This is the second chapter of my 'The Monk Ambrosio' series. This chapter chiefly features Matilda, Ambrosio's lover from Chapter One. In it, Matilda meets with her Master. Let's see what happens shall we?
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"Now I truly must go," said Ambrosio, rising from the couch. Matilda sighed deeply, her body flushed with the heat of their recent lovemaking. Much to her disappointment, she had only a few minutes to hold Ambrosio before he rose from the bed again.
"Shall I come to you to-night?" she asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.
"I have not the time. I have much to do," he said plainly.
"Ah. Then shall I see you tomorrow?" Matilda asked, frowning at the floor. Her heart beat heavy with grief. She pursed her lips.
Ambrosio sensed her dismay, turned and smiled smally. He hated her, for the way she had seduced him into betraying his vows of celibacy. He hated her because she was so beautiful... because by revealing herself she had been the cause of his losing Rosario. 'But' he thought to himself, 'Matilda was Rosario.' And it was his resurrected fatherly affection for Rosario that prompted his bosom to swell with guilt at what he would soon tell her. The truth being: that it was lust and not love which he had felt for the young girl. What he had felt was only a physical attraction. He now no longer wanted her in this way and knew that what had just taken place between them might be the last incident of lovemaking.
"I am sorry." He was apologizing, though, as of yet, he had no reason to do so. He couldn't summon the courage to tell her but somehow he thought she knew. He enveloped her in his arms, holding her to his chest. Her chilly body warmed at this display of affection, knowing and feeling that the meaning behind it was more filial than romantic. Her soft fingers clutched at his shoulder, as the hand of a scared infant might clutch to its parent.
"Do not apologize, dear Ambrosio. I shall see you on the morrow," she said smiling at him. A mischievous gleam was in her eyes that unsettled him as he left her chamber.
Matilda fell back on her cushion, looking in the direction of heaven, knowing that no amount of prayer could save her soul or give her the heart of Ambrosio. Something dark stirred in her heart and she felt the unmistakable drawing of her thoughts to the sepulcher in the St. Clare gardens. She frowned at the sudden inclination possessing her to go in that direction. She rose from bed, hearing a small voice behind her. She started, turning to see nothing.
"Make yourself visible!" she hissed, dismissing her sweetness.
"Of course, my mistress," answered the voice. A thick silver smoke puffed into the chamber then drew away like a veil from a tall masculine figure. The male figure had a wide set of sable wings which, unfolded, might fill the entire chamber. His clothes were fine and a circlet of gleaming gold sat on his forehead, symbols of his Master's ownership etched into it. A tether was attached to a golden cuff on his wrist. At the tether began a golden chain, molten-red with hellfire, running to the floor where the arch-demon's minions scratched and hissed at each other. The vermin sneered at her, eyeing her naked body with dastardly chokes, which Matilda had always supposed to be laughter. She despised the sound.
"Have I, or have I not told you before, Asmodeus, that you are never to veil yourself before me?"
"Were you afraid, my mistress?" His black eyes sporting small blue flames.
"No, indeed, I was not." She began pulling on her clothes. The arch-demon chuckled, a rumble possessing the walls as he did so.
"He wishes to speak to you," Asmodeus said in his deep, unearthly voice, tugging the chain beside him violently as he made his way to Matilda's side.
"I know," Matilda said plainly. "I could feel him calling me."
"The Master grows impatient for his prize, mistress."
"I have told your Master that when Ambrosio's love is mine, I will gain him Ambrosio's soul."
"My dear Matilda," the lust-demon's voice filled her ears, warming her body with the debauchery it promised, "why not give up your design for this monk?" Matilda's eyes floated closed, her energy growing wild in her body, coursing to where Asmodeus' fingers drew soft patterns on her neck. He leaned in close to her, his black tresses tickling her shoulder. He drew his fingertips across her throat.
"I know the desires of your body, my mistress. I can satisfy you... I can drive you to madness." He was bewitching, handsome, and dangerous... as lovely as any angel. His smoky breath on her cheek made her quiver. She might have dropped her clothing away in the shadow of this patron of lust, if she hadn't grown accustomed to his advances. The smoke curled from his fingertips into her nostrils, a perfume for seduction.
Without warning, Matilda shattered his spell with laughter. "My ridiculous specter! I am very well aware that demons hold nothing and no one dear but themselves and their Master." Completely taken aback, Asmodeus stepped away from her. The tethered minions at his feet 'laughed' again. The arch-demon tugged the chain, sending them squealing into a corner.
"Demons may not hold dear, things or creatures with souls, but they do possess," Asmodeus said, smoke rising from the ground on which he walked.
"And would you possess me, you foul thing?" she taunted. "As I recall it, your Master has put you under my charge. And should I ever detect your advances again, I will punish you."
"Any punishment of human devising may inflict yet more pleasure than pain." He said with a wide, hot smile.
"That is yet to be seen. Until then, I desire that you pursue Ambrosio again today."
"Again?" Asmodeus scoffed. "That insufferable monk? He does nothing interesting at all." Despite his upset, he perked up suddenly. "You know, yesterday he met with a girl in the chapel. She was very beautiful."
"You lie," Matilda hissed.
"I am not lying. I swear it in my Master's name." Asmodeus inclined his head, his hand over his chest, where a heart might beat if he were human.
"What lady was this?" Matilda managed to ask in her shock.
"I believe she answers to the name Antonia, my mistress." He smiled wide.
"Antonia," Matilda repeated, lost in thought for a moment. She turned her eyes to the demon, the green churning like crashing waves in an ocean. "I knew his mind was elsewhere. He finds my company less than pleasurable. There can be no other reason than his desire for this... Antonia." She choked on the name, thinking of how Ambrosio might whisper her name in the throes of desire. She felt tears come to her eyes.
Asmodeus grinned in his triumph. "I can sense my Master's displeasure at your delayed appearance in the sepulcher."
"Your Master! Curse your Master!" Matilda's anger flared. A bowl of fruit was made victim of her rage, hurled across the room, crashing against the wall and clattering to the floor along with its contents. "Let your Master come to me, if he wishes to see me!"
The chamber rumbled and what little sunlight coming through the window seemed to falter into shadow. Asmodeus stumbled while his minions cowered and were silent. Matilda's moist eyes were wide at the reaction of the Evil One. She frowned at the floor and pulled on the last of her clothes. "I will go to the sepulcher now, without delay. Go forth and watch Ambrosio as I have instructed, relate to me every single detail of his wanderings today. Do not fail me, or your Master will know of your stupidity," Matilda said, her angry gaze settling into Asmodeus' burning eyes.
"Your will be done, my Mistress," Asmodeus said. Quicker than during his entrance, the silver smoke engulfed the handsome demon and his minions, taking them away from the room. Matilda grabbed up her basket, ruing the moment she'd allowed her temper to flare... knowing that the Devil himself... and his punishment awaited her in the catacombs of St. Clair.
The stone door of the sepulcher gave way at the turn of her key and she descended the staircase through the winding passageways of the tomb. Holding her light above her head, she followed her old path to a statue of St. Francis and urged the hollow figure aside, revealing a hidden path. She set her light at the mouth of the hole and stepped in, pulling the figure back into place behind her. Brushing the dust from her cloak, she regained her light and carefully retraced the narrow corridor to a small ante-chamber.
In the center was a heavy gravestone into which several prominent characters had been etched. All around the center-stone were various occult devices that she had placed there for previous rituals. She set her basket down and retrieved a red, satin gown, a golden-chain that she used for a belt, a jeweled-goblet stained red inside by a previous ritual, a jeweled dagger wrapped in a velvet shawl, and at last a heavy black cloak. Dressing herself in the ritual robes, tucking the dagger into the belt on her right hip, hanging the chalice by the slack of the chain on her left hip, she was prepared for what was to come.
Matilda pulled from a corner of the chamber, a thick but fragile book. Its pages were tattered, its cover was made of very soft hide and inscribed with various foreign characters, most of which matched the implanted gravestone in the center of the chamber. To the stone, she paid fresh attention, opening the book to a marked place. She set the book at the center of the stone. She withdrew the chalice and set it before the slab then began chanting an incantation. Sparks flew from the book, growing in number and heat until the book and stone were engulfed in multi-colored flame. Matilda drew the jeweled poniard from her belt and struck the blade against her wrist. Blood poured from the wound into the goblet. Violet smoke filled the chamber and a loud boom echoed as lightning blazed from the sky, through the ground and struck the stone. The blood was gone when the light disappeared. In a moment, her wound had healed itself. The peal of thunder rescinded and before her stood the Prince of Darkness himself.
The young witch had never been before the Evil One without quaking and she fell to her knees in his presence, averting her eyes. His bass voice growled from his throat.
"Matilda," he addressed her in the language of Hell, "why are you tardy in attending my whim?" She could feel him snort in his anger.
