Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bellcolor
I went back to my room after leaving Dr. Abano’s office, very upset. He kissed me. That kiss awoke something in me, something deep and talismanic. I felt my cursed soul detach from my body.
Lilith.
She’s waking up.
It all started when the intoxicating smell of his blood hit my nose. But it wasn’t the smell of the demon blood flowing through his veins. No, there was another, much stronger scent, of something that had the power to destroy me . But just as my body called me to taste his blood, the bastard kissed me and completely distracted me. Then I heard Lilith’s voice. Calm, relaxed, and honest… telling me to give myself over. And I wanted to. Fuck, I wanted to so much, so much – but then he tried to stab me. In the back. Just like that, wham, no warning.
Am I so insignificant?
My eyes wander over my empty room, and land on the elegant stationary lying on my pillow. Beside it is a black rose with red on its edge. I lift the rose and smell it. The scent almost dulls my senses, it’s so overpowering. Blood, it’s stained with blood . And I immediately recognize that it’s his blood. I lay the rose on my dresser and read the letter:
Dinner, Bella my beauty. Tomorrow at midnight.
Libretto.
I drop the paper like it’s poison. I. hate. being. called. Bella. Who the hell does he think he is? I already know what’ll be served for dinner. Him. His blood. He wants to fill my veins until I give in to him. First in spirit, then in body. Gross .
The old man won’t let go. He wants Lilith, but refuses to understand that I have no intention of letting her take me over. Belle Fermi is here to stay. Until I take my own life. And if Dr. Abano can’t banish Lilith, I’ll destroy my body myself.
My first lesson on today’s schedule is Demonic Arts, taught by Mr. Fleming. I enter the lecture hall and sit to one side, watching the other freshmen demons enter in groups. Summer classes really helped consolidate the group and form friendships. And once again I’m on the outside, just like all throughout my high school years. As I’ve been my whole life.
In the corner of my eye I see Valentina come in, arm-in-arm with Tyra, Evan beside them pressed up against another demoness. They look up at me for a moment, but hurry to sit on the other side of the hall.
When the bell rings, Mr. Fleming – a demon who’s embraced old age gracefully, with his thinning white hair and frumpy clothes – walks into the lecture hall and takes to the stage. He places his leather briefcase on the table, and hands his TA a small black suitcase.
“Lights!” he calls, with no preparation or preamble. When the lights go out, a nightmarish image appears on the white screen behind him. “Henry Fuseli, The Nightmare, ” he declares, looking at it for a while without saying a word, letting the students take in the work of art.
A woman lay in bed, asleep or lifeless, with a terrifying demon sitting on her stomach. Behind the curtain was another horse-like demon. That’s how humans see us. Even if we don’t look the way we’re depicted in works of art, it’s right that they fear us. Their fear is justified. The image changes to another version of that same work. And again, and again, the works change and become more modern, but the image remains. The lights come back on and I blink to readjust to the florescent illumination.
“ The Nightmare, ” he declares again. “From 1781 to today. The nightmare has remained the same.” I look around at the embarrassed students. “Does anyone in this room have opinions on the piece, or must I force it out of you?” A few hands rise. “Introduce yourselves before you answer, I promise that by next class I’ll memorize your names. Yes, Miss,” he points to a student in the front row.
“Caitlyn, Mr. Fleming. I must say that was pretty offensive, that barbaric image of us,” the student replies, receiving nods from the crowd in response.
Mr. Fleming ponders her answer, then walks to her and pulls her up onto her feet. She gasps in surprise as he turns her towards the class, one hand gripping her wrist and another on her waist.
“Let me ask you this,” he addresses the class, but his mouth is by her ear. I straighten up and lean forward, to give my full attention to the forefront of the stage. Is it even appropriate for a lecturer to touch a student this way? “Will a young demon come to you in the middle of the night in her school uniform, her short skirt…” He caresses her exposed thigh and I feel uncomfortable. Caitlyn’s shivering like a stray leaf at his touch. “Will you not willingly invite the Devil in?” he gurgles next to her ear.
“Oh, yes, sir!” Calls of encouragement come from the audience, and Mr. Fleming releases Caitlyn at once and sends her back to her seat.
“Then why should they see the truth?” Mr. Fleming laughs, pointing to another student who’s raised his hand.
“Evan, Mr. Fleming. It’s control through fear. The demons roam the night, hunting their human victims during moments of weakness, while they’re asleep and unaware of what’s happening around them.”
I raise my hand, and Mr. Fleming’s eyes light up at once when he realizes it’s me.
“Belle, Mr. Fleming. And what if demons don’t roam around them at all? Is it possible they’re within them? During dreams the unconscious mind brings up the most diabolic desires. Could sleeping humans secretly long for what they fight against when they’re awake?”
Mr. Fleming smiles and gestures to his teaching assistant. The lights go out and another work appears on the white screen. A naked woman sprawled on a bed, her legs spread. The painting is actually mainly focused on what’s between her legs. “GustaveCourbet, The Origin of the World ,” Mr. Fleming says.
“The origin of the world…” I whisper, examining the painting closely. The woman creating a world.
The teaching assistant goes through one work after another featuring naked, sprawling women. I press my thighs together, feeling the pulses between my legs intensify due to the erotic works displayed to us. The dissonance between the eroticism and the innocence of bringing life into the world shakes me. Finally Mr. Fleming stops at the last work of art.
“ The Night-Hag Visiting Lapland Witches . We return to Henry Fuseli.”
“The demon in the first painting is male, and his victim is a woman. In the other images strong women appear, they’re not victims,” I say without raising my hand. All the others in class fall silent. It seems Mr. Fleming is lecturing only to me.
“From victim to avenger. Is it not Woman who corrupted the heart of Man?” he asks, and my thoughts are thrown right back to history class, when Dr. Abano taught us about the sin of the Garden of Eden.
“Maybe Woman has the power to destroy, but she creates life as well,” I answer, feeling a need to defend the female sex.
Mr. Fleming again gestures, and the teaching assistant moves on to another work. The entire class erupts into sounds of amazement. It’s a portrait of Mary, mother of Christ.
“Humans who gave their hearts to God believe they’re born corrupt, because the women bearing them pass on their primordial sin. They believe that if they strip the woman of her sexuality, she will create saints for them rather than sinners.”
“Sexuality is a sin?” I have a hard time internalizing what he’s saying.
“Lust is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, not just according to Christianity.”
Anger grows in me by the moment. “That’s ridiculous,” I blurt out.
“There are those who don’t find it at all ridiculous. They treat this sin seriously. Some religions traditionally circumcise women. Thus they completely deprive women of sexual pleasure.”
I’m horrified. “That’s monstrous!”
“Some take it a step further and abstain from sex entirely, believing that celibacy is the answer.”
“They believe procreation can happen without sexuality?” I ask in disbelief. My mind can’t figure out the logic in the religions of God’s people. It doesn’t sound holy to me. It doesn’t sound human. So many religions birth monstrous ways to torment women, and humanity in general. Is it God’s wish, to torture his own creations?
Mr. Fleming points to the image of Mary. “God impregnated a virgin. They absolutely believe it.”
“And what do you believe?” I dare to ask. The bell rings out, echoing in the hallways before Mr. Fleming can answer my question.
“Good work today,” Mr. Fleming declares. “See you next class!” He leaves the room without looking at me or answering my question.
At the locker room I switch into my gym outfit, feeling the curious eyes of demonesses fixed on my back. This time my body fills out the shorts and T-shirt, and I desperately need a more supportive sports bra.
We move as one cluster into the gym, connecting to the group of boy demons. The sounds of the excited crowd are a bad sign for me. I don’t have fond memories of my last classes with Ms. Kingsley, and I have no doubt that I’m behind on self-defense classes, since the other demons had the whole summer to train and specialize in the new skills she taught.
I stand to one side, apart from the thrilled cluster, lowering my gaze as Ms. Kingsley enters the room and leaps into the boxing ring.
“Good afternoon, kids,” she greets them, clapping to draw the class’s attention to her. I evade her look as she scans those present, already well-versed in the procedure. “Split into pairs for the next task. Miss Fermi, you’re with me.” Here we go again… I climb into the ring reluctantly, not looking at the rest of the class eager to get more of the action. “Don’t worry, Miss Fermi, I have no choice but to go easy on you,” she says to me, drawing the attention of the class again. “Over the summer we learned many methods of defense that will aid you if and when you find yourself facing the army of our enemy. Starting today, we’ll combine those skills with battle tactics. After the demonstration, I want one of each pair to implement the moves we’ll learn today while the other applies the defensive moves we learned over the summer. Then you’ll switch. Remember, you’re graded during training as well, so don’t lose your focus, not even for a moment!” She claps, and I jump in place, tense like a cat before a fight.
“The first move is a triple kick. Choose your strong leg, the one you’ll use to kick your enemy. Aim your first kick to the enemy’s stomach, the second to their groin, and when the enemy falls aim another last kick directly to their face. Like this.” Ms. Kingsley demonstrates it on me so slowly and gently that I can finally calm down. This time the devil was true to her word. “Defenders,” she points to me, “I want you to lift your arms and try to block every kick. Use your hands, punch your palms to toughen up your muscles. Note that from now on you’ll also be doing strength training. Your muscles are the natural padding for your body. Strong muscles protect your bones. And the Devil demands shields of steel for his army, not pillows!” Laughter rings out among the class, but Ms. Kingsley’s petrifying gaze silences them at once. “This isn’t a game. When you find yourself across from the enemy, they’ll wipe your stupid smiles off your faces! Let’s get to work!” she calls.
“We’ll start slow, then we’ll take it up a notch,” Ms. Kingsley instructs me. “The Dean may have warned us about hurting you, but if I want to prepare you for battle properly, even you will have to get your hands dirty during training, Miss Fermi.”
“I’m ready.” I stiffen my resolve and stand in the ready stance.
She sends out three slow kicks, and I manage to block each one.
“Faster!” Ms. Kingsley doesn’t give me a moment to take pride in myself. She launches three faster kicks and I manage to block them again. “Again!” she yells. These aren’t the kicks she demonstrated earlier anymore; she’s bombarding me with strong, swift, merciless kicks. I block each one, my body reacting instinctively to every move she makes. Then she tries to punch me, and I duck and evade her. “More!” she calls out, and fury overwhelms her. Kicks, punches, scratches, all means are legitimate to her. She tries again and again, and I evade every attempt.
When she finally slows down, bracing herself on her knees to regain her strength, I use her moment of weakness to hit her in the face with a swift, strong kick. The whole class stops their training at once.
“Belle!” Valentina calls out, but I ignore her.
I kneel over Ms. Kingsley, lying powerlessly after her body collapsed from the force of the blow, and I say: “That’s for the start of summer, bitch.”
She groans and can barely turn her gaze towards me.
I jump over the ropes and land perfectly in front of the stunned class. As I leave the gym, the cluster of classmates part like the Red Sea to clear my way.