Artist and Muse

By Roger Intensity Maxwell

This is a book about having a personality disorder that I wrote while consistently eating under 1000 calories a day. It is also about Nelson Karasi, the best character from the preceding novel, Dark Diamond. It assumes that you have read Dark Diamond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Intensity Maxwell
• Release date: Sep 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215118528

Roger Intensity Maxwell

Do not perceive me.

Book preview

Artist and Muse

by Roger Intensity Maxwell

Published by Roger Intensity Maxwell at Smashwords

Copyright 2023 Roger Intensity Maxwell

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Content warnings for abuse, gender-related angst, grooming, homophobia, religious themes, sexism, transphobia, and generally unsettling science fiction and fantasy themes.

This is a book about having a personality disorder that I wrote while consistently eating under 1000 calories a day. It assumes that you have read Dark Diamond. If you purchased this novel in error without first having read Dark Diamond, that is not my problem.

The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely

coincidental.

PART ONE – THE VERY REAL ADVENTURES OF THE TWINKLE TWINKS

CHAPTER 01: THE TWINKS IN QUESTION

In the alienating metropolis of industry called Eustin, one man stood between throngs of clueless, feckless, helpless morons and a hidden world of supernatural threats. One man guarded the Eustonian nuclear family and the occult forces of darkness, never one to taint the other. Only he possessed the power and the will to rise as their defender, their witch-king, their Enforcer.

Until recently.

Avery Locklear sighed, and his sigh turned into a whine.

Defender, witch-king, and Municipal Supernatural Enforcer for the City of Eustin Nelson Karasi did not look at him in the rearview mirror of his new beyond-black hovercar, which currently rolled along on the ground instead of hovering. His old car got destroyed in a witch’s duel versus the very femboy sighing and whining behind Nelson and slightly to his right. Avery almost got destroyed, too. Nelson would have won (if he tried). Nobody could defeat Nelson (if Nelson tried).

Avery did it again.

What? snapped Nelson.

Nothing! said Avery.

Good, good, said Nelson.

It’s just… said Avery.

You’re so annoying, said Nelson.

I found a box of Jane’s ex’s stuff when I was cleaning out the third floor for you guys to move in, said Avery.

"How long ago was that?"

If someone looked at Avery as Nelson now did in his rearview mirror, they would notice his mouth first. The prominent bow caused it to resemble a cat’s. Avery’s brown eyes always looked ready to cry, pass out, or both. His light olive skin made Avery look either wanting for the sunlight or like he might shrivel up and die in it. Nelson could never decide. In either case, he looked like he needed to go outside. Without Nelson.

Nelson turned his gaze to something more pleasing: his gaze. Rimmed with a cool, dusky complexion and jet-black lashes, the whites of his eyes and his deep, inky black irises popped from under the wide brim of his new-ish black fedora. Tips of thick, fine black hair framed the edges of his face, his bangs pushed back under the hat, never a split end to mar his visage.

Did you throw it out? asked Nelson, looking mostly at himself but also incidentally at the road.

No…

Did you talk to her about it?

No…

So what makes you think you should talk to me about it? Nelson smiled, letting his eyelids dip and his right shoulder shrug on the word me.

Avery slumped on the armrest and looked at the trees north of Eustin gliding by at forty-five miles per hour. The wealthy wanted decorum kept, even if nobody could see their mansions from the road.

We’re supposed to be missies together, Avery sulked.

"Be what?!"

Municipal Supernatural Enforcers. M-S-Es, Avery explained. Missies!

No, said Nelson. You literally have a wife. Shut up.

We’re the Twinkle Twinks!

We are not the Twinkle Twinks! Nelson barked. That’s not what we are! I’m not a twink! Stop trying so hard!

Avery struck a pose with two fingers in a gesture meaning peace turned on its side framing his left eye. Battle Bottoms!

Nobody likes you! said Nelson. "We’re popular because of me! You’re the sidekick! I make the rules!"

Avery grinned. Okay, Twunkle Twunk, what am I supposed to do if Jane’s not –

Don’t talk in my car.

Nelson heard a few snickers after Avery stopped talking in his car. He let out a loud stream of air as a dragon would through its snout.

"Missies," Avery whispered.

Is this why you’re being annoying? asked Nelson. You think Jane’s not over her ex-boyfriend? Are you mad that I have someone loyal?

I thought Mr. Perfect might know what to do! said Avery.

Mr. Perfect did, as much as Nelson hated to acknowledge Avery as correct. Just tell her what you found. Ask why it’s there.

It’s stuff from when they first started dating, said Avery.

"She picked you! said Nelson. Don’t know why! But she picked you! Over a guy with a real job!"

He wanted to quit his real job, Avery reminded him.

I don't care! said Nelson.

We have the same job!

Nelson slapped the wheel. "No, we don’t!"

And she picked me ‘cause… I don’t want to go into this with you, said Avery.

I appreciate it, said Nelson, ignoring the lead Avery left to tease him. He had lost much of his respect for Jane Goethe over her taste in men and wanted to salvage the rest.

Nelson hated calling Avery his partner or his friend or even his teammate, Avery’s preferred term. Co-worker. Associate. Slightly better. Nelson privately opted to call him the other guy.

The other guy went hmmm and mmm and ummm a few times as Nelson continued to drive. He never shut up. And he had the nerve to accuse Nelson of bloviating and self-aggrandizing. Who even knew the word bloviating? At least Nelson had things to aggrandize about. Avery considered it acceptable to treat Nelson as a confidant about his inability to communicate with his girlfriend – wife! His wife. Nelson still repressed that knowledge. If Nelson had marital issues nobody could ever get him to talk about it. Certainly not Avery. Anyway, if he needed emotional support from Nelson, how much could Avery have going for him?

Jane doesn’t know I’m here, said Avery.

Do you still not tell her?! Nelson rolled his eyes and considered rolling the wheel. That’s weird, Avery.

I tell her about my job.

My job, said Nelson. "My job. You’re the auxiliary. This is work-related."

Avery pulled his knees up to get sideways on Nelson’s upholstery like a chaise lounge, which he knew Nelson disliked. He needed to brush his hair. His clothes always looked dirty even when he had just washed them. At least, Nelson assumed he washed them. Avery consistently hit the body spray hard. His canvas high-tops looked like he thrifted them in high school, and Nelson knew for a fact that Avery never completed high school. This isn’t work-related, said Avery.

It’s gonna be work-related if we don’t do it! yelled Nelson. Wait. Wait a minute.

Nelson kept a police terminal in the middle of his front seat. In his old car, the one Avery wrecked, he kept it in the passenger’s side which made him unable to keep another person in the front seat with him. In the new hovercar, he did have a front seat, but he only let his husband ride there.

In his wallet, Nelson carried an instant-print photograph of himself and Sai standing in front of the car on the day the mayor of Eustin gave it to him. The best public relations move in the history of the city, in Nelson’s opinion.

Sai knew about the car ahead of time. He made sure Nelson got up early that morning and dressed his best. He used the excuse of commissioner of the arts Adam fucking Kyriak coming to view his paintings at their old apartment, which Nelson believed because as insane as it sounded Sai did indeed have a fan in Adam fucking Kyriak. But Kyriak never arrived. No commissioner did. Not even the police commissioner, who Nelson seldom heard from with the increased prominence of the Enforcer.

And the monsters, of course, which Avery made.

People took other pictures that day, one of the last that Nelson and Sai lived in their old apartment. Nelson draped over the hood of the car blowing a kiss. Nelson and the mayor, shaking hands. But Nelson kept with him always a picture of Sai’s arm around his shoulders and Nelson turned almost sideways with his arm hooked under Sai’s, only to turn his head at the second a flashbulb went off and blinded him for a moment. The student journalist whodunit gave Mr. Karasi the photo as a token of his apology because Mr. Karasi groaned and stomped his boot and demanded it.

Nelson liked to look at it sometimes. Just a quick glance now and then, but other times to stare at an iconic moment in the contemporary newsscape for ten or fifteen minutes and think of the great shame that people in the future would only get to admire them this way, not as a memory recalled of the day it happened. Remember how it felt to get lost in myopic spots and white lights distorting his vision, feel only his husband’s lean, firm, 6’5" body move with every breath and renewed effort to hold Nelson by his side, smell only spicy warm cologne and a brand new car, hear cameras and applause and calls for his name, heart racing, eyes getting dry, clothes too much for summer, the muscles in his face stinging but ignored by Nelson, Nelson, Nelson fighting to keep that smile on and ride the wave forever.

Computer, said Nelson. Call Jane Goethe.

Avery shrieked so loud that Nelson did not hear the computer respond before it started to call Avery’s wife. "NOOOOO!"

Nelson pushed the gas pedal to the floorboards. The car glided down a straight stretch of two-lane road with smooth acceleration. I want every advantage!

We can already beat them! screamed Avery. He threw his body forward and grabbed Nelson’s headrest to expel the sudden surge of aggression without sending the car into a ditch.

Maybe! yelled Nelson. And maybe I want a three-headed monster on our side! And maybe I want you to be motivated!

"Slow down, Nelson! There’s a turn!"

But Nelson needed speed to lift off. The wheel of the car locked up once he engaged the flight gear, rendering it functionally a stick. Avery wailed like a toddler and flung himself into the seat seconds before they would have plowed into the oaks. They circled five stories above the road in two-hundred-foot loops, about as tight as Nelson could maneuver.

We can get killed, you asshole! Avery choked.

You’re fine, stop being a bitch, said Nelson. Don't you want Jane-Jane to think you're a man?

Avery tried not to breathe too loud as Nelson waited for Jane Goethe to pick up her phone. Avery might have whispered no, but Nelson never checked. He smirked into the mirror every few seconds until he noticed that the sound of the phone ringing did not play over the car’s speakers.

"Could you repeat that?" asked the feminine synthetic voice of Nelson’s computer.

Fuck, grumbled Nelson. Computer, call –

People can’t see us fighting alongside a monster! Avery interrupted.

"I’m sorry, said the feminine synthetic voice, who as a computer could not feel anything let alone remorse. Could you repeat that?"

Nobody’s going to see us, said Nelson.

But they might, said Avery. "Someone might record it and put it online. Then what? We explain that some monsters can change back, oh, but not the ones we killed off already? Not your family members? Not your pets? How’s that gonna go?"

"Sorry. Could you – "

"Shut up!" barked Nelson.

"Good morning, Nelson, said the computer. Is there anything I can assist you with today?"

Yes. Call Jane Goethe, said Nelson.

"NO!"

Reaching the point of desperation, Avery unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over the console. The tip of his middle finger brushed the console screen, trying to hang up before Jane’s phone could ring. Nelson banked into a figure-eight instead of his established circle, causing Avery to fall against the driver-side back door, but also to smack Nelson in the face on his way over. Nelson’s hat went askance, blocking his field of vision for a moment. It pushed the ends of his bangs against his lashes and nearly into his eye. As Nelson adjusted, Avery tapped the red button on the computer touchscreen to hang up.

He huffed and flopped into the middle of the back seat once Nelson righted the hovercar, then dabbed his eyes on the wristband of the longsleeve under his distressed t-shirt. "The point of dealing with them now is that they won’t be able to put up a fight. Jane won’t have to turn into the monster. She doesn’t like how it makes her feel, Nelson! Don’t ask her to do that again. Don’t. Please?"

Nelson frowned. She doesn’t?

No! She doesn’t! said Avery. I told her I’d deal with anything that happens so she won’t have to!

Well, that changed things. Nelson still held some respect for Jane Goethe. He felt glad that she had a husband. He just did not understand why the husband needed to be Avery. Faggot.

I’m a baguette.

What?

"Bisexual faggot. Bague – ow!"

Nelson jerked the stick again to shut him up. In an airborne hovercar, this carried far greater risks than even an earthbound vehicle.

Stop! Avery demanded.

Oui oui hon hon! scoffed Nelson.

"Land!"

"Wheeee! Hahahahaha! Wheeeeeeee! I’ll land at Brownstone Manor! Unless I don’t feel like it ‘cause it’s my car and I can do whatever I want! Don’t tell me what to do in my fucking car!"

Avery struggled to stay in one seat long enough to buckle a belt as Nelson kept the car in the air, looping at apparent random over the estates of Eustin’s elite.

CHAPTER 02: BEFORE AND AFTER

Every prominent or old family had secrets, magical or otherwise. The Terramonds, the Smiths, the Brownstones. Not only from the outside world, but from their own young until the worthy of each generation proved themselves.

Some two years ago, the only son and sole heir of Daedalus and Delilah Brownstone vanished at the Sheltering Arms Charity Gala benefiting the homeless population of Eustin, last seen with one Avery Locklear who claimed a violent kidnapping occurred. Nobody missed Dian. Nobody cared. Not his parents and not his wife Caitlin, for he never earned their confidence and never would have. He never even noticed his wife’s possession by a multitude of souls: his ancestor plus all his ancestor's previous victims, glommed together into a plural they/we. To their credit, the multitude possessing Caitlin Brownstone slipped neatly into the role. They saved the family line by giving birth to a son a few months after Dian disappeared.

Died. He died. Avery Locklear killed him. The man who sold the Brownstones twelve new host bodies for other multitudes said so when he made the delivery. Avery Locklear killed your husband, he said.

How nice for him, said Caitlin, a fine-boned, babyish object preparing for their MILF era. You’ve killed these twelve young girls. Once they deliver, vessels they become.

Ushered into Brownstone Manor by armed robot servants, the twelve girls hung their heads. Recently widowed, all expecting, and shunted aside by the man into whose care they fell, what had they left? Empirical evidence did not lie: the Father-God forsook them.

The man into whose care they fell shaded his warm hazel eyes from the setting sun, which intensified the distinct dark red shade of his thick, curly hair. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, even opened his mouth to say it, then said something else altogether to himself instead of Caitlin: "Why am I trying to help you?"

Who said we need your help? Bellamy, leave. We shall enjoy being a woman now.

Reverend Mainerd Bellamy watched the last girl disappear through the back door to Brownstone Manor. Caitlin Brownstone had a wispy little voice, an affected manner of speech popularized by an actress in the mid-century, then by a different, pornographic actresses of the last two decades. Of course a tourist through the lives and bodies of women would emulate it.

If I were a woman, said Bellamy. I believe I’d kill myself.

Oh, so would we, had we been woman born, Caitlin agreed. The joy is in the conquest. You should know. The break of will, the crumble of the soul – Caitlin’s voice started to betray their true nature, scraping the bottom of their vocal range, and their grin resembled nothing of a ladylike half-smile.

"Do you do this to your daughters, or do you just kill them?" asked Bellamy.

" – the crust of ego, sweetest goop, I-am, to feast upon and revel in their loss – "

From the bottom of my heart, I truly cannot relate, said Bellamy.

– our win, to kill, to eat, be nourished, grow beyond – !

Bellamy returned to the short bus bearing the logo of Skylight Church at the back entrance of Brownstone Manor. He never saw Caitlin return to the house, and for a moment upon returning to his complex and moping in his parlor with a brandy he listened for a guttural femme-ish rasp on the cold wind outside. He might have heard Caitlin. He might have heard his memory of Caitlin.

The last girl Bellamy watched enter the house of annihilation that evening carried the name Ryleigh Levine. Once married to the same man as another of the girls, she delivered her child last.

The original Ryleigh noticed changes in the behavior of her sister-wives as her condition progressed. Foremost, they all had their babies at eight months. They disappeared into the city for a few days to give birth. When Ryleigh asked, Delilah Brownstone rapturously educated her about the process of a Caesarian tuck: one surgeon delivered the baby by Caesarian, and a second immediately performed a tummy tuck. This prevented the majority of pregnancy weight gain that poor women endured in that