as manifest as he had ever seen her outside of his dreams, her body showing real presence in the material world.

He resisted the urge to pull away as she drew closer, Tez rising to her full height as she left the couch, joining him beside the coffee table. She reached out a long hand, her eyes fixed on the pendant, and tapped it with her claw. Like someone biting a gold coin to verify its authenticity, she seemed satisfied, a smile curling her dark lips.

“This will suffice,” she said with a pleased purr.

“What does this allow you to do?” Charles asked, suddenly feeling a little suspicious.

“It marks you as my priest,” she replied, gazing into its distorted reflection. “Just as obsidian blades and knives marked my warriors. Whenever someone wears or wields this stone in my name, I see them, no matter how far away they may be. They are strengthened by my power. If it is mirrored, as this pendant is, then I can also see through it.”

“Just like the phone,” he suggested. “It’s essentially a spiritual body camera. What do you mean by marked?” he added, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not actually a priest.”

“You are the next best thing.”

“And I haven’t dedicated my life to serving you.”

“Perhaps you can still be convinced,” she added with a sultry chuckle.

She turned her attention to the larger mirror, running her padded fingers across it, gazing into its dark depths as though seeing something that he could not. He found himself wondering how much energy she needed to see into the future – if she could do it already.

“Does that work for you?” he asked.

“It will work,” she replied, still fixated on its black surface. “Would you mount it for me?”

“If you’d prefer to have it upright, sure,” he said with a nod. “I can hang it on a wall somewhere.”

“Thank you for these gifts,” she added, glancing at him. “I made no such demands of you, and you have considered my words thoughtfully.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s not like you’re raiding my fridge or racking up my power bill. You deserve a few creature comforts to make you feel more at home.”

“Will you wear this for me always?” she asked, reaching out to lift the pendant from his chest. She was fully manifest, or at least her hand was, Charles feeling her furry fingers brush against his skin just above the collar of his shirt. Tez was able to hold the medallion, running her thumb across its surface, her demeanor suddenly far more sincere. She looked back at him with those golden eyes, expectant, and he couldn’t hide how her gaze made him falter for a moment.

“I ... I’ll probably take it off when I take a shower or go to bed,” he replied, feeling the gentle tug on the thin chain. “It’s kinda heavy ... but otherwise, I don’t see why not.”

Tez lingered for a few moments longer, then lowered the pendant, giving him a smile.

“Good.”

A few more seconds of silence followed, then he cleared his throat, starting to gather up the discarded packaging.

“I guess we should get started on today’s work,” he began. “There’s not a lot left to do now. I think I should have a good pitch to present to the curator soon, assuming I can convince him that I’ve regained my sanity from this little paid vacation.”

“As long as you do not speak to him of our little talks,” Tez added with a smirk.

“Yes, I think that even in your time, holding long conversations with voices that only you can hear was a bad sign.”

“I am eager to see this museum of yours and its archives,” she added, lowering herself to the couch as she watched him carry the empty boxes to the kitchen. She seemed less corporeal now, no longer interacting with the cushions in the way she had earlier, as though weightless. She still appeared outside the mirror’s reflection, however.

“Well, my boss gave me a few days off to get my head on straight,” he replied as he tossed the cardboard into the recycling bin. “I figure a few probably translates to three. I’m gonna give him a call this evening and tell him I’m feeling better – see if he’ll let me come back to the museum and show him what I’ve been working on.”

“Then, your moment may be closer than you realize,” she said.

“It sure would be nice to have that prescience of yours,” he suggested as he returned to the living room. He found her lounging with her legs splayed wide, the scant loincloth draping between her thighs and off the edge of the couch. Her stature meant that she could rest her arms on top of the backrest quite comfortably. She was certainly making herself at home. “Knowing exactly what to say to the curator and how best to pitch the project to him would be a lifesaver.”

“I could scry for you, had I a little more power,” she replied as she inspected her claws idly.

“Any suggestions?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“A little worship, perhaps,” she replied with a smirk. “You need not grovel on your knees before me, but a prayer for my favor might give me something to sup upon. Better yet, I could instruct you in a simple ritual.”

“And that would work?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You tell me to light candles and sing a song, and that empowers you, even if I don’t really understand what I’m doing?”

“A ritual is only a formalization of worship,” she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It is a set of rules and guidelines intended to instruct mortals. The actions are important, yes, but your intent is what gives me power. It must be genuine and without pretense.”

“What do these rituals entail?” he asked hesitantly.

“Sacrifice, bloodletting,” she replied with a grin that revealed her carnivore teeth. “Worshipers would cut themselves and shed their blood in my name.”

“Pass,” Charles replied sternly.

“A shame,” she cooed, giving him that predatory smile again. “It need not be more than a few drops. Long has it been since I last tasted the sweetness of warm blood licked from the skin of a willing worshiper.”

“I’d rather not give myself tetanus,” he replied, trying to ignore the suggestive nature of her words.

“Priests used mirrors and obsidian stones in their rites,” she added. “This, you have done already, perhaps without realizing its significance. Your gesture empowers me.”