Erotica / Alchemical Ink: Shattered Angel

The Alchemist was getting ready to close his tattoo shop when the bells on his door chimed. He turned and there she was, a shattered angel. She stood paused, frozen in his doorway, neither in nor out, motionless on the threshold, undecided.

The setting sun bled over the rooftops from across the street, staining her hair and cheek with the illusion of mortal wounds. The empty hunger in the crushed blue of her eyes screamed of lethal injuries hemorrhaging but invisible on the surface of her skin. Her mane was a lank yellow and her dead-pale skin was stretched tight over the finely carved cheekbones of her face. Her features betrayed a story of physical exquisiteness, brutalized to a mere shadow of their original loveliness.

Alchemical Ink
– Shattered Angel –

By Morgan Hawke

for grey

His first thought was that she was too damn young to be so broken. She was what, nineteen? Maybe younger? His second thought was more practical; he really did not have time for penniless, injured street kids. He worked to viciously stamp out the twinges of sympathy oozing into his thoughts.

“I’m getting ready to close shop,” he growled. “Are you comin’ in or are you gon’na hold my door open all night?”

She shook her hair, dispelling the impression of blood streaked across her face. Her glance was both fearful and feral as she hunched into her dirty jeans jacket. She flashed a nervous look about the brightly lit tattoo parlor then speared him with her feverish eyes.

“What?” he asked without humor, his tone telling her: ‘I really don’t need this.’

With frustrated movements, he turned his shoulder to her. ‘Damn street-kids,’ the Alchemist grumped to himself. ‘She’s just another wounded pup waiting to be kicked.’ He locked away his tools and straightened the pages of flash art lying on the counter as he tried to ignore the look in her eyes. ‘Looks like another walking victim begging to get killed.’

“Um…” The girl’s voice was timid. “I uh, want a tattoo,” she coughed.

‘Yeah, right,’ the Alchemist thought with annoyance. ‘As if, this kid has any money on her to buy a tattoo. She doesn’t look like she’s had enough to eat in a week.’

“Do you even know what you want? I haven’t got all night to wait for you to pick something out.” He wiped his face with his palm then glared at her. She cringed back from his glower then bravely took a deep breath. Her eyes lit up with a terrible hunger.

“Yeah, I do know what I want.” She moved closer to his counter, her steps silent on the tile floor. “I want one of those Japanese letter things…” The bells jingled on the door as it finally closed.

“They’re called Kanji letters.” His frown deepened as he noted that her voice must have been lovely once. Living on the street had burned much of its original beauty to ash. ‘Why am I even talking to this obviously, penniless kid?’ Inwardly he balked. Shame at the way he was treating her, warred with his practicality. ‘She’s obviously had enough shit in her life and here I go, being rude to her.’

“Khan-jee letters?” she pronounced carefully. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I want one of them.” She was almost panting with an unidentifiable, hungry need.

“Sure. What do you want it to say?” he asked then flinched inwardly. ‘There I go again. I’m just a damned bleeding heart.’ He swore at himself softly and bitterly.

“What do I want ‘what’ to say?” She blinked in confusion.

He rolled his eyes. “Kanji letters are whole words or phrases in Japanese. What do you want your Japanese word to say?”

“Do you have one for ‘beautiful’?” she asked then blushed furiously. “I want to be ‘beautiful’,” she added then sharply turned away from his gaze. Catching her image in a mirror, she glanced away from her reflection quickly. “Then maybe people will love me,” she added in a whisper he could barely hear. Her eyes were suspiciously bright with unshed tears.

“Yeah.” The Alchemist flinched as pity stabbed through his heart. He pulled out the page of flash featuring the Japanese letters he had collected. Sullenly he turned the page around for her to see, pointing out the simple but decorative, oriental letters, or glyphs.

“Oh, how pretty,” she sighed. He watched her eyes come alive with an unholy hunger and a joy too defiant to be as simple as hope.

“It’ll be fifty dollars and take one hour.” He raised his pierced eyebrow sardonically.

“I want a tattoo, but I’m broke. Uh, can I, um… Can I pay you without cash?”

“Pay me how?” the Alchemist asked, crossing his arms on his broad chest. “I don’t do drugs so I won’t take drugs as payment.” He was pretty sure that she was going to offer to blow him or fuck him in trade for the tattoo but he wanted her to spit it out herself.

“Yeah, I heard you were clean,” she said then looked down at the floor. “Um, I really want that tattoo.” She glanced at him from under pale lashes. “Will you do it for sex?” she offered very softly, folding her arms across her narrow chest.

“You want to fuck me for a tattoo?” His smile was thin-lipped and without humor. ‘I hate this kind of shit’, he thought in annoyance. At the same time he felt pity creeping through his heart. It wasn’t as if she had much else to offer.

“Yes.” She blinked, eyes wide, caught off guard by his deliberate rudeness. “Sex for a tattoo.”

“You any good?” he asked, trying to see how far he could push her. If he was lucky, she would leave on her own and he wouldn’t have to join the ranks of all the rest of the people who had obviously taken advantage of her.

He cocked his head to one side in slight confusion. For someone who was trying to get something using sex, she wasn’t even trying to work it. She didn’t flirt and her jacket was closed to the throat. Not a speck of tittie was showing. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she’d never tried to use sex to get anything before. She was acting like she didn’t know how.

“No, I’m not really that good,” she said through clenched teeth. Her gaze darkened in rebellion then faded to sullen hurt.

‘Well the kid certainly has guts,’ the Alchemist admitted to himself. “Alright, I’ll do it for a fuck.”

“Great,” she smiled with a slight tightening of the lips. “But no weird shit, okay?” she added, taking a step back from his counter, her gaze defiant. “No hitting or cutting.”

“Got’cha, no weird shit, just you, me and my dick in your twat. Okay.” He smiled ruefully. ‘What the hell have I gotten myself into this time?’

“Good,” she said. She nibbled on her lip then her lips bowed into a dazzling smile in return. He was knocked flat by her smile’s sudden and searing brilliance. He found his heart pounding and his palms dampening in sympathetic anger. And lust. His dick was hardening just looking at her smile alone.

Not that long ago, this little broken doll with her shattered eyes and straggly form had been a spectacular beauty. He could see from the smile alone, that not all of her soul had been destroyed. Possibilities still shined, though dimly.

“Right,” he said, unnerved then flipped up the counter. “Come this way.”

The Alchemist led her back to the stark white room he used, with its black, leather medical table. His counters gleamed pristine with sterile cleanliness. His chrome tools glittered coldly in the harsh overhead light. The walls were covered with immense framed paintings.

“Wow, these are incredible,” she breathed as she gazed at the swirls of color and exotic, esoteric imagery on the massive canvasses. “Whose art is this? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“It’s mine,” he said curtly then knelt and opened the cabinets under the counter. “I did all of it.” Efficiently he pulled trays of plastic coated, sterile needles and a couple of disposable wells for inks. ‘What the hell am I doing, tattooing this shattered angel for a fuck?’

“They’re gorgeous.” She sighed in awe, as she looked at all the art covering his walls. “I wish I had the cash to get some of your stuff,” she said in barely a whisper. Then her smile reappeared like magic. She was transformed, practically glowing with a creative potential, a blinding inner beauty, that shined through her damaged body and refused to die.

‘Oh, that’s why’, he reminded himself as his dick suddenly sprang to attention in reaction to her untapped power. ‘I could bring all that a little closer to the surface, he mused. ‘Make it easier for her to utilize… Damn it! I am NOT a charity worker. I am gonna get my dick wet then go home, eat a burger, drink a beer and watch TV and not feel guilty!’

“Thanks, I’m glad you like them, now take off your clothes.” He dropped onto the small rolling stool by the table and rigged some needles together.

He watched her closely as she shrugged out of her filthy jacket then put it on the end of the medical table.

“Do you have to stare at me?” she asked defiantly.

“I’m going to be fucking you in a minute, I wanna see what I’m getting.”

She flinched at his apparent coldness then turned her back to him. She toed off her filthy shoes then peeled out of her ragged tee shirt exposing a loose and grayed bra. Neatly she folded her shirt and placed it on top of her jacket.

‘Jee-zuz, I’m being a real bastard tonight.’ A twinge of guilt and compassion made him regret his harsh words. He bit his lip. “Actually I want to find a good place to put your tattoo, so I need to see your skin,” he said, gently as an apology.

“Oh,” she responded, very softly. “Okay, sure.” She shimmied out of her torn jeans then dropped her panties and worn-out bra on top of the pile. Carefully she collected her things then placed them on the end of the medical table. She was surprisingly clean. He hadn’t expected that, from a kid living on the streets.

She turned and stared at him, silently, perfectly still. Bird delicate and fragile as blown glass. She wanted this tattoo awfully bad.

The Alchemist stood up and appraised his canvas of human skin. There wasn’t much to work with. She was thin, too thin and made up of sharp angles. Good thing she had chosen a small design. His sharp gaze caught the tracing of old needle marks in the bends of her elbows and knees from drug use.

“What the fuck is this shit?” He felt anger beginning a slow rolling boil from his gut, helpless anger for the beauty that used to be there and had been wasted.

“I’m trying to quit, been off it for a week now.” He saw desperation threaded in her wide, faded-blue gaze. “I’m tryin’ to stay off the alcohol too.”

‘I can fix that,’ his inner thoughts whispered. ‘I can make her new again. I can kill her need for drugs and booze, give her a little confidence…’ The Alchemist’s thoughts rambled with formula and incantation. ‘I can bring her creativity to the surface so she can get a real job.’ Unconsciously, an Alchemical spell worked its way to the surface of his mind. ‘Change the symbol, use the special inks…’ he mused.

‘Damn it. I don’t do charity work. He snarled at himself, snapping out of a half-trance, awake and annoyed. ‘I am not some Knight in Shining Armor out to save these kids from themselves.’ He angrily approached her, fingers outstretched.

“Please,” she flinched at the look on his face. “You promised not to hurt me.” She crossed her arms over her naked breasts.

Guilt and sympathetic compassion crashed down on his head. His hands dropped to his sides. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just fuck and tattoo this shattered angel. He simply couldn’t be one of the animals that ate chunks out of her then spat out the remains. He wiped his hands down his face. She had nothing left to take and already teetered on the edge of the abyss.

He shook his head as he gazed at the floor. If something wasn’t done, she’d be dead in a dumpster by this time next week. An image of her lying with her eyes open and lifeless, covered in refuse flashed like neon before his eyes. Her tattoo wouldn’t even be healed yet.

‘Alright, I give up damn it,’ he sighed in submission to his conscience. ‘I’ll fix this one.’ He shook his head and glanced up to the ceiling, at the powers that be. Resigned he turned around and left the room.

“Hey!” the girl shouted. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get the inks I need,” he tossed over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.” Resigned, he went into the back room where he kept his special locker. He whispered three ancient words then tapped his fingers on the metal door over the handle. The magical lock disengaged and the door swung open.

The Alchemist pulled out a blue silk, velvet-lined bag where he stored the tools for his Magikal Artes then slung it over his shoulder. Roughly he pulled out his Grimoire, the book he recorded all his incantations and his magical recipes in. He slammed the metal cabinet closed.

The Alchemist stalked back into his workroom towing a rolling table. He dropped his Magikal Artes bag down on the counter then dropped his Grimoire on the rolling table. He flipped open the huge silver buckled and leather-bound book. Thumbing painstakingly through the parchment pages he stopped on a particular page and peered at his list of alchemical sigils. Carefully he chose the magical symbol he intended to use on her.

She leaned against the padded bench, waiting. Critically he eyed her. He could make out every rib. Her hipbones obscenely jutted out over her pubic bone.

“Turn around,” he said. She turned obediently. Every vertebra down her curved spine was clearly defined. There at the top of her ass, where the swell of her buttocks began was the perfect place. Now, he needed to check her chakras, the individual energy centers of her body, to see what type of repairs she needed most and what would heal itself with only a little prodding.

“I’m going to touch your skin, so don’t freak out on me,” he said softly, reassuringly.

“Oh, okay,” she said, barely breathing. Her shoulders visibly tensed. He could just picture her with her eyes closed, biting her lip, ready to endure his touch. He stepped behind her and lifted his palms. His fingertips brushed the top of her head then skated down, barely disturbing her hair.

‘Hmm, intelligent,’ he thought to himself as the energy of her mind curled like warm mist under his probe. His fingers traveled lower to her throat. Strong currents curled under his fingers spiking with unused talent and true power, informing him of her past training and shadows of former glory. “Did you sing?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, I sang in school. I was, um,” her voice broke and shattered. She hitched a breath. “I had a scholarship to the School of the Arts for um, mezzo soprano.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Um, opera singing, you know?”

“What happened?” he found himself asking as his fingers traced the ridges of her spine. He stopped at a point between her shoulder blades over where her heart was located. The energy around her heart was thin and very weak. There was a jagged hole in her heart energy that looked like someone had ripped a piece of it out.

‘Ah, broken heart,’ he thought with a flash of returning anger. ‘Some ass ruined her.’ His own heart began pounding with a stuttered and almost broken rhythm, as though a portion were missing from his own heart.

“There was this guy that I met,” she said. “He told me; he loved me.” She sniffed but didn’t cry.

“Let me guess,” he said growing more pissed off by the second, “this asshole told you everything you wanted to hear then left you high and dry after a couple of months.” The Alchemist slid his hand around in a circle and noted that she had actually been in love. The asshole had used that love as a tool to hold her long enough to feed off of her like a psychic vampire.

“I moved in with him and everything.” She was shaking. “One day, I came home and he told me to get out.” A single silver tear escaped her eye. “He’d moved this other girl in with him.” A hand fluttered up and wiped at her eye.

“I see,” he mumbled. There was heavy scarring in the power center of her heart where the asshole had been emotionally abusing her for months. He could tell that she had tried to heal it.

“He told me he didn’t know what he ever saw in me.” She squeezed both eyes shut and took a deep breath. “He told me he never wanted to see me again.”

“And you didn’t have any place to go,” he supplied. His fingers slid down to the cradle of her hips where her personal shields and spirit normally sat. ‘What the hell?’ He thought, wincing from the screaming spiritual pain she was suffering.

There it was, a gaping, festering hole where all her confidence and self-worth; her soul, was supposed to be. He could practically make out the individual bite marks where she was being spiritually eaten alive. It sat right under the area where he wanted to mark the tattoo. Apparently his instincts had known where to look before he did.

The Alchemist could see several fresh bites out of her soul, some as new as the past day or so, but some of the bite marks were much older and gray with scarring. There was barely enough of her soul left to keep her from slitting her own wrists.

“I was in school at the time. I didn’t have a job,” she sighed and took a deep breath, getting a grip on herself. “And I couldn’t go home.”

“Why not?” he asked. Then a twisted and nasty feeling drifted from her very last and bottom chakra. The boyfriend had nearly finished the job, but the boyfriend couldn’t have been around long enough to cause this amount of damage. Some of the nastier, heavier scars were years old. It looked as though someone had been feeding on her soul for decades.

He dropped his hand lower to investigate. There appeared to be major blackened areas that looked like burn-marks on her lowest chakra, where sexual energy was generated. ‘Rape,’ he thought. ‘These burns are caused by hate sex. Shit,’ he swore to himself.

“I had stuff at home and I wanted out. That’s why I went with this guy in the first place.”

“Got’cha,” he said aloud. She couldn’t go home because a violent and abusive family member was waiting there.

‘I can still fix her,’ he thought to himself. ‘She isn’t completely gone yet, but she’s close. Too close. This job is going to be a bitch, but I can do it.’

The Alchemist placed his hands on her naked shoulders. She tensed. Her aura and energy was so low, there was a chill to her skin. Softly, gently, he rubbed. He projected calm and safety from his thoughts directly through his palms into her body. Gradually she relaxed under his hands.

“I got a deal for you,” the Alchemist said, and then he lied. “There’s this design I’ve been working on, one of my pieces of art like what’s on the walls. I wanna put it on you.”

“Wow, really? ” She looked around at his exotic and brilliant paintings. “Sure! That’d be way cool,” she said softly.

“I wanna put it right here,” he whispered against the cup of her ear and placed his palm on the base of her spine. He leaned forward and pressed his chest lightly against her spine sharing skin, sharing body heat. Their spirits touched and entwined, sharing energy and sharing desire.

He felt the sexual energy stirring in her and shoved a bit more of his power into her, feeding her essence, her soul, directly from his. Her head came up and she shuddered under his touch but not with fear. A soft breathy moan escaped her lips.

He took his other hand and placed it on her stomach then slid his fingers up between her breasts, over her heart. He watched as her nipples hardened at the tips of the soft undernourished, mounds. He could feel as excitement coiled low in her belly sparking an answering fire in him through their spiritual link. He felt himself growing harder. The Alchemist took his hands away.

She dropped her head with an expelled breath as though released from a spell. Timidly, she looked back at him.

He locked eyes with her then peeled out of his shirt, exposing his flat stomach, muscular shoulders and the titanium rings that pierced both of his nipples. Swirls of brilliant color and splashes of stark black marked his skin from his throat down. Esoteric sigils and glyphs, mythical beasts, flowers and flames in every shade swirled and twisted around his muscular torso and banded his arms.

He toed out of his boots, then his hands went to the button of his jeans. Her eyes dropped to where his urgency was manifestly evident and pressing against the imprisoning denim.

Watching her reactions, he unzipped and skinnied out of his snug jeans. His erection lunged out and up, full and brooding. It was tattooed with a dark red serpent.

She hissed in surprise then her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. ‘Apparently’, he thought to himself, ‘she like’s what she’s seeing.’ Her breasts rose as she took a deep, fascinated breath. A delicate flush pinked her skin and her eyes dilated.

“Turn around and lay on your belly across the bench,” he said, his voice husky with growing passion. “Put your hands over the edge and hold on to the leather strap there.” She took a last look at him then silently obeyed.

The Alchemist went to his Magikal Artes bag and spread the necessary tools and some temporary inkwells out on the small rolling table. He laid the huge Grimoire, spell book in the middle. Sealed and sterile needles were placed next to the shining chrome of a filigreed tattoo gun.

Over on the counter he lit a red pillar candle and scattered incense over a hot coal in an ornate silver chafing dish. Thick white smoke filled the room with the scent of exotic resins. He set a CD in the CD-player and hit ‘repeat all’ then ‘scramble’. The entire shop vibrated with brooding instrumental music.

He pulled the rolling table with his equipment over to where she lay across the bench. Carefully he pulled from his Magikal Artes bag several ornate glass bottles with the special inks from his personal collection. The recipes for his inks were hard won and the ingredients very difficult to come by. Some of the inks glowed through the smoked glass. With steady hands he set to filling his temporary wells with brilliants.

He set everything in place on the table then raised his head, closed his eyes and cleared his thoughts. Latin words rolled from his lips in a guttural whisper. He opened his eyes and stepped directly behind her. She turned her head to look – she seemed to be panting in fright.

“Look at the wall in front of you, not at me, Angel.”

She turned away. When he placed his hands on her shoulders, she jumped. He moved his palms in slow, relaxing circles down her back, petting her. He caressed her soft surprisingly delicate skin, as he would stroke a cat to calm it. Her breathing slowed and deepened as she relaxed under his touch.

“I need to shave the area I’m going to be working, so don’t freak, and don’t jump, okay?” She nodded and he reached for an antique, ivory handled, straight razor that sat next to his book. He brushed the base of her spine with the palm of his hand then lightly used the razor with quick deft strokes to clean her skin. He wiped the fine hairs from the blade on a clean rag then closed the blade and put it back on the table.

Moving carefully so he wouldn’t alarm her, he leaned over and into her, pressing his thighs and his fierce erection against the softness of her buttocks.

She widened her stance, opening her thighs and her soft vulnerable flesh to the coming invasion.

“Now comes the fun part,” he murmured to her. “I need you to hold very, very still. Don’t move no matter what. Got it?” He shifted his cock under her and against the soft curls of her mound.

“Uh, huh,” she sighed and her body tensed under him.

He pressed his palm to her lower back then gently slid the fingers of his other hand down her spine to the seam of her buttocks then in and further down. Deeper his fingers slithered, past and over the tight rose of her anus until he touched intimate curls then damp pouting flesh. He moved his fingertips, nestling between the damp folds to dip gently into the opening of her well, touching moisture. She stiffened and a hiss escaped her lips.

“Just breathe Angel, breathe deep,” he whispered. He felt her take a deep breath. He speared her slowly with his fingers. She took another breath and he moved his fingers rhythmically within her.

“That feels good,” she sighed then moaned but held her body still. He felt the muscles of her body relax around his hand then a warm wetness slicked his palm.

“Good girl,” he said softly. He pulled his fingers from her and raised them to his lips. Sucking them into his mouth he tasted the sweetness of her honey. Generously using his tongue, he wet his fingers then wiped the saliva on his hand over the crown of his cock then down his shaft.

He angled his serpent cock up, nosing himself closer to his fingers and her waiting pussy. With the blunt head of his red tattooed snake, he nudged her entrance. He rubbed against her, easing between her folds. Then he stopped and waited.

“Are you ready, Angel?” The Alchemist asked softly. She took a deep steadying breath then another. He felt her body relax around him. She nodded.

He shoved, burrowing into her damp heat. ‘Oh, God, she’s so damn tight,’ he thought.

She whimpered then moaned as he filled and stretched her slick, hot flesh. Her damp sheath gripped him tightly. She suddenly undulated, voluptuously rolling her spine with pleasure as she worked to get him deeper into her body.

He groaned. Unconsciously he pulled back then slid in deeper, pressing his hips against the soft fullness of her ass.

‘Control, damn it! Control!’ he reminded himself. He wanted nothing more than to take her hard and fast then spill into her. But that would defeat the purpose. The spell required restraint. To do this right, he had to hold his passion right on the edge of cumming until he was done with the tattoo. Once the art was finished, he had to bring her to orgasm at the same moment as his climax to trigger and bind the spell.

“Close your legs, Angel,” he panted. “I need you to hold me in, while I work.” She pulled her thighs together, clamping down even tighter on his lodged flesh. He hissed with the sensation then took a deep breath.

“Good girl.” He took another deep steadying breath. His hardness throbbed in her hot grip. “Okay, I’m gon’na coat the area where the tattoo’s gonna be, with some petroleum jelly to lube the needles.” Dipping two fingers in the slick jelly, he slathered the base of her spine with a light coating. Replacing the jar, he readied his inkwells then reached for his tattoo gun.

“Okay, Angel, here we go.” Buzzing from the gun hummed under the throbbing music pouring from the speakers.

The Alchemist began to chant. He spoke softly but clearly in an antique language. He placed the palm of his other hand on her back, over her heart. His voice rose and fell rhythmically, hypnotically in time with the instrumental music. He concentrated, forcing calm through his spell, directly into her heart. She relaxed under his hand, taking deeper and deeper breaths until he felt her slip into a light trance.

Chanting over and over, he touched the needles to her naked and vulnerable skin. They pierced her fragile flesh and still he chanted.

Agonizingly slow, he pulled his heavy cock out of her moist sheath then slid back in.

His hands moved steadily and calmly as he vibrated the needles in elegant curves. A soft rag swiped excess ink and blood droplets from her skin as he worked. His mantra shifted in intent and purpose as he began carving and reshaping her soul through his enchantments.

He slid in and then out of her still body. Her honey drooled down his shaft to dribble down his balls.

She breathed steadily, right on the edge of true sleep. A light sweat formed on her skin as her semi-conscious body reacted to the droning pain of the needles and the slow fuck.

The music pulsed as his voice droned on. In and out he fucked. Sweat formed on his brow. The sigil on the small of her back took shape then color as he changed needles and shifted inks. His heart pounded in his ears in time with the music and his chanting. He wove subtleties and variations into the spell he drew in permanent ink on the canvas of her skin.

His calves and ass muscles ached from pushing. His balls felt knotted and tight as he kept control as he thrust, fucking consistently enough to stay hard but not enough to cum.

Focused and relentless he worked, seeking to repair the damage and put her soul back together. The sigil took form in a riotous blaze of color and purpose under his hands.

Then the drawing was complete. He snapped off the gun and placed it on the open book. ‘Now, to finish it and set the spell,’ he thought to himself. His chant shifted in tone and purpose.

The girl’s breathing began to change as she rose up from her sleepy trance. She awakened fully with a breathless groan of rising passion. She pushed up from the bench and back onto his cock.

He slid his hands around her to cup her breasts. He squeezed gently, then tightened his grip. He tugged lightly on her hard nipples.

She undulated as she rocked her hips and fucked him back. Her body shuddered around him as waves of pleasure began to shove her toward climax.

He slid a hand down to cup her heat. His fingers delved to where their bodies joined and he touched her. Lightly he stroked and a moan escaped from her lips. She was very, very close. He pushed into her body harder and faster, increasing the tempo. His breath panted the words of the spell.

And still he chanted. He felt the tightening in his balls and the warm roll in his depths that warned of imminent climax. He wet his fingers in his mouth, tasting her passion, her excitement. Then he slid his hand back under her and delicately fluttered his wet fingers against her tender, swollen bud.

Magical power snaked up her body then roared to life as her orgasm consumed her. She moaned as her body hungrily clenched around his flesh lodged within her, pulling, sucking. He stiffened impossibly hard in her slick, pulsing sheath.

He finished the chant with a shout.

His soul alchemically and intimately locked with hers. He felt his body seized by her brutal pleasure and imprisoned as she forced him to share her ecstasy. Release ripped through him as wave after wave of frenzied rapture slammed back and forth between them and through them. Together they screamed.

“Angel, I want you to deliver this letter to a friend of mine. She’ll give you a job and can probably find you a place to crash too.” The Alchemist scribbled on a piece of fine parchment then folded it. Peeking below his lashes, he noticed that her aura was much brighter now.

Still naked and sweating from his labors, he sat on the rolling stool and leaned on the counter heavily. He heated the stick of violet sealing wax in the candle flame then let the melted wax spatter on the folds of the delicate paper. He picked up a silver stamp and pressed his shop logo, which just happed to be his Alchemical seal, into the soft wax. Scribbling some more, he addressed it.

“It’s so beautiful,” the delicate girl said as she gazed at her new tattoo with a hand mirror. Her smile was blinding. She glanced at him then took the folded parchment from his fingers. “This is the stripper joint down the block,” she said frowning. “I’m getting a job as a stripper?”

“Hell, no,” he said with a weary smile. “You’re too damned skinny.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from a drawer in the counter and lit one on the scarlet candle. “You’re getting a job as a cocktail waitress.” He sucked in some smoke and examined her, while she slowly got dressed. “This way you get paid regularly and get to keep your tips too.” He frowned as he realized that the tee shirt she was struggling into, had more holes than fabric.

“That shirt’s nasty,” he commented. With a tired groan he dug into a lower drawer and yanked out one of the XL black tee shirts imprinted with his shop logo. “Put this on. It’s clean.”

“But…” she whispered as she tugged her dirty sneakers on. “Okay,” She tugged the dirty shirt back off then pulled the new one on. The Alchemist yanked her old shirt from her fingers and threw it over his shoulder. She looked over to the corner where her old shirt flopped half-in and half-out of the small trashcan in the corner.

“Oh? But?” he repeated with a tight grin. “The shirt’s free, or you can pay me back after you get paid. As to the job, she’s a friend of mine. She helped me once so I’m sending you to her, so she can help you too.” He rose from the stool and wearily dragged on his jeans, zipping them but leaving them unbuttoned.

He led her by the hand to the front door. Night had fallen and the moon was up and full, sailing through a clear starry sky.

Angel gazed at the lights on the buildings across the street then up at the moon. “I guess I better be going.”

“My friend should be there right now,” said the Alchemist softly. “So why don’t you go straight there.” He tapped the parchment letter in her hand. “She usually has food too; she likes her girls well fed. I’ll call her and tell her you’re coming.” The bells on the door jingled as he opened it for her.

“I guess this is good-bye and I won’t see you again,” she said softly. Hurt crept into her eyes.

“Shit no, Angel. I expect you to come back in a few weeks so I can check on that tattoo,” he grinned then opened his arms, offering a hug. “Then you’re going to tell me all about the new place your staying in and how crappy your job is and…”

Leaping into his arms, she practically knocked him over. Laughing he folded her into a firm hug. She squeezed back with surprising strength.

“Take it easy,” he grunted, as she hugged him hard. “That’s a brand new tattoo you’ve got there.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful,” she said, pulling back with a sniff and damp eyes.

“Oh, yes you will,” the Alchemist said softly. “Whether you like it or not.” Her new tattoo would forcibly keep her out of harms way. It would also compulsively keep her from touching drugs or drinking.


“Nothing,” he said with a chuckle.

“Thank you,” Angel said then practically ran from the parlor. At the corner, she suddenly turned to look back at him as he stood, framed in the light pouring from the open door. She waved.

He waved back then closed his door, locking it. Letting her go.

Hopefully the tattoo would encourage her to begin a new life. He wanted her to be able to keep a job then go back to school and use those incredible creative talents he had felt simmering in her soul. The artistic abilities that had burned brightly enough to draw the predators to her in the first place, such as her ex-boyfriend.

This time, with a little Alchemical help, she’d be able to protect herself from the soul-devouring animals of the street.

“Been there, done that,” he sighed softly to the empty parlor. “I was living and starving on the streets myself, not all that long ago.”


Morgan Hawke
“Monster? I get that a lot…” – Alucard of Hellsing

Soon to be released in: The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 2003
– Alchemical Ink: Shattered Angel –
On the bookshelves in Nov 2003