Voodoo Magic and a Pissed off CelestialMature

It was quarter to seven on a Friday night. The year was 1946 and all manner of people slowly began to fill the large orange circus tent. The evening was unseasonally warm for an October night, but such is the nature of Indian Summer.  The smells of cotton candy, fried funnel cakes, and autumn leaves created a heady aroma in the atmosphere. Children laughed excitedly at the prospect of the circus, and husbands and wives walked arm and arm as they enjoyed the gaiety of the evening. Fire crackled as it was spat out from the throats of talented performers. Clowns ran amuck, jugglers juggled, and those brave enough to seek answers from the beyond visited the tents of the fortune tellers. It really was an eventful evening.

Kazu the Great sat in his small dark tent and busied himself applying a white paste to his cheeks. Kazu was creole through and through and the white paste on his face contrasted starkly to his ebony cheekbones. He wanted to appear skeletal and so he painted lines on his face and mouth until his face resembled a skull. Kazu sat back and relaxed for a moment on his stool and let his hands drop to the vanity. Light blue eyes stared back at him in the mirror. He smiled, pleased with his grim appearance, and yellow cracked teeth glistened in the pale candle light. Kazu stood abruptly and dusted off a few crumbs from his lap. Tall, thin, and wiry, Kazu wore a ragged and threadbare suit. The shirt was open to his chest and from his scrawny neck hung a dirty purple ascot. That horrendous piece of cloth concealed a voodoo talisman, and a demonic one at that. It was a simple round gorget made of human bone, and on it was carved runes in a tongue alien to the Plane known as Earth. Curious, yes, fearsome, yes, but above all the talisman was rumored to be a key instead of a simple piece of jewelry, or so he was told. The talisman had been passed down through the generations of his family, and the Voodoo and evil it contained only increased as Kazu dared to temper with the most forbidden of dark magic.

By this time it was 7:30 pm. Kazu had left the confines of his small tent and stood just outside the large orange tent. He fumbled into his pocket and withdrew a small vial of purple liquid. Upon hearing his name roared from the ring master, Kazu threw the vial down onto the ground. His body enveloped in purple flame and he felt as every atom in his body separated only to be materialized again in the orange tent. Kazu sprouted in a burst of purple smoke. Oh, how he loved that feeling.  To be ripped apart, atom from atom,  to be naught but energy, was stimulating, exciting, unearthly, and addicting. This is the prime reason why the practice of magic was wiped out on the Plane of Earth. Yes, magic is a practice as basketball is a sport. It can be done, but only by those who know how to do it. Magic cannot be read for it cannot be written. It must be taught. Mortals on this Plane, well mortals in general, lack the restraint and control to limit their power. Simple tricks such as transference are harmless but when used over and over, the aspiring mortals tend to look for bigger and powerful spells. But such is the nature of black magic.


Kazu’s light blue eyes scanned the round tent and his face showed no emotion as the crowd of people gasped in wonder of his arrival. He took one step forward and kicked at the purple smoke that swirled at his feet.  

                “Look.” his reedy voice dripped with the French creole accent. “Before I begin it is crucial for all of you to know that magic is not an illusion for I do not control what you see.” He paused and allowed the audience to adjust to his unorthodox ways. “Magic is not an illusion, “ he repeated, “because I do not lie. Other magicians might lie to you and trick you and make you believe the illusion, but I, Kazu the Great, I do not lie.” Kazu began to pace in a circle in the center of the ring. He reached forth into his pocket and plucked two small black spheres. He tossed one on the ground and whispered “Nakitosh”. The black sphere turned into a beautiful swan and the crowd awed in wonder at the feat. He dropped down to pet the delicate creature, which then took flight and circled the tent.  

                “See? The swan is alive and here and real, and thus not a lie.” Kazu tossed the other sphere onto the ground and whispered “Graol”. Out from the sphere sprouted a small apple tree. Kazu casually approached the tree and plucked off a tiny apple. He rubbed against his shirt and brought it to his thin black lips. Kazu crunched in the apple and said, “See? ‘tis an honest apple that I eat, not a lie.” He smacked his lips in content and burped in relief.

 Laughter rippled through the crowd and the audience began to applaud for his “truthful” abilities. Kazu bowed low and soaked in the praise as he contemplated his next move. He waved at the circus attendants and beckoned them to bring out a large box. The box was made of bones which clinked together as the attendants carried it. They set it down with a small thud, and the rattling sound of the bones was both eerie and disturbing.

                The box was locked on the top. Kazu tore the necklace from his neck and placed it on the round lock. He pressed down gently and twisted it to the right, and then to the left. When he heard the click signifying that it was open, he strung the necklace back underneath his ascot. Kazu threw back the lid and the crowd gasped in wonder as a gray beam of light shot out from the box. The light gave off a slight humming sound as it burned into the top of the tent.

                “Mysterious,”Kazu said, “This is but a door.” And that is all he said before he began to chant in a dark and guttural language. The beam of light began to pulse and Kazu waved his arms in a crazed fashion as he felt his power stir from the bottom of his feet to the top of his ugly head.  Children clung to one another in wonder and their mothers touched upon their husbands’ arms in concern.  Something just wasn’t right about this, but they didn’t know what. It was as if there were some underlying memory, a collective memory in which instinct is formed, that indicated that Kazu should most definitely not be doing what he was doing. Kazu’s light blue eyes rolled back into his head and his chanting turned into a whispered screech as at last he raised his hands high above his head and commanded that the door inside the box open.

                A dark shape slithered from out of the box. Smoke billowed around the darkened reptilian beast as it made contact with the ground. Several more misshapen creatures from another dimension crawled from out of the box to writhe in pain as their bodies adjusted to the Plane of Earth. Their shrieks created a hellish cacophony in the air. Kazu slammed the lid down and the gray beam died. His eyes widened at the display of demons running around the tent. Gargoyles, Karthine, (half formed beings that resembled a cross been snakes and children), and skeletal Imps scattered into the crowd. They caused turmoil through the audience as they pulled on hair and lifted skirts, but for the most part they were accepted as part of the show. Kazu had placed a spell around the crowd to keep them from running in fear, but he could not control the doubt that many felt that this event was wrong.

                After a short spell, Kazu called for all the demons to stand before him in the center of the ring.

                “Join hands, demon spawn, and worship yon master Kazu!” At once the demons began to bow and prostrate their master. Both Kasu’s ego and power soared at this point. Stupidly, Kazu went to open the box again.

                “Gentle people!” he cried unto the crowd “Watch as I call forth a beast of legend and lore!” The gray beam rippled once again and Kazu roared a single word, “Jugynt!” What happened next he did not account, for the beam changed from gray to a blinding white. Rising head first, Makala floated out of the box, her fire hair swirling around her body like a tempest. Her skin was a blinding white and she wore absolutely nothing. Her eyes flashed blue and green and they locked into the light blue eyes of Kazu. Immediately upon returning her gaze Kazu howled in pain. Makala stared at him and watched as his eyes liquefied and dripped as a bloody mess onto the floor. Mortals could not see Divinities, their bodies could not comprehend the power before them, ( butof course there are few exceptions). The crowd saw nothing but a bright light that calmed them. Everyone in the text transfixed upon the hypnotic beam and they slowly forgot their worried qualms of the demonic display in front of them.  

                Makala opened her ruby lips to sing and one by one the demons turned to flame. They burned in black fire until there was nothing left of them but dust. The sound shredded through Kazu’s ears, and the doomed magician clutched his ears with both hands. Not only had he been blinded, the Divinity sang so loudly that his hearing diminished into an unbearable ringing in his ears. Kazu fell to the floor, blind and deaf, and rolled in his agony. He would have cried except he no longer possessed eyes. Instead he sobbed tearless cries.

                Makala stopped singing and spoke to him in a voice that even his deaf ears could hear. “Kazu, son of Basha, daughter of Titschuba, I condemn thee to a silent and dark existence. Thrice ye have been warned of the folly of Voodoo, and I am here to collect the debt. Never again will you practice magic.” And with that Makala gently flicked her wrist and the necklace around Kazu’s neck turned to flame. He clutched his neck, unable to choke out any more cries of pain. His power was gone. In mercy, Makala allowed the awful ringing in Kazu’s ears to subside. The Divinity turned herself around and looked out upon the crowd. In one quick movement, Makala drifted to the ground and took the form of a circus performer. She gracefully closed the box that would never open again. Makala destroyed the key; the box was harmless without the key. She allowed for the crowd inside the tent to slowly come back into awareness as the hypnotic trance began to dissipate.

And as if Kazu had never unleased demons from box, the show went on as planned. The crowd laughed and applauded at the creature Kazu had promised next. Dressed as a majestic dragon, Makala danced around and flapped her bejeweled wings. Children laughed happily and relief swept through the crowd. In place of the demons Makala had incinerated were small trained dogs who trotted in circles around the Divinity. No one knew that anything else had happened, except for Kazu who lay motionless on the floor. After some time, his body was carried out by concerned attendants.

“Good God!” proclaimed on of the attendants “It looks like he blew his eyes out!”

“Deacon won’t like this, he won’t like this one bit. But then again, the crazy bastard had it coming. We all told him not to play with those chemicals.” Kazu’s limp form was carried out of the tent to be deposited on his bed where he lay for quite some time in anguish.

The show went on for around another two hours. Makala smiled and waved at the crowd and then made a grand exit out. She conjured up a tent of her own and the people of the circus accepted it as if it had always been there. The tent was small, warm, and cozy. When she entered, Makala dropped down with a large “puff” onto the soft pillows that resided on the floor. She snuggled and sank down into them, thoroughly exhausted from her adventures this evening. Makala brushed away that clouded her face and for a few silent moments she sat and breathed. Gently rising, Makala sauntered over to the wash basin she had magicked and began to strip out of her costume. The Divinity bathed herself quickly and efficiently and allowed the musky fragrance of her apples and spice soap to soothe her senses. Makala donned a light silk robe and plumped down onto her wooden vanity table. She looked at herself in the mirror. She appeared as she normally appeared as a mortal, with large bluish-green eyes, freckles dotting her nose, coppery red wavy hair, and a large full red mouth. Her pillowy breasts rose and fell against the silk, and her nipples were visible through the filmy material. Makala sat and brushed her hair and hummed a light tune. Oh how she enjoyed the quiet, the serenity of this warm October night. Her eyelids began to droop for she was very tired. But, just as Makala began to drift to sleep someone burst into the tent.

“HAHAH really Jeremy? Why I can’t, oh, umm…” a tall young man stood in between the flaps of the tent. By the looks of him he was an infantryman home from the war. All traces of his smile died when he realized that a pair of magnificent blue eyes bore down on him in wonder and shock. Blush reddened his cheeks in embarrassment and he broke into an uneasy chuckle.

“Ahah, ahem, this is not Gladia’s tent.” Said the soldier. Makala stood up gracefully from her stool and arched an eyebrow up. She was interested.

“No,” she said demurely, “This is not Gladia’s tent.” Her mouth rested in a slight moue and she continued to stare at him. The soldier stood there and stupidly gaped at her.

“This is not Gladia’s tent.” He repeated.

“We have established this.” Remarked the Divinity with a subtle trace of sarcasm.

The soldier shifted restlessly by the tent flaps. “Yes, uhh, I really should get going. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”  He turned to leave and promptly left. Makala sighed at the prospect of losing her prey and sat back down at the vanity. She picked up a small brush and worked it through the coppery snarls of her glorious mane. Suddenly, the man’s head popped back into the tent.

“Excuse me,” he said, “But can you tell me where Gladia’s tent is?” Makala saw him in the reflection of her mirror. She did not turn around nor did she stop her grooming.

She answered “You’re in Gladia’s tent.”

His brow creased in confusion. “What do you mean? You said earlier that this was not Gladia’s tent.”

Makala swung around to look at him with hooded eyes. “It’s not.”

“What? So you said it was not, and then you say that it is, and now you’re saying that its not? Which is it?” By this time the solider had entered the tent fully and stood arms akimbo and faced the Divinity.

She laughed in his face. It was a happy laugh, a pleasant sound that pierced the soldier’s bravado. Makala’s laughter was the audible definition of happiness.  When her throaty laughter died, Makala said “Gladia is my stage name, Gladia the Gilded Glory. My real name is Lenore Kirkbride.” By this point Makala had stood up from her vanity. She swept low into a graceful bow. “How can I be of assistance, soldier?” the corners of her mouth were upturned in a smile and her eyes glazed warm and bright with her interest.  The soldier stood awkwardly, embarrassed at having twice been fooled by this gorgeous woman.

“Uhhh,” he started, and then he began to break off into a laugh. Makala smiled in reassurance and the soldier suddenly felt all his tension release. “I don’t always make such an ass out of myself.” He said finally.

Makala grunted softly. “I should hope not.” Makala sauntered up to the youth and the swing of her hips was low and sultry. She stopped in front of him and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Makala lifted her eyes to gaze directly into his face. The soldier shuddered as if he had a chill and turned his head away from the brilliant stare. An elegant hand reached up to caress the faint stubble on his chin. Makala firmly grasped it and delicately turned his head so that she could once again look into his eyes. “You know,” she breathed, “You owe me.”

“What?” he muttered.

“You intruded upon my tent not once but twice. That’s not very nice.” Makala poked him in the chest to enunciate her point. “Luckily for you, I’ll make you a deal. Sleep with me and I’ll forgive you.” The soldier’s heart plummeted into his belly. He had seen war, death, even evil, but never in his 23 years of life had a woman been so bold. He had absolutely no idea what to say to that. The soldier thought for a moment and returned her liquid regard with his own hungry eyes. What the hell, he mused. He took in one deep breath before throwing his lips down open hers. Makala’s velvety lips parted sweetly underneath the raw pressure of his. Her tongue darted out to tease his tongue which began to stroke the inside of her mouth. The soldier felt his ardor rise and experienced a tightness in his pants. His large hands slid down the curves of her body and left radiating traces of heat. Makala bucked at the sensation of the soldier’s rough hands caressing her ass, splitting her cheeks open and rubbing along that sacred rear orifice. She could feel her dewy juices begin to trickle to the inside of her thighs. The soldier kissed her neck and nipped at the tender skin. Makala began to hum, low in her throat and her eyes rolled back into her head in ecstasy. Soon, the heat became unbearable and Makala roared, “Enough!” She broke free of his scalding embrace and backed into the pillows. Her eyes never left his as she fell backward. Makala’s lovely hands latched onto the neckline of the robe and she ripped it asunder baring her white breasts. She then loosened the silken belt at the side and shrugged the garment back with a flourish. The soldier stood froze for a moment, completely transfixed on the sight of the Divinity in front of him. Jesus, he thought, She glows. His clothes flew off as if a hurricane blew them off. The soldier’s manhood was large and thick and Makala felt her mouth begin to water. Tall, dark, and muscular, this farmer’s son was a treat.

He fell down on top her, the weight of his strong body mixed with his apparent attraction seared her delicate flesh. His blue eyes met hers and he slowly dragged his hand over her dewy petals. Makala swooned and her chest rose and fell in sporadic bursts.   She pushed his hand away and using her Celestial power, she reversed their positions so that she was on top. Her ruby lips found their way to encapsulate the tip of his enormous phallus. Makala drew upon him and he groaned. He began to mutter prayers as she took him deep into the back of her throat. Never before had he felt such incredible pleasure. The Divinity had him so deep in her throat that she was able to lick and tease his sensitive orbs. His large hands hooked onto her waist and he hoisted her high above him. In one sharp thrust he pistoned himself into her. Makala screamed.

Again and again he thundered into her, all the meanwhile her large breasts bounced in the air. His body shuddered signaling his release but the Divinity had not had her fill. She squeezed him tightly and renewed  his vigor. At this point, she pulled herself away from him. They changed positions once again this time with him behind and her on her hands and knees. One hand locked onto her hip and the other became in tangled in her coppery hair. His body rested on her back and Makala love the feeling of his ragged breathing on her skin. The soldier buried his head into the sweet hollow of her neck and inhaled her intoxicating fragrance. He pumped slowly now, hard and deep and luxuriated in her warm soft slopes. Makala watched the carnality of the moment in the mirror of her vanity. Her breasts were flung back hastily. They carried on for quite some time, the Divinity and the soldier.

                Things began to slow down. The soldier brought his mouth to nibble on a tiny ear. “Lenore,” he muttered in breathless tones.

                “What darling?” Makala purred in an equally breathless measure.

                “So…sweet…” he said. He groaned and ran his tongue along the side of her ear, making her shudder. Makala lifted a hand up to stroke his rough cheek.

                “What… is your… name?” she asked?

                “Brandon.” He returned dark and low into her ear.

                “Brandon.” She breathed.

                “Lenore.” He whispered. Brandon thrust himself hard and began to pick up speed. The Divinity felt her slick inner walls tremor and tighten. All the blood began to swirl in her body and Makala felt the building pressure of her orgasm surpass her senses. She climaxed hard and strong and her voice rose through the air in exaltation.  Brandon was taken by surprise at the power of her passion. Her walls clamped tightly onto his rigid manhood and he lost all. He collapsed onto her lush body and the two lay on the pillows, sweaty and exhausted.  The Divinity lost consciousness and lay motionless in his sturdy arms.  Brandon relaxed and nuzzled against her ear. Makala began to stir after a few minutes and he asked, “Am I forgiven?”

                Makala chuckled low into her throat. “Yes.” And that was all she said. She turned her face and kissed him full on the mouth. Makala smiled and felt allowed herself to get lost in his fathomless blue eyes.  An unsettling feeling resonated in her. Makala’s smile faded and her brow creased slightly in wonder.

                “What’s wrong?” asked Brandon as he brushed a stray lock of red hair away from her face.

                “Nothing.” She stammered.

                Unbeknownst to them sat the other Divinity upon the vanity. Saphara in her cloudy form rested upon the stool and her eyes pulsated. Could it be? She surmised. Had the exotic, fiery, and lustrous Makala finally found her soul mate? Saphara blew air out her nose and laughed silently. About time. And with that Saphara vanished from the tent and left the lovers alone where they slept in blessed union.  










The End

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