by Shara Lanel
“Interesting.” He didn’t ask what it was valued at, since Shylah didn’t seem excited about what she’d been told. He examined the chalice and the candle holder, wondering how many hands had held them. Shylah’s enthusiasm was rubbing off on him. “So did you have a set of tools that you used before your trip to England?”
“The coven I belonged to had a set, but my tools at the time were very mismatched, picked up from online metaphysical shops. I believe they’re in a trunk in the attic. You’re welcome to go up there and brave the bats, if you’d like.”
“What do you think of the chalice found at the crime scene?”
“Kind of cheap. Silver plated. The pentagram engraving looks like it was put on by a machine. Unmemorable. I can show you where to find one just like it online.”
The fact that she knew where to buy it—was it suspicious or part of her researching the crime to prove her innocence? He wanted to believe her, but he worried he was thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy, the part that wanted to lay her back on the mossy beds around them and bury himself inside her.
Trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the soft curves revealed as she leaned forward to put away the tools, Gabe said, “Did you know anyone here in town before moving here?”
He was sad to see her expression change, but perhaps it was for the best. “Like in New Orleans perhaps?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “No, I haven’t run into a single person I’ve recognized. But then why would you believe me?”
Impulsively Gabe leaned forward and cupped her cheek. “I want to believe you.” He brushed his thumb across her full bottom lip and heard the hitch in her breath. “Help me believe you.”
* * * * *
Gabe’s fierce kiss took her breath away. His palm slid to the back of her head and held her steady as his tongue pried open her lips and his tongue tangled with hers. It was both an unexpected and heated assault and it lit Shylah’s body on fire. Everything they’d done the other night filled up her mind, but now she had the mental clarity to take in new details, like how his cool, dry lips warmed against her skin, took on the dampness from her mouth. How his tongue held traces of coffee and mint gum, that the skin on his face was no longer morning smooth and smelled of spring air. She slid her hands into his thick hair and ran her fingers across the back of his head. He had two small bumps near his left ear and what felt like a scar along the hairline in the back. Gabe’s lips meandered from her mouth to her chin to the tender, sensitive skin of her throat. She took advantage and kissed his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids.
Before she knew it, Gabe had maneuvered her sideways, so that she was sitting across his lap instead of on the uncomfortable stone floor, but what this position really gave him was access. He was kissing her lips again, and she was responding hungrily, mouth wide open and tongue deep, but now he had a free hand to roam from her neck along her collarbone to the side of her breast. She wore a peasant blouse with a light cotton bra underneath it. There was a little tie holding the neckline together. Gabe tugged it loose then pushed the fabric down her shoulder a few inches. She felt his fingers tracing the edge of her bra strap then pushing that down her shoulder as well. Still she was covered, just not quite as much. He squeezed one of her nipples through the light bra fabric and that was when his erection made itself known, an obvious bump in her cushy seat. She chuckled against his mouth.
He pulled back and looked at her, eyebrow quirked. “I’m trying to seduce you and you’re laughing?”
“I just noticed that my seat isn’t quite as smooth as it was.”
He lifted his hips so that his erection rubbed against her bottom. “Are you talking about this?”
“Yeah, a pebble or something.”
“A pebble! I think you’re in the wrong position if that’s all you feel. Climb over.” With a little lift, Gabe coaxed her legs open and settled her facing him. He bunched her skirt up around her waist. “I don’t want that fabric interfering with your senses. This here’s no pebble.”
With her legs wrapped around him, Shylah had no trouble feeling his erection pressing against her. Quite a big erection, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Hmm, a rock perhaps.”
Gabe reached down and unzipped his jeans, pulled out his cock, but her skirt obscured her view. However, that didn’t matter as he rubbed his cock against her panties, her very wet panties. He maneuvered the panties to the side and suddenly his huge cock was pushing inside her, filling her. Since he was watching her closely as he did it, she didn’t close her eyes but she did moan. He didn’t move and she let gravity draw her body down, stretching around him, taking him in deep and deeper. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes heavy lidded. Her body squeezed around him automatically but she didn’t move. She waited for him to give in, but he didn’t move either.
“You’re killing me, Shylah.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You know what I want.”
“Tell me.”
“I want you to ride me.”
She flexed her hip, gave a little squeeze. “Like that.”
“Faster.”
She did it twice, three times.
“But don’t stop.” She started to move again, until Gabe said, “Wait…stop. Shit. I’ve got a condom.”
Shylah was enjoying the playfulness, the spur of the moment, but also the fact that he’d thought about protection this time. It was goofy as they had to move this way and that so that he could put the condom on, but he didn’t lose his hard-on and she was just as wet and ready once he was covered. She questioned his motives, but it had been so long since she’d had a lover. More than that, she could smell the damp earth of the Mother Goddess around them, blessing this simple spring dance.
Gabe scooped up her breasts in his palms as she moved her hips around until she found the right rhythm and swerve to make him groan. He kissed along her jawline and her neck and along her collarbone, light, quick kisses that added to her ecstasy. She felt earthy and in control as she lowered her body until Gabe filled her completely, then she squeezed his cock and lifted slowly. His breathing grew rough, fast, and his skin felt damp with sweat, but he didn’t like her going so slow. She could tell as his hands grabbed onto her hips and tried to control her movement.
“Faster,” he said gruffly.
Shylah smiled. “What’s the magic word?”
His eyes popped and he scowled at her. “The magic words are fuck me hard.” And before she could disagree, he lifted her off him and onto the mossy ground beyond the stone floor. Once he had her on her back, he controlled the pace. He sank deep inside her, then out, gradually building up speed, stroking just the right spot until he had her moaning. She pressed her palms against his chest and felt her way across until she reached his biceps, which she gripped fiercely as she felt her orgasm approaching. Just as the wave crested, she dug in her nails and yelled Gabe’s name.
“Holy fuckin’ shit,” was Gabe’s response. He grew perfectly still as her body milked him and then he bucked into her and shook. In a much lower voice, almost like a sigh, he said, “Holy mother, Shylah, holy God.”
Shylah thought that was appropriate since she believed in both a Goddess and a God, but she knew Gabe wasn’t really thinking about God, male or female, at the moment.
* * * * *
God, he hadn’t intended to seduce her all over again. Or had he? Maybe she’d gone along so easily to divert his attention from his investigation. He watched her as she gracefully stood and straightened her clothes then knelt and rewrapped her tools. Her face, though flushed, was peaceful. A slight smile curved her lips. He’d seen that sort of smile from other lovers, the kind that said “conquest”. Yeah, she’d conquered him all right. Why couldn’t he keep his hands to himself?
He stood up, fixing his clothing, and noticing the dirt on the back of Shylah’s blouse. He started brushing that off, noticed a twig in her hair so plucked that away. She chuckled.
Turning to him, she put her arms around
his waist. “I guess I’m less than presentable now.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of her nose. “Not too bad. Besides, I think my hands are covered with dirt.” He brushed them down the side of his jeans as Shylah leaned her cheek against his shirt. It felt nice to have someone holding him, but he was afraid to be too affectionate now. He still had to investigate her. He didn’t want to say the clichéd “It was a mistake”, as if he was denying his culpability, but then why was he feeling guilty to begin with?
As if realizing he wasn’t going to hug her back, Shylah dropped her arms and whirled away from him. In a couple of steps, she reached the solarium door. Without looking at him, she said, “So are you pursuing any other avenues of investigation or just me?”
He sighed. “Not just you…” As he was about to say more, she opened and walked through the door, closing it behind her, leaving him standing alone within the mini-jungle.
* * * * *
Shylah practically sprinted back to the kitchen. She didn’t want Gabe to see her disappointment. What did she expect really? She’d had this naïve feeling of contentment as she’d wrapped up her tools, which, when they were both standing, had made her wrap her arms around Gabe with affection. There was attraction between them, animal lust, but not affection.
Gabe entered the kitchen a few moments later. She turned and walked to the living room and he followed. She wanted him to go right on to the door. Instead, he sat down on her couch and said, “How about some of that tea? I might get used to it and give up coffee.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” She stared at him, willing him to leave.
“Tea,” he prodded.
She went back to the kitchen and went through the motions of making tea. The familiar actions actually helped her get back to the contented state she’d been in earlier. Her body felt replete; she should be grateful for that and not worry about the rest.
She returned with the tea. “Do you have more questions? Seems like we’ve covered everything I could possibly say besides ‘I did it. Lock me up’.”
He sipped his tea and stared at the banked, slightly glowing ashes in the fireplace. Without looking up he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Other than a few twigs, I’m fine.”
“From the other night, I mean.”
“A little late to ask, considering what we just did.”
He cleared his throat but still didn’t look up. “Um, did you take the morning-after pill or anything?”
Shylah’s mouth dropped open and she had to get a handle on her surprise before she could respond. “Of course not. Were you hoping I would?”
He lifted his head and pierced her with his gaze. “It might’ve been better, instead of drawing out any worry you might have.”
“Drawing out my worry?” Okay, now she was starting to get mad. “Well, my worry, my problem.”
“No, it’s both of…”
“Look, feel free to head back to California and think nothing more about it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean by wanting me to take the morning-after pill? Women have the right to choose, and I would choose to let this life blossom within me, if that was the case.” She touched her stomach for a moment and closed her eyes. With a deep breath, she sought out any vibrations that would indicate a new life forming inside her. Nothing.
She opened her eyes to see Gabe cringing. Well, at least she knew where he stood on the baby topic, something she never expected to broach with him. He cleared his throat. “If there is a…” He couldn’t even say the word. “Then it would be my child too. I wouldn’t just disappear from his life.”
“Or her life.”
Staccato breath came out of his mouth. “I was speaking of both sexes.”
“If you say so.” She was just being ornery. She knew what he meant no matter how he worded it. “Look, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. I would sense it.”
Gabe shook his head. “I’d like to have a little more certainty than that. Aren’t there some pregnancy tests that can detect very early on?”
“I don’t know. Probably not this early.” Besides, she trusted her intuition and knew Gabe’s worry was unnecessary. She did feel a bit of sadness, but she wasn’t sure why.
Silence settled between the two of them as Gabe finished his tea. He stared at the fireplace while she gave him the occasional glance, noting his handsome profile, his strong hands. She let herself daydream about sitting in comfortable silence with a husband or boyfriend, knowing that person would be there day after day, having someone who accepted her as she was to trust and depend on.
But that person wouldn’t be Gabe.
He set his mug on a coaster and looked over at her. “You know, I’m going to take you up on that offer to check out that trunk in the attic. Do you mind?”
“No, but can I trust you alone up there? I think I’ll go wash up a bit.” She wasn’t in the mood to be in such a confined space with him.
He nodded. “Which trunk?”
“The only trunk. You can’t miss it—it’s mammoth.”
She showed him where the pull-down stairs were and she was nearly knocked over by the blast of cold air when he opened the trapdoor. She knew there was nothing to find in the trunk because there was nothing in the trunk to prove her a murderer. As he disappeared above, she turned to go to her bedroom for a quick shower.
* * * * *
Shylah was not kidding about “mammoth”, Gabe thought. Lifting the top of the trunk was like lifting a stone lid in a mausoleum. An inch of dust rained down on him, on the floor, and fogged the air, visible in the shaft of light from the bare bulb. Once he finished coughing from the dust, the smell hit him. Mothballs. Ugh. It reminded him of his abuela’s house. She’d seemed to have mothballs in every drawer and closet.
At least he hadn’t encountered any bats yet.
The first thing he found was a layer of newspapers. They seemed random and so were probably added as a cover for the other objects inside. He pulled out a wood box, very small, with a machine-cut design on it. Inside was a piece of felt to cushion a few crystals and incense cones. He set that aside. Next he found a shoe box, which he opened to see a plastic chalice with a skull on it, something you’d buy for Halloween, and a silver-plated chalice that must be the store-bought one that Shylah had referred to. It had a machine-engraved pentagram on the front but the stem was different than the one from the crime scene. Under these, with a layer of felt in between, was a dagger with a pearl handle. The screws holding on the pearl exterior were loose; it looked chintzy. Nothing like the old set she had downstairs. He could see why she’d switched. A tiny cauldron and charcoal, a couple of tarot decks and a wooden wand, polished down to show its beautiful grain, completed the collection. This was the one thing that he’d think she’d still use. She hadn’t showed him a wand among her supplies downstairs.
He pushed deeper in the trunk, through black robes and a large kerchief with a pentagram on it. Okay, the striped stockings had to be something she wore for Halloween. Ah, here was the fake nose with a wart on it. Was it politically correct for a witch to wear a derogatory witch costume? Shylah showing a sense of humor likely. The last layer consisted of books, about five deep, arranged so they best fit in the trunk. He read the authors on the top books—Farrar, Buckland, Cunningham.
Never heard of them.
Gabe tried to return everything the way it had come out of the trunk. Had he been up there half an hour already? He shut the trunk top and turned in a slow circle, head bent because the ceiling was just a bit too low for him to stand straight, scanning what else was up here. Nearby was a medium-sized U-Haul box, flaps open, and inside appeared to be a dozen or more of those blank books that people used as journals, a couple with pentagrams or dragons on the covers, others with simple flowers. He pulled out a couple from the top and glanced at the pages. The handwriting was loopy and like the Script font on a computer. Pretty readable. The inside front
cover read “Book of Shadows” in silver marker.
The first page of each journal showed the dates it covered, like June 08 to September 08, etc. And each entry inside was dated. Some entries were a paragraph, some were pages long. Many seemed to be poems or spells followed by thoughts on what she learned from these. He was interested in the journal that would cover her time in New Orleans, so he pulled out and checked each one, making a stack next to him on another box. She must have her current journal in her bedroom, since it wasn’t with this bunch. This box of journals went back to 2001, but there were two other boxes labeled “BOS” sitting nearby. How long had she been at this stuff?
Since the floor of the attic was mostly joists with insulation stuffed between, Gabe found a clear patch of plywood to sit on and began to read. He lost track of time. It was the story of Shylah’s experience with her New Orleans coven. She compared her new experiences with her mentor Alain to the family coven she had practiced with up until college. She felt like her brain had been cracked open with information and spirit pouring inside. Her writings seemed very optimistic in the beginning, but the tone changed as Gabe read further.
“Several New Age wannabes have left the coven now. Good riddance. Alain wants us to perform serious magick and for that we need more experienced witches. We placed classifieds on some Pagan sites and found several folks who had been with their own covens for a long time but outgrown them. Just who we needed.”
“Hey, did you fall in?” Shylah popped her head above the plywood floor, still standing on the pullout stairs. Her hair was damp and her face dewy; she’d obviously taken a shower.
Gabe felt like he’d been caught taking sugar candy off his family’s Day of the Dead altar. He tucked the journal behind him.
She went on. “Hard work, was it? Need a breather?”
He smiled and imagined it wasn’t a very convincing one. “Lost my breath with all the mothballs.”
She peered at him closely, suspiciously. “Yeah, that’s why I don’t come up here, except to stuff more boxes. So, did you find what you were looking for?”