by K D Grace
For a few seconds, she let him hold her, took comfort in the one who had been with her the longest, the one who knew her best, the one Deacon could not take away from her. Then she squared her shoulders, pulled away and continued walking, him amiably now at her side.
‘They are both very aware that they need help, that they cannot face Deacon alone. And they, at least now understand they will have to face him. They are seeking out the help of other witches,’ he said at last.
‘Other witches,’ Tara snorted. ‘What other witches?’
‘I am only telling you what they are doing,’ he said. ‘I am hoping that the futility of their quest will at least allow me to talk to Marie. I think she is more inclined to listen to reason than Tim, and in some ways she is more practical, more objective.’
‘That’s because she hasn’t lost someone she cares about yet. She can still afford to be practical and objective.’
Anderson stopped, took a deep breath of night air and released it slowly. ‘Perhaps that is true, but if no acceptable solution to our dilemma is found soon, I will go to her, and I will make her understand.’ Then he moved on, his eyes on the dark hulk of Blencathera silhouetted against the sky. ‘I would much prefer to do so with your approval, my love.’
Tara offered a grunt. ‘As if I’ve ever had any control over you, Anderson.’
He gave her a disappointed pout. ‘My darling, Tara, if you had no control over me, I would have left all of this madness you have so cunningly involved me in, long ago.’
‘You’re kidding? Right?’ Marie looked over Tim’s shoulder at a website called Magical Solutions. ‘It sounds like a cheap interior decorator. And Serina Ravenmoor, can you get any more woo-woo than that?’
Tim sat back in his chair and stretched. ‘Her name keeps coming up as someone who knows what she’s doing.’ He pulled up the ‘about’ page on her website with its picture of a wraith of a woman weighted down beneath a tumble of red hair. She was dressed in a black beaded gypsy skirt and a bustier layered in blue-black feathers that offered up the round tops of breasts the size and colour of ripe peaches, breasts nearly lost in a cascade of jewellery – all sorts of crystals surrounding an enormous silver pentacle encrusted with what looked like moonstones. In one ring-cluttered hand, she held a silver chalice that looked like it could have come straight from a Renaissance fair, and in the other she held a bone handled knife with a straight, ornately carved blade.
Beneath the photo was the name, Serina Ravenmoor, specialist in sex magic.
‘You’re kidding? Right?’ Marie said again.
‘You didn’t seem to doubt Tara Stone when she gave you her card that said she practiced sex magic.’
‘Of course I doubted Tara Stone. I thought she was full of shit. And that was even after I’d seen what she and Anderson were capable of.’ She sighed. ‘At least Tara wasn’t a twit.’
Tim glared up at her. ‘No, Tara’s a murderer. I’ll take my chances with the twit. Besides,’ he added. ‘I don’t see that we have much choice. Her CV seems better than anyone else’s we’ve read and the stuff on her website sound like … well …’
‘Sounds like woo-woo squared, Tim. My God, none of it makes any sense. It’s rubbish, all of it, just new age rubbish. Besides, I’ve met her. The chick’s a nutter.’
‘You’ve met her?’ Tim folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his seat. ‘Tell me just how did you meet her?’
Marie pulled her chair up next to his and told him about her unpleasant encounter with this Serina chick at the psychic fair. ‘I’d been walking around town, and the fair was free, so I was curious. She went ballistic when I picked up her damned mirror. If she didn’t want it touched, she shouldn’t have left it lying on the table with all of the other woo-woo stuff people were poking through. How was I supposed to know?’
In spite of himself, Tim’s lips twitched into a smile. ‘So you’re afraid of her, that’s what you’re saying.’
‘No! That’s not it. I thought she was a nutter then and I think she’s a nutter now, but,’ she chafed her arms and shivered. ‘There was something very creepy about that damned mirror.’ She forced a laugh and glanced up at him. ‘Now I’m sounding like a nutter.’
Tim leaned forward in his chair. ‘Why? Why was it creepy? I can’t imagine anyone as sceptical as you feeling vibes off of something or feeling the energy of the past owner.’ He made swirly motions with his hands.’
‘It wasn’t anything like that. It made me feel, I don’t know, sort of sick to my stomach, sort of like I feel when I’m around ghosts only maybe with a touch of food poisoning thrown in for good measure.’ She shrugged. ‘This Serina chick didn’t need to worry about me fondling the mirror. I put it down fast and couldn’t wait to get away from there.’
‘It’s common knowledge not to touch another witch’s tools,’ Tim said. ‘I’m not surprised you felt ill.’
She studied him for a moment. ‘Fiori tell you that?’
His jaw tightened. His eyelids fluttered slightly, and he nodded.
‘Bet Fiori didn’t leave her tools out on display at a psychic fair where someone could pick them up, did she?’ Before he could reply, she added. ‘This is the kind of chick you think can help us? I just want to know why. Give me one good reason why.’
He scooted his chair back up to the table and began to flip through pages on his computer. ‘First of all, she has quite a web presence. She’s fairly googleable, as googleable as any witch in Cumbria is.’ Marie looked over his shoulder. Sure enough the woman had spoken at lots of psychic fairs and woo-woo shops. She’d had articles published in several new-age papers, magazines, and websites. Her topic of preference seemed to be ghosts and sex. That was certainly in their favour – if she actually knew anything about either, and from what could be gleaned online, Marie felt the jury was still out.
Tim scratched at the stubble now gracing his chin. ‘You got a better idea? I’m listening.’
‘All right.’ Marie stood and stretched, then plugged in the kettle. ‘Call Ms Raven Britches then, and we’ll see.’
With a fresh pot of tea, they settled in at the table just as the moon peeked in the kitchen window. Tim placed the call putting his mobile on speakerphone. Neither of them gave a thought to how late it was.
Three rings, then four. On the sixth ring, just as Tim reached to turn off the phone, there was a breathless female voice on the other end of the line. ‘I was on my way out, when I realised this had to be an important call,’ the woman said, sultriness replacing breathlessness.
Marie rolled her eyes, and Tim glared at her.
Marie sat with her arms crossed below her breasts feeling more and more uncomfortable as Tim told Serina Ravenmoor a whole lot more about their situation than she wished he would.
‘I see,’ Serina was saying. ‘And you’re plagued by ghosts who want to have sex with you.’
Could anything sound more stupid? Marie thought . Even woo-woo chick had to be practically wetting herself to keep from laughing. Either that or she would send the padded van their direction as soon as she hung up.
But Serina seemed nonplussed. ‘You see, Tim, we who walk among the living consider our flesh a weakness. It’s always getting ill or getting injured and ultimately it ages and dies. But to those who have no flesh it’s a treasure beyond price. And one of the deepest pleasures of the flesh is, of course, sex. I don’t find it surprising at all that the spirits would long for flesh so that they could have intercourse with you.’
Marie bit her lip to keep from giggling at the blush that crawled up Tim’s throat at the mention of intercourse with him.
Serina’s voice and grown warmer and more honeyed the longer she had spoken with Tim, and just when Marie was expecting the phone sex to begin, Serina’s voice changed, became more distant, more ethereal. Good job, Marie thought.
‘Tim, I can help you. And your friend.’
Before Tim could finish his sigh of relief, she added. ‘But you must com
e tonight. The veil between the worlds is thinnest tonight while we still linger in the Moon’s power. You must come tonight.’
‘Tonight.’ They spoke at the same time and looked at each other.
‘You mean you can’t help us any other night,’ Marie said, sounding every bit as sceptical as she felt.
‘Of course I can help you on another night, but your chances for success will be much better tonight. Besides,’ the witch added quickly, ‘it’s not practical to think one session will be enough when I’ll need to be with you intimately, first of all, to assess the situation more fully.’
‘Hold it!’ Marie ignored Tim’s glare and hand motions for her to be quiet. ‘Intimate, what do you mean intimate?’
The woman’s voice suddenly dripped condescension through the speaker. ‘It’s sex magic, dear. Some level of sexual intimacy will have to occur between Tim and me for it to work. I’ll accept cash only, as you must understand, and if that’s a problem, I’m sure you can find a cash machine.’
Marie cursed under her breath. They could get a similar deal on some of the back streets in Portland any time they wanted it, and no doubt in London too, she thought, but it was called something different.
She was about to say just that to Tim when Tim surprised her by saying, ‘Ms Ravenmoor, look this is a huge decision. We’ll need to think about it at least overnight, no matter how good the convergences and stuff are.’
‘Of course you will, Tim. I understand. But I’d be lapse in my duty to my sacred oath if I didn’t warn you not to wait too long.’
He thanked her and had barely got the phone turned off before Marie let go. ‘Total bullshit. Surely you can see that? She wants to have sex with you, and make you pay for it. There’s another name for that where I come from.’ She scrubbed her hands over her face. ‘I need a shower.’
He waved her away. ‘Go. You need a break. I’ll keep looking.’ He turned his attention back to the computer.
She pulled the bedroom door to and left a trail of clothing across the floor feeling desperately wilted and exhausted. She’d feel better after a shower. Then a nice pot of coffee, maybe they’d scrounge a snack and … Her tummy did a tight little quiver as she thought of what almost happened between her and Tim in the manger. She forced herself not to think about why they hadn’t followed through. He was here with her now, had been most of the day, and she was sure neither of them wanted to be alone tonight.
She cranked the shower and adjusted the temperature, all the while thinking about the feel of him on top of her, the lovely thick length of his cock in her hand, which was easily thicker than her favourite vibe. Her pussy tensed at the thought. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the spray, thinking about his delicious scent, all leather and dusty male sweat with just the right base note of super-charged pheromones. Even thinking about it made her giddy, made her slightly dizzy, slightly disoriented. The delicious feel of warmth in her pussy migrated up inside her, higher, deeper, to rest between her hip bones where it blossomed to heat, then burst like a flash fire raging up through her abdomen. Before she could double over from the intensity of it, a thick arm caught her around the middle and a large hand clamped her mouth before she could cry out.
‘Hello, my lovely.’ She felt Deacon’s voice more like a low rumble mixing with the heat. He tisk-tisked. ‘If our dear Mr Meriwether won’t help you with those hard to reach places, then I’m happy to do the honours.’ He shifted his hips and she felt his thick cock high against the crack of her arse. He stroked her face with a large hand, cupping and caressing his way over the thin skin along her trachea. ‘Such lovely, delicate, flesh.’ He enunciated each word carefully, fully, deeply. As he caressed his way along the exposed path of her neck, even with her eyes open there were flashes of him in nearly the same intimate position with Fiori before she died. Marie tried to swallow, but he held her with just enough pressure at the throat to make it difficult. Suddenly, with a deep surge of empathy in the pit of her stomach, she understood completely why Tara had killed Fiori, and why the other witch would have welcomed death at her hand rather than Deacon’s.
Deacon released her throat and moved his fingers down over her breasts. ‘I’m hurt, my darling Marie. You think I can’t be gentle, don’t you? You think I can’t pleasure a woman until she writhes and moans and begs for more.’
With the slightest movement of his hand and a catch of his own breath, the heat in her abdomen combusted to nearly unbearable lust. He chuckled again, aware of what she felt. ‘I can offer you so very much more than le petit mort, my dear Marie. Oh such ecstasy. You’ll never want me to stop.’
But there was something else rising too, something else deep in her ribcage just below her heart. Anderson, she wanted Anderson, but she’d told him to leave her alone, and Tara, Tara could protect her, Tara was a match for this bastard. He pinched her nipples to tender swollen points and her pussy felt gaping enough to swallow up the universe. But he had killed Fiori, as surely as he stood there, and Sky, and the other woman, the one who sank beneath the deep waters in her dreams. He wasn’t offering pleasure. He only wanted to hurt Tara, and he wanted to use her to do it. What rose beneath her ribcage and felt as though it would explode out of her whole body was white hot rage. She had spent the last ten years of her life being used to make other bastards rich. She would not be used by another one.
Afterward, she was never really certain if she had actually screamed the words, ‘get out,’ or if they had just filled every cell of her brain until there was room for nothing else. Whatever had happened, in an instant, he was gone, and the next thing she knew, she was falling on her knees in the shower just as a wild-eyed Tim pulled the door open and dragged her out. But for a split second, wavering in and out of consciousness, gasping for breath, she though she saw Anderson standing behind Tim.
Then there was just the two of them. Tim had wrapped her in her heavy terry robe, then in the duvet he’d dragged from her bed. He sat with her pulled against his chest on the bathroom floor, taking her pulse, checking her pupils, checking for symptoms of shock while she caught her breath. ‘He was there, in the shower,’ she rasped. ‘I swear he was there.’
‘I know,’ Tim said. ‘I knew from the beginning, but I couldn’t get in. I went wild. I kept yelling and banging on the door, yelling for you, but you didn’t answer.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Tim, I couldn’t hear you. I couldn’t hear anything but him.’
His fingers white knuckled around hers, and he nodded. ‘I suspected that. At least I hoped that was all it was. He wanted me to see. He wanted me to watch while he hurt you.’ He moved her hand away from her throat and swallowed hard.
‘There are bruises?’ She asked.
He bit his lip and nodded.
‘I thought there might be.’
‘Bloody bastard,’ he said. ‘What happened, why did he leave?’ He touched her throat tenderly. ‘From the looks of that, he wasn’t intending to play nice.’
‘I told him to leave. I told him to get the fuck out. I told him that he was never going to hurt me or the people I love again, I told him …’ she caught her breath when she saw the look of concern on Tim’s face. Then she grabbed his arm. ‘That’s it, don’t you see? I told him to leave.’
Tim forced a laugh. ‘Oh, like he’d listen.’
‘He didn’t have any choice. Tara told me that same power I have to hold ghosts in the flesh I can also use to kick their asses out if I need to. That’s what happened, I know it is. I felt it.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know how I did it, but I know there was rage, horrible rage, so hot that it made the burn in my belly feel non-existent.’
‘Are you all right to get dressed, or shall I stay with you?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m fine now. He won’t be back tonight.’
He studied her for a minute. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I just know.’
When she returned to the kitchen dressed, he was eating a turkey sandwich, a
nd he nodded to one waiting for her on the table along with a glass of juice. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I raided the fridge. We both need to eat, especially you after your encounter. Fiori told me magical encounters require lots of energy, and I was always hungry after …’ He looked away and shrugged. ‘Anyway, you need to eat.’
She ate the offered sandwich and another before he dropped the bomb shell. ‘I called Serena. Get your jacket. We’re going.’
She bit back her protests. Even though she didn’t believe for one minute it would do any good. He certainly seemed to. And maybe he was right. Maybe her vision was coloured by the fact that in times of crisis it had been Anderson and Tara who had rescued her. Her encounter with Deacon made her more certain than ever that she didn’t have all the facts, and the only place she would get them was from Elemental Cottage. She would go with Tim tonight and get the woo-woo out of the way, but then she was going back to Elemental Cottage, with or without him. She had gotten lucky with Deacon this time, but the next time she might not be so lucky, and what if the next time it was Tim he went after? Did he have her gift? The Elementals hadn’t mentioned it if he did. At any rate, she wanted answers, and the only place to find them, she was now certain, was with the Elementals. The thought of seeing Anderson again made her feel giddy, and there was a warm spot that was way higher than her hip bones at the thought that he had come to her rescue, that he would have broken every rule to get to her. She knew that. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did.
Chapter 10
Anderson materialised into the middle of the circle the other three witches had cast in the Room of Reflection. It was an unorthodox entrance, but then his leaving had been no less so. All three witches broke their meditations and rushed to his side.
For a long moment he stood in the centre of the circle soaking in the magic, still shaken by what he had just witnessed.