by Trisha Telep
“Or we could do it the old-fashioned way.”
Her eyes narrowed. “In your dreams.”
“You mean, in her dreams.” Aaron motioned to where Jesse lay.
“It doesn’t have to come to that,” Caitlin said tightly. “We’re strong. We can fight it.”
“Fight what?” Paul asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Sex,” said Aaron, sounding horribly chipper. “Sex magic is the ultimate way to join essences. And sex is the only thing to expect when we enter the memory of a succubus.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Caitlin said, “I’d think you were looking for a quickie.”
“Strictly here for a rescue mission,” he said, throwing his hands up in a universal Don’t Hurt Me move.
Get a grip, Caitlin scolded herself. Maybe Aaron was her ex-husband, but he was also the best person to help her rescue Jesse. And that’s what mattered right now: freeing her sister. She could deal – or not deal – with Aaron after.
“We’re calling on the Hecate,” Caitlin said, rising to her feet. As for what would happen once they were in Jesse’s memory, well, they’d tackle that then. She moved to get her travel bag, and she pointedly did not think of having sex with her former husband, or how long it had been since she’d last had a lover.
Or how she still missed Aaron’s touch.
“Terrifi c,” said Aaron. “Nothing like getting a little Goddess-inspired bliss to really kick off an evening.”
“Paul, you might want to go out,” Caitlin said as she rummaged for her ritual kit. “There’s no way to tell how long this is going to take.”
“I’m staying right here,” he insisted.
“I like a man who’s into voyeurism,” Aaron said with a grin.
Caitlin ignored him. “Then I’d appreciate it if you could please take your phone off the hook.”
“Done,” said Paul, marching into the kitchen to take care of it.
Caitlin glanced at Aaron. “Well then,” she said. “Let’s make some magic.”
Aaron offered to help Caitlin set up the altar, but she was persnickety about anyone other than her touching her ritual items. Gosh, what a shock. He grinned as a memory flashed: the first time they were participating in their coven’s circle, sky-clad by the light of the moon, the sound of a crack as an eighteen-year-old Caitlin Harris slapped his hand away from the ritual chalice. “For the Goddess,” she’d said tartly. “No shit,” he’d replied, chuckling even as he rubbed his hand. She’d glared at him, and he’d winked at her.
Three months later, they were dating. Two months after that, they were lovers.
She hadn’t been his first. But by the Goddess, she’d been the best.
As Caitlin set up the items on the portable altar, Aaron worked on his breathing to help him prepare. Pure thoughts, he told himself. It would have been easier – and more fun – if instead of a formal ritual, Caitlin had agreed to have sex with him. She’d always been the perfect match for him, the high priestess to his high priest. When their bodies moved in concert, all in celebration of the Goddess, there was nothing they couldn’t do.
But that had been back when she’d loved him. Anything that happened between them now would be strictly for the purpose of making magic. And that meant no sex. Caitlin wasn’t into casual sex. Never had been, not even when the other coven members had taken advantage of sky-clad rituals and joined beneath the stars.
No, for Caitlin, making love had never been casual.
Feeling sad and bittersweet, Aaron breathed.
Next to her sister, Jesse lay prone, the memory box yawning open in her outstretched hand. So much trouble, Aaron thought, for something that was supposed to be a gift. Seated on the couch behind Jesse, Paul watched everything with curious, haunted eyes. Aaron didn’t envy the man. Being in love with any woman was heartache enough. But in love with a former demon? That had to be a nightmare.
But then, given that Jesse had been a succubus, Aaron guessed the sex was damn terrific. That had him thinking about Caitlin again. Biting back a frustrated growl, he worked on his breathing.
Soon, everything was ready. Set on the altar were a silver chalice, pewter bell, a small metal cauldron, a bronze pentacle, a besom, a wooden wand, a black-handled athame, candles, a censer filled with incense, and a bowl of salt. Aaron usually didn’t bother with such trappings, but given that they had to beg a blessing from the Hecate, he admitted it couldn’t hurt to follow at least some of the protocol.
“Paul,” Caitlin said, “some of what you hear and see may sound strange.”
Paul grunted. “Lady, you stepped here out of thin air. My girlfriend is glowing blue. My definition of ‘strange’ is being rewritten even as we speak.”
Aaron chuckled. He liked this guy. “Let’s get on with it, dearest, so the intrepid boyfriend can get back to his regular life with his not-so-regular girlfriend.”
Caitlin glowered at him. “Follow my lead.”
“Ladies first,” he said with a wink.
They began by casting the circle of protection, with Caitlin using the athame to draw four pentacles in the air, north and east and south and west. Aaron scattered salt in a large circle as Caitlin placed the candles in the directional points. She lit them from east to south to west to north, and Aaron felt it as she grounded the energy in the centre of the circle – a tickle of sensation dancing along his flesh.
He was very glad they weren’t sky-clad now. Nothing like a boner to undermine the seriousness of the ritual.
Shaking away such thoughts, he invoked the directions and the elements, and Caitlin followed with an invocation of the Goddess herself as she cradled the cauldron in her hands. Then the two of them raised their voices in song, praising the Hecate and asking to receive her gift of union.
What had started as a tickle soon became stronger, a gentle stroking, back and forth, like waves undulating over his skin. He was hyperaware of the sounds of his breathing, of his heartbeat, of the smells of burning candles and the scent of anticipation. He and Caitlin sang, their voices intertwined.
And then he felt Her presence – between them, around them. Inside them. The Hecate filled Aaron, infusing him with Her blessing. He threw back his head as his body reacted to his Goddess’s seductive touch – his breath caught in his throat, even as his erection strained against his pants. Awash in pleasure, Aaron’s senses stretched until he felt Caitlin’s presence as well, from the fine trembling in her upraised arms to the sweat dotting her brow to the building desire that pearled her nipples and licked between her legs.
Blessed be, whispered the Hecate. And then She vanished.
Shaking, Aaron commanded himself to breathe. Goddess, he was ready to blow! The twin sensations of his and Caitlin’s arousal made it impossible to think. He gritted his teeth, and he breathed.
“Now,” Caitlin said, her voice thick.
Aaron and Caitlin clasped hands, his left and her right, and then together they reached over to brush their fingers over Jesse’s head.
The shock was immediate – a surge of energy like none Aaron had ever felt before, a torrent of emotion and intention flooding him. Overwhelmed, he felt himself dragged under. He opened his mouth to shout, but he was drowning in magic, burning in Hellfire, lost in the power of the Hecate and the Underworld and sucked into a former demon’s dream . . .
And then Caitlin yanked him back up, anchoring him in the here and now.
But it wasn’t as simple as that. Yes, they were in Paul and Jesse’s apartment, seated on the ground, their hands touching . . . but they were also floating in a world of grey, the colour somewhere between a soft dove and a winter sky, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of mirrors. They were both in the Real and on the cusp of the Surreal, the place where memories and dreams mixed like cocktails. He blinked, and the real world was an after-image behind his eyelids.
Aaron, with his expertise in memory magic, was used to the Surreal. But he wasn’t used to navigating the Surreal while sti
ll being anchored in the Real. It was damn disconcerting.
As was the sight of Caitlin’s naked body.
Because they weren’t grounded in reality while in the Surreal, her form was more of a sketch of Caitlin nude, all bold outlines and pale skin and black hair, with no contours to give her depth. Her eyes flashed emerald; her lips were a splash of cherry red. She reminded him of the Nagels in Paul’s apartment, and Aaron wondered if Caitlin had been influenced by the art.
If so, he must have been as well. From the little he saw of himself, his flesh was just as white as hers. And as nude as hers.
Then again, it was possible he just had sex on the brain.
He shook his head to clear it. “That,” he said hoarsely, “was not at all fun.”
“I’ve been through worse.” Caitlin sounded nonchalant, her expression giving nothing away. But Aaron was joined with her, so he didn’t need his eyes or ears to tell him that she had been caught off-guard by the rush of magic and that even now, she was floundering. He read her emotions as easily as a scrying bowl: Caitlin was discovering that being both a navigator and an anchor was slightly overwhelming.
What was more unsettling to her, though, was how she was still sensitive to Aaron’s touch, how just a nudge right now would send her over the edge and leaping into rapture.
Aaron, never the fool, pretended he didn’t know. And he pretended he didn’t care. “I’m sure you have, dearest. After all, you were married to me.”
That got sliver of a smile out of her. “You read my mind.”
No, not that. But he had her emotions down cold. And since she was joined with him, she had to know how he was feeling. What he was feeling.
How he wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her.
“Well then,” he said abruptly. “Let’s get this rescue started, shall we?”
Caitlin had been in the Surreal before, many times. But she much preferred to be the anchor: firmly entrenched in the Real with only a cursory awareness of the miasma of winking mirrors that made up the Surreal. Those polished surfaces flashed hypnotically, beckoning to her.
Caitlin felt Aaron’s impatience before he spoke – a benefit (or not) of being joined. “Don’t look at the mirrors. Walk only where I walk.”
She sniffed. “You just want me to watch your ass.”
“It’s a great ass, you have to admit.”
Caitlin gave him her best Wicked Witch stare, and she firmly did not think about how great his ass really was.
His grin slipped. “I’m serious, Caitlin. Don’t look at the mirrors. With the spell on the memory box distorted by Jesse opening it, the mirrors may not be passive.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. If things had been normal – as normal as they could be in the Surreal – she could have gazed within any of the mirrors for as long as she liked, and she would have been treated to a view of a particular memory. But given how Jesse herself had been sucked into a memory, neither Caitlin nor Aaron could assume that they could look within and be unharmed. “You can find which mirror she’s in?”
“Yes. Just let me concentrate, and then follow me.” He frowned, then turned to the right. “This way.”
They walked for what felt like forever, their footsteps whispering along the grey nothingness. To either side, and above and below them, mirrors glittered like diamonds. Aaron strode confidently, taking turns without hesitation, as he sussed out which memory had captured her sister.
She had to admit, he did have a great ass.
Caitlin turned her head away so that she’d stop looking at how his buttocks moved as he walked and stop thinking about how she had enjoyed caressing him, letting her fingers trail across his bottom and slowly make their way to his front. She had to stop thinking about him, damn it. She had to stop remembering how good he had made her feel, how easy it would be to just touch him, kiss him . . .
No. Stop, stop, stop.
Glancing over her shoulder – nowhere in sight of Aaron’s terrific ass – she gasped as a mirror sparkled in front of her. And within, she caught a glimpse of her own face.
Not Jesse’s copy of her face, no, but her own face – hers, Caitlin Harris, smiling. Not a reflection, but a memory. And Caitlin watched herself open her mouth and . . .
. . . she says, “If you want another favour, Jesse, then you need to give me something in addition.”
The demon Jezebel stands before her, wearing a copy of her form, and she gives Caitlin a tiny, helpless smile. “You’re right,” she says. “I’ll give you something.”
And Caitlin feels that something settle over her, a subtle tickle of desire. She sneezes once, and then she looks into Jezebel’s face, her amazing face, and Caitlin feels her lids become heavy and her breathing quicken. Jezebel licks her lips slowly, suggestively, and Caitlin’s lips part in return. She feels invisible fingers skimming over her body, and a sound escapes her mouth – the softest of ohhhs. Heat kindles in her belly and lower, blooms over her chest until her nipples are hard, ready to be suckled.
Caitlin slowly unfastens one button of her flannel nightshirt. And then the next.
Jezebel’s voice is soft as silk. She purrs, “Say my name.”
Caitlin’s fingers fumble the third button open, and her right breast pokes out from the gap in her nightshirt. In a breathy whisper, she says, “Jezebel.”
And now she’s lost in Jezebel’s touch . . .
Until pain shattered the memory.
Gritting her teeth to keep from shouting, she stared daggers at Aaron. She pulled her arm out of his grip. The man had nearly dislocated her shoulder! How dare he . . . !
And then she realized what had happened.
She blushed fiercely. One slip. One small slip, all because she hadn’t wanted to stare at Aaron’s backside any longer. She could still feel the ghost of Jezebel’s fingers travelling along her body, tracing her curves, heating her blood. The memory had been from two months ago, right after she’d brewed the potion that would transform the demon Jezebel into the mortal Jesse. Jezebel had tricked her, bespelled her.
Seduced her.
Caitlin gingerly rubbed her shoulder as Aaron glared at her. Rage was stamped on his features – but through their joining, she felt the fear that gnawed at his gut. He was furious with her, but also terrified by what had nearly happened. “When I say ‘Don’t look in the mirrors’,” he snarled, “that damn well means don’t look in the mirrors!”
“It was an accident,” she said, hating how lame her words sounded.
“Penicillin was an accident! This was intentional!”
Her eyes narrowed. Yes, he was right to be angry with her; even so, she wouldn’t be his whipping post. “Stop yelling at me.”
She felt his emotions dance in quick succession: fury, frustration, relief, and something else, something she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – name. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Keep your head in the game, dearest, or a memory will try to eat you again.” He whirled around and stomped off, leaving Caitlin to hurry after him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! She mentally slapped herself for being careless, and she slapped herself again for having to be rescued by Aaron. He’d never let her live that down. Damn it.
Well, at least he had rescued her. And now she was too mad to think about his ass. So that was all right.
Aaron came to a halt in front of a mirror. He was careful to keep his gaze on his feet as he reached out with his magic to confirm that this was it. And . . . yes, there. Jesse’s spirit was somewhere within. He was amazed by how similar her soul felt to Caitlin’s, and he wondered, not for the first time, if Caitlin had given Jesse more than mortality and a shared name two months ago.
Did they share a soul? If so, no wonder the memory box had gone awry.
But as he recognized Jesse’s spirit, he also noted that it was too solid, too present within the memory. He frowned. Whatever she was reliving, it would be real to her. And it would loop continuously, keeping her sealed within while her body starved. Soon enough, she wo
uld die in the Real. Her soul would either fade or be locked within the Surreal – all because she had opened a memory box not intended for her.
It was an insidious trap. If he had done it on purpose, he would have been terribly impressed with himself.
“Got her,” he said, turning to face Caitlin. Like him, she was purposely not looking at the mirror. “Remember: we go in, you go up to Jesse and wake her up. Do it fast, before the memory overwhelms you.”
She nodded curtly.
“As soon as she wakes up, the memory will shatter. We’ll launch ourselves out before everything winks out. Be ready for a hasty exit.”
Again, she nodded. And then she did something that nearly dropped him on his ass: she kissed him. It was sudden, and passionate, and over far too quickly. A moment of heat and promise, and then she pulled away, leaving him rather dazed. “For luck,” she said softly.
“Luck,” he agreed, his head spinning. He steadied himself, then said, “Ready?”
Face pale, she nodded.
Then they stepped into the mirror . . .
. . . and Aaron flinches from the intense heat baking his skin. The ground is flat and hot beneath his feet; he takes in a startled breath and he feels his throat char. And he knows in his soul that he’s in Hell.
Not me, he tells himself. This isn’t happening to me.
Ahead of him is the biggest wall he’s ever seen, and a pair of wrought-iron gates. Muffled sounds echo beyond the wall – screeches and moans and laughter and snorts and more, so much more, a cacophony of exclamations that make him want to clasp his hands to his ears. But this isn’t real.
Not real.
In front of the gates, two demons are groping each other. Satyrs, both of them – the woman bald with cherry red skin and a curly black pelt, the man a bright turquoise and blond. Fire-red horns jut out from beneath his golden hair, and his eyes flash amber as he grins at the woman – the succubus. “Patience,” the incubus says as he wraps his arm around her waist and crushes her against his chest. “Just a little taste first.”
Not real.
He kisses her, hard, and Aaron sees, feels, their passion as she kisses him in return. Now the incubus is licking his way down her chin, tracing the lines of her jaw, teasing her collarbone with his mouth. She arches back, exposing her breasts, telling him with her body exactly what she wants him to do.