by Celia Sweet
He’d grown serious.
"What’s that?" she murmured as she slipped her panties down, took the custom dildo from the box, and parted her folds to receive it.
When he spoke she exhaled sharply at his parting words. A searing desire spiraled down through her belly, wrapped itself around her already swollen clitoris and tugged. She gripped the cushions to brace wobbly bones.
He’d ended the video and branded her soul with four words. "I’m fucking you tonight."
Chapter Two
Most people had the witches and wands thing confused. A magic wand wasn’t strictly necessary. A witch only needed something pointy to focus her energies, allowing her to aim spells. However, they didn’t use their fingers. Fingertips tended to singe and sometimes explode.
Not fun. Murder on the manicure.
Dawn tapped the dirk she used in place of a wand. It remained strapped to her thigh in an embossed leather sheath Duncan had confiscated from a mage drug dealer. The weapon/wand remained where it should be, but Dawn had a nervous habit of checking her equipment. Pausing, she touched the strap of the messenger bag slung over one shoulder, making sure it stayed in place as well.
Her tools were crucial. She didn’t have a warrior’s ferocity as protection. Her dirk worked as a tuning fork for spells. Also, if Dawn had to fight up close, the dagger could be used for its original purpose. She tapped the sheath again. Still there.
Ten minutes late, she thought, running her hands over the bun she’d secured her chestnut hair in. She didn’t need to check her watch. Without doubts, she’d reach the shop at 10:10 a.m. rather than on the hour as Duncan had appointed… Ahh, Dawn trembled. The thought of him punishing her for repeated tardiness caused her inner walls to clench. The mold he’d made of himself sent an answering shockwave of pleasure ricocheting back through her.
Twenty minutes after she’d arrived outside of Mr. Atreyu’s antiquities shop, the man himself turned on the lights, unlocked the front door, and flipped the sign to open. Dawn had gotten there, customarily tardy, and read the plate glass door:
STORE HOURS: 10:30 A.M. TO 3 P.M. DAILY
Damn her man. He knew her too well and he’d tricked her into being on time. Hell, more than on time, he’d tricked her into being twenty minutes early.
Since she’d had time to kill, Dawn grabbed a bagel slathered in salmon spread from the deli across the street. After finishing the first one, she’d gone back for a second and polished it off while giving the appearance of texting from a bench facing the antique shop. Everybody texted, you couldn’t get much more incognito than that.
When Mr. Atreyu moved away from the store’s entrance, Dawn propelled herself upright, popped the final bit of cream cheesy goodness into her month and chewed. So good. She needed fuel to burn and dealing with Mr. Atreyu figured to require a full tank.
On the inside, the shop, The Antediluvian, wasn’t a typical antique store. It didn’t have the layer of dust or the filled-to-bursting chaos of too much inventory. Meticulously tidy, the entirety of the shop’s stock had been arranged in three aisles, appearing to span outward into infinity. Dawn nodded at the storeowner upon entering and allowed the door to close behind her.
Rather than sitting behind the gilded Louis XIV writing desk, Mr. Atreyu had taken a perch atop it, his legs crossed at the ankle and swinging. His sepia vest and pinstriped dress-shirt worked in concert with features keen enough to slice bagels. The combination gave him a formidable edge that the knitting needles in his hands and slender body didn’t belie.
From the looks of it, he’d have a very nice argyle vest when he finished knitting it. "Greetings," he said.
"Hey."
She’d heard the rumors about him. Some said he invented the worst tortures used in modern times, but neither she nor any of the police department had been able to confirm his wicked ways.
Dawn physically rolled doubt off her shoulders. She hoped the rumors about him were true. She needed them to be so she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about what she’d come to do. Either way, she wasn’t a cop today. She’d become a desperate woman.
Tension traveled along Mr. Atreyu’s shoulders, signaling he sensed danger. Dawn refused to play a role. She didn’t have time.
"Is it true in the eighteen hundreds, you devised tortures so vicious even the Spanish Inquisition refused to use them?"
"And if it is?" Cultured and smooth.
Dawn shrugged. "Then I’d feel a lot better."
"Need me to assuage you of blame, do you? I won’t do it."
She watched his hands. They twitched with gunfighter readiness over his knitting needles. Suddenly, he drew one from the patterned yarn and aimed at Dawn. "Mystify!"
Dawn spun out of the path of the bewilderment spell and ducked into one of the aisles. He’d been ready for her. The magic hit an old-fashioned wall clock. The hour and minute hands went haywire while the pendulum rocked, abandoning the usual side-to-side motion in exchange for an impossible forward and back. If she’d gotten hit, it would’ve knocked her senseless and allowed Mr. Atreyu to take her out without protest. Only newbies got caught by mystify spells.
"Not taking this seriously, are you?" Dawn said, before popping up from behind a settee, her dirk in hand. "Petrify."
Atreyu trained his needle on the incoming fright spell and whispered, "Captus Relaxare."
Dawn’s hex collided with the point of the needle in a swarm of tiny embers. The embers twisted around the impromptu wand, stopping short of the gentleman’s fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the magic careening back at her.
She flattened herself against the floor. The settee burst in a rain of velvet and cottony padding, each piece quivering on the way down.
Well, damn.
Dawn had never seen the captus relaxare spell. "Good one," she said, rolling into position for her next play. Sudden sensation flooded her senses. She flopped back down as the dildo inside her stroked her sweet spot. She nearly came.
Mr. Atreyu didn’t wait for her to recover and she almost lost her hand when his next spell sailed over it. The pair continued, exchanging hexes for twenty minutes. Her gentlemanly opponent took her to school, each of his spells taught her something new.
Dawn had forgotten the rumor about him being a powerful witch. Not a mistake she’d repeat. If she lived. Rumor confirmed.
She’d been more than fortunate up until now, even after underestimating her opponent. Staying alive would take blind luck. With the arsenal Atreyu threw at her, surviving this long already had.
Dawn cut a kamikaze cartwheel over a mahogany vanity to evade a hex called "bisect". As she moved past, the vanity neatly divided itself into two sections that could have been Dawn Part 1 and Dawn Part 2. She gulped. Atreyu dismantled his inventory as effectively as he did her attacks and defenses.
Needing a moment to regroup, Dawn slipped into a large English wardrobe and left the door cracked in order to watch for an opportunity to turn the flow of the battle. She nearly had to swallow her tongue to keep traitorous breaths from giving away her position.
Wasn’t this a fantastic retelling of a classic? The witch in the wardrobe, and Mr. Atreyu, a lion of epic proportions.
She peeked through the crack of light. The bright-eyed Mr. Atreyu scanned the area. Wary, he advanced in deliberate steps and stopped in front of a circular mirror, speckled with age.
His profile filled the reflection at the perfect angle.
Anxious in more ways than her need to recover the timekeeper, Dawn pointed her dirk at the mirror and…and…her frantic mind refused to grasp her spells. The zeal of Atreyu’s attacks didn’t help her focus. Add the constant pleasure of the sex toy inside her, and her desperation to see Duncan, and she couldn’t string two thoughts together. That’s what she got for walking into the shop like a badass. Arrogance always led to trouble and her spells continued to elude her. Her wand whacked empty air over and again. Uh. Uh…
"On your ass!" The hex shot out of her dirk and struck
the mirror like a gong. The magic ricocheted off the reflective surface. It flew at Atreyu and missed. Swiping harmlessly past the tip of his nose.
Uh oh.
With nothing to stop the momentum, the hex slammed into Dawn’s hideout and toppled it. On the way down, she heard the wardrobe clip something with a metallic twang. She must have hit another antique. The wardrobe smashed into the floor but held together. Dawn didn’t do as well. Bruised, but amped, she threw the doors open and climbed out in time to watch a bronze mirror fly overhead.
Twirling through the air, the mirror sailed on a long arc and came down smack in the middle of Mr. Atreyu’s head. He let out the kind of girly but cultured gasp only a gentleman could manage with dignity. Then he slumped to the floor.
Dawn paused. The sight of her opponent passed out atop glossy cement simply wasn’t right. She sighed. It couldn’t be helped. You play the game or it plays you. Game over for Mr. Atreyu.
Her fingers kneaded her aching shoulder as she limped over to the prone Atreyu. Her core continued to convulse around the dildo until her nipples pebbled and she gasped in arousal with each step. Dawn rolled her hips to make the dildo pump the base of her slickened opening. Staccato pulses of pleasure along with an image of Duncan taking her from behind vibrated within her core. The sex toy made the fantasy all the more real and Dawn bit her lip as the desire rode her. Soon she promised herself. Soon.
Finally regaining control, she flipped Atreyu over and plunged her dirk into the gentleman’s chest before she could over think the act. He’s not a good man. She mentally chanted those words over and over.
After she filled the timekeeper with heart’s blood Dawn lifted the ruby vial to inspect her grim work. She laid a hand on Mr. Atreyu’s ravaged chest and hoped he could hear her. "If you aren’t the bad guy I think you are I beg you to forgive me."
The messenger bag lay where she’d dropped it during battle. Dawn retrieved it and lifted the flap. With a sigh of relief, she placed the ruby vial beside the sapphire one already inside. With that done she didn’t have to deal with anymore gore.
The timekeeper and memorykeeper were finally theirs. Dawn wanted to feel elated, knowing she’d gotten that much closer to being with the man she loved. Instead she left the shop with her head bowed in shame.
Moments after Dawn exited, one of Mr. Atreyu’s eyes popped open. He looked around. Satisfied Dawn had left him alone, he rose and waved a hand over the ragged hole in his chest. The cinnamon-hued flesh began to mend itself. His blood reabsorbed into his body. His shirt and vest knitted back together until he stood completely whole. The shop and its antiques followed their master’s lead. They magically repaired and rearranged themselves into their proper places.
"You’re a good girl, Dawn Granger. And I’m happy to help," Atreyu said to the quiet shop around him. “Aiding you might save us all.” Smoothing his coif back from his face, he returned to knitting his argyle vest.
Chapter Three
The Grant Park Crone lived several blocks from the fountain of the same name. With her status as the most powerful of New Chicago’s mages it made sense Duncan had chosen the old woman to help them freeze time. Crones were loners who had long ago stopped conforming to the law. Their personal laws included. The Grant Park Crone had grown powerful in her isolation. So much so she’d never slept in stone. She also bore the surname Craig proudly, and as a bonus ran the dry-cleaners Duncan liked best.
Disapproving of his many suits and jeans, she often snarled, "You’re Clan Craig, isn’t it? You ought to dress like a man in kilts and plaid."
Dawn liked the lady, but wondered what she had against Mr. Atreyu or the other man she’d sent Duncan after, Mr. McKinnon. What had they done to make her volunteer them for bloodletting? Dawn whistled on a slow exhale. At least they’d both been notorious criminals. As far as she and Duncan knew anyway. She sighed. She wouldn’t allow herself to question whether or not they’d done the wrong thing. They’d come too far and, at the moment, making things right for her and Duncan mattered most.
The crone had taken the day off, so Duncan left Dawn her home address in a note on their phone. Dawn rang the doorbell just after eleven-thirty. The door swung open and she stepped into what looked like a normal living room, in a typical brownstone. The elder witch sat perched on a stool. She stretched her arms overhead and yawned as if the act of waiting bored her.
"Since you’ve finally made your first come-by-and-see-me, you may now call me Teeny."
Teeny winced and dropped her arms to rest on her hips. "I didn’t mean for that to rhyme. Bloody rhymes keep stalking me. Must think I’m Mother Goose." She snapped her fingers and a frosty bottle of beer appeared in her hand. Smiling widely, she bit off the cap before tossing the bottle to Dawn, who caught it in one hand, hefted it high in appreciation, and downed the contents in one swallow. She exhaled long and slow. The crone always knew what a person needed and when. Funny thing, Dawn hadn’t known how much she wanted that beer until she drank it.
Teeny cackled and slapped her hands down on her knees with a nod. The movement accentuated her magnificent head of hair. The huge copper curls flew out in every direction before cascading down the tiny woman’s back and dusting the floor.
"Well now, I’ve got a hot bout of afternoon delight scheduled, yes, indeedy. Hand me the keepers you collected and we’ll get going." Teeny extended a splayed hand.
Dawn stood and took the bag over. Anticipation blossomed low in her belly and melded with gratitude for Teeny’s help. The emotional cocktail filled her throat and she couldn’t speak.
So close. So close to seeing her man in the flesh. To holding him. To loving him until they both blacked out fully sated and exhausted from overexerting themselves.
With an affirmative jerk of her chin, Dawn handed the bag over. Teeny stared at her for a long moment, her face transforming with disgust. “You don’t look ready for a proper fucking at all.”
Dawn stumbled backward and plunked down on the hardwood floor. Teeny tsked. “This won’t do. Do you not understand you’ve got to milk the man dry? More than once. As many times as possible before the magic ends. You’ve got to take all he has to give inside yourself? Didn’t you know that?”
“No,” Dawn shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why does it matter how many times as long as Duncan and I can finally touch?”
Teeny shook her head as well. “Best believe it matters. More than you know or can guess.” Dawn gave her a blank look. Teeny said, “You’ll understand when the time comes.”
With that the older woman launched off her stool and plowed into the kitchen. While she rummaged through a bunch of vegetables, tossing carrots, cucumbers, and eggplants aside, she yelled back to Dawn. “I’m going to have to train you, isn’t it? We can’t have you messing up a good lay?”
What the hell had she gotten herself into? Dawn considered sneaking out but the entrance had disappeared. There were lots of windows but no door. She also couldn’t leave without the magic she needed to freeze time. Not getting to see Duncan wasn’t an option. She tightened her muscles around the dildo and let it remind her of the touch she craved, of the way he would fill her, possess her, and demand everything she had until her body reached its limits. And he’d probably push her beyond.
Aw hell, she’d have to spend the afternoon taking sex lessons from an old biddy. One with a ton of weird quirks. Like saying “isn’t it” at the end of sentences, rhyming, and being way too upfront about personal matters.
Seriously? What could this woman teach her? Fate had a great sense of humor and clearly Dawn turned out to be punch line.
Teeny exited the kitchen holding a huge zucchini overhead like she’d discovered a treasure. She poked the green vegetable in Dawn’s face and said, “If Duncan is anything like his father or his granddad you’ll have to suck him first. Show me what you’ve got.”
Dawn blinked at the zucchini. Teeny held the thing so close to her face she had to cross her eyes to see it clearly. “That’s
ridiculous. I’m not sucking on that thing.” Dawn folded her arms and sat cross-legged, turning her nose up. “I know how to please my man.”
The older woman stood to her full five feet, somehow making the gesture impressive. “Do you, now? You’ve only had three maybe four men in your lifetime.”
Dawn whipped around to face Teeny. The woman’s green eyes bore into her; the steely gaze peeled back all her layers.
“Oh yes, I can see the truth of it.” Teeny said. “You’ve always been a good girl. Going from one committed relationship to the next. No one night stands. Nothing too freaky, isn’t it?”
Dawn’s knuckles clunked onto the floor. She’d gone limp and it hurt. After a moment she snapped her mouth closed, realizing it had fallen open while Teeny spoke.
The woman continued. “What does good girl Dawn Granger know about pleasing a man as old and as experienced as Duncan Craig?”
“He loves me. That’ll make up for any—“
“So you’ll have a loving but dissatisfied man on your hands? You don’t want him to lust for you all daylong? You want a man who doesn’t yearn for your touch?” Teeny’s voice rose with incredulity. “I see, you’ll allow some other woman to satisfy him and you’ll be happy with dinner and a movie.”
Dawn could only offer silence. Teeny sighed. “You’re a dummy, Dawn. Some people are forced to love under those conditions. But they don’t choose to.”
The idea she might not be able to please Duncan hadn’t crossed Dawn’s mind. She’d dreamed of finally letting go and imagined all the ways he’d pleasure her—what his big hard body would feel like pumping into hers—but she hadn’t pictured returning the favor. Her selfishness hit her in the chest and she rubbed the ache. She hadn’t spared a thought to Duncan’s enjoyment. How could she claim to love the man?
“Then teach me. Teach me how to make him crave me every moment, ” Dawn said. “But I’m not sucking on squash.”