by Shara Lanel
He noticed a wire rack hanging on the outside of the tub. Besides shampoos and razors, it held something phallic. He picked it up. It seemed to be glass. “What’s this?”
Shylah’s skin flushed pink. “Um, well…”
“Ah, that’s what I thought it might be. Spread your legs.”
“No, really…”
“Do as I say.” She spread them an inch. “Wider. There you go.” His dick was painfully hard against her curvy ass and he wanted to fuck her himself, but the toy was too tempting to resist. “Lean back more. Lift your hips a little.” He held the dildo at the juncture of her thighs. “This little toy is going to fuck you, are you ready?”
Shylah’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Gabe pushed the dildo slowly into Shylah’s opening. She couldn’t believe she was letting him do this to her. The glass dildo was ridged along its length and rather wide, so that it stretched her as it went in. Gabe’s dick pressed into her back. He could be fucking her right now, but instead he’d decided to play. He alternated between licking and kissing her neck and her ear and the back of her shoulders, as he slid the toy deeper and deeper. She would normally have started moving it in and out by now, but he pressed it in farther.
“How does it feel?”
“Hot.”
“Do you want more of it?”
“Yes. Gabe?”
“Yes?”
“May I touch myself?”
“Where do you want to touch?”
“My clit.”
“Oh no, not yet. We’re taking our time. Where else do you want to touch?” He started moving the dildo out and back in and out.
Shylah moaned. “My breasts. My nipples. Please.”
“No, not allowed. I want you to concentrate on this dildo fucking you. How does it make you feel?”
“Hot. Achy. Good.”
In. “Do you feel stretched?”
“Yes.” Out.
In. “Filled.”
“God yes.” Out.
“Shylah, do you know what this is doing to me?”
She chuckled. “You’re dying.”
“Oh yeah.” He bit her neck and moaned.
“You can fill me with your cock any time you want.”
“I know.” He bit her again, just hard enough to leave teeth marks for a few seconds. “I want to try something. Game?”
More than what he was doing to her? Shylah was dying as it was, but she was also feeling so much pleasure that she’d do anything he wanted. “Yes.”
He directed her to hold the dildo in place, then he gripped her hips and lifted her, the water helping with buoyancy. She felt his dick slide down her back and her ass, until the tip pressed against the hole. He started to lower her down, so that his cock could enter her ass. “Have you been fucked back here before?” he asked.
She caught her breath, forced herself to breathe, then caught it again, as her rear entrance stretched far more than she was used to. “Once,” she said. The tub water sloshed around lubricating the works. Gravity and Gabe’s grip guided her farther down his cock.
He moaned. “You’re so tight, so tight. Are you okay?”
It did hurt, but at the same time, it felt good. More than that, it felt taboo and erotic. “I’m good. Show me how you want me to move.”
“Do you still have the glass cock inside you?”
“Yes.”
“Move it so it feels good.”
Shylah thrust the play cock in and out slowly, alternating it with Gabe’s slow thrusts into her ass. She listened for Gabe’s breaths and moans to judge how well he liked what was going on. His cock felt huge inside her, though he hadn’t thrust all the way in. The water lapped against the sides of the tub in time to their movements. Their positions, with Gabe underneath and back a little bit, were awkward, but none of that mattered because every damn second felt so good.
Without warning, Gabe cried out, jerking in orgasm. And that was all it took to send Shylah over the edge of ecstasy with him. Water splashed everywhere.
They were laughing by the time they extricated themselves from the tub and cleaned up all the water. Shylah washed off the dildo and put it back where it had been. “I’ll have to think of other toys to keep here as well.”
“Only waterproof toys, unless you want to get electrocuted.”
She giggled. “Oh my Goddess, what a crazy night!”
Once they’d finally climbed in bed, Shylah fell asleep, comfortable in Gabe’s arms, sated from sex and worn out from the night’s events. She wondered about her compelling spell and whether Alain had more to confess than his early arrival in Virginia. Maybe Gabe was wrong, or maybe she needed a lock of Alain’s hair or something stronger to make the spell work. But she didn’t want to force him to say something untrue. The spell was meant to bring the true feelings of his conscience bubbling to the surface. For this reason, it wouldn’t work on a true sociopath, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe Alain was one, even if he had killed.
Sometime in the middle of deep REM sleep, Shylah’s dreams turned to the future. She felt the weight of something in her arms. A baby boy. In front of her was a marble pedestal with water in the carved bowl. A baptismal font. Across from her stood a man in a white robe and satin stole. He had a kind face and was projecting his voice to people in the pews behind them. Gabe stood next to her and when she looked at his face, he was looking down at the baby with a broad, proud smile. The priest directed them to hold the baby, who was wearing a white christening gown, over the font. He made the sign of the cross and sprinkled the child with water. “Ruben Niguel, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…”
Shylah the dreamer felt a squeeze of horror. Had she converted to Catholicism for Gabe?
But then the scene changed as if answering her question. She and Gabe stood on a beach at twilight, surrounded by a circle of people the dreamer Shylah didn’t recognize, but they were gazing at the couple in the center with love. There was a bonfire beyond the circle, which was probably used to light the tiki torches that marked the Watchtowers. An elderly Hispanic woman stood before them in a white robe with the thin crown of a high priestess atop her head, the crescent moon centered above her craggy face. A silver pentacle hung on her chest and sparkled in what was left of the light. The sandy ground was covered with blue flowers.
The priestess lifted her bone athame high and called for the Lord and Lady to greet the new child and bless him. She asked for the name of the child.
“Ruben Quinn Niguel,” Shylah answered, and now the dreamer knew that the baby was named after their fathers, Gabe’s and hers.
An altar had been created on a piece of gray driftwood. From it, the priestess lifted the censer. Scents of rose and cinnamon drifted on the sea breeze. She turned to the east, calling to the Watchtower of Air to greet the new babe. She replaced the censer, picked up the candle, which had a glass bulb to protect the flame from the wind, and turned to the south, calling to the Watchtower of Fire. She did the same with the other two directions using their appropriate elements, each time calling for greetings and blessings for the new babe.
As Shylah lifted from REM sleep and drifted into a more conscious state, she knew two things—there was a new life inside her, a life so fragile that she hadn’t sensed it at first, and that she had to tell Gabe.
* * * * *
Gabe was in a plane heading home, but the clouds were weird, like oil paints on canvas, and the cabin was empty except for him. His cell phone sat on the little pull-out tray in front of him. He must have had it on speaker, because he could hear his mother’s voice loud and clear telling him what she planned to cook him when he got home. She was so happy he’d caught Lalia’s killer. She said the whole family was coming over to congratulate him.
He should feel proud, relieved and happy too. Instead, he kept checking his pockets, the seats around him and his carry-on bag for something missing, but he didn’t know wh
at exactly.
Then he heard his Aunt Eldora’s voice. “You forgot love, sobrino.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wanted to meet her.”
“Who?”
“The mother.”
“I’ll see Mama when I get home, very soon.”
“Love is the mother of all creation. Love creates a family when least expected.”
Gabe was only half listening because a feeling of panic was growing inside him. He’d forgotten something very important. Outside his window he spied wings carrying his heart back the way he’d come. It had the same painted quality as the clouds. I must be dreaming. But the feeling of panic only grew.
“You must tell her, sobrino. Tell her how you feel. It is your truth.”
Suddenly the plane angled sharply. He tried to see the ground, to see what was going on. He spotted the Richmond airport, the place he’d just left. The plane was circling back around and as it did, Gabe’s panic subsided. He felt almost happy. He still wasn’t sure what he’d forgotten, but he knew he was going back for it.
Then the plane tipped steeply and dived.
Gabe woke with a start, crunching his hands in the blankets to hold on to something, anything, to keep from crashing. Then he felt a hand on his arm and another on his chest and he heard his name whispered by a familiar voice, a calming voice telling him it was just a dream.
And he finally knew what he’d forgotten.
* * * * *
Gabe lay awake, cuddling Shylah in his arms, fighting the urgent need to tell her that he loved her. She’d gone back to sleep after waking him from his dream and her even breathing should’ve lulled him back to dreamland too, but it wasn’t working. His rational mind was warring with his emotional one, trying to explain that the logistics of a long-term relationship with Shylah were insurmountable. But his feelings were clear finally, and his emotional mind was suggesting the wild idea of asking Shylah to move out to California with him. She’d lived in several states in her life, why not one on the west coast? He pictured her in a bikini at the beach, playing in the waves—she’d be so joyful with the ocean breezes brushing her hair and the water swirling about her legs. He knew she’d be like that away from all the suspicion this small town had buried her under.
He heard the creak of the door and realized someone had entered their room. Had to be Alain, since he was the only other person in the house. Gabe reached for the gun he always kept under his pillow, then realized it wasn’t there. It was wherever he’d dropped his pants, the bathroom probably. Damn. Maybe he was just being paranoid, maybe the fool just wanted to talk to Shylah in the wee hours of the morning for some reason.
Gabe sat up, hoping not to wake Shylah. “What do you want?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“She cast a spell on me, a compelling spell. I can feel it pulling at me.” Alain’s voice sounded desperate. Gabe could see him better as he moved toward his side of the bed closer to the window. The sun must be coming up. “It’s urging me to confess against my free will.”
“Well, you can confess to me. It’ll be our little secret.”
Alain snorted. “Yeah right.”
“Just a thought.”
Gabe noticed the other man lifting his arm, then he saw the gleam of metal and his fear ratcheted up. What could he use as a weapon, the bedside lamp? And how could he get Shylah out of the way? He heard her gasp, so she was awake. Alain moved closer to his side of the bed, his arm shaky, the blade high. Gabe shoved Shylah across the bed just as the man lunged. She screamed as Gabe latched onto Alain’s scrawny wrist to keep the blade from coming down, but he quickly tossed the blade into his other hand and brought it to Gabe’s throat. Gabe let go of his wrist and became very still, extremely aware of the butcher’s knife touching his skin. It would’ve been different if he was getting a straight razor shave, but Alain seemed to be trembling with rage and Gabe really wanted the man to calm down.
Shylah had stopped screaming and was standing on the far side of the bed, naked. He thought she had something in her hand, but most of the room was still in shadows and he didn’t want to turn his head to get a better look.
* * * * *
“Alain, what are you doing?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level. She’d briefly thought about conking her ex-lover over the head with a lamp during his struggle with Gabe, but the lamps were light ceramic and unlikely to have any effect. Instead, she’d slipped the receiver of the bedside phone, the landline, off the hook and dialed 9-1-1. She’d picked up her cell phone and was holding it at her side, but was afraid to turn it on in case the light caught Alain’s attention. She heard the 9-1-1 dispatcher speaking, so she kept talking hoping Alain couldn’t hear the far away voice too. “You have to put the knife down, Alain. Aren’t you mad at me, my spell? You should take me and leave Gabe alone. You have to kill me to break the spell.”
“But it’s too late. I have to tell you, but I’ll kill him if you even try to tell anyone else.”
“I’ll keep your secret, Alain. Don’t hurt Gabe.” She watched Gabe grimace in his awkward half-sitting position. He hadn’t been able to maneuver enough to get the upper hand on Alain, for which he seemed extremely pissed.
“I have to tell you. I don’t have a choice.” His voice had grown louder and taken on a whiny quality.
“Tell me what?” Shylah braced herself, knowing it was about the Wanda Nance murder but hating that a man she’d once thought she loved was about to confess to something so evil. She hadn’t heard the voice of the 9-1-1 operator again; she only hoped she was still listening, recording what was going on.
“I did it.” He firmed up his lips as if he was trying to keep the words in, pressing the knife harder into Gabe’s throat as he did so. A trickle of blood oozed through Gabe’s five o’clock shadow.
“Did what, Alain?” She was trying to keep calm, keep her voice calm, like this was an everyday thing. She was also wracking her mind to think of some way to get that knife away from her current lover’s throat. She glanced at Gabe’s determined face—he was probably thinking just as hard on the same problem—when she saw it, the skull, the same one she’d seen when reading the tarot for him. Her heart stopped. No, he couldn’t die. She had to tell him the truth as much as Alain had to tell her his.
Dawn’s light was filling the room more and more, so Shylah could see that Alain was sweating. It was dripping down his forehead and his arms glistened. He was wearing jeans but no shirt. His mouth made funny movements as he grunted a few times. “I killed Wanda Nance!” The words burst from his larynx as if of their own will.
“Oh Alain, but why? Why did you do it?” She thought she heard sirens in the distance and prayed Alain didn’t notice. What if he panicked and killed Gabe? She had to get that knife away from him, but how?
“My pants,” Gabe said in a low voice, carefully so he didn’t move his neck against the blade. He eyed her meaningfully.
“Why, Alain, tell me why?” Shylah screamed, wanting to force it out of him, willing him not to notice as she stepped backward, once, twice.
“I needed to call forth Set to give me control. I needed control.” His eyes were staring past her, as if not seeing, looking into the past. “So many died, don’t you see? I could save them, bring them back, control the weather.”
Shylah took another step back, even with the bathroom door.
Gabe asked the question this time. “But what do you mean, control the weather? Who died?”
Shylah’s foot touched the pile of clothes and started sliding them under her. But if she reached down to search for what must be a gun, would Alain panic? She hadn’t known Gabe was carrying a gun last night, but then he probably had it on him most times. It had to be small caliber to keep it concealed so well.
“My family died. All of them.”
“Katrina,” Shylah whispered as the realization hit her. She risked reaching down for the gun.
“Stop!”
She froze. “I’m just reaching fo
r my pants. I’m naked in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“What’s in your hand?”
She lifted her phone while lowering her other arm closer to the pants. “My phone.”
“Did you dial it? Is someone listening?”
“No, I couldn’t dial it. The light.”
“Throw it over.”
“Here.” She threw it as hard as she could from her awkward position and as Alain’s eyes followed it, she felt in the pants and scooped up the gun, sliding it up her leg to her hip. She kept it slightly behind her. She felt for what she thought might be the safety and flicked it, praying she wasn’t going to accidentally shoot herself or Gabe.
The sirens were louder, closer. Alain reached for the phone. Gabe used the momentary distraction to grab his knife hand and push his arm backward, twisting it. He cried out in pain, trying to smack Gabe with his free hand, but Gabe had gained his feet.
Shylah reacted, lunging across the bed, gun arm out. When the muzzle reached Alain’s captured arm, which was a slightly moving target no matter how tight Gabe held it, she screamed, “Drop the knife or I’ll shoot.” Could she shoot a human being though, even in self-defense? At least from this close range she wouldn’t have to worry about her aim…unless he jerked away. Then she might hit Gabe, but right now, she couldn’t think about that. She pressed the gun harder into his arm.
Alain stopped struggling with Gabe and stared into Shylah’s eyes. “You can’t kill me. I’m your mentor, the one who taught you magick. The two of us together…”
He didn’t get to finish that thought as Gabe pressed his thumb into his throat. “Drop the damn knife.”
Flashing light leaked through the curtains. The sirens had stopped and a loud pounding at the door commenced followed by a lot of shouting.