Slices of Midnight Chapter 6
Armed with a bottomless bag and a new pet, Marissa Bonifay tries to sneak back into the priory unseen. But when a pack of leering village boys corners her, she doesn't run. She doesn't scream.
I spent the entire afternoon with Muriel and Morgan before they sent me on my way to prepare for their evening trade—palm readings, séances, and other mystical services for the people of Dowling.
I didn’t mind.
I had a brand-new bag of goodies and couldn’t wait to delve into it.
How deep did the drab brown bag truly go?
What wonders lay hidden among its fizzing and frothing contents?
And then there was my new spider.
Did it enjoy flies and crickets like most, or did it prefer larger fare—mice, perhaps? Even sparrows?
The sheer possibility of what lay inside the bag made me giddy.
But before I could sit down and sort through it all, I needed to get it somewhere safe—
The priory.
I knew of several hidden rooms where I could study its contents in private.
The priory itself had once been a grand manor, built by a land baron so wealthy that he would have made the Belforts—the region’s most affluent family—look like paupers.
But wealth couldn’t save him.
Not long after its construction, the High Council of Arinar seized the estate upon learning of the baron’s affair with one of the Isle’s most nefarious witches.
Years later, at the king’s request, the wizards presented the multi-storied building to the Society of Laeron Madrin, transforming it into a religious outpost in this unruly land.
Without the prior or his priestesses knowing, I had discovered many secret chambers within the old residence.
Once, these rooms belonged to the land baron’s cauldron-stirring lover—a sorceress who spun her spells and plotted against Arinar and its wizards.
Now, they belonged to me.
No longer a den of sin for a fully-fledged practitioner of the dark arts, the chambers had become my refuge—a place to read, to dream of spells, and to hide my most precious possessions.
The entrance to the witch’s old secret haunt lay deep within one of the priory’s back hallways.
To reach it unseen, I took the most out-of-the-way corridors possible.
But there was a problem.
All routes through the forward portion of the priory led to a central, open-air courtyard known as Assembly Garden.
Once, when this building was a private residence, the courtyard had been a lavishly appointed garden.
Now, it served as a place of prayer—open to anyone on the Isle at any hour.
That included the priory’s priestesses, who often gathered there for evening devotions after dinner.
Which meant I couldn’t risk them seeing my new leather bag.
As it were, I felt confident I wouldn’t encounter any priestesses before entering the Gardens this time.
At the far end of the approaching hallway, just as I passed an alcove containing a statue of Aigor Englebert—one of Laeron Madrin’s much-heralded contemporaries—I heard the unmistakable sounds of boys playing four-wall handball.
Lately, several of the priory’s orphans had taken to using Assembly Garden as their makeshift ball court.
The four elaborate wall mosaics—each depicting one of Heaven’s angels—served as their goals.
The priestesses hated this.
They refused to tolerate the boys pelting fine works of art with their foul leather balls, so for a match to be underway, it meant one thing—
No priestess was within earshot.
Passage through the courtyard would be no problem whatsoever.
Or so I thought.
I had taken no more than a dozen steps into the courtyard when a shrill wolf whistle rang out, bouncing off the stone walls and statuary.
I stopped and turned left, facing a pack of boys who had, just moments ago, been wrestling for the leather ball.
I had assumed they were young orphans—priory regulars.
I was wrong.
These were older village boys.
And worse, I recognized several ruffians among them—teenage dimwits capable of all sorts of maliciousness.
Suddenly, I wished I had found Miss Nyomi praying there after all.
"Hey, Marissa, wait up!"
By now, the game of handball had come to a halt.
At first, I assumed the boys had caught sight of my new leather bag, curious whether I was toting something worth stealing.
But as the pack moved closer, I noticed something in their eyes—
Something that told me I was wrong.
This wasn’t about the bag.
Nor did they seem interested in a round of old-fashioned bullying.
When the boy at the front of the pack—a flinty-faced bastard named Nockels—came to stand before me, I realized their interest was entirely lecherous.
Tongue wagging, Nockels reached out and ran a hand through my curly black hair.
"Hello, Nockels," I said, standing as straight and tall as my comparably petite frame allowed.
"What do you want?"
Boys like these preyed on weakness, and I couldn’t let them think the unwanted touching bothered me in the least.
Nockels teased one of my curls.
"What do I want? Well, that depends on what you have to give."
He paid no attention to the brown leather bag, his gaze drifting instead to the way my clothes hugged my chest.
"We could start with a kiss."
Lewd laughter filled Assembly Garden.
"A kiss, eh?"
"Yeah, a kiss."
Nockels, looking every bit the uncouth brute he was, eased closer.
I wanted to scream.
Here I was, in possession of a bottomless bag that might contain umpteen million potions—and these pimple-faced fools were keeping me from learning their uses.
"Well, what do you say, little girl?"
The pack closed in, forming a circle around me.
Leering eyes devoured their would-be treat, roaming from the tips of my boots to the top of my curly head.
Most were older. All were taller.
Nockels released my hair—only to place a hand on my cheek.
Seething, I took a deep breath.
This crew of knuckle-dragging brutes clearly had molestation on their minds. Their plan, no doubt, was to drag me into some back room so they could take turns.
What a bunch of oafs, I remember thinking.
Apparently, roaming in a pack and waylaying defenseless girls was the only way these clowns could get laid.
"Come on. It won’t be so bad," Nockels said, his hand sliding from my cheek to my left breast. "It’s just a kiss."
"Oh, alright."
With an exasperated sigh, I slapped his hand away, ending his groping. "If a kiss is what you want, then a kiss it shall be."
Grinning in satisfaction, the leader of the delinquents extended his arms to claim his prize.
But I was already slipping through his grasp.
Nockels hadn’t specified exactly who I should kiss, so I reached for the next closest boy, grabbed him by his sweaty shirt, and yanked him toward me—locking my lips onto his with full, unrelenting force.
I didn’t look at this fortunate fool. Didn’t care whether he was handsome or hideous.
I kissed him with everything I had.
By the time I was done, I’m certain his toes had curled inside his socks.
Upon releasing the boy, I expected a chorus of whistles, crass woofing, maybe even some applause.
Instead, I got stunned silence.
With one kiss, I had stolen a sliver of control over the situation. But I wasn’t naïve.
I doubted I could simply walk away—not yet. Too much of their pride was at stake. They would soon recover their bravado.
Perhaps my skirt was still destined to be lifted, my legs spread in the name of fornication.
If so, it would happen on my own terms, by God.
"What about me?" Nockels asked, trying his best to sound bold—and not the least bit sheepish.
He failed miserably.
I turned to the gang leader and licked my lips.
"My dear dimwit, do show some patience. You'll get yours."
I had never done anything remotely this erotic before. Yet, to my surprise, I found the experience intoxicating.
With my brown leather bag slung over one shoulder, I left the dazed boy I had so ardently kissed and returned to Nockels’s side.
With genuine enthusiasm, I grabbed the waist of his trousers with one hand and slid the other beneath his shirt.
"You’re such a slut," Nockels panted, his bravado crumbling with every breath.
I reached higher, fingers grazing one of his nipples.
"Not yet," I murmured. "But I think I might give it a go."
Since Nockels was a rather tall boy, I had to force him to bend down to meet my lips.
For my part, I let my lust unfurl, pouring everything I had into that kiss.
But Nockels?
He couldn’t match me.
His heart pounded against my palm, his breath uneven. I could feel his nervousness.
For some, passion and violence exist on the same razor-thin edge.
And Nockels’ lack of assertiveness disgusted me.
Here was this brazen idiot, willing to use fear and coercion to take what he wanted—yet too weak, too timid to seize it when offered freely.
The mere thought galled me, stoking a fury I could no longer contain.
I tore my lips from his, drove my fingernails deep into his chest, and ripped downward with all my strength.
Nockels screamed, doubling over in pain.
That was all the opening I needed.
I drove my knee into his jaw.
Dazed and bewildered, he collapsed onto the stone floor of the courtyard, staring up at the night sky.
"Alright, you mongrels, pay attention."
I crouched into a fighting stance, baring my teeth at the stunned onlookers. Their eyes had gone wide, struggling to fathom what manner of creature they were beholding.
"I figure there are enough of you to take me," I growled. "But I’m bound to kill at least one of you before you do."
I cracked my knuckles.
"So—who’s going to be my victim?"
We were so locked in our standoff that none of us noticed someone step into the courtyard.
"Oh, there you are, Marissa. I’m glad I finally found you."
Every head turned.
There stood Sir Isaac, fresh from the kitchen, balancing a plate of food and wearing a red apron.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed.
"What’s going on here?"
Taller than anyone present by a head or more, Isaac stepped further into the courtyard, frowning.
"Have you rapscallions been playing handball in here again, defacing these artworks?"
"We just finished, Sir Isaac," one of the boys said quickly.
I think he might have been the one I kissed before Nockels, but I couldn’t be sure.
"It won’t happen again, on our honor."
I scoffed.
"You have no honor."
"You know how Nyomi feels about you guys playing here."
The pack parted as Isaac stepped to my side, handing me a steaming plate of ham, corn, and mashed potatoes.
"This is a place of worship, not some court for your vile games."
"We're sorry. We’re leaving."
Several boys scrambled to gather their still-dazed leader while I took a seat on a nearby bench. Crossing my legs, I cut into the ham with the fork Isaac had provided.
Once the crew had retreated, Isaac, eyeing Nockels' half-conscious state, turned to me with a quizzical look.
"Should I even ask?"
I shook my head as I chewed.
"Nope."
