by Rae Morgan
Voices. Images. Feelings. Physical sensations. None of them hers.
Then, she'd found the secret room in her house. The dusty old books with her grandmother Elspeth's handwriting in the margins. The crystals and amulets lying around. The room had radiated feelings of anticipation at her arrival, then relief as she'd entered.
Afraid of how it made her feel-or what she might discover about herself-she'd closed the room back up and refused to re-enter. And, on the whole she'd managed to avoid the temptation to investigate the strange urges and the voices seeking her from the hidden chamber.
But then, this happened. A man's touch in her mind. A man's voice saying her name. Another sense of anticipation, this one underlain with sexual feelings-and ownership.
On top of the situation with Seb Headley's perfidy and her decision to tell her boss about it as soon as possible, she was afraid she might need to seek counseling for her nerves. She was afraid she was going nuts.
Pushing her disturbing reverie aside, she scanned the crowded sidewalks and could find no one singling her out for particular attention. But she felt as if someone was watching her. She trembled. Whether it was from the brisk wind off the lake or from fear, she didn't know, but went ahead and pulled her shearling coat closer around her body. At least, she could do something about the physical feelings.
Rhea walked briskly along the avenue. The lengthy walk home in the brisk autumn air should clear her head.
Then, images of two naked bodies flashed before her eyes. One female. One male.
The female's face was distorted by a haze of shimmering blue-green and golden-white light-the man's covered by a similar haze, colored dark violet shot through with red.
The woman's hair lying on the man's chest was red-like hers. The mole on the woman's breast was identical to the one she had.
Icy fingers of recognition wrapped around her, halting her forward motion. The woman was her!
People bumped into and walked around her, but she couldn't move from the spot. She couldn't speak. Didn't see what was around her. The din and bustle of Michigan Avenue receded to mere background noise.
Her mind, all her being, fixated on the erotic images racing through her head.
Then came the physical, sexual, sensations.
Blood rushed to her genitals, leaving her dizzy. Her clitoris throbbed with building tension; her vagina pulsed, waiting to be filled. Her breath came in rapid gasps. Her heart pounded in her head. The anticipation was unbearable.
She could do nothing to make the sensations go away or, better yet, seek the fulfillment she craved.
Helpless, she stood frozen as the male in her vision spread her alter ego's thighs.
Yes! Please? Make the ache go away.
As you will, Rhea. My own.
The man thrust into the ethereal Rhea. Immediately an orgasm swept over her and it was unlike any she'd ever had. It was so powerful she cried out, uncaring that the people around her moved away to avoid her as she doubled over and hugged herself. She shuddered and moaned as wave after wave of orgiastic pleasure swept through her physical body.
You're mine.
Then as fast as it had happened, it was over.
“Lady? You okay?” A man's voice broke through her post-orgasmic lassitude. “Should I call an ambulance?”
The speaker touched her arm. She flinched and drew away from him. Even through the thick coat, her arm was still overly sensitized from the sexual build-up and release.
“No. No. I'm fine. I need to get home.” She straightened up. Concentrating on calming her breathing, she turned to the young man and attempted to smile. “Would you hail me a cab? Please?”
The youth, a concerned look on his face, seemed relieved he could do something. Or, maybe he was just relieved that the crazy woman had regained control.
“Sure. Just stand right here.” The Good Samaritan stepped off the sidewalk to catch the attention of a taxi.
As he did this, Rhea struggled to recapture some semblance of her usual placidity. When he returned to help her into the cab, she smiled for real this time.
“Thank you.” She pressed fifty dollars into his hand.
“No, I don't need that.”
But he lied. Somehow, she'd sensed his desperate hunger when he'd touched her. He'd lost his job.
Damn these feelings. How on earth had she known that? What was wrong with her?
She shuddered and shook off the questions. The middle of a busy Michigan Avenue sidewalk was no place to psychoanalyze herself. But she could do something to help the concerned person standing before her.
“Take the money. The job you applied for-the one at the department store. They'll hire you day after tomorrow. You don't want to faint on them because you're hungry, do you?”
“How?” Feelings of shock, fear, and hope crossed the man's gaunt face.
“I don't know.” Because I'm going crazy and hear voices in my head. “But I'm right, aren't I?”
The man nodded. “God bless you. Uh, are you sure you'll be okay?”
She shrugged, pushing away her discomfort, her trepidation, about her inexplicable knowledge. “I hope so.” The man's brow creased in concern, and she hurried to reassure him. “I'll be fine. Thanks for caring.”
The young man smiled, then turned and left.
She climbed into the cab and gave the driver her address.
After she settled back against the seat, she examined her recent and illusory sexual experience. The woman in the vision was her. The man in the dreamlike encounter was the voice from the hallway. He'd made love to her and claimed her like a marauding pirate. You're mine, he'd said. And her feelings had been anything but imaginary; those had been real.
Could he be real? Would she ever meet him anywhere other than in her head? Was she going frigging nuts?
Patience.
CHAPTER TWO
Orgasms during an out-of-body experience in real time are many times stronger than orgasms produced by a physical joining. -The Male-Female Witch Connection, p. 55.
October 10th, Rhea's Lincoln Park Home
Not again! A niggling of feeling like a low-voltage jolt of electricity tickled the base of her neck, traveled down her spine, then into her womb.
Rhea sat straight up in bed and searched the room. No one was there. Again. But had she really expected him to show himself in the flesh? Hell, who was she fooling? He wasn't real, and she was destined for a straightjacket and a padded room with no view.
The silver light of the nearly full moon filtered through the sheer draperies covering her bedroom windows and cast icy, unearthly shadows across her bed. She shivered. She was naked again. When had she taken off the pajamas she'd worn to bed? Or, had her phantom lover stripped her? No, she couldn't think like that. He was a figment of her imagination.
Unlike the moon shadows, the two shadows meeting in her head were not cold. Just the opposite-they were hotter than Hades-and definitely not of this world.
For the last nine nights and days following the first out-of-body sexual encounter-what else could she call it?-her dream lover had come to her three times a day. Like clock work.
Rhea. Mine.
Oh no, not again! He didn't expect an answer, she'd learned.
No matter what she said, or more accurately thought, in response to his daily sensual assaults on her body, he ignored her, then brought her to orgasm after orgasm.
Earlier today, while at work, he took her to physical completion, not once, but three times. Thank God, she'd been alone in her office. Afterwards she was so wet from the continuous arousal and resulting orgasms, her silk skirt had a wet spot. She had to go home and change in order to be able to appear in court for a hearing.
Now, as her dream lover, his face still shrouded in a purple-red mist, touched the dream Rhea, she once again sensed an underlying primal urge to mate on his part. Although what good it would do him to mate with her in her mind, she didn't know.
Patience, my own.
The hell with patience. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep since this started. She couldn't even work in peace. She wasn't safe anywhere. One time he'd taken her while she grocery-shopped, and she almost fell into a display of cereal upon her sexual release. She'd never be able to shop in that store again. Did he even know how far away the next closest grocery was? He was messing up her life.
It will soon be over.
What? My life? Or you messing with it?
Ghostly laughter brushed her mind as he reached for the dream Rhea's breasts.
Her nipples budded as her ephemeral lover laved, then nipped her double's with his teeth. Rhea touched her sensitized areolae. She could almost feel his hands, teeth and lips.
As he licked his way to the other's navel, she arched her back and followed along with her hands, touching where he touched the Rhea in her mind. Her skin was hot, flushed with sexual excitement. She knew what was coming. Total body orgasm. She craved it as much as she feared its control over her.
Tonight, as he had this afternoon, he lingered over her belly button. He dipped his tongue into it and mimicked the sexual act. She moaned. He teased her. The louse.
Lower. Please. She pleaded, using the mind-link she didn't understand, but had grown comfortable with.
Only if you touch me.
How?
In your mind. Touch me.
Rhea visualized the dream Rhea reaching for his penis.
It worked. Empowerment flowed through Rhea's veins like adrenalin. She didn't have to be passive. Why in the hell hadn't he told her this before?
You have to learn to crawl before you walk, my love.
Rhea snorted, then gasped. He licked her clitoris, then nipped it with his teeth.
Behave, my own. I'm still the Master here.
Rhea smiled. We'll see.
As he caressed her body, she returned the favor until his moans were her own. Quickly, she turned the tables on him. The dream Rhea pushed him over, then took his hardened cock into her mouth and used every trick she'd ever heard or read about. Master, indeed. He'd be her slave before she was through with him.
Rhea felt rather than heard his each and every utterance. She swore she could taste the musky flavor of his pre-cum on her lips. His penis pulsed, then hardened in her mouth. She reached to massage his balls. He strained toward completion in her mouth.
She had him now.
Naughty, naughty, love. This is all for you.
No! I want-
No I want! he said.
The tension of the vision changed. Her dream lover's need to make her his overlaid everything else. Her alter ego was shoved to the bed, then mounted by her lover. And as it had happened each and every time, in less than a heartbeat, an orgasm swept over her. In the real world. An orgasm so vigorous she screamed her completion, then moaned for what seemed like forever in post-orgasmic release.
Mine.
The word swept over her body as softly as a sigh.
Then, he began again.
* * * *
Drake shuddered as he labored to control his projected-self's release. No use. No matter what he did, as soon as Rhea's vaginal walls engulfed his penis, their combined orgasms swept over them, both on the astral plane and in the real world.
He swore then and there that once he finally joined with Rhea in the flesh, he would use every technique, magickal and non-magickal, to prolong their love-making. While the out-of-body sex was hotter than a pistol, nothing beat long hours of sensual loving, culminating in the closeness of actual face-to-face penetration.
Good night, my own.
No response. He touched the amulet and found her to be asleep. Until they mated, or he was physically close to her, the amulet was necessary to establish the telepathic link. He'd made the talisman from a lock of her hair and an amethyst from an earring of hers, garnered through a late-night breaking and entering.
The night he'd entered her home he'd been tempted to make love to her for real, but she wasn't ready for that, yet. He hoped his daily out-of-body visits would accustom her to him, so that when she actually met him she'd already be halfway in love or, at least, lust with him.
His visit also had provided clues to her background, which his private investigators could not have found. He'd easily located the secret chamber. It had called to him.
It had been obvious that Rhea had found the room, but either hadn't been curious enough to delve into its secrets or had been afraid to. Most of the protective wards on the magickal items in the room were still in place. He could touch none of those. The wards had been created for one person, and one person only, to break. And she, Rhea, had only broken the lock on the wards around two books. One, a grimoire, and the other, a personal diary, both of which he'd removed and taken back to his headquarters for some of the elder witches in his coven to study.
They'd found that Rhea Brown's paternal grandmother, Elspeth, had been a powerful witch from a Maine coven. She'd moved to Chicago after Rhea's father and mother had turned their backs on the pagan ways. Rhea's mother had died in childbirth. Elspeth had never seen her grandchild, but had left everything she owned to her. She'd warded the secret room, probably in the hopes that Rhea would have enough natural magickal ability to find her way in and treasure what she found there.
From the elders’ research, Rhea was the last surviving member of the Brown bloodline.
Elspeth's faith in her blood had ruled. Although a neophyte, Rhea was a strong witch. She would make a wonderful wife, mother and business partner. Now, all Drake had to do was get down to the serious job of courting his woman in the flesh.
* * * *
Rhea stared at her glowing reflection in the mirror above the bathroom vanity. She looked replete, like only a woman could after fantastic sex.
Jesus, she was exhausted. The man had taken her to completion three times that evening. If anyone had told her prior to today that she could have seven orgasms in one day brought on by erotic visions, she would have personally called the looney bin for them.
Maybe she needed to see a psychiatrist.
No, my child. You just need to learn to control your mental shields.
God, no. Not another voice in her head. Yet, it seemed familiar.
Yes, my dear. But you ignored me.
The room. The voice who'd called to her from the secret room.
Precisely. The secret to control your powers lies there.
What powers?
Go there. See. Read. Learn. Then, we'll talk. But be assured, you are never alone. All you have to do is believe.
Believe in what?
You'll see.
CHAPTER THREE
Chaos magick is not inherently evil. It does not provide a moral compass; it just is.Thus, if a witch who has no ethical standards chooses chaos, nothing good will come of it. -"Chaos Magic: Good or Evil?” Op Ed Column, Modern Witch Monthly, October, 2002.
October 11th
Warrick Bettencourt's home, Forest Park, Illinois.
Warrick's thin lips pursed in a moue of disgust. His plan to undermine the coven's trust in Drake Morgan was going too slowly for his peace of mind. It was because he had to rely on the assistance of inept worms like the one cowering before him. But in order to sweep in and take over after Drake fell from grace, Warrick had to remain above the fray. Appearances were everything.
“How could you be so stupid as to get fired?” he said. “Your father was a named partner. You inherited his partnership interest.”
“There was a buy-sell clause in the partnership agreement,” whimpered Seb Headley. His peers would not have recognized this sniveling wreck, forced to his knees by a wave of Warrick's hand, as the tall, icy Nordic god-like man with whom they worked. “They had the right to exercise it within two years of Father's death. They exercised it.”
“Yorrick found out that your law associate, some woman by the name of Brown, provided the information to Galway. How did she know? I thought you told me no one at your firm had a clue.”
In response to another slight hand movement, Headley crawled toward Warrick.
“Well, are you going to answer me?” Warrick brought his staff down on Headley's shoulders. “Or not?”
“My bitch of an associate told them? I didn't know, I swear. Rhea must have found a copy of the altered documents in my files.”
“Imbecile.”
Warrick's rage was so great that he didn't trust himself to administer corporeal punishment to his lackey. “Yorrick, get your ass in here,” he yelled.
Yorrick ran into the room. “Yes, master?”
Headley smiled at the darkly handsome man who followed his most loathsome orders with eagerness and joy. “Please do the honors.” He held out the staff to his secretary. “Twenty good ones should do.”
“No! Please, listen!” Headley begged. “How did she find that file? She couldn't have. I had it hidden in a secret compartment in my desk. No one knew about it. I brought that desk from my home when I moved into the office. No one knew about that drawer.”
Warrick pulled his staff back. “What do you mean she got it out of a secret drawer? How? Are you lying to me to save your worthless hide?”
“I'm not lying, I swear. I don't know how she found it.”
“You can do one more job for me. Find out, and maybe I'll forgive your other transgressions.” Headley scrabbled backwards, away from him, still on his hands and knees. “Don't try to run, Sebastian. I'll know.”
Headley, eyes downcast, nodded, then turned and crawled out of the room.
“Yorrick. Keep an eye on our worm. Report back to me. I want to know everything about this Rhea. I want to know how much she knows or suspects. I want to find out why my informants at Morgan, Ltd. have not told me of her existence. She has to be one of Drake's spies. I can't go forward until I know.”
“Yes, sir.” Yorrick slid out of the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
Imagination. Will . Faith. Secrecy. The four sources of a witch's power.-Covendom Rules, Foreword, p. i.
October 14th, 7:00 a.m., Morgan, Ltd.'s Headquarters
Mandrake Morgan stormed from the early morning meeting.