Sculpting a Demon Read Free

the room caught her eye and she walked toward her statue, mesmerized by the way the candlelight danced over the half-formed sculpture, highlighting angles and plains she hadn’t noticed before. It really was a good beginning, she thought, feeling a renewed pride in her creation.
    “You need some work,” she said, stroking the cool alabaster.
    She spun the statue on its pedestal, casting an approving gaze along the curve of the spine, down to the swell of his perfectly crafted ass and then back up again. Her hand flitted over the tools on her workstation, coming to rest on a chisel. She picked up the tool and examined it in the soft candlelight. It felt good in her hand. Right. She ran her thumb over the long, flat edge, the glow of the flame reflecting in the silver surface. She spun the sculpture back around and reached out with her other hand, her fingertips grazing the contoured pecs.
    “What kind of man would you be?” she asked the statue as her hand roamed over the torso, the detailed abs, the tapered waist. “With a body like that, I’d bet you’d be damn cocky,” she said. She reached up and carefully carved an impish grin on the statue’s face. “That’s better,” she said, and laughed. “Every rogue needs a good grin.”
    She slowly sank to her knees, her eyes traveled down the length of the statue, lingering over the taut line of muscle that separated the torso from the thigh. “And a great big cock,” she said, smiling to herself. “Big enough to match that ego.” Gripping the chisel in her hand, she set to work on his groin.
    The rain drummed on the roof, a musical, steady rhythm in the otherwise silent night. “Hear me, true love of mine,” Lila chanted as her nimble hands shaped sensuous lines and generous curves. “I call you forth at this time…”
    She blinked hard, realizing what she had said. Bowing her head, Lila laughed aloud. Maybe it was all the wine or all the rich food, but whatever the reason, she was acting like a total nitwit. She wasn’t even sure what had made her think of the spell. She only knew that something about the rhythm of the rain seemed to cry out for the rhyme.
    “What are you, in high school?” she chastised herself. Conjuring a man, indeed! She sat back on her heels and looked up at the statue’s face. “But if I could make you real,” she said softly, “I would want you to be everything I said in that stupid spell.” She reached toward the statue and then her hand fell back into her lap. “Would you love me though?” she asked. “I wonder. I wonder if you could.”
    Squeezing the bridge of her nose with her fingers, she let out a disgusted grunt. This was getting her nowhere. Spells and perfect men and true love were all very nice, but she might as well ask Santa for that Barbie dream house she had always wanted. The outcome would be much the same.
    “Enough,” she said. Lifting the chisel, she went back to work on the statue.
    The rain continued to hammer the windows, the roof, a steady beat demanding a melody. Before long, she was nodding her head in time with the rhythm. “In perfect love and perfect trust,” Lila sang, unconscious of the words coming from her mouth. “I send this out, but not from lust…”
    The candlelight surged, but she took no notice. She sang the spell as her hands glided over the stone, the words swelling within her, gaining momentum. Feeling. Weight.
    “To the one who is meant to be…” Her voice grew louder, strong and steady in the silent night. “Let him find his way to me.”
    Her fingertips grazed the place where she had earlier scraped off dust for the spell and a tingle raced up her arm, making her shiver.
    “Hear me, true love of mine,” she said, beginning the chant again. “I call you forth at this time…” Over and over she repeated the spell, singing it to herself as she carved and sculpted. Silly or not, something about the cadence appealed to her, seemed to perfectly complement the movement of