Mourgeana’s Story
Mortimer shivered on a bench in the stony garden of the Barion manor. The words of last night’s argument tumbled through her head.
“I fathered a boy, and by the sweet name of your mother you’ll sign this contract under a boy’s name, so help me!”
In her recreated fantasy, she imagined a better response than just crying and running away.
“If i could bear the pain, I’d rip it off and aim directly for your face.” She hissed. Her mother would be sobbing in the corner, wondering why Mortimer couldn’t just do this one thing for their family.
The wind whisked the tears away of a young girl. This girl, however, had a boy’s hairstyle and clothing. Despite this, she sat daintily on the steps of the manor, wearing a small frown. Anyone who mistook her for a boy would come to understand with a polite, yet firm ‘That’s incorrect.’ Mortimer could forgive mistakes, but not if they were made on purpose.
Those who did make mistakes monthly, daily, hourly, every damn minute they could, were her parents. The young girl came to loathe them at the tender age of 12. Just the very mention of them made her seethe under her cool exterior, which was now dressed in an ill fitted suit. The slacks, the boxers, even her short hair put her in a constant state of pure hatred. How she longed to rip it all off and exchange it for something more girly, something more her.
From her chilly spot on the bench mortimer’s tired eyes stared down on a statue of crows in flight. The fountain that surrounded the statue was turned off for the fall, the leaves tumbling joylessly in the empty space. Mortimer put her hands under herself to keep them warm. Clouds a slight shade of desperation rolled in, and the whole scene had about as much color as a Zack Snyder film.
Interrupting her justified rage was the voice of her maid, Reina. She tumbled into view, and then fell into view. Conducting herself like a 9th grade orchestra, the young maid had enough time to gather her thoughts before they exploded from her mouth.
“Mortimer!” She called. “Young Mast-er, Miss!” She stumbled up to the girl like a newborn foal. “There you are! Everyone’s been looking for you!” Mortimer smiled at Reina, who was an absolute delight to be around, even if she wore excessive amounts of fruity perfume. For one, she used the right pronouns. When it wouldn’t get her fired.
“Oh Morty, thank god I’ve found you! I thought you’d be here. We have to get ready immediately, and-”
“Is it that time already?” Mortimer tried to canoe into the maid’s rapid of worries.
“Oh, yes. Your father has already begun the summoning, and he says that if you’re not there in five minutes, and if you don’t sign under your birth given name, then at the very least I’ll be fired and expelled from manor grounds. You know how strict your parents are. I can’t say what will happen to you, but I bet it’s going to be something just awful. You didn’t her this from me, Mort, but I’m so sorry for everything-” Reina nervously ran in place, frantically checking the time. “Oh Mort, we have to get to the basement in five minutes! Here, is your outfit ready?” She began to forcefully pat down Mortimer’s hair.
Mortimer gently pushed away her hand.
“Reina, it’s fine. It’s not as if the demon cares about what I look like.” Reina made one last attempt to brush invisible specks of dirt off mortimer’s suit.
“I know, but your parents…” She trailed off nervously. Her out of shape bundle of hair swayed in the breeze. Above them, heavy grey clouds rolled in. Reina tried to intimidate them into going away, but Reina couldn’t intimidate a goose from it’s feathers. A drop of rain on her cheek brought her back to reality, and she dragged Mortimer toward the inside. If the rain wasn’t a problem, the maze that was the three acres surrounding the Barion’s lavish grounds was. From above, the mass of hege and harden worked its way into the shape of a skull, with the Manor itself as a mouth.“Let’s get in, quickly!” She tripped over the granite back steps. “If anything is even one inch out of place...” The young girl squeezed Reina’s hand, and the two lead each other through the escher painting that was the Barion mansion.
They passed by portraits of old, extending down the entirety of the main hall. Larger-than-life examples made their home on every surface, including the ceiling. Mortimer swore the paintings were alive- the shadows of former people watched her through the oil paint, she’d seen eyes rolling in the corner of hers. Mortimer looked down to the polished floor and found her face reflected with many others.
They slunk by vases that could have been donated to a museum. The particular smell of ‘body’ hung in the air.
Every servant they passed was as nervous as Reina, and scattered like birds on the sidewalk. As they trudged deeper into the manor, the pictures became more grotesque. Demons wove their way into the setting and were even the subject of some gratuitous portraits. Mortimer knew what she had to do-sign her great-great-great-great grand-child’s soul away, make a good investment, continue the cycle. Mortimer knew about demons, yes, but Mortimer had never actually seen one-up close and personal, that is.
“Not until tonight.” She thought
Reina couldn’t have possibly known, but the girl had a pink tiara secreted away in her pockets.She put in on slyly, thinking it brought out the beige in her suit. She smiled at her cleverness, and at the mutilated figures that were carved into the basement door. An arm that was bent the wrong way served as the door handle. Reina flung open the door.
They descended marble stairs, down a grand hallway and up the aisle to the stage that acted as a basement. There stood her mother, waiting grimly as Mr. Barion summoned the demon with great exertion. A chalk circle lay center stage. Mr barion drew out sigils that squeaked across the wooden boards. The only illumination came from a single spotlight and several aesthetically pleasing candles. He gesticulated wildly before slicing his hand, letting a pool of blood drip unceremoniously across the summonings before him.
A hush fell over the small group, effectively killing what little talk there was among the now four.
Reina pushed Mortimer up the stairs as a bird pushes a chick out of its nest. She stood in the empty seats with pride - It was only too late that she noticed the pink tiara nestled on the girl’s head. Her tired eyes looked on with utter despair.
The girl slid up to her mother and waited cheerfully as she peeked over her father’s shoulder. She was able to catch a glimpse of before her mother noticed her. Mrs. Barion dropped her cigarette and gasped.
“Just what,” She plucked the tiara off, “is this? Mortimer, how could you? Even after the talk we had-” Her eyes looked for someone to share the blame, and they landed on Reina. “Reina! You let this happen, didn’t you!?” She threw the tiara down with as much force as a 45 year old smoker could muster.
` The sudden clang of metal on wood awoke Mr. Barion from his summoning. “What’s all the fuss about-” He saw the tiara and the horror on his wife’s face. “Why you little tramp! You think you can just come in here, and deliberately disobey me-” he faced the girl, who bravely stood her ground.
“We just talked about this, and there you go again, ruining us-” Her mother began.
“We’re liable to disown you now, I think the law is on our side-” Her father threatened.
“Please, Mr. and Mrs. Barion, can’t you just accept who he-she is?” Reina called out.
As the one sided battle raged, a portal to The Place opened up. Reality tore itself asunder to connect two points in space and time. Ripples of space within the chalk circle peeled away into a vague hole shape. All Mortimer could focus on was the edges, the torn edges of the portal, looking directly into it hurt her eyes. A blast of warm air came through first, followed by the red dust of an alien planet.
A bony claw reached through. Slowly, making a show of it, out stepped a demon with the coloring of a fresh scar. Humanoid but eerily elongated, his wings unfurled to their full length, and his horns glinted polished in the stage light. Proud of his performance, the demon shot a jet of flame to wow his audience.
Mr. Barion gasped and turned, bringing his wife and dragging his child front and center. Mortimer dug her heels into the stage; A fifteen-foot demon is nothing to be sneezed at.
“O-Octavian, you’re here.” He huffed. Octavian raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah. Am I in the middle of something or….” He trailed off, wondering if it was best to leave angry humans alone.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Mrs. Barion said, forehead leaking with sweat.
“Nothing except for this little brat, who was misbehaving. Here, here’s your new partner, and heir to the Barion family.” He shoved Mortimer forward, almost into the circle. She gasped- the circle was really for formality’s sake, but she felt it impolite to bring her father’s blood any closer to the demon than it already was.
Octavian held out his hand. “Pleasure, I’m sure.”
The girl did the same and shook heartily. “That would be Heiress, if you would be so kind.” She said it like a poised heron just above the fish.
“How dare you!” Mr. Barion yelled. With one swift hit he sent her sprawling to the floor, nose fresh with blood. “I’ve had it up to here mister! Now you sign under a man’s name, or so help me-”
“Funny thing is, your contract’s up.” The demon said.
All eyes were on him. “W-what do you mean?” Mr. Barion stuttered.
In a family such as this, you celebrate your wealth. You don’t necessarily celebrate the source of your income, especially with a provider such as this. Between the generations and uncomfortable gaps of unease at the dinner table, ignorant people tend to forget that they have a date with the devil. Or at least, a part of him.
“It’s really weird, how a thousand years goes by so fast, huh? Give or take a few, since I was nice enough to give you a grace period. Sorry, I thought you knew.” He brought forth an ancient scroll of paper, which was barely more than a few tapped on scraps at this point. The Barions looked it over completely, realising that their fate was sealed. Mrs. Barion’s great-great-great-great grandmother had sold her soul away.
Mr. Barion was there to sour the deal.
“So, I uh, guess this means I get the souls of whoever this contract ends with. No biggie, right?” The demon said, nonplussed.
Mr. Barion tried to barter. Emphasis on tried. “W-Well here! Take this good-for-nothing, we don’t even want him any more!” he grabbed Mortimer by her collar and shoved her in front.
“Nope. Nu-uh, that kid doesn't have a name on here.”
“T-Then the maid!” Mrs. Barion pulled Reina by the hair. “I-It can be just any soul, r-right? I mean we’ve known each other for so long-”
“Listen lady, the only souls I want are yours. End of story. Kaput.” Octavian opened up a portal to somewhere particularly hot. With a flash of lightning, the previous Barions were on the ground, dead, their souls sucked from their bodies like an orange through a juicer. With a slurping noise the wailing beings were flushed down another portal Octavian summoned next to him. The screams were cut off as the portal snapped shut. The demon brushed off his hands- a job well done.
Octavian stepped out from the circle and picked up the tiara. In a flash it was turned to gold and ruby before the girl’s eyes. He gently sat it on her head, smoothing out her hair and wiping away any blood.
“Go. Be the princess you’ve always wanted to be.” He kissed her on the forehead. She didn’t mind that his teeth were gnarled and poked out a bit. In a ball of flame a smoking red card appeared in his hand. “Here’s my number. Call me anytime to renew the contract.” The candles went out and left a smoky trail that could be followed to the ceiling. He hunched through a portal back to The Place, leaving behind the faint smell of roses.
Reina stood in silence, not daring to speak. The girl looked at her hands, her heart racing. She tried to feel even a drop of regret, tried really hard, just even one single tear would do-
“Nope. Nothing.” her brain coughed out after a short internal mishap. She realised she was free.
Finally, Reina vanquished the silence with a few brave words. “M-Mortimer, what are w-we going to do-” A finger shushed her.
“That’s Mourgeana, and we have a client to call.”
