Happy Birthday, Lord B. This week marks the birthday of George Gordon, Lord Byron. Byron was born on January 22, 1788. To celebrate my favorite bad boy's birthday, I'm sharing the flash fiction piece of I wrote for "The Witching Hour Collection." This piece, which I titled "The Witching Arts" features Byron before he meets the heroine of my steampunk romantic adventure Airship Racing Chronicles series (in which Byron plays a major role). Enjoy this little dose of that mad, bad, and dangerous to know poet we all love.
The Witching Arts
An
Airship Racing Chronicles Flash Fiction
1809,
Portugal
The prostitute’s long black hair
tickled Byron’s sides as her hot mouth worked slowly down the poet’s chest.
Outside the window of the brothel, the streets of Sintra exploded in a
cacophony of sound as people flowed from bars to whore houses to opium dens,
music and voices saturating the night’s air. The room where she’d taken him
smelled of heady Indian spices and rosewater. The scent was grotesque and
intoxicating all at once.
“Portuguese women truly are
formed for all the witching arts of love,” Byron said as he stroked his hand
down her smooth, bare back. He eyed her pert breasts hungrily, thinking what a
feast he would make of her body.
“I’m glad you find me to your
liking, Lord Byron. You’re such a refined gentleman. I was afraid I would not be
able to satisfy you,” the prostitute whispered in reply.
“Satisfy? Well, that’s overreaching
a bit,” he said then sipped the small glass of absinthe that had been sitting
on the bedside table. Byron’s grand tour had started off well, at least in his
estimation. Portugal offered a cornucopia of erotic delights, and he was
sampling as many as he could get his hands on. There was barely a whore left in
Sintra he hadn’t tried, both male and female. But he’d been looking for someone
special. That was how he’d found Aline. They all said she was the best, that
her skills were…unique. Byron couldn’t wait to find out.
Yet still, when he paused long
enough to let it in, the abyss threatened. No matter what exotic flavors he
tried, nothing filled the hungry darkness inside him. No matter how far he
pushed, the burning emptiness remained. Not for the first time, he wondered if
he would ever find anything, or anyone, who could make the ache go away.
The prostitute straddling Byron’s
waist grabbed the burning candle from the nearby table. She smiled down at
Byron, her dark eyes shimmering. “Yes, well, some men need more to satisfy their
hunger,” she said then slowly dripped hot wax down his chest toward his cock.
Byron winced as the liquid wax
burned him, but the pain also evoked pleasure. His dick stiffened with
excitement. The woman was beautiful, and talented, all the things they said she
would be. But still…it was not enough.
The woman studied Byron’s face,
his eyes, and sensed that there was more he needed from her. More that only
someone like her could give.
“My grandmother could see the
future in the flames,” she told Byron then, ignoring his smug grin. Such men
always thought they knew better. “They called her a witch, but she could see
the future. And I…I have the sight as well. And even better, I know what men
truly want. When I look at you, Lord Byron, I see what you need. Do not be
frightened or annoyed,” she said when she saw a flash of something dangerous
light up in his eyes, “just let me look. What do you want me to see? Do you
want me to learn if you shall ever find your heart’s deepest desire?”
Byron quickly masked his feelings
with an expression of curiosity. He grinned wryly. “Would you were so
talented,” he murmured, reaching out to grab her bare waist, his hands circling
around to squeeze her fleshy bottom.
Ignoring him, Aline stared into
the flames. “Your soul’s mate,” she whispered in a strange and faraway voice.
Byron’s stomach quivered, but he
laughed condescendingly. “You will find only darkness,” he told her. But he
hoped his words were a lie. More than anything, Byron wanted to know if there
was anyone out there who could ever feed the insatiable hunger inside him.
She held the candle before her.
The flickering flames cast long shadows over her lovely features. Muttering
under her breath, she cast an incantation. Byron recognized the rhyme in the
lines, but not the words.
For what seemed like an eternity,
Aline stared into the fire.
Byron said nothing, simply
waited.
Several minutes later, the woman
blinked hard, muttered some words in thanks, then, with her eyes still closed,
pinched out the flame. In the darkness, she moved off the bed.
Several moments passed. When she did
not come back to bed nor speak, Bryon laughed. “I told you there was nothing
but gloom.”
“No,” Aline replied after a
moment. Byron realized then she was near the door. “What I saw was the most
beautiful, most glorious thing I have ever seen. Fields and fields of lilies.
They glimmered like they were made of gold, spiraling until they became a sea
of sliver stars. Not only will you find your soul’s mate, but through her, you
will find a way out of the darkness. I have never seen a love like that before.
When you find her, hold on to her. Never let her go. I’m sorry. Now, I…I just
can’t. It was too beautiful,” she said then opened the door. “Farewell, Lord
Byron,” she added, then slipped out the door.
Byron lay in the darkness staring
up at the ceiling. The entire room, much like his life, was bathed in
blackness. Wherever she was, this creature made of flowers and stars, Byron
hoped he found her before the darkness swallowed him whole.
