by Nia K. Foxx
The Sleeper 1: Any Witch Way Café
Nia K. Foxx
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2007 Nia K. Foxx
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ISBN: 978-1-59596-586-8
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Changeling Press LLC
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Editor: Crystal Esau
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
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The Sleeper 1: Any Witch Way Café
Nia K. Foxx
Christine Douglas is your average, everyday witch, just trying to eke out a living through her small coffee shop. With the exception of a little family drama, she’d be the first to admit her life is pretty ordinary. Well, if you call having a voyeuristic spirit lurking about normal.
Twelve hundred years is a long time to be alone, unless you’re Falcon Dragoon. His kind enjoy the solitude of their existence, preferring their own company to the illogical and irrational activities of Earth’s other inhabitants. If it were up to him, he’d have remained in stasis another twelve hundred years. But an eccentric little witch has done the impossible. She’s awakened a Sleeper.
Chapter One
A flick of the wrist had the sign in the picture window tapping gently against the glass before settling on the flat, tinted surface. Closed. Finally.
Ten o’clock couldn’t have come too soon for her. After a near sixteen-hour work day Christine was happy to see the backsides of her last customers as they strolled leisurely across the street hand in hand. She was certain if she’d kept her mouth closed the couple would have remained at their corner table whispering and giggling for another hour or more. Young love. There was nothing like it, well, except maybe the utter joy of realizing a long-time dream.
She gave her small coffee house a proud once over. At twenty-nine she was a first time business owner. It was still a little unreal to her. She’d accomplished it all on her own. Three and a half months, that’s how long she’d been in business, and at the end of the week, her parents would be flying out to see their little girl’s venture firsthand. Her mother offered to come sooner, but Christine wouldn’t hear of it, not with her father recovering from surgery. Besides, she knew they were there in spirit. Their love surrounded her no matter the distance. Of course, having a witch and warlock as parents, it stood to reason they would send nurturing spells in spite of her protests.
Christine was certain both her parents would like the café. It reflected so much of her tastes and upbringing. She’d hand-picked cushioned chairs to complement five small sporadically placed tables. A large retro sofa, scored at the Salvation Army, with its combination of orange and brown 1970s upholstery, lined one wall. She’d only needed to use a simple cleaning spell to bring it up to her standards.
In the shop’s four corners she’d tucked brown leather chairs with ottomans. The bamboo-like potted trees offered seclusion for those seeking quiet and privacy. While some might call her decorating style eclectic, she classified it as pure funk. The walls were littered with framed clippings and posters of events in American history from Lincoln’s assassination, Angela Davis with her black and proud Afro, to the towering infernos of the World Trade Center.
Also included in the shop’s decor was an assortment of things from her childhood, like her Nana’s hand quilted protection blanket, the broom her parents jumped at their wedding. She used her middle sister’s first conjuring cauldron as a centerpiece on a large table in the middle of her café. She’d even given the candelabras used in Alexis’ sweet sixteen ceremony a place of honor.
Christine took to heart one of her father’s favorite expressions, “A person who doesn’t know their history has no future.” She embraced every aspect of her biracial heritage and witch legacy wholeheartedly. Some would probably guess her love for history was one reason she’d purchased the town’s old general store and converted it into Any Witch Way Café.
The location of her shop was ideal, right on the edge of the up and coming New Mexico town. She’d fallen in love with the surprisingly well maintained, turn-of-the-century building. Whether the growing community began or ended with the old general store was a topic for discussion amongst the elders of the area. Either way, people passed her café to and from their jobs in Albuquerque each day, usually stopping in for a quick fix or to kill some time. She’d also had a recent infusion of grad students and yuppie wannabes from the new apartment complex across the street. Any Witch Way Café was most assuredly turning into the community’s social hub.
Christine clicked the light switch that would immerse the entire shop in darkness, save the glow from her fluorescent orange lava lamp. Tired, she stretched her neck, thankful again for the end of the day. If the shop were to keep its current hours, she’d definitely need to hire an assistant soon.
It was a particularly long climb up the wooden stairs leading to her modest two-bedroom apartment. The door to her living room creaked on its hinges, one of the building’s old quirks missed in her restoration endeavors. She didn’t bother with lights as she shuffled through her apartment. There was no need since she wouldn’t be coming back to turn them out.
Thank Creation for “The Clapper”, she thought, striking her hands together rapidly to bathe her bedroom in a soft yellow light. She’d just hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her ankle length skirt when a familiar warmth washed over her. She sighed heavily, easing the skirt down full hips, shimmying the remainder of the way out of the light filmy garment.
“Are we still playing shy?” she asked.
Other than her, the room seemed empty, but Christine knew better. He was there watching her, like he’d done every night for the past four months since she’d taken up residence in the renovated upstairs apartment. She’d used every communing spell she knew to conjure him up, and when those didn’t work she’d called her mother for stronger ones. Nothing. It was obvious the fellow didn’t want to show his physical form.
His daily silent observances should have made her uneasy, yet somehow she knew he wasn’t a threat. After a while she’d even found herself looking forward to his quiet presence, taking pleasure in knowing he watched over her until she fell asleep. In the morning he would be gone without so much as a peep.
“Maybe you’re just a voyeur. Well, sorry to disappoint you tonight, buddy, but I’m beat so there’ll be no show,” she mumbled, leaving on the T-shirt that blazed the name of her shop. Sliding into her unmade bed with a groan of contentment, she briefly wondered about her resident spirit again and why he refused to respond to her many attempts at communication. Clap off. Hell, tonight she was too tired to really care.
* * *
Christine woke to the sounds of moaning. She arched her back, pushing her bared breasts into the air, eyes widening as she felt the very real pad of thumbs brushing her stiff, elongated nipples.
“Oh… you’ve got to… be kidding meee,” she crooned. There was no mistaking the pressure of lips against the naked flesh of her belly,
a tongue dipping into her navel, teasing the concaved flesh. Hot breath and lips trailed further, kissing the tiny thatch of hair that covered her mons. Firm hands traveled down the outline of her body.
“Open for me.”
She stiffened. It was the first time she’d heard his voice -- hell, the first time she’d felt any tangible manifestations at all -- and this was how he introduced himself.
“No, I want to see you.” Her attempt to shed some light on the situation was thwarted by the bindings securing her hands above her head. Panic stabbed through her. What if this wasn’t her phantom? She could be at the hands of a rapist, a sexual predator.
“Calm yourself,” the voice said again. It was rough, as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time.
Surprisingly her body did just that, relaxing of its own accord. “I just want to see you.” She gasped as one large hand reached under her to grab her ample bottom, cupping the cheeks to raise them off the bed.
“There is no time. Dawn approaches, and I will taste you before I leave. Now open.”
Funny, his tone lacked the urgency of his words, and what the hell was so important about morning anyway?
The combined pressure he applied with just one hand and the mystical quality of his words had her legs splaying wide open easily to allow him full access to her most intimate parts. Time stood still as he devoutly explored her nether regions, inhaling her scent deeply as if committing her very essence to memory. She nearly arched off the bed completely at the first stroke of his tongue.
“I knew you would be sweet,” he mumbled against her cunt. “Perfect.”
Another stroke, only this time he used the full force of his tongue, stopping when its tip dipped in between the folds of her labia. The hand that gripped her ass found a new mission as his fingers held her lips open for his questing tongue.
“Ohh my,” she groaned, allowing the sensation of his wondrous flickering to wash over her. He alternated between delving into her slick channel and stroking her engorged clit.
“More,” she found herself begging, wanting to feel him inside of her, but the more she begged the longer he tortured her with his stroking.
She nearly came undone when he sucked her sensitized clit between his lips. He buried his face in her soaked pussy as he used his tongue to plunder her. Christine felt her orgasm galloping toward her. The pounding in her ears thundered louder as she thrashed against him. Once again his tongue targeted her clit, probing, stroking, coaxing until her orgasm took a firm hold of her, wrenching her completely. His tongue pushed between her contracting vaginal walls, thrusting into her like a long cock, and she rode it until the very end.
Her breaths came in short gasps as the tension ebbed from her body. “Wow! Okay, there’s no way you’re going to keep up this whole secrecy thing, not after that.”
His tongue slipped from her soaked core. “Not now.”
“What do you mean not… nnoo --” The last word was lost as his mouth clamped over her tired clit, again sucking feverishly until she was arching off the bed, toes digging into her mattress. Hot damn, he had a tongue on him.
Chapter Two
Christine’s first inclination was to swipe at the annoying fly that buzzed loudly around her head, disturbing her much needed sleep. She waved her hand above her, but did that even gain a temporary reprieve from the buzzing? No. Damned fly! She pulled the pillow over her head this time, but the little bugger was persistent, his annoying hum constant.
Why did its buzzing remind her of something?
It wasn’t a fly!
“Shit!” She bolted up in bed. Her bedside clock flashed six am as it continued to drone on. She silenced the noise with the push of a button only seconds before padding naked to her bathroom. Her shop was due to open in thirty minutes, and she hadn’t even gone down to begin brewing coffee, let alone set out.
The erotic memory from the night before hit her dulled senses hard as she stood under the reviving spray of her shower.
“Oh, you rat!” Christine yelled to her phantom lover who she knew was long gone. She rarely felt his presence in the daytime, and he should count himself lucky today because if he lurked about that morning he’d certainly get more than an eyeful.
Hurriedly, she patted herself dry as best she could before grabbing a T-shirt to pull over her braless upper body. She opted for shorts in her rush before sliding into her patent Birkenstocks.
Christine made it downstairs just as her first customer stepped up to the door. She hesitated as the prominent smell of freshly brewing coffee greeted her nostrils.
“What in Sam Hell?” she muttered before opening the door for a very impatient attorney.
“Looks like you just stepped out of the shower,” the woman observed disapprovingly. “I hope you’ve had a chance to get at least one pot finished.”
“Morning to you too, Mindy,” Christine threw over her shoulder as she rushed behind the counter to find out exactly what was going on back there. If she weren’t seeing it for herself, she sure as hell wouldn’t believe it, which was saying a lot coming from a woman who’d grown up with the supernatural. As if she’d done it herself, three caffeinated and two decaf pots sat on a warmer waiting to be served.
In silence, which was not standard for her, she prepared the woman’s dark roast to go, and bagged her a bagel with cream cheese before sending her on her way. That wasn’t her only surprise for the morning. The next came when she’d gone into the kitchen to find turkey patties made, onions chopped, tomatoes and mushrooms all individually contained and covered with plastic wrap the way she prepped every morning. There could only be one answer. Her little phantom had been busy.
* * *
“You gotta hot date tonight, Chris?”
“What?” Christine shook herself out of her daze, wiping at the same spot on the counter she’d been cleaning for a good ten minutes now.
“You keep looking at that clock like you expect it to come alive or something.” Sandy, one of her regular late night patrons, sat with her boyfriend at their favorite table in front of the window. As usual they were her last customers, and while she normally enjoyed their company, today she was just too distracted.
“Please, the only date I have is with Mr. Sandman. I couldn’t get any rest last night.”
“Then why don’t you call it quits?” Tom volunteered. “Sandy and I can finish this up at home.”
“Don’t feel like you have to rush off,” she protested. The last thing she wanted to do was to send away paying customers, even if it put off her confrontation with her resident spirit.
“Nope, we’re not doing much anyway,” Sandy confessed. “Hey, Tom and I were wondering, since you’re closed on Sundays, how would you like to go out with us and a friend?”
“You mean like on a blind date?” Christine felt an undeniably chilly breeze waft through the rear of the shop. Hmm, so someone was there and didn’t seem to care much for the idea of her going out with another man.
“Yeah, his name is Paul. He’s tall, handsome and a medical student.”
“And still probably too young for me.” She shook her head, holding back her enthusiasm at seeing the couple gather their belongings.
“You’re hardly old,” Tom piped up.
“Try twenty-nine.”
His eyes rounded in obvious shock. “And you look that hot still?”
Sandy gave her boyfriend’s arm a not so playful swipe.
“Hey, us grannies are taking better care of ourselves these days.” She smiled. “Seriously though, I don’t date much, but I appreciate you guys thinking about me. Plus, my parents will be here this weekend.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I know plenty of guys who’d love to go out with someone like you,” Tom added.
“Oh, you do?” Sandy rolled her eyes, preceding her boyfriend out the door. “Bye, Chris, see you tomorrow,” she yelled over her shoulder.
“Bye, you two.”
As Christine locked the door behind
the couple, she could hear the young man listing off names to his girlfriend’s back. Nine-thirty. She flipped the sign, hitting the light switch before she made her way to the rear of the shop where the staircase was located.
“I know you’re here,” Chris announced, feeling the distinct chill of anger in the air. Her entire apartment practically crackled with the tension.
“All right, pout, but if you so much as breathe on me tonight, I swear I’ll cast a spell that will send you to another realm for the better part of a week,” she bluffed. She wasn’t sure if such a spell existed, but he didn’t know that, or at least she hoped he didn’t.
“You’re not that powerful, little witch.” The voice that filled her bedroom startled her as she began the task of removing clothes.
“You wanna test me?” She stopped in mid-undress.
This earned her an immediate laugh, or what she assumed was one. Like his voice, the laughter was rough, reminding her of someone not accustomed to making the sound.
“Do you wish to test me?” His voice lowered.
Something in his tone gave her pause. “Show yourself.”
“I think not.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not ready yet.”
“I think that’s for me to decide,” she huffed, placing her hands on her hips for added effect. “Especially after last night.”
“Hmm, it’s unwise for you to remind me how well you respond to me, not if you want me to keep my distance now.”
He didn’t need to touch her. His voice alone had her body practically vibrating with need. “Can you at least tell me who you are?”
There was a pregnant silence.
“I’m known as Falcon Dragoon.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
Another deep throaty laugh. “True. You’ve stopped undressing.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m waiting for you to leave.”