The Fell Clutch of Circumstance

Author's note:

Please see part 1 for blurb and content warnings. And, if you haven't read Part 1 yet, I strongly suggest you do so before proceeding.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

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Sixteen

"This one is not possessed of divine blood," Bethany grumbled in Aaron's mind.

He would have normally been content to disregard his caustic familiar. But, as he was at that moment busily trying to ignore his physical surroundings, he took heed of her endless judgmental litany.

"It has been three weeks since you were returned to this realm," Bethany continued, "and yet you continue to refuse to impregnate Mary Hosanna Bearuch. Would you like to know where she is at this moment? She has returned to the house of her pederast husband in the place known as Bentonville. She will next reach maximum fertility in eight days. The rudimentary transportation available is more than sufficient for you to make the trip in time."

Aaron could think of no reply to make beyond the (in his mind) very reasonable objections he had detailed countless times to the irascible avian pain in his ass. The fact that Mary's moral compass made his insides clench and his mind reel fell on deaf ears when his companion brought up the topic of his quest. It had not been until he declared his intention to seek out a different woman of divine blood with whom to form a relationship (and hopefully convince her to become the Matris Dei) that Bethany relented to even a miniscule degree. She had not, however, offered any assistance in his amended quest beyond her constant predictions of his failure.

"Why must I serve you!" Bethany wailed pitifully. "My only crime was to inform the proper authorities that my own mother is defying her divine mandate, potentially threatening the entirety of Existence. And, for that, I'm forced to attend a foolish mortal who can't even understand something as simple as the fact that it will be impossible to father the Emet Qedem by using hisextremelylimited abilities to Glamour a mundane human of forty-six years who wants nothing more, in this moment, than to send a picture of her face glazed in your seed to her serial philanderer of a husband!"

Aaron was again prevented from replying, this time because the aforementioned unhappy wife (and, critically for his current objective, the senior assistant branch manager of a medium-sized regional bank) had returned from speaking with her mysterious manager (her fourth such excursion since Aaron had entered her office nearly one hour prior).

To the human (who he could not help but notice had unbuttonedanotherbutton on her blouse such that the front clasp of her bra was now easily visible, along with the flushed upper slopes of her breasts and a hint of her areolas) Aaron said, "Is everything ok?"

"Yes!" she gushed. "Never better. Why do you ask?"

"Because you keep leaving to ask what sounds to my uneducated ears like the same question of your manager."

"I'm just making certain there's nothing I'm missing. You understand that its quite unusual for such a gorgeous... I mean, a devastatingly handsome... I mean, aman, to walk into my office with almost one-and-a-half million dollars in gold."

"As I said, I inherited it."

"Please don't misunderstand, Mr. Merthyr, I meant no offense. I'm not doubting your sexiness... I mean yoursincerity. But there are regulations to which we must adhere."

"I understand completely," he replied smoothly, despite the fact that it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore her distracted ramblings. "Is there anything I could do to help?"

"The deposit has already been completed, and I've set up the accounts as you requested. I'm having the proper paperwork prepared, along with a temporary debit card you can make use of until the permanent one can be mailed to you."

"But?" he prompted.

"Thereissomething you can do for me."

"You stupid, foolish mortal," Bethany spoke in his mind in advance of the branch manager blurting out, "Would you cum on my face?" Her eyes then widened in horror, and she sobbed, "Oh my God! I can't believe I said that!"

Aaron glanced at her desk to be certain of her name before replying, "I'm sorry, Penny. I'm very grateful for your help, and very sorry for what you're going through, but I can't do that for you. Not because you're not an absolutely beautiful woman, but because you deserve to have a man who treats you like a queen every waking moment, except for the times when the bond you share tells him youreallywant him to smash your face into the bed and make it so you can't sit right for a week. I can't make that commitment to you, so I must regrettably decline your extremely flattering (not to mention tempting) offer. But if there's anything else I could do to help..."

"I still can't believe I saidthat. I've never even given a... um... blow job," she whimpered.

Aaron nodded at the picture on her desk of her standing with a rotund man who looked to be a decade her senior. "You said it because he's being an asshole, yes?"

"How did you know?"

"A not-so-little bird told me."

"Could I... could I take a selfie with you?"

Aaron tamped down the urge to ask what a selfie was, instead hoping the context clues he was receiving from her more muted body language would not lead him astray. "Sure."

She leapt up with a huge grin on her face and rounded her desk, scooping her phone from its cradle in the process.

"Can you, perhaps, smile at me?"

"Of course."

Penny held the phone before them and activated what he realized was a camera. He was so taken aback by the sight of his own face (so different from what he had seen in the mirror for the preceding several decades) that he nearly forgot to smile. He turned in Penny's direction and gave her his best dazzling smile. It was only after the screen flashed that he noticed her other arm had snaked between her breasts to lift them into the frame, causing her nipples to strain against the edge of the fabric.

"Um," he stammered, "your rather marvelous breasts are threatening to break containment, my dear."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to suck on them?"

"I'm honored, but no."

"Damn. Ok, just one more then."

"How do you..." he began, but she cut him off by surging forward and smashing her lips against his as the shudder sounded again.

She pulled back quickly and grunted, "Sorry."

"But not really," he teased with a grin as he took a large step back. "Am I right?"

"No, not really," she admitted with a shy smile.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a young man carrying a manila envelope along with a pair of credit cards. Aaron completed the process of signing for his new accounts as quickly as possible before collecting his effects and preparing to depart.

He looked up at Penny and said, "Tell him to hit the bricks, my dear. Because you deserve a hell of a lot better than he's willing to give you."

"I'll think about it. And... thank you."

"Sorry I couldn't do the other thing for you," he quipped, causing her face to turn bright red. He smirked at her reaction and added, "Thanks for everything," before exiting her office, and the building.

Upon reaching the crowded street of Upper Manhattan, he made directly for the park which was just a few blocks away. He did not need to look skyward to know that a somewhat sickly-looking raven which smelled of sulfur and left a faint trail of smoke wherever she went was following him. Despite more than a fortnight with her as his only companion, Aaron had yet to figure out the particulars of how Bethany's magic worked. He knew she did not require line of sight to either speak to or see him, and that she always knew a bit more about the humans surrounding him than she let on. What he did not know was why she stayed so close when her powers did not seem to require it.

But, as his thoughts caused him to unwittingly look skyward to find her soaring above the gap between the buildings, he could not bring himself to completely loath her presence. If nothing else, the knowledge she begrudgingly shared with him was almost always both helpful and insightful. There was also the fact that he felt increasingly lonely in a world where he spoke the language, knew the terrain, understood the foundation of the local customs; yet felt like more of a stranger in a strange land than he had upon first arriving in Vietnam as an eighteen-year-old kid who was about to receive a brutal lesson in just how imperfect his country really was.

Upon arriving at the park, Aaron sought out a bench far from the playgrounds and jogging paths. Moments after he took his seat, Bethany noisily landed beside him, filling his surroundings with the stench of sulfur. After glancing around to ensure he was not being observed, Aaron pulled out a cigar and went through the lengthy process of lighting it before acknowledging his companion.

"How'd you know she wanted me to... cum on her?"

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"It was evident that she wantedsomethinglike that. But that was extremely specific for her to just go and blurt it out."

"I warned you of the effect the Glamouring would have on mundane humans, especially one's predisposed to be attracted to you and who are not presently in a satisfactory relationship."

"Yet you've been annoyingly close-lipped on how I control it," he snapped. "You've also yet to tell me how you knew thatexact actis what she wanted."

"I am not required to divulge my methods to ahuman."

"Did you brainwash her?" Aaron pressed.

"You really are just asimplecreature, aren't you?"

"Answer the question."

"No."

"I thought you had to do what I told you."

"I am under no such compulsion."

He glared at her and growled, "Do you enjoy being a raging asshole?"

"Do you enjoy being stupid?" she fired back.

He stewed for a moment, willing his raging thoughts to calm. At length, he had something of an epiphany regarding what his feathered companion clearly felt to be patently obvious.

He grunted, "Freewill," without turning to look at her.

"Indeed. Influencing the thoughts of sentients is not only forbidden; it is impossible."

"So, you can read minds?"

"I can usemymind. The signs were obvious for even the most self-absorbed narcissist to see."

He ignored her jab, choosing instead to stay on topic, "That's not a denial. To be very clear, can you read the minds of humans?"

"What does that even mean, reading a mind?" she spat dismissively. "Your brain is nothing but a disorganized clump of organic matter, no more readable than the configuration of the planets or clumps of tea in the bottom of a cup."

"You're ducking the question. Can you discern, via any means, any or all thoughts of any given human? No equivocating, hedging, or changing the subject. Just a yes or no."

"It's not that simple."

"Holy fucking shit with you, Bethany," he yelped. "Could you discern Penny's thoughts?"

"Yes," she mumbled petulantly.

"Thank you!"

"You should keep your voice down. One need not read minds, as you call it, to know that you are attracting some unwanted attention."

"Dammit," he grumbled as he climbed to his feet.

He set off along one of the walking trails while Bethany took to the skies, hoping the sparse foot traffic would enable them to continue their conversation.

"So how do I prevent this Glamouring you keep referencing?"

"You can't. It isn't an ability you have; it's part of who you are now. Any human who would generally be attracted to an extremely fit Caucasian male with sandy blonde hair and piercing hazel eyes, who appears to be in his early thirties and has an almost offensively charming smile will be almost irresistibly attracted to you."

"That's quite a description," he muttered below his breath (in deference to a passing jogger), "are you crushing on me?"

"Hardly," she retorted angrily. "You are a filthy, disgusting human, and I'd rather fellate a Gondark than lie with you."

"Don't get your feathers all ruffled," he quipped. "I'm just making conversation."

"In any case," she continued, still sounding quite perturbed, "as we have discussed, the Glamouring can be muted if the human beholding you is already in a satisfactory relationship; the happier they are, the less of an effect you'll have. But it will be there nonetheless. In cases like that pitiful woman at the bank, they will typically be overcome with lust."

"I don't know why this never occurred to me to ask earlier, but was that what happened to me with She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"The effect you felt when you entered Mary Hosanna Bearuch's immediate vicinity is related to the Glamouring, but it is even more intense. It's also obviously felt by both you and your prospective partner. I'm frankly stunned you two managed to make it to her hotel room."

"The whole point of giving her a fucking nickname is so you don'tsayher fucking name."

"Her wickedness is not attenuated when you refuse to speak her name. I find clarity to be preferable to euphemisms."

Aaron reached the end of the park and spotted a few ominous looking clouds behind Bethany in the sky, so he turned toward the entrance to the subway to return to his hotel.

Lowering his voice to barely more than a hum, he asked, "I know that refusing to say her name changes nothing from her perspective. But I've asked you, as a personal favor to me, to stop saying her name. It's a simple fucking request. Refusing to honor it just marks you as a shitty friend."

"I'm not your friend, human. I am bound to guide you. Nothing more."

"Then stop playing twenty fucking questions with me andguideme," he muttered as he hurried down the steps toward the southbound train he heard screeching into the station. "It's been three fucking weeks and you've yet to help me find a single other female of childbearing age who has divine blood. Just one cryptic, unhelpful clue after another. I honestly wonder if you weren't sent by the other side to hamper me. Didn't you say you'll also die if Creation ends?"

"All mortals die. It is the defining characteristic of our existence. Fearing death, and trying to defeat it, begets wickedness; as evidenced by your many, many foes."

Aaron squeezed between the closing doors of the train before employing a trick he had picked up from an otherwise wretched movie he had suffered through several night's prior. He held his phone to his ear and said, "I'm not trying to cheat death; I'm trying to save humanity. Maybe it's a doomed endeavor, but I'm not going to give up just because you're a defeatist."

Yet no reply was forthcoming. He considered it was perhaps due to the staggering amount of concrete, steel and organic matter between himself and the cloudy skies, but he knew it was just as likely that Bethany was simply ignoring him. Again. He sighed wearily and pulled up a browser on his phone in hopes of figuring out some measure of the unrecognizable country in which he found himself.

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Seventeen

"Would you look at that," Aaron grunted to himself in amazement after finally stumbling across the first breadcrumb in his weeks' long search for any clue as to his family's fate.

On his phone he saw the image of a smiling woman who looked remarkably like Charlene had at the end of what he now thought of as his first life: with the same blonde hair and green eyes. Yet the image on his phone was not of his wife, it was his daughter Emma. Or rather, as his inept sleuthing had finally revealed, it was of Mattie Mayson; Emma's nom de plume in her persona as a renowned (and extremely successful) author of adult fiction. The image in question was the thumbnail (another term he had learned in the course of his search) for a video essay regarding the state of the modern American musical.

Emotions warred within Aaron, with pride at her achievement duking it out with mourning for all of her life that he had missed for the top spot. All traces of composure disappeared the moment he clicked play and heard her voice again. Tears streamed down his face as he listened to her make an impassioned argument for why non-diegetic music was antithetical to the entire concept of a musical (even though he could care less about musicals, and was uncertain what a diegetic was). Regardless of his interest in the subject matter, he swelled with pride at her passion, her knowledge, the depth of her research, and her commanding presence.

These emotions were quickly replaced by rage as he scrolled down the page to read the comments below the video. Whether it was bigoted accusations as to her sexual orientation, inexplicable comments wrongly implying she was obese, or sickening observations about her breasts; Aaron desperately wished to see each of the commenters turned inside out with extreme prejudice. He tried to leave a comment challenging the worst of the third category to single combat at a time and place of their choosing, only to receive an error stating that he needed to first register to use the site.

Aaron was still struggling to navigate the novel-length terms and conditions of the site when he felt something he had only experienced twice before in his life. His pulse quickened and his breath caught in his throat, as though he had held his breath for too long and was clawing toward the surface while trying to quell his panic. He was reminded of a time on a job site outside Meridian when he had been uncomfortably close to a lightning strike, with every hair on his arms standing on end and his hearing developing a strangely echoing quality. The final, but by no means least problematic, effect he noticed was that his penis was, without preamble, achingly hard.

In an instant, his phone was forgotten. It fell from his nerveless fingers, clattering onto the grimy floor of the train as he looked around with wide, panicked eyes. The subway car in which he rode was sparsely crowded but not cramped, so it took him only seconds to visually interrogate each of his fellow passengers who could have possibly been the cause of the intense sensation of the Glamouring before finding the woman in question.

Staring back at him, he beheld a beautiful, exotic woman in her late twenties or early thirties who was dressed in a way which (under different circumstances) would have caused him to burst out laughing. She wore knee high boots which were covered in long, shaggy hair that was blinding ivory in color, and a matching vest that looked to be a size too small to fully obscure her breasts. Beneath the furry exterior, she wore what he initially mistook for hose (since they looked painted on) but the fact that she was wearing the garment without a hint of shame suggested a new form of leg coverings had been discovered during his quarter century in Hell. Her top was of the same midnight black as her bottoms, although the fabric was matte, rather than shiny.

She stood from where she was seated and walked toward him, revealing the detail that, while her top covered her from wrist to neck, it curiously left a stripe the width of her palm bared around her waist to showcase a silver hoop in her bellybutton. As she negotiated the train car's other denizens, and he sat watching her approach like a simpleton, two fascinating (and scintillating) details became evident. Her leggings were even more sheer than he had first suspected (so much so that he could spot the outline of her vulva at a glance), and her top was not far behind in the revealing category (he was certain that neither he, nor any other human in his vicinity who was naturally inclined to be attracted to women, was unaware that she had foregone the use of a bra). The latter did little to obscure the alluring jiggle of her C-cup breasts, or the fact that her nipples were at least as hard as his manhood.