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valarltdAnd now, the conclusion of "Tuition Fees"
Chris eyed his new roommate with suspicion. Marcelo was nice enough, he knew, but he wasn’t sure why the professor had him in the room with the theologian. He hung up his clothes and watched Marcelo finish praying.
“Our teacher has a sense of humor, Christian,” Marcelo said. “I will not bite. The worst I do is leave my socks about and mumble a great deal.”
“You won’t try converting me?" Chris asked. “I thought that was your mission.”
“Have you heard the basic message or is all you know of your namesake the “you may not” of legalism?”
“What do you think is the basic message?” Chris had been baptized and made his First Communion, but after Grandpa got sick, Grandma hadn’t taken him to church any more and it hadn’t stuck.
“That God loves us. He sent his only son to teach us of radical equality and free us from fear. And by believing, we are obligated to love others and preach freedom to them.”
Chris rolled his eyes, biting his tongue hard. This was nothing like what he heard about Christians on the news. “The words full of shit come to mind. So you don’t hate gay people and bomb abortion clinics, calling everyone else a sinner while ignoring your own?”
Marcelo shook his head. “My own are quite clear to me and I work on them. I won't beat you with my Bible, I promise.”
Chris, remembering protests and laws and other nastiness back home, pressed, “And if I say I like being fucked more than fucking someone, you'd say I'm on my way straight to hell. No matter how much charity and kindness I showed.”
Marcelo smiled. “What makes you think there is a Hell?”
“I don't. It's someone's fanciful idea to scare people into staying in line.”
“The Professor may have different words about that, but that is my belief as well. As for the sex...did not Jesus heal the Centurion's boy?" Seeing Chris’s confusion, he told the story of how the Centurion came begging healing for his servant who was paralyzed. “The word used is pais, which is a boy, an armor bearer. Most centurions, stationed away from their wives took the pais to bed in the Greek fashion.”
Chris thought about it. “But you still wouldn't do it.”
“No, for I am married to the church. Even if men appealed, it would be adultery.”
Chris smiled. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
The next two years passed quietly. Marcelo’s easygoing ways made him a pleasant roommate, even if he did, as forewarned, leave his socks about. Chris turned out a number of pictures of all the other students. Morgenstern had laughed a bit when he saw the crucifix Chris had drawn, with Marcelo’s face and body.
“Your roommate has not seen this one, I take it?”
Chris shook his head. “He asked me not to, but I couldn’t resist.”
Morgenstern nodded. “It is hard to be a man of God in an era when God is obsolete. Are you safe and content with him?”
Chris nodded. He would not tell of Nick stealing roses and leaving them for him, or the occasional love note. He steadfastly ignored all of the advances. It seemed, each time he was tempted, a rain storm would make his broken finger talk to him. Geoff had told him it was arthritis setting in early.
“It may not progress beyond the one joint, or you may lose use of your hands before forty. It is an unpredictable disease.”
Frightened, Chris spent more hours a day painting and drawing. Marcelo only bothered him to make sure he ate.
As the sixth year wore down, Morgenstern called each student into his office and discussed his body of work. Li had published twelve papers in six years. Ayutu had named three new stars. Marcelo had written four books, reams of sermons and many articles. Matthew had cut five records and was finishing mixing and post-production on the sixth. He was engaged to Bansi. They had announced it at Christmas. Geoffrey had patented a new surgical procedure.
Chris brought his entire portfolio down. They sat up late into the night, looking over his art: the landscapes, the figure studies, the nudes. Chris lingered over his illustrations for several of his favorite books. His particular pride, the Poe series, illustrated “The Raven,” “The Cask of Amontillado,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” and “The Masque of the Red Death." His Madeline and Roderick clung incestuously in death. Bibulous Fortunato, his face sardonic and sadistic, hung in the chains of the half-mad Montresor. The raven gazed malevolently down from the blind bust of Pallas. And Prince Prospero’s seven rooms were garishly bright, their bad taste readily apparent even as the dancing figures collapsed bloody and dying from the Red Death.
Morgenstern approved the lot. “I have a friend who would enjoy adding these to a new Poe collection. With your approval?”
Chris looked amazed. “Yes?" It was something he’d never dared dream, not even since he was little Gothling reading “The Telltale Heart” for the first time. He’d always wanted to do the illustrations, but he’d never been brave enough or confident enough to try.
“Splendid. Now I have a task for you. Consider it your final examination if you wish. Take the whole year to do it." He rose and paced. “On New Year's Eve, we will have a last party in the parlor, as we have done for the last five years and as we will do tomorrow. But this one, it will be different. At 11:45, I will fan out a deck of tarot cards. Each of you will choose a single card to indicate your future." Morgenstern kissed his neck and Chris shivered under his lips. “I should like you to draw this class’s deck. My artist always does when I have one in residence. I find the cards respond better in those classes than when I must use a commercially produced one.”
Chris nodded. “I have a Rider-Waite deck in my room. I can base it from that.”
Morgenstern smiled. “Excellent. After the last future is cast, this class will pay the tuition fee and go out.”
Chris looked him over, then looked out the window and started sketching the schloss for the back of the cards.
***
New Year’s Eve came around again and with it the annual party. Chris did not request anything special from the kitchen. He’d finished the Tarot Deck in October and spent the last two months drawing and painting during all his waking hours. Most of the requested dishes went back only half-eaten anyway. Melancholy hung around the men. They had all spent the day packing and there was a decided sense of foreboding in the air. None knew exactly what the fee for his education would be and some were more worried than others.
In the parlor, there was none of the usual drinking and laughter. The Victrola was in its usual place, but a large gold cup sat on a small rosewood table next to the Tarot deck that Chris had drawn.
At eleven, Morgenstern appeared. They all knew who he was now. There could be no mistaking it, for he had manifested in his true form. There were a few gasps from those who had thought Chris’s paintings were merely fantasy art and grotesques. Morgenstern seated himself on a low stool before the rosewood table, his great scorched and broken wings held stiffly behind him. Chris wanted to weep seeing him like this.
“One by one, my boys, come to me. Draw a card for your future, which you may keep, and drink the cup of parting. After you have paid your fee, Lillian is waiting to take you back to the airport. I have enjoyed your company, now go out and spread what you have learned here. There are others who have studied here. You know them. You may call on them for aid at any time. Draw the cards, my boys. Let us see what awaits you.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Not everyone had believed the legends. Some did not even believe in a devil. Marcelo mumbled a prayer that his soul would not be required of him. To everyone’s surprise, Nick was not first. Sterling drew first. He’d never fit in with others, seeing them as a bunch of brains and art-fags. He, at least, was practical.
“Ah, Sterling. I expect to hear great things of you, my boy.”
Sterling just scowled and pulled a card from the deck. “The Tower." It was, the lightening-struck tower with the figures plummeting from it. Chris’s hand had darkened it. No yods fluttered about like tongues of flame to symbolize a rebirth from the destruction. “Not looking good.”
“A climb to great heights, my dear." Morgenstern said. “You should be proud.”
“Yeah, but you should know better than anyone what they say about pride and falls." Sterling got up, the trump still in hand. “Thanks for everything." He went to sit on the benches next to the far wall, without drinking and without a hug for his roommate.
Matt decided he was next and sat before the table, his long pianist’s fingers drifting over the cards. He drew the Two of Cups. The two lovers pledging themselves beneath the angelic face–which resembled Morgenstern–were both male. The man on the right handed the cup to the one on the left, with an odd gesture at the rim that looked almost as if he were poisoning it.
“A lovely card,” Morgenstern said. “Showing partnerships, marriage and working together." Matt’s green eyes flashed to where Bansi stood with the others. It was no secret the pair was deeply in love. The records they had cut here at the schloss had burnt up the charts and were still selling steadily.
“Thank you, sir. For everything." Matt drank from the cup and rose. “Good whiskey too.”
“Water of life, is that not what it is?" Morgenstern smiled as Matt stepped to the bench.
Bansi seated himself next, his blue silk shimmering in the dim light. He’d taken to using kohl in the last few years and Morgenstern thought it a lovely addition. He drew the Lovers and smiled, his dark eyes shining. Both figures on the card were male and again the angel above them looked like the professor, as did the serpent in the tree.
Morgenstern said nothing but simply smiled back and nodded toward Matt. Bansi leaned across the table, kissed Morgenstern lightly.
“Thank you. For everything." He drank and rose. Matt was waiting for him.
Okeleke seated himself next, his large calloused hands moving over the cards. He drew the Magician. There were no lilies about his feet only black roses, with one blooming bloodily scarlet, and the usual serpent was a Sam Browne belt instead of a mere sash.
“Transformation, transfiguration. Appropriate, my magician who will draw out all the greatness of the richest continent, so sorely neglected." Morgenstern smiled.
Okeleke offered no more than a handshake. “Thank you. I will use what I have learned here." He drank and went to sit.
Geoffrey sat down before the seat was cold. He pulled the Queen of Cups, who stared into her closed cup, contemplating its occult mysteries even as the waves lapped about her knees.
“Morbid. Christian’s art is always morbid,” he said.
Morgenstern frowned and tapped the deck. “And it tells us nothing save that you are a doctor." He looked apologetic. Geoffrey leaned over and kissed him. It wasn’t a light one as Bansi had done. Geoff had been in Morgenstern’s bed almost as often as Chris.
“Thank you, for all of it, my beloved professor." He drank of the cup and left the table.
Marcelo took the seat, looking uncomfortable. “I have never touched such a deck,” he said. Morgenstern nodded. He pulled his card quickly and placed on the table as if afraid it would burn him. A decaying Hierophant, dressed in the fashion of the Borgias, but looking much like Benedict XVI, lolled drunkenly on the throne, his crown askew. “Blasphemy,” he whispered.
“For all of the artist’s irreverence, you have drawn well. There is the literal meaning that you may yet be Pope, as well as the notion you are a wise counselor and teacher and friend." He beckoned Marcelo closer. “You will be Marcellus II.”
Marcelo’s eyes narrowed. St. Marcellus had guided the church through some of the darkest periods of Diocletian’s persecution and was exiled. The prophecy did not bode well. He smiled anyway.
“Lies from the Father of Lies. It has been interesting and I will use your own knowledge against you and keep as many from your hands as possible.”
“I would expect no less. I have enjoyed our discussions." Morgenstern gave him a fond smile and was not offended when Marcelo rose without drinking or taking his card along.
Quiet Ayutu stepped to the table and sat opposite the professor. “I thank you for all your teachings." He reached out and drew his card, Judgment. Here Chris had not drawn on the standard deck so much as Hieronymus Bosch. A distant, unreachable Christ, flanked by a smug looking host, gave his approval to the burning lands and the torments of the Damned. Chris smiled, glad someone had pulled that card. Nick, nearby, shot a glance at Chris. He moved in closer and was unhappy to see it was his own gloating face Chris had painted on the Christ.
Ayutu let the card lie. He would not touch the ugly thing again. “What does it mean?”
“You will change the world, my boy, or at least how the universe and world are seen. With you, we will leave the old behind and step into a new understanding of the universe.”
Ayutu did not see how the distressing painting before him could have such a positive meaning. He drank. “Thank you, Professor." He rose without the card.
Chris, not wanting to deal with the scene Nick was about to cause, sat down. He ghosted his fingers over the backs of the card, which showed only the schloss, feeling for the one that drew him. He turned over the one that seemed to prickle under his fingertips.
Trump fifteen. The Devil. Morgenstern brooded, broken wings and all, on an iron throne in an odd cross between the styles of Doré and Rosetti. Chris smiled shyly up at his teacher while the others gasped.
Morgenstern simply nodded. “It is no surprise to me. None of the others loved me as you do. Do not drink, little one, for there will be no parting. You will be this class’s payment for their schooling. Thirteen enter, but only twelve leave.”
A great gasp went up from the others. They had all expected their souls to be demanded. Chris said nothing, just stared at the card. Finally, he went to sit with the others.
The other five drew their cards in subdued silence. There was no chance of damnation now. The sacrifice had been chosen. They felt guilty in their relief. Faki drew the Ace of Wands and recoiled from the spirit hand that looked about to club the viewer instead of merely passing the baton.
“Take the staff and walk the new path you will chart for us,” Morgenstern said gently. Faki kept the card, drank and left to sit.
Li drew Temperance, to find his own face staring back as he poured liquid from a test-tube to a beaker. Morgenstern merely smiled. “Does it need explanation, little chemist? Thesis and antithesis to make synthesis. Alchemy made scientific.”
“Thank you, professor." Li kissed his cheek, shot a smile at Chris, drank and waited, staring at the card.
“And now we are three.”
Malcolm drew the Queen of Swords, her face set in cruel lines, her beckoning hand bloody from her sword, the angel on her throne a tormented demon. “She is knowledge and computers. What more do you see, Professor?”
“Only that, my boy. Beware of too much knowledge and aloofness." He smiled when Malcolm kissed his cheek and drank. He offered the deck out to the next.
Ignacio took his card and scowled at the Four of Swords. Three swords hung above the Knight’s Tomb, but the fourth impaled the effigy instead of decorating the side. He gave Chris an exasperated look.
“You have learned much. Now, a time of rest before you go forth to ignite the world with your new theories, Ignacio.”
“Thank you, Professor." Ignacio offered a handshake before taking the card and a drink.
“Mr. Admire?" The professor offered him the denuded deck.
Nick had hung back, wanting to talk to Chris. Now, he sat down, tossed the professor a half-smile and pocketed Ayutu’s Judgment card. When he drew his own card, the King of Wands looked back at him. He gazed on a vital redheaded man seemingly in control of all he surveyed and then he noticed the king was dead, his neck broken. The lions on the pillar behind him ravened and devoured, with no regal bearing at all. The salamander at his feet had ignited his salamander-patterned cloak. A small purse hung about his neck on a noose of rope.
Morgenstern smiled at him. “Alexander. Caesar. Charlemagne. Henry V. Washington. Robespierre. Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, called Lenin. All of them found this card, Nicholas. It is a sign of greatness. But mind the tyranny and jealousy." He shot a glance at Chris’s hands. Nick had the grace to look ashamed. “I think you will do well enough for yourself, President Admire.”
Nick leaned over and kissed him, long and slow. “Thank you." He beckoned Chris over and kissed him too. “Just one last one." He drank the cup to the dregs, pocketed the card and rose.
Lilian beckoned them all from the doorway. “It is time, my boys." The men left, only a few casting short, backward glances at Chris.
Chris simply looked at Professor Morgenstern, frightened, yet pleased with the choice he made. Morgenstern stood up, broken wings flexing unconsciously, and put the deck into a drawer of the table.
“One last mortal pleasure before we make the transition to Hell. Anything you desire, this one last time.”
"Just you," Chris whispered, slipping his hand into the professor's own. He was quiet on the way to Morgenstern's bedroom, nervous but still trusting. His teacher had never steered him wrong yet, devil or no. He couldn't stop the nagging voice that said things were all about to change.
Morgenstern had turned back into his human form on the way to the room. Chris was thankful. Even as often as he'd seen the true form, he couldn't help but be intimidated by it. Now the professor was simply the beautiful man he'd fallen in love with seven years ago.
Chris took control of the entire encounter, the first time he'd ever dared to do so. Undressing and climbing on top of Morgenstern earned him an amused cocked eyebrow and chuckle. The artist blushed. His own boldness surprised even him. "I want to ride you," he offered as an explanation.
"If you'd like that, I would enjoy it." Morgenstern's eyes closed briefly and he sighed when Chris bent gracefully to kiss his neck. This one had always been fearless and unwavering no matter what was thrown his way. Chris had known almost from the beginning who his teacher was and came willingly anyway. Morgenstern was glad to deny heaven the chance to have him.
"I want it." Again, the absolute certainty colored Chris's words. The same certainty that he had, knowing which card had belonged to him. It made sense. Almost if he had been predestined from birth.
Morgenstern smiled as if knowing his very thoughts. "Prepare us then. I think I should like to watch."
Chris grabbed the lube, conveniently set out on the nightstand table. He took his time, lubing Morgenstern well. Most men would kill to have a cock the size of the professor’s. "So beautiful," he murmured, using slow but firm strokes, slicking him all the way to the base.
"Let me?" the professor asked when his artist turned to preparing himself. His boy was always unfailingly tight. He directed Chris to turn around, on knees and elbows above him. He craned his neck, running his tongue up the cleft.
"All yours now," Chris moaned as Morgenstern worked him with long, well-lubed fingers. The professor hooked them forward to stroke his prostate as a knowing reply to that statement.
Morgenstern chucked as Chris gasped and squirmed from the stimulation. "Feels good, doesn't it, little one?" At Chris's moaned agreement, the professor added a third, slowly and carefully.
Chris's back arched, the third finger burning as it stretched him. Determined, he pushed back through the pain, fucking himself on the professor's hand. He heard Morgenstern's fond laugh come from behind him. "If they feel that good, imagine how my cock will be."
"I'm ready for it," Chris gasped, still moving on those long, clever fingers, letting them open him up.
"Then take it, little one," Morgenstern removed his fingers slowly, finishing with one more lick along his boy's perineum. Chris always made sure to be sweet and clean for him.
Chris turned back around, grabbing his professor's cock in one hand and directing him in as he sat back on him.
Morgenstern smiled the entire time, watching the range of expressions on his artist's face: the small grimace of pain when the head pressed in, opening Chris further, the pleasure that relaxed him even further as Morgenstern moved past his prostate and finally the frustration when Chris seemed unable to take any more.
"Do you need help, little one? You're so sweetly tight this evening."
Chris gnawed on his lip, reddening it with his teeth. "No, I know you fit."
Morgenstern rested his hands on Chris' hips, not forcing, only guiding him. Ever so slowly, his boy settled back, taking him in fully. A low groan escaped Chris's lips and a tremble passed through the strong, lithe body atop the fallen angel.
Morgenstern touched his face, gentle. "Dear boy. My little one. None has loved me so in centuries."
"Adore you," Chris agreed, burying his head against the professor's shoulder, tasting his skin and again silencing the voice that said soon he would only taste fire and sulfur.
"I know, sweetness, I know." Morgenstern directed him back upward, playing with Chris' nipples until they peaked under his fingers and his boy was squirming wildly in pleasure above him. "You always do like that." He continued to pinch and roll them, hand occasionally straying down, only grazing Chris' cock.
Chris leaned back, rapidly going incoherent. The professor's angle was perfect and he took full advantage of it until his body demanded more. He leaned back down, pulling at Morgenstern's arm to roll them both over. Once on his back, he wrapped his legs tightly around his teacher and pleaded for a pounding. “All of it. All of you,” he gasped.
Morgenstern smiled wickedly "Wings and all, little one?"
"Everything," Chris demanded.
With a shudder, the professor was gone, manifesting fully into the Lucifer Chris had only imagined in his wildest dreams. Not the broken angel Lucifiel, but the true Master of Hell. Chris’s eyes grew huge taking in the fangs and horns of his new master. The demon bent forward, kissing him open-mouthed with a rough, forked tongue. Chris opened his mouth, accepting the invasion, tasting this new incarnation.
The demon moved slowly, deeply, speeding up gradually until he was giving Chris the pounding he had asked for. The giant bat-wings fanned down on the outstroke, up on the instroke and the room reeked of sulfur.
Morgenstern cried out in climax and made the translation between planes. Chris felt the shift, as reality went out of joint, and he felt all his insides lurch about two feet to the left of where he was. He moaned, his eyes closed very tightly.
Morgenstern slipped out of him and rose without another touch. “Open your eyes and welcome to Hell.”
Chris opened his eyes slowly. Nothing had changed. It was still the professor’s bedroom, down to the small scratch on the headboard. He blinked a few times, confused.
Morgenstern, now in his winged form, simply laughed. “You didn't listen to your roommate, did you? Hell is simply the absence of God.”
Chris got up and looked out the window. The landscape was the same bare rock of the mountains around the schloss, except Okeleke’s beloved roses were missing. “No fire?” he asked.
“No fire. Just your rooms, here, for eternity, with me. Some say that's curse enough.”
Chris smiled and reached up for a kiss from his fallen angel. “I can do this.”
“Of course, little love. As one of my favorite students said: ‘The mind is its own place, and in it self/Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.’”
Chris eyed his new roommate with suspicion. Marcelo was nice enough, he knew, but he wasn’t sure why the professor had him in the room with the theologian. He hung up his clothes and watched Marcelo finish praying.
“Our teacher has a sense of humor, Christian,” Marcelo said. “I will not bite. The worst I do is leave my socks about and mumble a great deal.”
“You won’t try converting me?" Chris asked. “I thought that was your mission.”
“Have you heard the basic message or is all you know of your namesake the “you may not” of legalism?”
“What do you think is the basic message?” Chris had been baptized and made his First Communion, but after Grandpa got sick, Grandma hadn’t taken him to church any more and it hadn’t stuck.
“That God loves us. He sent his only son to teach us of radical equality and free us from fear. And by believing, we are obligated to love others and preach freedom to them.”
Chris rolled his eyes, biting his tongue hard. This was nothing like what he heard about Christians on the news. “The words full of shit come to mind. So you don’t hate gay people and bomb abortion clinics, calling everyone else a sinner while ignoring your own?”
Marcelo shook his head. “My own are quite clear to me and I work on them. I won't beat you with my Bible, I promise.”
Chris, remembering protests and laws and other nastiness back home, pressed, “And if I say I like being fucked more than fucking someone, you'd say I'm on my way straight to hell. No matter how much charity and kindness I showed.”
Marcelo smiled. “What makes you think there is a Hell?”
“I don't. It's someone's fanciful idea to scare people into staying in line.”
“The Professor may have different words about that, but that is my belief as well. As for the sex...did not Jesus heal the Centurion's boy?" Seeing Chris’s confusion, he told the story of how the Centurion came begging healing for his servant who was paralyzed. “The word used is pais, which is a boy, an armor bearer. Most centurions, stationed away from their wives took the pais to bed in the Greek fashion.”
Chris thought about it. “But you still wouldn't do it.”
“No, for I am married to the church. Even if men appealed, it would be adultery.”
Chris smiled. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
The next two years passed quietly. Marcelo’s easygoing ways made him a pleasant roommate, even if he did, as forewarned, leave his socks about. Chris turned out a number of pictures of all the other students. Morgenstern had laughed a bit when he saw the crucifix Chris had drawn, with Marcelo’s face and body.
“Your roommate has not seen this one, I take it?”
Chris shook his head. “He asked me not to, but I couldn’t resist.”
Morgenstern nodded. “It is hard to be a man of God in an era when God is obsolete. Are you safe and content with him?”
Chris nodded. He would not tell of Nick stealing roses and leaving them for him, or the occasional love note. He steadfastly ignored all of the advances. It seemed, each time he was tempted, a rain storm would make his broken finger talk to him. Geoff had told him it was arthritis setting in early.
“It may not progress beyond the one joint, or you may lose use of your hands before forty. It is an unpredictable disease.”
Frightened, Chris spent more hours a day painting and drawing. Marcelo only bothered him to make sure he ate.
As the sixth year wore down, Morgenstern called each student into his office and discussed his body of work. Li had published twelve papers in six years. Ayutu had named three new stars. Marcelo had written four books, reams of sermons and many articles. Matthew had cut five records and was finishing mixing and post-production on the sixth. He was engaged to Bansi. They had announced it at Christmas. Geoffrey had patented a new surgical procedure.
Chris brought his entire portfolio down. They sat up late into the night, looking over his art: the landscapes, the figure studies, the nudes. Chris lingered over his illustrations for several of his favorite books. His particular pride, the Poe series, illustrated “The Raven,” “The Cask of Amontillado,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” and “The Masque of the Red Death." His Madeline and Roderick clung incestuously in death. Bibulous Fortunato, his face sardonic and sadistic, hung in the chains of the half-mad Montresor. The raven gazed malevolently down from the blind bust of Pallas. And Prince Prospero’s seven rooms were garishly bright, their bad taste readily apparent even as the dancing figures collapsed bloody and dying from the Red Death.
Morgenstern approved the lot. “I have a friend who would enjoy adding these to a new Poe collection. With your approval?”
Chris looked amazed. “Yes?" It was something he’d never dared dream, not even since he was little Gothling reading “The Telltale Heart” for the first time. He’d always wanted to do the illustrations, but he’d never been brave enough or confident enough to try.
“Splendid. Now I have a task for you. Consider it your final examination if you wish. Take the whole year to do it." He rose and paced. “On New Year's Eve, we will have a last party in the parlor, as we have done for the last five years and as we will do tomorrow. But this one, it will be different. At 11:45, I will fan out a deck of tarot cards. Each of you will choose a single card to indicate your future." Morgenstern kissed his neck and Chris shivered under his lips. “I should like you to draw this class’s deck. My artist always does when I have one in residence. I find the cards respond better in those classes than when I must use a commercially produced one.”
Chris nodded. “I have a Rider-Waite deck in my room. I can base it from that.”
Morgenstern smiled. “Excellent. After the last future is cast, this class will pay the tuition fee and go out.”
Chris looked him over, then looked out the window and started sketching the schloss for the back of the cards.
***
New Year’s Eve came around again and with it the annual party. Chris did not request anything special from the kitchen. He’d finished the Tarot Deck in October and spent the last two months drawing and painting during all his waking hours. Most of the requested dishes went back only half-eaten anyway. Melancholy hung around the men. They had all spent the day packing and there was a decided sense of foreboding in the air. None knew exactly what the fee for his education would be and some were more worried than others.
In the parlor, there was none of the usual drinking and laughter. The Victrola was in its usual place, but a large gold cup sat on a small rosewood table next to the Tarot deck that Chris had drawn.
At eleven, Morgenstern appeared. They all knew who he was now. There could be no mistaking it, for he had manifested in his true form. There were a few gasps from those who had thought Chris’s paintings were merely fantasy art and grotesques. Morgenstern seated himself on a low stool before the rosewood table, his great scorched and broken wings held stiffly behind him. Chris wanted to weep seeing him like this.
“One by one, my boys, come to me. Draw a card for your future, which you may keep, and drink the cup of parting. After you have paid your fee, Lillian is waiting to take you back to the airport. I have enjoyed your company, now go out and spread what you have learned here. There are others who have studied here. You know them. You may call on them for aid at any time. Draw the cards, my boys. Let us see what awaits you.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Not everyone had believed the legends. Some did not even believe in a devil. Marcelo mumbled a prayer that his soul would not be required of him. To everyone’s surprise, Nick was not first. Sterling drew first. He’d never fit in with others, seeing them as a bunch of brains and art-fags. He, at least, was practical.
“Ah, Sterling. I expect to hear great things of you, my boy.”
Sterling just scowled and pulled a card from the deck. “The Tower." It was, the lightening-struck tower with the figures plummeting from it. Chris’s hand had darkened it. No yods fluttered about like tongues of flame to symbolize a rebirth from the destruction. “Not looking good.”
“A climb to great heights, my dear." Morgenstern said. “You should be proud.”
“Yeah, but you should know better than anyone what they say about pride and falls." Sterling got up, the trump still in hand. “Thanks for everything." He went to sit on the benches next to the far wall, without drinking and without a hug for his roommate.
Matt decided he was next and sat before the table, his long pianist’s fingers drifting over the cards. He drew the Two of Cups. The two lovers pledging themselves beneath the angelic face–which resembled Morgenstern–were both male. The man on the right handed the cup to the one on the left, with an odd gesture at the rim that looked almost as if he were poisoning it.
“A lovely card,” Morgenstern said. “Showing partnerships, marriage and working together." Matt’s green eyes flashed to where Bansi stood with the others. It was no secret the pair was deeply in love. The records they had cut here at the schloss had burnt up the charts and were still selling steadily.
“Thank you, sir. For everything." Matt drank from the cup and rose. “Good whiskey too.”
“Water of life, is that not what it is?" Morgenstern smiled as Matt stepped to the bench.
Bansi seated himself next, his blue silk shimmering in the dim light. He’d taken to using kohl in the last few years and Morgenstern thought it a lovely addition. He drew the Lovers and smiled, his dark eyes shining. Both figures on the card were male and again the angel above them looked like the professor, as did the serpent in the tree.
Morgenstern said nothing but simply smiled back and nodded toward Matt. Bansi leaned across the table, kissed Morgenstern lightly.
“Thank you. For everything." He drank and rose. Matt was waiting for him.
Okeleke seated himself next, his large calloused hands moving over the cards. He drew the Magician. There were no lilies about his feet only black roses, with one blooming bloodily scarlet, and the usual serpent was a Sam Browne belt instead of a mere sash.
“Transformation, transfiguration. Appropriate, my magician who will draw out all the greatness of the richest continent, so sorely neglected." Morgenstern smiled.
Okeleke offered no more than a handshake. “Thank you. I will use what I have learned here." He drank and went to sit.
Geoffrey sat down before the seat was cold. He pulled the Queen of Cups, who stared into her closed cup, contemplating its occult mysteries even as the waves lapped about her knees.
“Morbid. Christian’s art is always morbid,” he said.
Morgenstern frowned and tapped the deck. “And it tells us nothing save that you are a doctor." He looked apologetic. Geoffrey leaned over and kissed him. It wasn’t a light one as Bansi had done. Geoff had been in Morgenstern’s bed almost as often as Chris.
“Thank you, for all of it, my beloved professor." He drank of the cup and left the table.
Marcelo took the seat, looking uncomfortable. “I have never touched such a deck,” he said. Morgenstern nodded. He pulled his card quickly and placed on the table as if afraid it would burn him. A decaying Hierophant, dressed in the fashion of the Borgias, but looking much like Benedict XVI, lolled drunkenly on the throne, his crown askew. “Blasphemy,” he whispered.
“For all of the artist’s irreverence, you have drawn well. There is the literal meaning that you may yet be Pope, as well as the notion you are a wise counselor and teacher and friend." He beckoned Marcelo closer. “You will be Marcellus II.”
Marcelo’s eyes narrowed. St. Marcellus had guided the church through some of the darkest periods of Diocletian’s persecution and was exiled. The prophecy did not bode well. He smiled anyway.
“Lies from the Father of Lies. It has been interesting and I will use your own knowledge against you and keep as many from your hands as possible.”
“I would expect no less. I have enjoyed our discussions." Morgenstern gave him a fond smile and was not offended when Marcelo rose without drinking or taking his card along.
Quiet Ayutu stepped to the table and sat opposite the professor. “I thank you for all your teachings." He reached out and drew his card, Judgment. Here Chris had not drawn on the standard deck so much as Hieronymus Bosch. A distant, unreachable Christ, flanked by a smug looking host, gave his approval to the burning lands and the torments of the Damned. Chris smiled, glad someone had pulled that card. Nick, nearby, shot a glance at Chris. He moved in closer and was unhappy to see it was his own gloating face Chris had painted on the Christ.
Ayutu let the card lie. He would not touch the ugly thing again. “What does it mean?”
“You will change the world, my boy, or at least how the universe and world are seen. With you, we will leave the old behind and step into a new understanding of the universe.”
Ayutu did not see how the distressing painting before him could have such a positive meaning. He drank. “Thank you, Professor." He rose without the card.
Chris, not wanting to deal with the scene Nick was about to cause, sat down. He ghosted his fingers over the backs of the card, which showed only the schloss, feeling for the one that drew him. He turned over the one that seemed to prickle under his fingertips.
Trump fifteen. The Devil. Morgenstern brooded, broken wings and all, on an iron throne in an odd cross between the styles of Doré and Rosetti. Chris smiled shyly up at his teacher while the others gasped.
Morgenstern simply nodded. “It is no surprise to me. None of the others loved me as you do. Do not drink, little one, for there will be no parting. You will be this class’s payment for their schooling. Thirteen enter, but only twelve leave.”
A great gasp went up from the others. They had all expected their souls to be demanded. Chris said nothing, just stared at the card. Finally, he went to sit with the others.
The other five drew their cards in subdued silence. There was no chance of damnation now. The sacrifice had been chosen. They felt guilty in their relief. Faki drew the Ace of Wands and recoiled from the spirit hand that looked about to club the viewer instead of merely passing the baton.
“Take the staff and walk the new path you will chart for us,” Morgenstern said gently. Faki kept the card, drank and left to sit.
Li drew Temperance, to find his own face staring back as he poured liquid from a test-tube to a beaker. Morgenstern merely smiled. “Does it need explanation, little chemist? Thesis and antithesis to make synthesis. Alchemy made scientific.”
“Thank you, professor." Li kissed his cheek, shot a smile at Chris, drank and waited, staring at the card.
“And now we are three.”
Malcolm drew the Queen of Swords, her face set in cruel lines, her beckoning hand bloody from her sword, the angel on her throne a tormented demon. “She is knowledge and computers. What more do you see, Professor?”
“Only that, my boy. Beware of too much knowledge and aloofness." He smiled when Malcolm kissed his cheek and drank. He offered the deck out to the next.
Ignacio took his card and scowled at the Four of Swords. Three swords hung above the Knight’s Tomb, but the fourth impaled the effigy instead of decorating the side. He gave Chris an exasperated look.
“You have learned much. Now, a time of rest before you go forth to ignite the world with your new theories, Ignacio.”
“Thank you, Professor." Ignacio offered a handshake before taking the card and a drink.
“Mr. Admire?" The professor offered him the denuded deck.
Nick had hung back, wanting to talk to Chris. Now, he sat down, tossed the professor a half-smile and pocketed Ayutu’s Judgment card. When he drew his own card, the King of Wands looked back at him. He gazed on a vital redheaded man seemingly in control of all he surveyed and then he noticed the king was dead, his neck broken. The lions on the pillar behind him ravened and devoured, with no regal bearing at all. The salamander at his feet had ignited his salamander-patterned cloak. A small purse hung about his neck on a noose of rope.
Morgenstern smiled at him. “Alexander. Caesar. Charlemagne. Henry V. Washington. Robespierre. Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, called Lenin. All of them found this card, Nicholas. It is a sign of greatness. But mind the tyranny and jealousy." He shot a glance at Chris’s hands. Nick had the grace to look ashamed. “I think you will do well enough for yourself, President Admire.”
Nick leaned over and kissed him, long and slow. “Thank you." He beckoned Chris over and kissed him too. “Just one last one." He drank the cup to the dregs, pocketed the card and rose.
Lilian beckoned them all from the doorway. “It is time, my boys." The men left, only a few casting short, backward glances at Chris.
Chris simply looked at Professor Morgenstern, frightened, yet pleased with the choice he made. Morgenstern stood up, broken wings flexing unconsciously, and put the deck into a drawer of the table.
“One last mortal pleasure before we make the transition to Hell. Anything you desire, this one last time.”
"Just you," Chris whispered, slipping his hand into the professor's own. He was quiet on the way to Morgenstern's bedroom, nervous but still trusting. His teacher had never steered him wrong yet, devil or no. He couldn't stop the nagging voice that said things were all about to change.
Morgenstern had turned back into his human form on the way to the room. Chris was thankful. Even as often as he'd seen the true form, he couldn't help but be intimidated by it. Now the professor was simply the beautiful man he'd fallen in love with seven years ago.
Chris took control of the entire encounter, the first time he'd ever dared to do so. Undressing and climbing on top of Morgenstern earned him an amused cocked eyebrow and chuckle. The artist blushed. His own boldness surprised even him. "I want to ride you," he offered as an explanation.
"If you'd like that, I would enjoy it." Morgenstern's eyes closed briefly and he sighed when Chris bent gracefully to kiss his neck. This one had always been fearless and unwavering no matter what was thrown his way. Chris had known almost from the beginning who his teacher was and came willingly anyway. Morgenstern was glad to deny heaven the chance to have him.
"I want it." Again, the absolute certainty colored Chris's words. The same certainty that he had, knowing which card had belonged to him. It made sense. Almost if he had been predestined from birth.
Morgenstern smiled as if knowing his very thoughts. "Prepare us then. I think I should like to watch."
Chris grabbed the lube, conveniently set out on the nightstand table. He took his time, lubing Morgenstern well. Most men would kill to have a cock the size of the professor’s. "So beautiful," he murmured, using slow but firm strokes, slicking him all the way to the base.
"Let me?" the professor asked when his artist turned to preparing himself. His boy was always unfailingly tight. He directed Chris to turn around, on knees and elbows above him. He craned his neck, running his tongue up the cleft.
"All yours now," Chris moaned as Morgenstern worked him with long, well-lubed fingers. The professor hooked them forward to stroke his prostate as a knowing reply to that statement.
Morgenstern chucked as Chris gasped and squirmed from the stimulation. "Feels good, doesn't it, little one?" At Chris's moaned agreement, the professor added a third, slowly and carefully.
Chris's back arched, the third finger burning as it stretched him. Determined, he pushed back through the pain, fucking himself on the professor's hand. He heard Morgenstern's fond laugh come from behind him. "If they feel that good, imagine how my cock will be."
"I'm ready for it," Chris gasped, still moving on those long, clever fingers, letting them open him up.
"Then take it, little one," Morgenstern removed his fingers slowly, finishing with one more lick along his boy's perineum. Chris always made sure to be sweet and clean for him.
Chris turned back around, grabbing his professor's cock in one hand and directing him in as he sat back on him.
Morgenstern smiled the entire time, watching the range of expressions on his artist's face: the small grimace of pain when the head pressed in, opening Chris further, the pleasure that relaxed him even further as Morgenstern moved past his prostate and finally the frustration when Chris seemed unable to take any more.
"Do you need help, little one? You're so sweetly tight this evening."
Chris gnawed on his lip, reddening it with his teeth. "No, I know you fit."
Morgenstern rested his hands on Chris' hips, not forcing, only guiding him. Ever so slowly, his boy settled back, taking him in fully. A low groan escaped Chris's lips and a tremble passed through the strong, lithe body atop the fallen angel.
Morgenstern touched his face, gentle. "Dear boy. My little one. None has loved me so in centuries."
"Adore you," Chris agreed, burying his head against the professor's shoulder, tasting his skin and again silencing the voice that said soon he would only taste fire and sulfur.
"I know, sweetness, I know." Morgenstern directed him back upward, playing with Chris' nipples until they peaked under his fingers and his boy was squirming wildly in pleasure above him. "You always do like that." He continued to pinch and roll them, hand occasionally straying down, only grazing Chris' cock.
Chris leaned back, rapidly going incoherent. The professor's angle was perfect and he took full advantage of it until his body demanded more. He leaned back down, pulling at Morgenstern's arm to roll them both over. Once on his back, he wrapped his legs tightly around his teacher and pleaded for a pounding. “All of it. All of you,” he gasped.
Morgenstern smiled wickedly "Wings and all, little one?"
"Everything," Chris demanded.
With a shudder, the professor was gone, manifesting fully into the Lucifer Chris had only imagined in his wildest dreams. Not the broken angel Lucifiel, but the true Master of Hell. Chris’s eyes grew huge taking in the fangs and horns of his new master. The demon bent forward, kissing him open-mouthed with a rough, forked tongue. Chris opened his mouth, accepting the invasion, tasting this new incarnation.
The demon moved slowly, deeply, speeding up gradually until he was giving Chris the pounding he had asked for. The giant bat-wings fanned down on the outstroke, up on the instroke and the room reeked of sulfur.
Morgenstern cried out in climax and made the translation between planes. Chris felt the shift, as reality went out of joint, and he felt all his insides lurch about two feet to the left of where he was. He moaned, his eyes closed very tightly.
Morgenstern slipped out of him and rose without another touch. “Open your eyes and welcome to Hell.”
Chris opened his eyes slowly. Nothing had changed. It was still the professor’s bedroom, down to the small scratch on the headboard. He blinked a few times, confused.
Morgenstern, now in his winged form, simply laughed. “You didn't listen to your roommate, did you? Hell is simply the absence of God.”
Chris got up and looked out the window. The landscape was the same bare rock of the mountains around the schloss, except Okeleke’s beloved roses were missing. “No fire?” he asked.
“No fire. Just your rooms, here, for eternity, with me. Some say that's curse enough.”
Chris smiled and reached up for a kiss from his fallen angel. “I can do this.”
“Of course, little love. As one of my favorite students said: ‘The mind is its own place, and in it self/Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.’”
