“This is Katherine. She’s a ghost,” I replied.
“Ghost? You know very well I never meet with those creatures face to face. Be gone, ghoul. Don’t let the doorknob sodomize you on the way out,” Ezzy said, her voice tinged with disgust.
“Yep. The bitch is back,” Randy said.
“Gertie, tell your creature to fuck off,” she replied.
I couldn’t help myself. I had to give her the full bear hug, complete with kisses on the cheek. “It’s so good to have you back.”
“Back from where? If I get one more of those touchy feeling things from you, or any of you slack-jawed imbeciles, you can send me back.”
“Goodbye, witches. I have a duke to haunt.”
“Wait! What about the merchant Charles killed. Is he with you in the spirit world?” I hoped to hear if the dead lovers found eternal bliss.
“Oh, him. Meh. I was just using him to get away from Charles. I see him around here and there, but you know how those sales types are, always on the road.” Katherine walked right through the cave wall. It was the last we saw of her.
With the bitter taste of Ezzy’s soul still fresh on their beaks, the geese wandered out of the cave entrance.
“What in the world is taking you so long? You think I’m getting any younger?” Cosmos shouted.
“Get a grip on your staff, old man. We’re coming down now,” Randy answered.
“Do you remember anything that happened here?” I asked Ezzy.
“No. And from our surroundings, I think it’s best.”
We joined Cosmos, Jessica, and the Sasquatches in the chasm. Just like the dragons had done, we traveled back through the transporter hole and arrived in what used to be the kitchen.
I say “used to be” because two dragons suddenly making an appearance in your kitchen will leave it in ruins. They’d reduced it to rubble. A small price to pay to come home.
Chapter 30
Just a Fantasy
“Too bad Cosmos and Ezzy didn’t stick around to celebrate our homecoming,” I said, resting my bare legs across Brad’s lap. The sunset painted the sky with the most beautiful palette. I sipped my iced tea, pondering which of the hues I would like for my kitchen.
“Stop it, Gertie. I know you’re eyeing up those colors. When the kitchen is finally rebuilt, leave the interior decorating for me.” Randy didn’t even turn around to see Brad and I lounging on the wicker couch. I guess he knew me well enough to know how my brain worked. He just leaned against the handrail of the back porch where we relaxed.
Jessica sat in the yard, which isn’t so much a backyard as it is a sea of tall flowers and grass. Behind her sat Kate, meticulously grooming Jessica’s hair. Wills, with his strap-on head gear still attached, groomed Kate’s fur. I was glad Jessica agreed to stay at the plantation for a while. I really needed female companionship.
Although the light was fading, we could see Olaf and Rebecca making love in the marshy area down toward the bayou. Their soft cooing made my heart melt. The new dragon didn’t seem lonely at all. She stretched out in the mud next to Rebecca. I guess dragons aren’t shy about that sort of thing.
Love was in the air. Brad discreetly slipped his hand under the hem of my dress. The warmth of his palm and cupped fingers moved lightly and slowly between my thighs until he could go no further. He massaged me there. His other hand, open and palm down, pressed lightly over my dress, concealing what he was doing.
We didn’t say a word. My breathing turned heavy and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning in ecstasy.
Still, Randy didn’t turn around. It was erotic trying to maintain control out in the open. I would have died had we been noticed, but I didn’t want to stop Brad either.
Randy sipped his drink, never looking back. “Spelunking. Funny sounding word. I suppose that’s why you thought I meant something entirely different.” He was silent for a couple of minutes. “You know, it’s perfectly normal, fun actually, to have fantasies. To even entertain them. But, many times, it’s best they stay just that. Fantasies.”
Brad adjusted his angle. His fingers slipped under the sheer silk, penetrating me. I gasped quietly as he withdrew them and repeated his movement again and again, adding a finger each time. I wanted so badly to reach down and unleash his hardness pressing against me. My eyes were closed, feeling everything.
I blinked enough to know it was dark by then. I could have sworn I heard Brad mumble something, but I was completely drunk with passion. Brad’s other hand swept across my breasts, up my neck, and he lightly dipped a finger between my lips as I panted. I didn’t care. It was dark enough. I met his finger with my tongue before closing my mouth on it. Sucking it sensually, I indulged in my wildest fantasy.
It was quiet for several minutes. I guess I figured Randy had left us for the night from the bold manner Brad was handling me. Then Randy spoke, but Brad and I didn’t stop and I kept my eyes closed.
“I wonder, though. If you’ve thought it all through. Not everyone has the same fantasies. We all have our own tastes, our own desires.” His voice was right next to us. I refused to look and I couldn’t stop. An incredible orgasm tore through me. Brad’s hands slowed and finally stopped. It wasn’t until both of his hands, once again, rested on top of my legs that I opened my eyes.
Randy was standing right next to us, right up against us, in fact. He had put one hand on Brad’s shoulder and the back of his other hand brushed against my face. “Well, goodnight, you lovebirds. And just keep this in mind about spelunking, I’m not entirely opposed to the idea, but there are many things to consider. Also, I’ve got to meet the guests, they should be returning from Marie Laveau’s Voodoo tour.”
Brad and Randy both laughed like they were the only ones in on a joke.
I never admitted this, but when Randy touched my face, I swear his index finger was wet. I seriously think it was his finger in my mouth.
That was weeks ago now and everything is completely normal. I have a sneaking suspicion Brad and Randy set up that little situation because of what I’d said back in the cave. They wanted to give me a little fun and that was as far as it would go. Not another word has been said and it hasn’t been the least bit awkward. It was just enough to be incredibly hot, but I can’t even confirm it was nothing more than my imagination. Maybe it’s best that way.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there is no blueprint or owner’s manual for the most precious things we have: life and love. Nobody can tell you what’s right or wrong, because if you truly value those things, you will care, you will know.
So that’s where we’re at on the Paranormal Plantation. We’re friends, we love each other and the life around us. We take each other as we are: sometimes happy or sad, kind or rude, sarcastic or passionate. These, I think, are the true elements of magic, no matter where or when you are.
Epilogue
“What do you think, Sunshine? Now that you’ve figured out a way to time travel, is that going to be a thing for us?”
“I’ve given it serious thought because there are times when I wonder what it would be like to meet my parents. But, in all honesty, it would be very hard. Like Cosmos said, you can’t change the course of events, no matter what you do. Why relive heartaches when we have so much happiness around us right here, right now?”
“I suppose you’re right. Another thing we need to talk about is Ezzy. We never dished out any payback for the Sexlax she slipped you, or setting us up with the kinky sex outfits.”
“We didn’t. Still, after seeing what she went through in another time, I think it’s safe to say Karma took care of that for us.”
“It was an experience for all time. I’m not sure Olaf is the rescue animal I hoped for, but maybe the answer is to pick the creature according to the rescue. We can use any of them.”
“Brad, you’ve had a few college classes. Maybe you can answer a question I have. Max Kovacs gave me one of his lectures once. He was talking about Occam’s Razor and Maslow’s Hammer and so
me bludgeon. What the hell was he talking about?”
“Hmm. Well, I’m no Phlebotomist, but I think Occam’s Razor isn’t a razor you shave with. It’s more of a way to look at a problem and come up with a solution. Specifically, it means that the solution is usually the one that’s the most obvious. Forget all the wild possibilities, the low percentage things or conspiracies. Just focus on the most direct, simple causes and solutions.”
“And Marlow’s Hammer and that bludgeon thingy?”
“I remember reading about those. They’re theories about problem solving. Let’s say the only tool you have in your toolbox is a hammer. So, no matter what you try to fix, you use a hammer. You’re used to it. Even if other tools become available, you go after it with your hammer out of sheer habit. It’s in your comfort zone. Same with the bludgeon.”
“I get it. He was talking about me. I tend to bounce around and think of too many possibilities. I overwhelm myself by chasing things down that aren’t even an issue. And as far as solutions, I know I use magic way too often. I use it even when I shouldn’t. But it’s right there. It’s what I’ve become used to using.”
“Like creating the magic tote bag, or the magic paint?”
“Exactly.”
“Are you planning on cutting back on using magic?”
“Ha! Do you really think I could do that? Not a chance. Think of all the fun we’d miss out on.”
The End
Preview another Melanie James book
Accidental Leigh
Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, Book #1
Chapter 1
Goodbye Carl, Hello Vlad!
Apparently, the strangest, yet most powerful thing has happened to me, which isn’t saying much. After all, I’m a single, overworked and under-fucked elementary school teacher. This strange and magical thing wasn’t expected and I sort of stumbled on it by accident.
Maybe, I should first explain what led up to this discovery. Let’s just say that because I have a non-existent love life, I’ve decided to spend my summer break doing something new. I decided to write romance stories. Like most women, I love reading romance books that are unabashedly hot. Let’s call it my guilty pleasure. Don’t get me wrong, I read a lot. I get into the brainy essays and the trending book club recommendations. I love the classics as well. Reading has been the single most influential part of my life, but nothing gets the juices flowing quite like a steamy, smoking hot hero who delivers orgasm after panty wetting orgasm.
Some, mostly men, would sneer at the way women consume romance books. I’ve heard men refer to romance books as nothing but pulp. They like to call them bodice rippers, mommy porn, paperback porn, and the like. Women, and a growing number of romance reading men, would agree with me when I say the romance genre of today is a rich source of good fiction that really draws from so much more. Is it full of erotica? Hell yes! Is it full of feel-good Happily Ever Afters? Sometimes. Let’s face it. Women are smart readers. They know what they want and what they need. Maybe some of the Nay-Sayers (mostly men) could learn a little bit about how to be a real man from a good fictional alpha male. God knows, the male gender seems to be sorely lacking in some of those qualities these days. Hence, we have to get what we need and what we want from fiction.
To say the least, I’m a book-whore and I follow multiple series and authors. You had better believe, I keep my masturbatory fantasies pretty stocked up with just about anything that could possibly suit my mood. I have a pretty creative imagination that often puts together some exciting ideas. All of my naughty ideas are drawn from the themes from my reading habit. In the past year, I realized that I had developed a true artistic vision, and I pondered what I could do with my creativity. Why not write these stories down? They could someday be bestsellers! Like I said, something strange happened and that is why I need to keep a diary of what’s going on.
It all started last fall. I had been casually dating a guy named Carl, a math teacher at the middle school. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy. He just doesn’t come close to being a shadow of what my book boyfriends are like, and he could never even dream of being the lead hero in anyone’s fictional fantasy, let alone mine. Carl is just too… dare I say, bland. He’s soft, pale, and a little lumpy.
I have a category for guys that fit this exact description. Marshmallows. Marshmallows have some good qualities though, they can’t simply be overlooked. They are usually decent guys that are financially stable. They just don’t have what it takes to get the juices flowing, if you know what I mean. Carl never gave me that initial jolt that made me even consider having sex with him. The passion never even smoldered. Hell, who am I kidding, the spark never ignited!
One Saturday morning, he called and wanted to see if I’d like to go out to dinner and catch a movie. I really tried to ignore him, but he’s a persistent little bugger. I found myself scrambling for ways that I could be tactful about saying, I already had plans. I mean, it was the day that I had been eagerly awaiting for months. I had finished reading the third book in the Shifted Hearts Vampiric Wolf series the day after it was released. This next installment promised to be hot, and I was foaming at the mouth!
Book four was ready and willing to provide the long awaited pleasure that I so desperately needed. I was all set. I had bought the perfect mood candles, the bath soaps, and a giant size pack of AA batteries. We’re not talking about the family size package, no, no, no… This was the size that the Red Cross orders during extended power outages resulting from catastrophic natural disasters. I hate to admit this, but I even bought the perfect skimpy little negligée to wear after my four hour bath. Oh hell, I might as well admit it, I had already received a special gift to myself. It arrived in discreet, plain brown packaging. The gift promised to measure up to Vladimir Wolf’s fictional hardened length, every long, thick inch of it. Where was I? Oh yeah. Back to Carl, who couldn’t let go. I finally let it blurt out of my mouth.
“Carl! I told you that I already have plans. I’m busy tonight.”
“Doing what, Leigh?”
“Dammit! I have a date already!”
“Oh? Really? With who?” Carl said who with a very nasally and sarcastic tone, by the way, and that really just pissed me right the fuck off! We’re talking about my boy Vlad, now. Nobody, and I mean nobody, talks bad about Vlad!
“You wouldn’t know him, his name is Vladimir, and he’s from Romania.”
“What? Let me guess, you have a date with another one of your fictional characters. That’s what it sounds like to me. Leigh, why didn’t you just say you didn’t want to see me anymore?”
“Okay fine, Carl. I would rather stay at home and masturbate than go out with you!” The stinging words rolled off of my tongue and hung in the atmosphere between cell phone towers like a swarm of angry bees. I clamped my mouth shut, as if I could still stop them from getting to Carl, but it was too late.
I had everything just right. The mood was set and I slipped into a nice warm bath with my Kindle ready for action. Then it happened. In the second chapter, my beloved Vladimir, my hero, my fantasy love, was dead. Dead! Some low-life werewolves killed my vampire-wolf shifter with a wooden stake wrapped in silver. I screamed in pure agony, “Dead? Dead! No!” I spent the next couple of hours sitting on my bed crying, my tears dropping on my Kindle. Sad, I know. I called my sister in Pittsburgh, who shared my love for Vlad. I needed support and she sadly couldn’t offer it. All we did was cry over the untimely passing of our beloved Vladimir, and make threats against the writer who swiftly brought grief into our lives. All the while, my mood candles pathetically melted away, alone.
As the weeks went by, I slogged my way through the stages of grief over that damn book. It was a very serious thing for me. I was officially in mourning. I subconsciously chose black to wear to work. Who does that sort of thing? Me, that’s who! It didn’t go unnoticed by the other teachers, or even the students at my school. The day I realized that my grief was on full display was when a small voice asked. “Miss
Epstein? Did somebody croak or something?” I lost it again. “Croak?” I couldn’t tell the little girl the truth. “Yes, Haley, someone did, in fact, croak. Somebody very dear to me. My boyfriend.” Kids! They are very observant, but they can be such uncouth little mongrels. I felt awful for lying, not because I was lying to a child, no. I only felt awful because I knew that I had just cast out the first of many threads which would eventually be woven into a huge web of deceit.
As the weeks went by, that little lie spread through the class like an infestation of head lice. Then the lie reached up from the sticky mass of mucus that is the student body and spread to the teachers’ lounge. Nothing gives the lunchroom coterie of stressed out teachers the dark and secret joy of morose delectation like good gossip. Like any viral lie, the croaking of Leigh’s boyfriend had grown. It became altered into a story of fantastic proportions. I felt the gravity of the lie, when finally, one of the perky new teachers approached me.
“Leigh, I just want to tell you that I am very sorry for your loss.”
I was caught a bit off guard and had to scramble to recover so I didn’t blow it. “Huh? Oh, thanks.”
“I lost my great-aunt a few years ago and it affected me deeply. I just can’t imagine losing my entire family in such a tragedy.”
I was curious now to know what the hell kind of tragedy had taken out my entire family. I wanted to lead her on, but I wasn’t quite sure of how to do it. “Yes. Yes, it was.”
She handed me a large folded poster board. “One of my students had asked if the entire first grade class could make a sympathy card for you. I hope you don’t mind the graphic images, but I believe the children should be allowed to freely express their feelings. I think it cultivates their empathy. Don’t you agree? I was just reading a study-”
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