Writing Advice: Tips On How to Write Sex Scenes

            We've all read at least one romance novel in our lives. Writing romantic, love scenes is actually harder (no pun intended) than one might think. 

  Books I Recommend:

    1. Thinking Like a Romance Writer by Dahlia Evans (*this one is the most helpful actually)

    2. How To Write Hot Sex by Shoshanna Evers

    3. The Evolution of a Sex Scene by Kristen Luciani 

    4. The SEXaurus: Sexy Words for Writers by Stephanie Olsen and Tamari Robins


    I got these on Kindle editions because they are much cheaper in that format. 

   Personal Tips:

    1. Most important tip of all: You need to be in the mood. It's about passion, which goes for anything you write but when you're feeling especially horny you find yourself feeling extra creative. What I do is hold off on any self love (we're all adults so you know what I mean) to build myself up then write down all the horny images in my head and edit it when I'm sober enough. I also get in the mood at a certain time of day which is the perfect time to write down all the sex scenes I'm thinking about then add other stuff later the next day. 


    2. Wear sexy underwear. As I've said: Be in the mood before you write a sex scene. When you feel sexy then you write sexy! 


    3. Watch a lot of porn. For some you may get uncomfortable with this but it's a great help to give you a visual to better describe the action (though for romance you also have to focus on the emotion of the characters more). A porn site I recommend: For Her Tube. Look for the Soft Core channel. (But careful of viruses. You know how many porn sites have those pesky viruses so be careful on what you click on).


    4. You don't have to make it magically romantic like your characters climax all the time or always together. You can make the sex a little more realistic (unless that's your plot in which case skip this tip). In my one scene of Sirens of the Belt Prequel Pt 7, my character Constance has sex for the first time but doesn't climax. It's her first time having sex. Sex doesn't really hurt the first time for most women (unless you're doing it wrong or the person your with doesn't know what they're doing). 


    5. If you're story involves BDSM I highly recommend doing some research into the subject. 50 Shades of Grey is not the best example. People of the BDSM community actually hate that series. A book I suggest is BDSM Basics for Beginners by Michelle Fegatofi. I'm currently setting up an outline for a romance novel that includes this type of kink and this book is very helpful. Also read other BDSM novels as a guide.  


     You don't have to be sexually active to know how to write about sex. It's whatever your fantasy is. 

Sirens of the Belt Prequel Pt 7

 WARNING: There are some graphic sex scenes in this part. Those I tag in sharing are free to not read and ask me not to tag them again.

Enjoy!

  

    Behind his eyes a monster lurked. Sulla knew the kind of creature he was dealing with. Mr. Ishmael Faro was one of the few left of the Stygian Corps that found employment with the E-Con despite being publicly disavowed. Faro was an attack dog. Nothing more. Sulla sat in his small office. Seneca walked in looking a bit like a steaming tomato.

“You went against my instructions,” he growled.

“Good morning, Viceroy, you seem tense,” Sulla remained calm.

“The families of the traitors were spared I’m told on my order when I told them the opposite!” Seneca slammed his fists on Sulla’s desk.

“Calm yourself,” Sulla stood up, keeping composure. “I went against your order yes but only because I have a lead on the real terrorists. I promise, Victor that you will come out looking good.”

Seneca glared daggers at Sulla who wasn’t phased at all. Sulla was a rat but he was clever. It’s one of the reasons he chose him to be his second. 

“I better or you’ll join those families,” Seneca warned.

“I have a lead on the terrorist cell,” Sulla explained. “We’ve identified a hacker who goes by Jerome. One of my spies caught him and now we’re working on a plan to expose the whole cell. You should have your real criminals by the end of the month.”

*      *      *      *

   Aurelia was completely naked, her slender figure and perky breasts, her long golden wavy hair slung over her shoulder. She lay on the bed as Bastian kissed her lower back sending warm ripples up Aurelia’s spine. These last few weeks have been heaven for her despite radio silence from Jerome. His last email to her was unsettling. They were on to him he said. 

“So how are you since that email?” Bastian kissed her shoulder. “Your cousin you said? He’s feeling better?”

“It’s a brain tumor,” Aurelia sighed, reveling in the warmth radiating through her body at Bastian’s tender touch. “He loves the meds. He’s on cloud nine.” Aurelia felt Bastian’s weight on her as he kissed her neck. 

“Happy to hear that,” Bastian whispered. “Now,” Bastian settled himself behind Aurelia, “there’s something else I want to show you…”

*      *      *      *

    Lust burned in his brain and he could think of nothing else. Dex couldn’t stop thinking about Constance. Their self defense training sessions were getting too much to bear. He should stop them… but he didn’t want to. One day they were all alone in the gym. So far dancing had helped. Constance was also building some kind of muscle. Her body was getting more tone. Dex would imagine kissing every inch of that curvy soft yet firm porcelain flesh. 

“I’m getting the hang of this,” Constance beamed. “Though you’re supposed to be teaching me other stuff.” Her tone was a bit wounded. 

“You’ll have plenty of time for that,” Dex shrugged. 

“Or maybe someone else will beat you to it,” Constance bitterly replied. Just as Dex was setting up Constance threw a punch. It didn’t hurt but the shock knocked caused him to falter.

“That was a cheap shot,” Dex frowned.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Constance grinned. Her emerald eyes sparkled with mischief. The sweat glistened off her neck. Her breasts looked perfectly round in her tank top. The perfect rise that made Dex’s mouth water.

Dex just stood there afraid of what he might do. But Constance wouldn’t let up.

“Come on,” she goaded. “Hit me.” She threw another punch but Dex caught it. He spun her around, arm twisted behind her back, holding her with his other arm. 

“Knock it off,” he warned.

Constance stamped her foot on Dex’s making him loosen his grip then she elbowed him in the gut releasing her completely.

“Why?” Constance asked, her eyes like fire.

“Why what?” Dex coughed as he recovered. 

“Why won’t you sleep with me?” She threw another punch that Dex dodged. 

“I’m not your type or something?” Constance threw another punch. Dex didn’t respond. He only stared at her, lips pressed tightly together. 

“Or are you just a sloppy drunk that can’t get it up,” Constance sniped. Dex grabbed Constance’s wrist then swiped her foot causing her to lose her footing, pinning her to the matt. Dex was on top of her staring into those emerald pools that haunted his dreams. His blood was pumping. All sound was drowned out by his racing heart. Constance’s face changed from anger to fascination as she ran her fingers through his copper hair. Dex couldn’t stand it any longer. He kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him from escaping. 

Her lips tasted like salted cherries. Her kiss was like a burst of sunshine. Dex wanted more. Constance seduced Dex’s mouth open with her velvet tongue deepening their kiss. Constance felt her way down towards Dex’s crotch, smiling into their kiss as she felt his manhood grow rigid at her touch. 

“So that’s not a problem after all,” she whispered. Dex took hold of Constance’s wrist and pinned it. 

“Not yet damn it,” he growled. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks.” Dex imprinted a burning kiss on her neck making Constance sigh with longing which was music to his ears. His lips traveled down tasting her sweet sweat. Constance loved the feeling of Dex’s sexy stubble brush against her sensitive skin. He kissed her collar bone the the swell of her breasts. Dex moved his his hands down between Constance’s thighs, bypassing the elastic waistband of her pants. To his surprise and joy she wasn’t wearing underwear. He ran a finger along her already wet lips, dipping his finger in between her folds; testing the waters. She was tight but slick enough to easily slide inside. 

The scent of his musk, leather and bourbon filled Constance’s lungs, the only air she ever wanted to breathe. She arched her back, bucking her hips forward to get Dex further in. Constance began to groan as Dex worked his finger inside of her, his wrist brushing against her clit. 

Dex listened to the sounds of Constance’s breathing; her gentle panting turning to a ragged breath which became ecstatic moans. The feeling of her fingers knotted in his hair tightening as she approached a release. It was enough to get Dex off but he didn’t want her to come yet. Dex pulled his finger out to Constance’s displeasure.

“No don’t stop,” Constance whimpered. Dex smiled wickedly as he pulled off her pants then settled himself between her wanton thighs. Constance’s heart pounded in her ears. She took a deep breath to try and slow down her heart rate but it didn’t help. Constance trembled as Dex kissed her again. The kiss was slower, more erotic, lingering. Dex slowly pulled Constance’s tank over her luscious mounds. Dex smiled as he took a nipple into his mouth. It puckered under his attentive flicking tongue. Constance groaned as she pulled Dex in closer. Soon both of her nipples were fine points, dark with arousal. 

       Constance drew Dex in for a kiss. She sucked on his lower lip then bit hard.

       “Ow!” Dex cried.

       “Sorry did I hurt you?” Constance coyly replied. The wait was torture for him as well as for her.

      “You think you’re real tough huh?” he said smiling.

      “Maybe you should teach me a lesson?” her emerald eyes had a lusty glint in them. Dex reached into his pants and pulled out his shaft already so stiff and ready to burst. 

     “I’ll go slow ok?” Dex whispered. It was a sobering moment but at the same time Dex had never been so intoxicated, so drunk on a woman let alone an 18 year old girl. Dex slipped inside her tight passage with a roll of his hips. The weight of his body, the feeling of his masculinity inside her tight delicate flower, the pain-pleasure sensation swept through Constance in crashing waves. Constance dug her nails into Dex’s back as he went a little faster. Her pants became moans. She bit into his muscular shoulder to suppress her cries of joy as Dex pumped faster. At this point Dex didn’t care about slow. Dex groaned in Constance’s hair; the feeling of being inside her, the heat of her dark haven felt like home. Dex muffled Constance’s sonorous moans with his heated kisses. They shared one breath, one body, then with one final stroke Dex came. They stayed that way for a while, holding fast to each other until Dex’s shaft grew soft and slipped out of her.

“Huh…,” Constance chuckled. “I thought there would be an explosion for me.”

“Sorry…,” Dex apologized, his body in a state of euphoria. 

“That’ll be lesson one I guess,” Constance rolled on top of Dex who was helpless to stop her or unwilling as she tore off her shirt being completely naked now.

“Let’s start lesson 2…,” she whispered as she caught Dex’s mouth in hers.

*      *      *      *

   “Aurelia?” Leila peeked her head through the sliding door. She wasn’t in her room. Leila nevertheless walked in. She wasn’t sure she was happy or disappointed given the reason she was here. Aurelia had a bejeweled hair pin that she wanted to… borrow. Leila didn’t understand why but she had this compulsive desire to steal things. It made her feel better. Right now she could use something to make her feel better. Naomi was a cheat. Leila went through Aurelia’s drawers and finally found the hair pin. It was a rose encrusted with rubies. It was the only thing Aurelia had of value. Constance gave it to her actually during one of their cease fires. Aurelia never wore it anyway. Leila slipped it into her pocket. Aurelia wouldn’t miss it… 

*      *      *      * 

    “Just do it,” Faro aimed his gun at his prisoner’s head. Jerome was his code name on the dark network. Jerome hesitated. His finger hovered over the key that would lead his team to their death. Faro pressed the barrel harder to Jerome’s head.

“I hate to repeat myself…,” Faro snarled. 

“I do this…,” Jerome asked his voice shaking. “You won’t hurt my family.”

“Sulla promised he would keep your family safe,” Faro explained. “He’s a man of his word.” Jerome gulped then closed his eyes as his finger fell like the infamous guillotine. The word was sent. A new raid was to happen in a few days time. 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Faro pulled the trigger splattering Jerome all over the floor. The body fell to the floor as Faro casually cleaned his gun. As Sulla’s 2 man clean up crew came to take the body away Faro wondered what his friend Jay was doing right now. Was he still having issues with that little green eyed beauty? Faro licked his lips as he thought of her. Jay said she was off limits, which Faro didn’t understand. They would share and trade women all the time back in the day. What was so different about this one. Nevertheless Faro couldn’t get this girl out of his mind. Those emerald eyes… Perhaps he’ll blow off some steam at the local brothel. Or maybe he’ll ask Sulla to get him into those high class bordellos as payment for his services? 

*      *      *      *

   Constance was ecstatic. She felt so different. She didn’t expect her first time to be in a gym. She could still feel the matt where her sweaty skin stuck. She heard the door slide open and quickly turned around with a big smile. 

“Dex—“ But Constance’s face fell as she saw it was Ion with his devilish grin.

“Oh Dex won’t be your instructor anymore,” Ion informed her, unable to hide his joy. “From now on until your graduation if I see fit to pass you I will be your teacher in the erotic arts.”

“Why?” Constance asked trying not to seem too disappointed. “Dex did what he was supposed to do today… Why the sudden change?” Ion looked harder at Constance. She did seem different. She was practically glowing. He frowned a bit but he shrugged, “You would have to ask the Matron. But don’t be so glum. I promise you’ll enjoy this.”

Constance couldn’t hide her disdain for this man. He awakened an animal in her that she never thought was there. She said nothing. She couldn’t. The Matron’s will was law. Ion brought his hands together in one clap, “Now… take off your clothes.”

Constance stood still for a moment. Then with a face of cool indifference she did as she was commanded. She dropped her robes, her ivory skin glowing in the soft lighting. She was naked from head to toe. Ion licked his lips, his excitement growing. 

“Get on the bed,” he ordered softly. Constance parted the curtains her every step as if she were weighted down with lead. Her dark curls a waterfall, draping over her shoulders and hiding her full breasts. Ion prowled over like a tiger coming to claim it’s kill. He removed his shirt revealing some of his sinewy muscles. A primal urge to bite into those muscles arose in Constance. She didn’t know if it was her intense hatred or lust. Her heart pounded as he came closer. He ran his hand up her leg kissing it tenderly, his hot breath giving her goosebumps. 

Then Ion took Constance by the ankles and pulled her down so that he was fully on top. His knee leaning against her delicate flower.

“Don’t look so brooding,” Ion ran his thumb over Constance’s lips, now dark and full with physical desire, pressing his thumb to her chin. “I promise you’ll enjoy this.”

“Only if I close my eyes and imagine anyone else,” Constance retorted. Ion only chuckled, “After tonight I’ll be the only man you think of when you’re giving it to some fat old nobleman.” Ion briefly ran his hand over her breast cupping it firmly he bent down and kissed it. His leg rubbed up against Constance’s womanhood making her a little moist down there. She suppressed a groan but Ion watched her face intently. “Let me show you what a real man can do.”

*      *      *      *

Next few parts will be posted next week.

I hope to be finished before June starts.

Heir to Damnation 3

  More parts on the way. Had to re-edit this for clarification on some parts and characters.

      The church was abandoned except for three people. A storm raged outside. Lightning cracked and thunder drummed shaking one to their very core. It were as if God were angry about something. He would be since a sin was done in His house.

The bullet entered just below his heart. Blood bubbled from the wound like a gruesome spring. Marshall ripped off his jacket and applied pressure to the wound. He pressed so hard he thought he might crush the boy’s rib cage. The kid was only 11 years old. 

“Hold on, kid,” Marshall begged. The boy looked up at Marshall with his chestnut brown eyes, glazed over in shock. 

“Help’s coming,” Marshall assured the boy. The boy smiled weakly up at the detective, despite the desperation in Marshall’s face the boy seemed almost unaware what was happening. 

“Thank you…,” the boy whispered. Then his head went limp. His body went still. Blood pooled onto the cool tiles, dripping down the altar steps. Marshall shook the boy gently as if it would rouse him.

“No no… no you hang on,” he pleaded, his sight blurring from tears. “You can’t give up.”

“Jon…”

Marshall looked up to see the woman who ended this boy’s life. A young beautiful woman with sorrowful gray eyes. But no where in her eyes did he see any trace of regret.

“It had to be done, Jon…,” she said quietly. Detective Jonathan Marshall climbed to his feet and pulled out his gun. 

“On your knees,” he ordered. His voice broke a little in the order. For a moment the young woman stood there. She was still holding the gun.

“Drop the gun and get on your knees NOW!” Marshall cried. Slowly the woman obeyed. She placed the gun on the ground gently, thunder rolling in the background, then she got on her knees onto the cold tile floor.

“Hands behind your head,” Marshall cautiously came forward and pulled out a pair of cuffs. The woman put her hands behind her head, lacing her fingers to put the rattled detective more at ease. 

“I’m sorry, Jon,” the woman repeated gently. 

“Miss Magdalena St. Pierre, you have the right to remain silent,” Jon read Magdalena her Miranda rights, his detective side taking full control of his words and actions. As Jon was locking the cuffs onto Magda’s wrists he noticed tattoos moving on her skin as if they were alive, like a row of ants on the march. The torrent rain was drowned out by police and ambulance sirens. Jon watched two officers take Magda away who went without a fight. Jon returned to the boy’s dead body. The kid’s blond hair hid his eyes. Out of respect Jon moved the hair away but as he did the kid’s eyes flashed open but instead of those innocent chestnuts were a pair of pitch black malevolent pits looking up at him as if they would suck out his very soul. Jon jumped back in fright. His heart stopped but the black eyes disintegrated as if they had never been. MEs came and pulled a tarp over the body. This night would haunt Jonathan Marshall in more ways than one.

*     *     *     *

The night was split by jagged lightning that set many patients' teeth on edge. As if they weren't tortured enough by their own demons, Mother Nature had to be a bitch that night. Magdalena St. Pierre was already awake. She stared up at the ceiling of her little cream white room counting the same tiles for the hundredth time. She listened to the rain pound against the window. It was static to her compared to the chaos of thoughts and memories swarming in her mind like angry hornets. She closed her eyes and began counting to a million hoping the boring task would help her fall asleep on this restless night. Yet as she counted, a shadow of flame with malevolent eyes appeared behind her lids. It echoed in a deep unnatural voice ancient words that Magda understood. She tried to open her eyes but couldn't. 

Then she was transported to an empty alley way. She did not feel the rain or the cold. Her spirit had transported her somewhere in the city. Magda suddenly heard a familiar voice. 

"I'll ask one last time," the voice was as cold as ice. "You were the white witch that cloaked her. I need you to uncloak her." 

Magda walked towards the scene and saw her friend, Mannix on the ground bleeding from fresh deep cuts. When Mannix refused to answer, his face a picture of defiance, his attacker waved his hand and new cut appeared along Mannix's gut. Blood poured from the wound mixing with the water. Mannix garbled something incoherently.

"I'm sorry what was that?" his mysterious assailant tilted his head straining to hear. Mannix struggled to lift himself up. He pulled out a knife then cried out, "Burn in hell." Then with one swift strike sliced his own jugular. His attacker cursed out loud then froze. He seemed to be staring right at Magda. Her breath caught as the shadowy figure came closer. In a chilling voice he said, "Maggs? Is that you?"

Magda shot up in her bed as lightning cracked then gave way to rolling thunder. They were coming for her again...

*      *      *      *

Detective Jonathan Marshall drank his black coffee and hugged his cheap navy blue wind breaker closer to his body. Though it was early fall winter seemed just around the corner.

"You look like shit, Marshall," chimed Becky, his partner. 

"You always have something nice to say,” Marshall sardonically replied. Becky was tall with a statuesque body and long wheat colored hair that she always kept in a pony tail. Pouty lips that made one want to kiss her with blue bedroom eyes. She should have been a model but for some odd reason decided to become a detective. Her shoulders tensed. 

"I was worried about you last night...," Becky said quietly. Marshall shrugged, "Just wasn't in the mood for conversation. Besides I think we said all that needed to be said." Becky stared at Marshall her blue green eyes wounded.  

"What do we got, Becky," Marshall wanted to return to the case at hand. 

"Victim is male, late 30s, African American, looks like he was cut up pretty bad," Becky explained clinically. 

They ducked underneath the yellow tape. Last night’s rain had washed away the blood leaving a sliced up husk. Marshall pointed to the gaping cut on the victim's throat, "Killer do that?"
 
"Nope," Becky said. "The victim cut his own throat." 
 
"No money missing?" asked Marshall, his deductive gears turning. Though he saw something on the body that made him pause. An eye cut into the victim’s stomach. 
 
"Wallet is full of cash and credit cards," Becky gave Marshall the wallet that was sealed in an evidence bag. "I.D. says Rafe Mannix." 
 
Marshall stared at the eye, a feeling of dread washing over him like ice cold water. “I recognize this symbol,” he said.
 
"The case with all the Satanic Voodoo shit? And that kid…,” she trailed off not wanting to unsettle her partner. 
 
"Some of them just like this," Marshall recalled hauntingly. A girl was involved. A girl Marshall thought was innocent until she shot and killed an eleven year old boy in church because she claimed he was possessed by a demon. They caught her though her lawyer pleaded insanity and now Magdalena St. Pierre was rotting in a psychiatric facility in Queens. That night came in fresh like a morning rain. 
 
"Oh yeah it pissed me off when they gave her the insanity plea," Becky glowered at the memory. "Anyone can plead 'insanity' now a days." Marshall was quiet for a long time. She was the ghost haunting his dreams, with a sad song and murderous eyes… No they weren’t always murderous… He remembered where he was when Becky laid a hand on his shoulder, “Jon…” 

Marshall looked into Becky’s concerned eyes. 

“You okay?” she asked. Marshall swiftly turned away, escaping her looks of pity, one of the many looks he received a few years ago that irritated him so much. Some looks were of ridicule but the pity looks were the worst.  
 
"Let's go talk to Crazy Pants," Marshall grimaced.
 

*     *     *     *     *

 
It was a murder but not a crime. Not a day went by when Magda didn't think about that day when everything went to hell. She sat outside smoking her cigarette. Patients weren't allowed to have cigarettes but when you're a witch with magical tattoos you can get yourself just about anything. They were coming for her again. He was coming for her. She knew it was only a matter of time. 
 
As Magda took a deep drag of her cigarette a stocky nurse with a large black mole above her lip and two large orderlies came up behind her. 

"Anything I can do for you, Nurse Ratched?” Magda called without even turning around. She called her that because this particular nurse was a terror to the patients. She was very strict often taking more uncivil actions towards patients who misbehaved. She was very much that evil nurse from that movie Magda saw when she was a kid. Not that the state bothered to check on this particular facility to care what happened behind those cream white plaster walls. 

"It's Nurse Philips," she growled. Nurse Philips was portly with a giant mole on her upper lip that she waxed once a week though Magda could still see the tiny black hairs on her upper lip. The two large orderlies stood on either side of Magda who sat quietly on the bench. 

"Where did you get this cigarette?" she demanded, snatching it away. Magda stared Nurse Philips in her beady eyes that seemed to shrink when ever her face scrunched up in anger. 

"You know, Ava, I've been trying really hard to tolerate you these past few years," Magda placed her hands in her lap folding them into different patterns in a calm fashion. "And it helps to smoke at least once a week to take the edge off since there's no booze and the happy pills only help so much to drown you out. So if you don't give me that cigarette I'm going to have to cut off one of your stubby fingers then smoke that instead." Magda's ash gray eyes were like an inferno as they bore into Nurse Philips's dark beady eyes. They stared each other down for a moment. Magda’s skin tingled as the tattoos crawled along her body to form a spell that she was thinking of using. Her whole body was burning like a flame itching to release the excess energy within her. Nurse Philips held out the cigarette to Magda but when she went to take it back, Nurse Philips dropped it then ground the burning cigarette into the cement until it sizzled out.

"I make the rules here. Perhaps you need a day or two in the quiet room to remind you who is king of this place," Nurse Philips growled getting in Magda's face. Just when Magda was about to unleash her wrath as she promised another much younger nurse called, "St. Pierre? Your outside time is up!” 

Magda glared back at Nurse Philips but took a deep breath. As she did so her tattoos receded back and Magda’s body was normal temperature again.

"I'll see you're put in the quiet room," promised Nurse Philips. Magda walked off silently following the young nurse. 

*     *     *     *

   "You get accustomed to the smell."

Dr. Thomas Reed led Detectives Jonathan Marshall and Becky Nobel through the steel gray corridor. The gloomy decor would drive anyone mad with depression. The only white was in the cells. Clean, sterile white rooms with thick glass walls. The inmates within like rats trapped in a lab waiting for the next needle of drugs to test.  

"Some of the drugs we're given make the patients sick," the doctor explained. "One inmate puked right on my shoes during a session." 

"Never a dull moment here huh, doc?" asked Marshall holding his sleeve over his nose. They turned a corner to see Magdalena St. Pierre sitting in her glass cell looking up at the window at the patch of blue sky, the only splash of color in this sterile void.
 
"Usually Magda's pretty calm. Very well behaved. More than most of the other inmates,” said Dr. Reed. "Actually the most cooperative patient here so we sometimes let her out for a walk." So well behaved that the doctor called Magda by her nickname Marshall realized. 
 
"Not sure that's within house rules here," Becky pointed out sourly. 
 
"The state doesn't pay much attention to us," Reed shrugged. "We have our own rules here." It wasn't like the detectives would report on this or anything. Who would listen to 2 lowly detectives? Magda lay on her cot in her white room in the light of window. Before Dr. Reed said anything Magda said, "Detectives. I assume you've come to take me to get some lethal injection."
 
Magdalena turned her head and faced the grim detectives with a sardonic smile, "Or have you come to kill me yourself?" She actually sounded hopeful. Magda was pale with long ebony hair woven into a long braid that draped over her shoulder like a sash. She had an oval face like some of those romantic paintings such as William-Adolphe. Marshall's mother loved that artist. Despite a few years in captivity her pasty skin was clear and flawless. Magda's lips were dry and pale and Marshall noticed the little bags under her eyes. Yes her eyes were the real marvel. She always had such pretty eyes though tragedy seemed to lurk behind them. Birdlike ash gray eyes that missed nothing fringed with long lashes underneath dark yet trim eyebrows. The press liked to focus on her looks during the trial. A real life Angel of Death that stopped any man in his tracks. Despite a few years in captivity Magda looked well or at least on the surface. 
 
"We're here about a case," Becky spoke first. Magda turned to see Jon hanging back a little, staring at her with heated cerulean eyes that used to make Magda’s heart stop. They still did. Sometimes with fear. Other times… 

“Hi, Jon,” she said calmly.

“Hey, you talk to me,” Becky established the law in the room. Magda flashed an acid smile at the bossy female detective.
 
"New partner, Marshall?" Magda asked curiously. "She's pretty. Super model even. She's too good for you." Marshall stood quietly glaring. Magda’s features softened a bit.  
 
 “Enough,” Becky said, her patience wearing thin.  
 
 "So," Magda stood up and walked towards the glass. "What can I help you with?"   
 
 Becky took out a file and pressed a picture of Mannix's shredded body to the glass. Magda stared at the picture, her face unreadable. She looked like a statue sitting on top a tomb stone. 
 
 "You recognize this man?" Marshall asked. 
 
 Magda stood silent. Her ash gray eyes like two grave stones. 
 
 "We looked into the victim and he seemed pretty hard core into the occult," Becky placed the gruesome photo back into the file, Marshall kept his keen eye on Magda watching for any reaction, normal or otherwise. But he knew well enough that Magda was one who kept her cool under any kind of pressure. She had ice in her veins. Becky pulled out another picture of a symbol on Mannix's ring. It was of ouroboros; the serpent eating it's own tail. 
 
 "And since I'm into the occult you think I'd know exactly who that guy is," Magda spoke drily. "Contrary to what normal people think not everyone in the occult community knows each other. We all don't frequent the same chat rooms on the deep web."
 
 "He was killed the same way a few others were murdered a few years back," Marshall interjected. “An arcane symbol carved into his flesh.” Magda looked to Marshall, the corner of her mouth twitched. It looked like a smile.
 
 "Well then it's a copy cat," Magda’s tone was more gentle when addressing Marshall. "I'm not gonna do your job for you,” Magda returned her sharp tone towards Becky. There was silence. Then Magda jerked her head cricking her neck. Her eye began to twitch and she paused as if hearing another voice in a conversation. She bit her lip and closed her eyes trying to sort out the voices in her head. 
 
 "Miss St. Pierre? Are you alright?" Dr. Reed asked concerned.
 
 "I think there's something you're not telling us, St. Pierre," Becky insisted. 
 
 "I told you I don't know anything," Magda spoke a bit roughly, her eyes still closed. She pressed her hands against the glass to support herself. She took deep breaths to calm herself. To those on the other side of the glass it was like watching a wild animal in captivity grow restless. On some days it's calm but others it despises the cage it's living in and would tear a part anyone within it's reach. 
 
Becky pressed the photo of Mannix's body to the glass again.
 
"There's something you're not telling us," Becky accused.
 
"Detectives, I think we should pick this up tomorrow," Dr. Reed suggested. 
 
Marshall noticed Magda's usually pure skin begin to actually crawl as if something alive was scurrying beneath her skin. Then he saw arcane symbols in a language he recognized fly across her flesh like fresh ink on paper. It was just like a few years ago.
 
 
 It began with a whisper, and more whispers joined it until it was a deafening wave of sound. Magda tried to keep her cool but the detectives' annoying voices seemed be drowned out by the malevolent whispers in her head. Magda looked at the photo of Mannix and noticed a symbol glowing on his flesh within the photo. It looked like an eye, an eye Magda unfortunately recognized. The female detective kept pestering her. 
 
 "What did you do?" Magda growled. Her head sank between her shoulders, her hands still held in place, the only thing keeping her up. 
 
 "Do? We didn't do anything. You know something," Becky kept going on. "Tell us."
 
 "I don't know...," Magda's skin felt like it was on fire. "You need to leave." She could feel the ancient words creeping all over her flesh as if her veins were on the outside. Not now. Please not now. The ancient whispers wouldn't shut up. They were begging her to be released. Just when Magda thought she would implode or worse, Dr. Reed saved the say.
 
 "That's enough!" the doctor cried. He buzzed in a nurse and a few orderlies. "Please give Miss St. Pierre a sedative. She's having another fit."
 
 "We're not done here," Becky protested. 
 
 "Yes you are," Dr. Reed's furrowed brow only conveyed his decision to the disappointed detectives. "Please leave." Orderlies whizzed passed the put out detectives to hold down the wild Magda who watched after them. There was one voice in her head. It was familiar. It was him. He said something that made Magda's blood run cold, "It's in your blood. You can't escape this. You won't escape us." 
 
 
 
 Marshall managed to look back and notice Magda's eyes go black, as black as a puddle of ink but it was pure evil there in those little pools. Just like the boy’s eyes…
 
 "She knows something," Becky muttered. "She's either involved or covering for someone. What do you think?"
 
 Marshall was silent trying to work out what he saw. 
 
 “Jon,” Becky tugged on Marshall's sleeve. "You with me?"
 
 "Huh? Yeah there's... definitely something wrong here," he said cryptically. 
 
 "We'll keep digging," Becky assured him. They stood in something of an awkward silence. “Hey… if this is too much for you then I can get another detective on here,” Becky suggested softly. Marshall shot Becky an acid glance. 

 “I’m fine,” he stated. There were answers he needed. Answers to questions he couldn’t ask out loud to another sane person.
 
 “I’ll come back tomorrow,” Marshall said. 
 
 "You sure?" Becky sounded wary. Hopes of repairing the apparent rift between them relied on staying together but Marshall's steadfast gaze told her that he wasn't budging.
 
 "Your ways are too rough," Marshall put it bluntly. "I know her. St. Pierre responds better to light pressure."
 
 "Is that the only reason you want to talk to her alone?” Becky asked caustically. Marshall's eyes became frosty, his whole body going rigid. 

 “Aren’t you used to doing things your way without consulting anyone?” he stung her right where it hurt.

 “Really? You want to talk about this here?” 

 Marshall smiled sardonically.  

    Becky heaved a frustrated sighed, "Fine. I'll look into your old case file and see if I can find anything that can help us." Becky walked away leaving Marshall to follow behind.

*      *      *      *

  The darkness rippled and shifted in her wake. Nadia Dekker stood outside the psychiatric prison looking up at Magda’s room. Her gleaming cognac eyes seemed to grow hot with the hated memory of her rival. She could even smell her scent as she took in a full breath. She attempted to walk further but some invisible force stopped her. 

“Clever girl…,” Nadia grinned maliciously. “You put up a barrier to stop me and any physical entity that means harm.” Nadia took out his switch blade. The handle was scuffed from age, a pentagram carved into it’s ebony handle. With casual indifference Nadia cut into her clean white palm then set to work drawing a symbol in her blood. 

“But does it block any spiritual entities from entering?” she wondered aloud.

*     *     *     *

His voice brought back memories of dark rooms and broken bones. Magda lay on her back, the drugs making her sleepy and sight a bit blurry. No amount of drugs could ever erase her dark childhood. 

“Daniel…,” she whispered. The memory of his happy face seemed more like a dream every day. That boy died in front of her years ago. The pain of regret was enough to make her want to dig a hole and crawl inside it. But Magda didn’t have the luxury of hiding. Hiding was over. She needed to run before it was too late. In fact Magda had less time than she thought…

Magda’s skin began to crawl as the tattoos flew across her flesh like ants in a frenzy. But while her body began to heat up a chill trickled up her spine before she heard leadened foot steps approaching her. Magda sat up, the drugs were still making her drowsy but as she had been told many times by her dark guardian, Magda was a prodigy who could cast hexes unconscious.

Magda sat calmly, breathing deeply and slowly to quiet her heart beat to a more relaxed pace. The foot steps got louder then Magda saw Dr. Reed turn the corner. But he wasn’t his energetic self. He looked more languid, dead even as if he were a rag doll being pulled around. 

“Magdalena…,” Reed’s voice wasn’t his voice. Or it was but it was hollow, a chill tone of a psychopath… Magda knew exactly who the puppet master was.

“Nadia,” Magda responded coolly. 

The puppet doctor raised his head, his eyes not the familiar warm brown but two milky white spots and a creepy smile that shot shivers through you. But Magda remained calm.

“Visiting hours are over,” Magda cocked an eyebrow looking as nonchalant as possible as her thoughts communicated to her tattoos. “Also I’m not feeling like having company right now.”

“How rude,” Nadia spoke through Dr. Reed. “After I came all this way to see you.”

Magda laid back against the padded white wall looking disinterested. It always pissed Nadia off. 

“I see he sent you,” Magda sighed. “Of all people.”

“He thought it would be better if I came,” Nadia spoke proudly. 

“Still love doing his dirty work, Nadia,” Magda cocked an eyebrow with a sardonic grin. “Still his little whore.”

Puppet Reed flew towards the glass wall of Magda’s cell, toes dragging the gray floor in a rag doll fashion, smashing Reed’s face into the hard surface making a sickening cracking noise on impact. The force of the blow broke the doctor’s nose, a stream of blood flowing from both nostrils. Nadia never could control her puppets well enough. They always ended up broken after use.

“I was happy to accept,” Nadia sneered. “He knew nothing would stop me from getting you.”

Magda’s skin was on fire. The urge to release the hex was getting too much to bear. The feeling accumulated into her palms. All she needed was Nadia to come closer. 

“Why would you even want to get me, Nadia?” Magda asked coolly. “You loathe me. You would sooner see me dead than back in his good graces.”

Puppet Reed was silent but Magda knew that Nadia was seething wherever she was. 

“True…,” Nadia finally said. “Maybe you put up a fight and unfortunately died in the process…” That’s it. Just try, Nadia. Puppet Reed took out a key card and slid it in the slot. Just a little closer. Yet as the door pulled open gun shots were fired. Puppet Reed fell forward, blood forming a small staining puddle where the doctor’s face met the once pristine floor. 

Magda looked up in shock to see Detective Jonathan Marshall, gun raised.

“The fuck…,” Magda swore aloud. 

Puppet Reed rose from the floor, blood covering his mouth, chin and stained his white lab coat and blue sweater vest. With a slow bone cracking, stomach churning turn of it’s head the human puppet glared at it’s attacker. 

“You should be running,” said Nadia in a tone that struck Marshall with an icy shot to the heart. Marshall was stunned but luckily Magda pressed her hand to the chest of her doctor corpse and the puppet was petrified into a rigor mortis state. 

“You heard her, run you fucking idiot!” Magda cried as she came running towards Marshall. But before they reached the exit another of Nadia’s body puppets appeared. It was Magda’s Nurse Philips. 

“Of course she’d pick you, Nurse Ratched,” Magda smiled ironically. 

“What the hell is happening,” Marshall aimed his gun at the stocky puppet nurse. 

Magda placed her hand on the gun and said, “Bullets only piss her off. Let me handle this one. Besides we have a score to settle don’t we, Nurse Ratched?” 

The evil nurse flashed a wicked Cheshire Cat grin that only added to the horror of her dead milky white eyes. Magda took a deep breath as she made signs with her hands and symbols began moving across her skin approaching her palms. Marshall stood in awe as the evil nurse flew at them and a pitch black spot grew in Magda’s hands. The body puppet was about to hit them but with lightning reflexes Magda had the woman by the wrists, frozen in place. Marshall gaped as the black spots bubbling inside Magda’s palms infected the nurse. A darkness crept onto the nurse’s sallow thick flesh creeping up to slip in between her thick ugly lips and fill her up with black tar. Tar oozed out her nose, eyes, mouth, ears and even her fingernails. In minutes the puppet dropped dead. 

“Jesus…,” Marshall gasped. 

“Hold on,” Magda reached into Marshall’s pocket and pulled out his Swiss Army knife that his father had given him. “I was hoping you still had this.” Magda bent over the corpse and began cutting off the woman’s chubby tar dripping finger.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Marshall exasperated. 

“I made a promise to this bitch,” Magda said simply. Once she was finished she turned to Marshall and motioned for them to run out the door at top speed. The alarm suddenly sounded but Marshall was more concerned about what he just saw than that he just broke the law.

Nadia was sitting outside the barrier in the dark night suddenly returning to her body. Everything began to spin as she fell back onto the cold grass of the courtyard. 

“Fuck…” Soul splitting was no joke. The experience of sending a piece of one’s soul into another person, creature or thing was physically exhausting and often left one emotionally spent. Untrained witches would wind up dead or even mad but Soul Splitting was Nadia’s discipline. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t trying. She lost Magda for now. She found her once and she can do it again.

*      *      *      *