Kiss of the Marquis (Sample Chapter)
” The race is on to save Rosaline from the “Kiss of the Marquis” which could bind her to deSade forever”
© P.J. Perryman and Blushing Press, 2013
Rosaline rushed into the front room and threw herself into the great chair in front of the fire, a smug smile spread across her flushed face. She dropped a large bag by her feet that landed with a dull thunk on the carpeted floor.
“Well, did you get it?” asked Jack.
“Oh my God, I bet she got it.” Brenda closed her book and jumped up from where she was lying on the floor. There would be no more studying tonight.
“Yes, I’ve got it. Keep your voices down.” Rosaline leaned down and warmed her hands by the fire. She looked about the room; someone was missing. “Where’s Peter?”
“In his room, studying.”
“Someone go get him.”
“Okie-dokey.” Jack got up from a table by the window and went in search of their friend. He soon returned with a tall, red-haired student, who looked in need of a good meal. The boy was dressed in heavy wool clothes and his lower face was lost under the thick scarf draped around his neck.
“It’s freezing up in my room,” Peter grumbled.
“Why don’t you study down here with the rest of us?” asked Brenda.
“Too much chatter. Our exams are coming up and I’m not gonna let you dorks spoil my grades.”
Brenda shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Peter sat down in the seat across from Rosaline. “So you have it?”
“Yes, yes I have it.” Rosaline reached down and patted the bag at her feet. “Mother will kill me if she finds out I took it. Or her coven will kill her. Who knows?”
“How did you find it?” asked Jack.
“It was quite a hunt. I always thought Mom would keep it in the cellar of the bookstore, where the Coven meets to do their thing. I looked all over, but in the end I accidentally came across it in the basement of our home. Mom’s super protective of the book, always has been. She cares more about that thing than she does me, I swear.” A shadow passed across Rosaline’s face and her mouth twisted into an anguished sneer.
“Well, you did find it, so lucky for us,” said Jack.
“Anyway, if this works, we’ll have it back to her before she even knows it’s gone,” said Peter. “Let’s have a look at it then.”
Rosaline bent over and picked up the bag. It contained only one item: a thick, heavy leather-bound book with a musty smell. The four of them looked at the thing in awe.
“So we’re really gonna do this then?” asked Brenda.
“I vote we do it tonight,” said Peter, “as soon as possible. That way Ros can get this book back straight away and her mother will be none the wiser.”
They all nodded.
Rosaline, who had the book balanced on her lap, handed it to Peter. Peter took it to the table, and let his hand rest reverently on the leather cover.
“Veneficas Libro Mortuorum. The Witches Book of the Dead,” Peter read. “You realize that if I read from this book, there’ll be no going back. If anyone is gonna wuss out on us, better do it now.” He looked around the table at the eager faces. Only one of them looked nervous. “Brenda, you okay with this?”
All eyes turned to Brenda. “I don’t know, Peter,” she said. “It all seemed so cool when we talked about it before. But now that the book is here…” Brenda clutched her hands together. “I dunno, now that the book is here I feel kinda funny. It’s suddenly real. So yes, I confess, I’m a bit scared.”
“Don’t forget what we all talked about,” Rosaline said. “This is why we formed the Smut Club isn’t it, to hunt for new experiences? I don’t wanna go through life thinking this is it, this is as good as it gets. I want to go beyond the normal. We all did, didn’t we?”
“I know,” said Brenda. She pushed back her black hair and stared at the book. “And I don’t wanna let you all down, but I’m afraid. I sense that book is evil…”
Rosaline sighed. “You sense what?”
“There’s something unclean about it, I feel like it wants to create mischief if we let it.”
Her three companions rolled their eyes, as if they were dealing with a child. “Come on Brenda,” said Jack. “Rosaline went to a lot of trouble to get this. You had plenty of time to change your mind before tonight.”
Brenda didn’t want to disappoint her friends, so finally she broke down. “Okay, I guess we can start,” she said.
They all shifted their attention back to Peter. “Very well, there’s no turning back now.”
“I still think we should call Marilyn Monroe,” whispered Jack.
“What about Casanova?” countered Rosaline. She pulled her hair out of a scrunchy and her red curls tumbled loosely about her shoulders. “I wouldn’t say no to a night with him.”
“No, we all agreed,” said Peter. “It’s too late to reopen the debate now. Both of those would only tell us things we already know. Are you all ready?”
His three friends nodded. Peter removed his scarf so he could move more freely. The cold air grew heavy around them, and each student held their breath. Slowly, Peter ran his pale hand along the binding and let his thin fingers caress the spine of the book. Almost tenderly he circled upwards, and then, with a sharp intake of breath, opened the cover. Ever so carefully, Peter turned the pages. He read the title over each of the spells, but moved steadily on to the one page he sought.
At last he found it. “Sublato Mortuis. Raising the dead,” Peter said. He leant forward and studied the page carefully. “You know, this page looks more worn than the rest. I have a feeling we’re not the first to use this spell.”
“Now you mention it, my mother has mentioned it from time to time,” said Rosaline. “She said it was the most powerful and exciting spell in the book. That’s what made me think of it. I’ve always wanted to know what she meant.”
“Why didn’t you ever join the coven?” said Jack.
“What, and turn out like my mother? No, I don’t think so.”
Impatient to begin, Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d waited a long time for this moment. “Soon we will receive instructions from the Master…”
They all nodded and sat a little forward in their seats. Peter slowly read the words written in Latin on the page before him. As he neared the end of the page he paused. It was time to call the name of the departed soul. “Ego postulo Marchisi de Sade resurgunt … I demand the Marquis De Sade rise again.”
Peter looked up and the four friends waited but nothing happened.
“Did you say it right?” asked Rosaline. “My mother says if you say the spells wrong, either they won’t work or you can bring down some serious shit!”
Peter looked offended. “Of course I said it right. I didn’t spend three years overseas in an English boarding school without learning something about Latin. Perhaps this book is just bogus.” He pushed it away from him, disappointed.
“Well, it was fun you guys, but clearly nothing is happening, so I’m going up to my room,” said Jack. “Ros, you coming? All this hocus pocus has made me horny.”
Rosaline hesitated. “Damn it all, I’ve risked my neck for nothing. Can’t we try one more time?”
“You can,” said Brenda as she stood up from the table. “I agree with Jack, it didn’t work. I’m going to bed.”
Peter said nothing but stared at the book, his disappointment written clearly on his face. As the others were leaving he got up and walked over to the window. Outside the snow was falling hard.
“So this is it,” Peter mumbled quietly to himself.
Rosaline walked over and placed her arm across his shoulders. “You know, maybe we could try again. Maybe it takes more than the words. Maybe it’s the setting? Perhaps we should have waited till midnight or something?”
Peter placed his hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Jack’s right. It’s all a bunch of hocus pocus. You must get the book back home tomorrow since you’ve risked enough already.”
“Well, goodnight then,” she said. Rosaline walked from the room and closed the door gently behind her.
The moment the door closed, Peter felt hot. The temperature of the room rose so quickly that the frost on the window melted away. He turned to see if the fire had flared to cause the change. He was startled by what he saw, and stumbled back onto his seat at the table. A man stood by the fire, apparently at odds with the ruffle at his neck.
“Really, I would have thought the prison could have dressed me in more suitable attire than this.” The man stared down at his coat and breeches and seemed to disapprove of the whole ensemble. “Tsk,” he said with a sniff, “my tailor would be appalled.”
“Are you …. the Marquis?” asked Peter.
The spirit bowed gracefully with an elaborate flourish of his arm. “At your service, young man.” The Marquis then forgot about his clothing and studied the room in some detail. “What is this place?”
“It’s a student house. We’re all students at Mallory University.”
“Indeed. And what course of study requires you to summon the dead?”
“We all study different things, but we’re all members of the secret Smut Club. We summoned you to show us how to make sex more exciting together.”
The Marquis looked affronted. “Smut? And for such a trifle you recalled me from the pleasures of Hell?”
“Well, we thought-”
The Marquis raised his hand. “It is of no matter; I am here now. How many are in this… club?”
“There are four of us altogether. Shall I fetch the others?”
“No, there is no point. Only the Summoner can see me.” The Marquis closed his eyes and appeared to be thinking. “So, you want to delve further into the pleasures of the flesh?”
The Marquis smiled at Peter’s show of respect. “The key to that is quite simple: you must take what you want, impose your will on others and hold nothing back.”
Peter’s mouth fell open to his chest. “That’s all? That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Yes. However, I found with every delicious experience, I needed something new each time.”
“How did you find such partners? How did you get them to agree with your more … ‘experimental’ tastes?”
“It never mattered to me what the other person thought, but you must work within the rules of the age. I understand that morals now are far less … liberal.”
“So what can we do?”
“We have only a short time before I must return to the Underworld, so listen carefully. I already know the extent of your experience. Now let me share the delights of mine.”
Peter listened enthralled as the Master shared a lifetime of pleasure in only a few moments. Even as he listened he felt himself becoming aroused. The Marquis held nothing back, and with neither remorse nor pity, he recounted the defining moments of his life.
He ended with the following thought: “Know this Peter, each man – and woman for that matter – enjoys a unique honey pot. My delights are not yours. Your ecstasy is not mine. No one can teach you your threshold or limits. Your joy will come as you seek pleasures out, but they will take you where they will. I cannot instruct you in that.”
“Adieu mon ami.” On those words, the image of the Marquis faded and Peter felt the temperature of the room drop so quickly that the cold bit into his very bones. He picked up his scarf, pulled it tightly around his neck, and then ran to find the others.