Chapter 4: 4. Contract

I got a promotion, and a tiny pay rise. I had no idea if Sabine had anything to do with it, but it was the first one in my three years here, so I was suspicious. My manager actually seemed to know my name now. Very suspicious. But I was now a real developer, not a junior developer. The title didn’t so much denote expertise, so much as additional ability to dodge cursed tickets.

Sabine was away; Britain, according to the web, in one of her foreign homes. It looked quite interesting: architectural, you know.

I concentrated on my work. We had another stupid timescale for a stupid project; I had to spend a lot of time making sure I wasn’t going to be blamed for any of it.

⁂

“Hello, Pip.” The witch’s voice was soft and deep. I jumped.

My colleagues looked around, over the risible dividers that separated our desks.

“Oh, er, Veronika, hi.”

She was dressed more casually this time—sweatshirt, slacks—but still looked remarkably elegant.

“Sabine and I want to show you something,” Veronika said.

“Oh, is she back? I thought she was in England.”

“We have returned to civilization,” said Veronika. “Come on.”

“Er, I have a stand-up in ten minutes,” I said, looking at Tom.

“It will be difficult, but I’m sure your colleagues can manage without you,” Veronika said, looking at Tom.

“Well, act—” Tom coughed. “She—” He coughed again. “We—” He doubled over in a fit of coughing.

“No objections then?” said Veronika. “Excellent.”

⁂

Calliope gave me an evil look as Veronika walked me through to Sabine’s office.

In the centre of the room was a still and feminine figure, dressed in a boiler suit and a motorcycle helmet.

Sabine was sitting on the desk again. “Come on, Vee-vee,” she said.

Veronika laughed. “Have some patience, Ms Merritt-Hutchinson.” She summoned a piece of parchment from thin air.

“It took us so long to arrange this contract,” said Sabine. “I just want to get it signed.”

Veronika produced a quill pen from the same thin air, and signed the paper with a flourish. Rather too much flourish; drops of dark red ink flew everywhere. 

She passed the parchment to me, and I handed it to Sabine. She signed it with a fountain pen from the desk tidy.

“The doll is yours, sort of,” said Veronika. “For the next three years. Except, of course, if you break any of the provisions.”

“I didn’t think that non witches could own dolls,” I said, wiping my ink-stained fingers on my trousers. “Or lease them, I suppose.”

“It is unusual,” said Veronika. “But AOMP wanted certain… considerations that Ms Merritt-Hutchinson was able to provide.”

“So we negotiated,” said Sabine. “I wanted you to see this, Pip.”

She paused for a moment. “Um, doll, take your helmet off.”

The figure moved suddenly, with none of the gradual acceleration you would see in a human. It removed the helmet; its hair was a soft mohawk, mahogany coloured. No, actual mahogany; wooden, despite the fact that I was sure it moved as the helmet came off. Its face was wood also, lighter, like maple. It was impassive, thin grain tracing over fine and feminine features. Its neck was a ball joint, wood and silver, merging with the complicated machinery of the shoulder.

“It’s wooden?” I said.

“Wood and silver and magic,” said Veronika. “An ancient warrior doll.”

“It will protect me,” said Sabine. “And look,” she said, grabbing her cigarette lighter. “Hand,” she ordered.

The doll stuck out its hands; joints picked out in silver, again. Sabine played the lighter across its hand. 

“See, nothing,” Sabine said. I was expecting scorched wood or burnt varnish, but there was no sign of damage.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

Sabine looked a little surprised. “I shouldn’t think so, it’s not a person,” she said. “Well, doll?”

“This one was made for such things,” it replied in a musical voice, like many flutes played together.

“Oh, oh, not only that,” said Sabine. “Hang on.” She picked up the desk phone, and dialled an extension. “John, are you done with those packs yet? Well, bring them in, then.”

“You see,” said Sabine, putting down the phone. “This doll was designed to kill people. Well, actually witches, so normal people are very easy for it.”

“What the fuck?” I said.

“That’s why they named it Curse,” said Veronika. “Oh, don’t worry, it doesn’t kill randomly, just when it is required by the deal. Its geas. It hates killing. But it’s very good at it.”

“Pretty handy for a bodyguard, right?” said Sabine. 

The door opened, and Serhan and Calliope wheeled in a trolley; at first I thought it was laden with stacks of money, but no, it was packs of playing cards. Hundreds of them.

“Thank you, John and Cal,” said Sabine, waving them away. “Two hundred packs!”

“I’m confused,” I said. 

“Pick a pack,” said Sabine. “They’ve already been shuffled.” I wondered what poor department had been instructed to stop what they were doing and shuffle cards for a VP.

I picked up a pack, slipping the cards out, and checking that they were shuffled. They seemed to be, though I could see jokers and even an advertisement card in with the normal ones.

“Give it another shuffle, and pick a card without looking,” Sabine said. I did so.

“Are you getting into close-up magic?” I asked. “Bit cringe.”

“Still without looking, hand the card to the doll,” said Sabine. Again, I complied.

Sabine grabbed the doll’s other hand, and raised it to her throat. “Okay,” she said.

“Wha—”

The doll twirled the card in its hand. “Eight of diamonds,” it said. “No death today.” 

“What?” I said.

“The packs have all had their ace of hearts removed, except for one,” said Sabine. “If that card is picked, then Curse kills me. That’s about a one in 10,000 chance. It would have been really funny if it had come up though.”

“What? Are you fucking mad?”

Veronika plucked the card out of Curse’s hand, and shuffled it back into the pack.

“Doing that pick once a day, means slightly less than a one in ten chance, overall,” Sabine said. “For a three-year contract. And that’s enough of a chance to keep the doll’s bloodlust satisfied.”

“Curse does not have bloodlust,” said Veronika. “But it was built to destroy its mistress, and that remains a part of its makeup. This is a way to make it manageable.”

“And one in ten is great odds,” said Sabine. 

I was having trouble talking.

“I mean traffic accidents, medical incidents, all that sort of thing, they are all risks that we have to deal with,” said Sabine, kicking a foot against the desk. “But, again, my wealth insulated me a bit from that. So this is exciting. Some risk is what I need.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” I asked, again. I lost control of my voice, and I did not like the deep sound that came out.

“It’s not like your life is risk free,” Sabine said. “I don’t know what your chances are of meeting some dangerous hater, but they’re probably similar.”

“That’s not a risk I volunteered for!” I said, voice all over the place.

“No, of course not,” Sabine said. “But…” She trailed off.

“Well,” said Veronika, brightly. “I’m afraid I have business to attend to. I will see you soon. Do try not to worry, Pip.”

She left. The doll was still motionless.

“I’m going too,” I said. “I don’t know what your problem is, Sabine, but I’m not getting caught up in it.”

I turned towards the door. 

“Wait,” Sabine said. “I’m… I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know,” she said. She paused. “Doll, go through to the lounge.” 

She gestured to the other door. The doll calmly exited. 

“Look, Pip,” said Sabine. “I don’t know why, but I don’t feel alive unless I am doing something like that.”

“You’re suicidal,” I said. “You need to see a therapist.”

“I don’t want to die!” said Sabine, standing up and moving closer. “I really don’t. I just don’t want to be trapped in cotton wool. Like, wealthy people fly rockets, or race cars, or take major drugs, or pursue questionable people, for the same reasons. To be alive. Well, none of those really work for me. But this does.”

I shook my head.

“Do you know why I have a Glock?” she asked. “I used to have a revolver, a 38 Special. A Taurus 856, six bullets. But I kept thinking about Russian roulette, how fun it would be to roll that dice.”

She looked down.

“So, I got rid of it,” she said. “I really do not want to die, Pip. But I need some risk.”

“One in ten,” I said.

“Right, but look,” said Sabine. “I have a helicopter, well, MerHu rents it, but you know what I mean. They crash a lot. Like once in every 10,000 hours. True, I don’t ride one every day, but it adds up. But that’s fine, is it?”

“I don’t know?” I said. “I’ve never been on a helicopter, and it sounds like that was the right approach.”

“It’s just my extreme sport,” said Sabine. “Like, I’ve got an acquaintance that skis black runs, or off-piste in avalanche territory. That’s more dangerous than my slight chance of being murdered.”

“I suppose,” I said. “But that’s stupid too.”

“Sure,” said Sabine. “Billionaires are stupid. It’s not a big secret.” 

I sighed.

“Come on, Pip,” she said. “Let’s go through to the lounge. Have a look at my doll. I’m excited.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, but she was already walking towards the door. I hesitated for a moment and then followed.

Sabine flung herself down on a sofa.

“Doll, come here,” she said. 

Curse walked over to stand before her. It was unnervingly calm.

“Pip, come and sit,” said Sabine. I did. “Doll, undress,” said Sabine.

“Wait, that’s—” I began. The doll began removing its boiler suit.

“What?” said Sabine. “It’s not a person.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s made of wood, Pip,” said Sabine. “And the law is very clear.”

“Fuck the law,” I said.

“This one is not a person, mistress,” said Curse, in its strange musical voice. “This one is a doll.”

“But…” I said, waving my hands around pointlessly. 

Curse resembled a beautiful wooden statue; a statue of a trans woman, since it had breasts and a cock. Silver outlined the points of articulation; the cock reminded me of a wooden snake toy—disks of wood and silver. It dangled, not really detumesced—it clearly didn’t work that way—but inert.

“It is very pretty,” I said. “But this seems wrong.”

“Doll, do you mind being naked?” asked Sabine.

“No, mistress,” it said. “This is how this one was created.”

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“See?” said Sabine.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You’re silly,” Sabine said. “You know what dolls are for? One of the things?”

“Okay, but that’s another reason why it’s important to know whether it’s a person or not.”

“It says it’s not,” said Sabine.

“Right,” I said. “But what if it’s lying?”

“And anyway, I’m paying,” she said. “So if it was a person, rather that an it, it would basically be sex work.”

“Well, that doesn’t automatically make it unproblematic,” I said.

Sabine sighed. “Doll, do you mind your mistress fucking you?”

“No, mistress,” Curse said. “This one was made for such things.”

“I thought you were made to kill witches?” I said.

“This one was built to pleasure its creator,” said Curse. “Then to end her.”

“See?” said Sabine. “It doesn’t mind.”

I sighed, again. I didn’t know what to make of things. Billionaires and witches and dolls; their morality seemed over my head. Was I just rejecting things purely on instinct?

“Anyway,” I said. “It might be okay for witches, but I think it’s too… wooden for a person.”

“Feel it, Pip,” she said. 

“No—”

“Oh, on its stomach, if you are going to be a prude,” she said.

I put out my hand and touched its (literally) sculpted abs. It didn’t feel human, but it was more than just wood. It felt living, it flexed under fingers; it was like wood smoothed by the passage of many bodies, and moulded to the memory of them. I trailed my hand around its navel, in something of a dream.

A short laugh from Sabine brought me back to myself.

Curse’s dick was partially erect. I snatched my hand back. “Sorry,” I said, to everyone.

“It really wasn’t objecting,” said Sabine. “And I wasn’t objecting. It’s nice.”

“I thought you didn’t like dicks?” I said, without thinking.

“Yeah, well, Vee-vee pointed out that was a bit silly,” she said. “And thinking about it, dildos and straps are generally human inspired, and I like those.” She placed a finger on Curse’s dollcock. “So I guess it must be that I dislike those who dicks are normally attached to. I thought that was men, always.” She ran the finger along its length. “But I was wrong. Why are you red?”

That wasn’t fair; Sabine was also blushing. “I had better go,” I said.

“Why?”

“Why? Because I shouldn’t be discussing straps and cocks with the CEO!” I said. “I’m pretty sure it says that in the HR manual.”

“Are you uncomfortable?” she said, sliding towards me.

“Obviously, yes!”

“Yes, right,” she said. “What I mean is; are you uncomfortable because a billionaire is offering stuff you don’t want, coercing you, probably going to offer to buy you a horse, or whatever? Or are you uncomfortable because you’re awkward with girls you’re attracted to?”

“Er.” I felt my blush increase. 

She shuffled closer on the sofa.

“If it’s the former, you should leave,” she said. “In fact, I order you to leave.” She took my hand, lightly. “I’ll give you five seconds to pull your hand back… four… three… two… one.” She lifted my hand to her mouth and delicately kissed the knuckles.

Mentally, I was still debating with myself whether to leave. She was attractive, but she was also unhinged or maybe just rich. And, honestly, that was sort of attractive too. A couple of my most fun exes were somewhat wild; but they were also the ones that I really shouldn’t have gone out with. 

Sabine took my hand, and sucked my fingers, surprising me. I looked at her.

She went a finger at a time, licking and sucking each of them. It was sexy, but it was also disconcerting.

I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t getting up and walking out.

She moved my hand, and placed it on the doll’s cock, her hand on top of it. The dick didn’t feel like segmented wood, but it wasn’t quite human either. It had the iron in velvet feel of a real cock, but also an odd regularity, no veins or bends. Sabine guided my hand, up and down Curse’s shaft.

The doll was becoming erect. I was too, sort of; the hormones made it a less rigid affair.

“I am beginning to see the appeal,” said Sabine. She separated her hand from mine, and began running it up the dollcock. There was a moment of confusion, until we synchronised our approaches. The doll made some melodic noises, moaning perhaps. I accelerated my motion, indicating to Sabine to follow my lead. I felt the weird tension in the dick which meant—in girls, at least—that they were near. There was no precum, though. We sped up again.

The doll climaxed; there was a series of musical grunts, and a weird but pleasant flex in its dollcock. There was no ejaculate, which I supposed made sense, though it was pretty clear what had just happened. The dollcock was already becoming inert again.

“That was hot,” said Sabine. “I thought it might feel like a man, but you were right, it’s different, like...”

“A girlcock, or gock.”

“I like that,” she said. “Maybe I should swap playing with a glock for playing with a gock.”

“Er, well, I don’t know what the refractory period is for dolls, but—”

“Doll, go and sit in my office,” she commanded, gesturing to the door. She slid along the sofa. “Compared to a glock, would you say a gock is more difficult to trigger? Does it need a firm grip?”

“Er,” I said.

“Pip,” she said, putting a hand on my knee. “You’re going to help me find out, aren’t you?”

She slid a hand up my leg. I was wearing cheap slacks, and I wondered if she was judging the quality. She stopped her hand on my inner thigh, and looked at me.

“Are you this scared with all the girls?” she said.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. But the girls I usually dated were not wealthy or flighty, and I would have flirted a bit with them first. They would also not be my employer. 

“Do you really not like cis girls?” Sabine said. “Or rich girls?”

“Yeah, well, I have reason not to trust them,” I said. “What with all the evil.”

“We’re not all evil,” protested Sabine. 

“Sorry, are you speaking for cis folks or billionaires?”

Sabine shrugged, and yawned. She moved her hand off my leg and stood up. “I’m not going to force you,” she said, unbuttoning her blouse.

That was my cue to leave. I did not need this complexity or this drama. I would simply leave, and go and attend to my Jira tickets.

I stayed where I was.

The blouse was sheer, silken. Her bra was cream-coloured, lacey with swirls and whorls. She kicked off her heels, red soles spinning away.

“Sabine,” I said.

She unfastened her belt, stepped out of her trousers. “Yes, Pip?” Her panties were the same style as her brassiere. I didn’t want to even imagine how expensive they were.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She shook her head, moving closer. “What are you doing?” she asked, tapping my shoulder.

“This isn’t…” I said, trailing off.

“Isn’t what?” she said, pushing my shoulder again. “Isn’t sexy?”

She went to push my shoulder again, but I caught her wrist.

“Am I annoying, Pip?” She went to push my other shoulder, but I pulled her down, first into my lap, then onto the sofa. I was still gripping her wrist.

“Yes,” I said, climbing on top of her, “you’re annoying.”

She smiled, rearranging her limbs slightly. “Oh dear,” she said. “Kiss me.”

I did. She tasted of apricot and smoke and mostly of money. I was not gentle, but she didn’t complain.

I sat back and grasped her panties, tugging them down. She helped me, moving her legs.

“Your existence,” I whispered, “is a policy failure.”

“Oh god,” she said. 

I bent to kiss her belly.

Her pussy was pretty; neat, wet, a patch of darkish hair above. I ran my tongue along the groove, around her clit, plunging inside. How did she taste expensive everywhere? 

“Eating the rich?” Sabine said.

I raised my head, and shook it. “No. Fuck the billionaires.”

With one hand, I unbuttoned my slacks. I was hard; not as hard as I had been in the bad old days, but hard enough. 

“Fuck those greedy bitches,” I said, aligning myself.

“I’m so greedy,” said Sabine. 

“And a bitch,” I gasped, as I inserted myself into her. She moaned and flexed. “Yes,” she said, softly, breath hitching.

“You’re everything that’s wrong with the world,” I whispered, thrusting between every word. She just nodded urgently. 

I fucked her roughly; I felt bad for it, like I wasn’t being a good, sweet girl. Although most of the lesbians I knew weren’t. I was worried by how angry I was, that I wanted the fuck her senseless, like I could somehow fuck her into global equity. I was a switch, but evidently CEOs flip me in one direction. 

I was silent now, other than a grunting as I thrust. She was moaning, which spurred me on. Her moan hitched, becoming part scream, she buckled and twisted under me as she came.

I came as well, modest and watery, my dick detumescing almost immediately. I rolled off her, filled with shame.

⁂

In her office, I almost tripped over the doll. Although there was still some dim light outside, the office was black with shadows, at least to my unadjusted eyes. 

Curse was sitting, very upright, in a chair in front of the desk; precisely on the route I was taking to the door. It put out a hand to stop me falling, a cool hand on my sternum.

“Thanks,” I said. The hand remained in place.

“Are you alright, mistress?” it asked. “Your bio-signs are elevated.”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I said. “I have to go.”

“This one is old,” said the doll. “It has been a bodyguard for a long time, and a handmaiden, and a killer. This one can tell the difference between angry coitus, and something it needs to worry about.”

I felt a flood of relief, because part of me wasn’t sure. The predatory trans woman was a mostly mythical creature, but one it was difficult not to internalise the fear of.

I wondered if the security guards would question me on my way down. “No,” Sabine would tell me later. “They know when to ignore things. Anyone who talks not only gets fired, they never work again.”

Interlude

The bodies of old, dead witches do not decay like regular humans; instead they are consumed by motes of wild magic, tiny spell fragments that were never cast. This one watched its mistress be eaten away before its eyes. 

The house was quiet now, as the years passed. Wallpaper falling, shelves creaking, the roof stripped away, like a fish being descaled, moss overtaking the carpets. Beetles and worms tried to gnaw and tunnel into this one; they failed and died, and eventually their descendants stopped. Spiders veiled this one in dusty webs; it did not object.

This one does not know for how many generations the reputation of the witch kept thieves at bay, but eventually it had faded enough to let criminals into the house. Some died, but others retrieved the magical artifacts they sought. This one ignored them; they were not witches. And, for the most part, they ignored this one too, thinking it a dressmaker’s dummy, or the husk of a long departed doll. 

But eventually, the witch’s house was picked clean like a whale carcass, and this one was thrown on a cart and taken away.

They washed me, surprised that the dust and cobwebs sloughed off me, to leave shiny wood. Still, this one had no cause to speak or move; in those days this one ignored non-witches as irrelevant. 

In their surprise, this one was passed up the chain, being inspected by various lieutenants, until it ended up before the matriarch of the crime family herself. 

“What do you do?” she said. She was a witch; a minor hedge-witch but a witch.

This one reached out and stroked her arm. She laughed. This one fucked her, and at the conclusion, killed her. At the time, this one thought that was the natural conclusion to all sex.

The matriarch’s family tried to hack this one apart with knives and saws. They tried to burn this one, first simply with matches, then in an industrial furnace. Frustrated and afraid, they chained rocks to this one, and gave it to the sea.

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