Some of the rooms are occupied, mostly by women, and when I spot two beer cans lying on the floor of the passage, I begin to understand why such mirrors were installed. Someone did it on purpose so he could amuse himself spying on unsuspecting women.
As lord of the dead, I’m familiar with the lustful proclivities of humans. When I first awakened, I had to bargain with the nearest human and arrange temporary possession of her body. Shortly afterward, I had the delicious experience of residing in her body while she fucked her lover in a church sanctuary. I felt everything—not just the carnal thrill of her orgasm but the passion flowing through both of them—the fierce love, the reckless devotion. I tasted something like it once, long ago, when I pursued the Morrigan, the goddess of fate herself. I lured her into my bed and, with that conquest, won the hatred of all the other gods.
It was a calculated move, an alliance of both pleasure and purpose. I did not love her.
Nor is this grimy passage a testament to love. Its walls are sprinkled with the fetid release of a pervert. I can practically smell the stale reek of his lust in the air.
“Here,” says Agnes from up ahead, pointing to the next mirror wall.
Quietly I move in beside her and look through the deceptive glass.
The young woman in the room is facing away from me. A short, tight leather skirt hugs her round ass, and dark brown hair swings against the smooth, bare skin of her back.
“I guess you’ll have to do,” she mutters, holding up a red shirt for inspection, her voice muffled by the layer of glass between us. Sliding the shirt over her head, she adjusts it before turning around.
She isn’t wearing anything beneath the silky material. Her breasts form two delicate points against the fabric.
My mouth is dry as bones. Perhaps I should not be watching. But Iamthe god of death after all. Surely that gives me some right to observe fully clothed humans from the shadows.
I drag my gaze up to her face.
She’s beautiful. Full, blood-red lips that match her shirt. White skin flushed faintly pink across the cheekbones. Dark eyes beneath black lashes.
“Christine?” I whisper to the ghost by way of confirmation.
I must have whispered louder than I thought because the girl startles, her dark eyes flaring wide. All the color drains from her face. After a second, she breathes a single word. “Angel?”
Fuck…
But I’m saved from answering by a quick rap on the door. A pert young woman with shiny black hair bounces into the room without waiting to be invited. “Are you ready, Christine?”
“Almost.” Christine casts a wary glance around her room before turning to her friend. “Hair up or down?”
“Down, of course. Men like it best that way, and if you’re looking to get laid, loose and long is the way to go.”
“Right.” Christine sprays something onto both palms, flips herhead over, and shakes her fingers through her glorious dark hair. My jaw tightens, and blood rushes to my groin. Perhaps I am no better than the beer-drinking lurker.
No—Iambetter. My interest in Christine revolves around her voice and her music. It’s purely an artistic connection. This momentary physical reaction is a base human instinct, not worth indulging.
“You got condoms?” asks Christine’s friend, sliding a pink stick across her lips to give them a shocking level of gloss.
“I’m prepared. Don’t worry.”
“Shit, I don’t have my ID or my phone!” Christine’s friend exclaims. “I’ll run back and get them. Meet you in the lobby?”
Christine smiles indulgently, affectionately. “Of course.”
Her friend breezes out of the room. Facing the mirror, Christine casually hikes up her short skirt and adjusts the black, lacy panties she’s wearing underneath.
I swallow so hard, I nearly choke on my own tongue. I’m dramatically erect now, my cock pressing heavy and tight against the front of my pants.
“Feeling all right, sir?” murmurs the ghost at my elbow.
“Quiet,” I hiss.
Christine must have excellent hearing, damn her. She hastily pulls her skirt down and leaves the room at once with a nervous backward glance over her shoulder.
“I must follow her,” I tell Agnes. “What’s the fastest way out of here?”
