Queer Magick

by Davis, L. C.

  Four

  After the world's worst introduction to the good citizens of Stillwater, I needed a drink. Or ten. Alcohol was one of the pleasures of the world I had been sheltered from, save for the vodka my brother and I had once sneaked from our mother's stash. The taste alone would have been enough punishment, but she had made us pick out the switch she whipped us with later that night. I still had a faint white scar on the back of my thigh to remember the beating by, and alcohol had turned my stomach ever since. Wine was tolerable, though, and while Sadie's Tavern on the outer edge of Burlington wasn't a high-class joint, my tastes weren't refined, either. It was also one of the only places listed online as gay friendly, and they held a drag show every Wednesday night, so I felt reasonably comfortable in the snug red dress and heels I'd chosen to wear that evening.

  Crossdressing wasn't something I did often, if only because it was still hard to get the memory of the beating I'd earned the first time my mother caught me in her church dress--which, looking back, was probably her intention--but that night, I just needed to be someone else. I hadn't been wearing the Holden Adams moniker for that long, but it was already starting to feel stifling.

  The alcohol took the edge off my humiliation, at least. I still couldn't believe the vet had taken to publicly shaming me about my past, but the more logical part of my brain reminded me that I was the one at fault. That's what I got for breaking Rule Three.

  I reached down to adjust the strap on my heel. Nearly a solid year of sensible footwear had allowed me to forget just how uncomfortable the damn things were. Worth it, or at least that's how I'd felt on my way out the door.

  "I'll have a glass of the Glen, Shana." The request came in a weary yet pleasant tone and my head turned of its own accord to look at the speaker. He was every bit as smooth and attractive as his voice let on with movie star locks of spun gold and playboy blue eyes to match. A guy who looked like that could easily have gotten away with acting like a prick, but his smile was kind as he turned his gaze on me. Even though they were the color of ice, his eyes burned on my skin, but they didn't linger. Most of the time, when I went out dressed the way I was, I found myself the object of ogling and groping, but something about the way he was looking at me made me feel like art in a gallery rather than a piece of meat in the butcher's window. "And whatever the lady is having."

  I looked down at my nearly empty wine glass and smiled, moving my purse over to make room for his glass. I wasn't sure what the Glen was, but the vibrant green liquid in the glass seemed to glow in the dim light coming down from over the bar. "Thanks," I said, deciding not to be too flattered by the lady remark. It wasn't Wednesday, but I wasn't the only crossdresser in the joint. I'd seen another at the men's room sink, putting on his cherry red lips in the mirror. "That's not radioactive, is it?"

  He gave a good-natured laugh, correcting me with, "Absinthe," before he took a long swig. He winced a little.

  "I've heard that stuff's like paint thinner."

  "It doesn't taste quite that good, but it's the only remedy for the day I've just had."

  "Mh. Sounds a lot like my day."

  He paused, glancing over me again before he offered his hand. "Dennis."

  "Harper," I replied. It was the alias I'd taken up whenever I was "in character" and there was part of me that wished I'd had the guts to change it to that officially when I had the chance. We were only twenty minutes out of Stillwater and Vermont was more of a small town than a state. No telling who this guy knew, so I felt safer giving him a stage name anyway--even if I'd never actually gotten the courage to go up onstage during a show, either. "So, Dennis, what kind of day could be so bad that it's driven a perfectly respectable looking guy like you into the arms of absinthe?"

  He smiled into his half-empty glass. "Let's just say an old contract has come back to bite me in the ass."

  "Any way out of it?"

  His smile turned wry. "Sure. All it'll cost me is my firstborn."

  "Sounds rough."

  "I'll manage. Sometimes the only way out is through. What about you? With a face like that, I know you can't be having guy trouble."

  "In a sense," I muttered. "I just moved to a new town and I think I've already blown every first impression that mattered."

  "I doubt that."

  "The town curmudgeon is about two pitchforks shy of inciting a literal witch hunt against me," I said dryly. "I don't think I'll be getting invited to book club anytime soon."

  "Well, first impressions aren't everything."

  I looked at him doubtfully, taking in everything from his perfectly coiffed hair to a suit that had probably cost more than my car. "I have a hard time believing you've ever made a bad impression in your life. You seem more like the type other people want to impress."

  "Oh, you'd be surprised. Appearances aren't everything, either," he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I could be a serial killer for all you know."

  I laughed a little. "You are put together enough, but I'm not worried."

  "No?"

  "For all you know, I could be a serial killer," I smirked, swirling the last few drops around in my empty wine glass. I wasn't drunk, but the vet was an increasingly distant concern. There was something about Dennis that made me instinctively like him, as if his good looks and charm weren't enough. Maybe it was his energy. I had always had a vague sense of that kind of thing, even though it worked more like scent for me than the visual aura other witches so often described. His was clean and fresh, like the earth after a good hard rain, and I wanted to breathe him into every part of me. For a witch, I didn't buy into all that much of the woo. Soulmates, crystals and the like. I had always preferred to put stock in things I could see and touch, and my powers, while limited, bore tangible evidence. Either they were real or my entire perception of reality was unreliable, in which case, it didn't matter.

  "That's true," he said, pressing a finger to his lips in mock consideration. "You do seem a bit shady."

  I giggled. Flirtation wasn't usually something I indulged in, if only because I'd spent my prime flirting and dating years in a musty basement with the instruction of devotionals rather than teen magazines, but it was easier when I wasn't me. Wearing a mask of lipstick, eyeliner and fluffed up curls, I felt unlike myself enough to be myself. It didn't make sense to my head, but the way my heart was fluttering and lighter than it had been since I had come to Stillwater, I decided it didn't need to. A little harmless flirtation wasn't the worst way I could blow off steam. Repression, guilt and penitence had been my holy trinity for so long, sometimes it was hard to remember why I was holding myself back.

  Maybe it was the wine emboldening me or the impending full moon that always had a way of screwing with my head and my hormones, but all of a sudden, I didn't want to hold back at all. I bit my lip, sliding off the barstool to move closer, deciding to allow my instincts a limited degree of free reign. My time in Stillwater was limited, anyway. I'd tried to do things the right way and settle down, but common sense was obviously beyond my ability to grasp. Why keep grasping and all when it never got me anywhere? Instinct had brought me to this place, and that was more than doing the right thing had ever done for me.

  "I don't know if that's a fair characterization," I murmured, reaching out to run Dennis' blue silk tie through my fingers, tugging gently. He followed, his gaze locked on me as he left his drink and his jacket behind. "Would a shady character pull a perfect stranger into the back room of a dive bar?"

  He gave a throaty laugh, but it was hard to tell if the roughness in his voice came from nervousness or desire. When darkness shrouded us in the back hall and he pinned me against the wall, the look in his eyes made it clear. "As a matter of fact, I think they would."

  "Imagine that," I murmured, pulling him in closer until I could feel the friction of his lips against mine. Suddenly I was glad I'd opted for a matte pink lip rather than the glossy stuff. "I need to work on my act, I guess."

  "Oh, I think your act's just fine
," he purred, running his hands down my sides. This time, when his eyes swept over me, he made no attempt to hide his lust, but it only served to inflame mine. I ran my fingers into that golden hair I'd been dying to touch from the moment he sat down and it was every bit as feathery as I had imagined. He kissed me, soft and smooth at first, just like his voice, before his touch turned possessive. His fingertips dug into my waist before traveling down to my hips, caressing my thigh and slipping a finger underneath the hem of my dress. My breath caught in my throat as he started kissing my neck, his teeth and tongue working in tandem to soothe whatever spot he had just grazed.

  I told myself it was just my imagination that he'd broken the surface, that his teeth couldn't possibly be sharp enough to break the skin without causing pain with such a light touch, but I didn't have long to think about it when his hand slipped up a little, hitching my thigh over his. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered, his voice ragged in my ear as he pressed me into the wall. The compliment gave me pause and my heart skipped in apprehension as his hips ground into me. He didn't seem to notice as he returned his attention to my neck. I felt him tug at the thin lace underneath my dress and froze. He looked down, breathless and confused. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, I --" My voice stuck in my throat. I wasn't sure how to put my hesitation into words, but it had put the brakes on my libido for the moment. While being a virgin had been a badge of honor in the world I came from, it wasn't something I felt comfortable admitting in this one, let alone to a stranger. Enough blood was flowing to my brain that I was beginning to realize my actions gave the impression I was interested in going further than I wanted to, even if I knew how.

  Come to think of it, what did I want? I hadn't been thinking rationally when I pulled Dennis away from the bar. In fact, I hadn't been thinking at all. All I knew was that I wanted him in ways that were foreign to me. The taste of him, the feel of his skin and hair underneath my fingertips. Returning to instinct settled my doubts and I let my hand trail down his toned chest, since action was less awkward than explanation. He seemed to understand perfectly, letting out a faltering breath as I unfastened his belt and lowered onto my knees.

  Sucking a guy off in the back hallway of a bar wasn't exactly how I'd thought my night would end, but the taste of his lips had sparked an addiction that was begging to be indulged. My tongue swept over my lips of its own accord when I freed his shaft from the confines of his pants. He was long and smooth, and the urge to taste the clear liquid leaking from his tip was overpowering enough to forget any common sense practices like using protection. After all, there were some practical benefits to being a witch. He moaned in bliss, his fingers splayed gently in my hair as I took him into my mouth.

  I wasn't remotely disappointed. He tasted better than the wine lingering on my tongue, and while I was lacking in both expertise and experience, he didn't seem to care. He leaned back against the wall, his breathing ragged. Knowing I was the one who made it that way sent a tingle down my spine that curled around in the pit of my stomach, flowering the lust building in my core. I wrapped my hand around the base of his shaft and traced the underside all the way back to the tip with my tongue, relishing the way it made him shudder. The sounds he made were as delicious as he was.

  If there had been any doubt I was doing it the right way, it faded when I dared to glance up to find his eyes glazed with pleasure. "Holden," he whispered, cupping my cheek in his palm. I whimpered a little in protest as he eased himself out of my mouth, pulling me to my feet. Before I could question the move, he had me pinned against the wall, his hard member pressed against me, separated only by a thin layer of black lace, and I understood perfectly.

  I let out a stifled moan as he kissed me again and the fear and hesitation to lose my virginity in a place where they sold condoms in the bathroom subsided to make room for the need to have him inside of me. It was as strong of an urge as tasting him had been, but I couldn't put it into words. Not that his tongue claiming dominance over mine gave me the opportunity.

  He broke the kiss, staring down at me as he pulled my dress up a bit further. His voice was husky and entirely too maddening as he said, "You are the most enchanting woman I've ever laid eyes on, Harper."

  And with those beautiful words, the spell was broken. My carriage turned back into a pumpkin, and I could only hope my sedan hadn't, because it couldn't get me away from that bar fast enough. My heart faltered as I realized he wasn't just playing along with the drag routine. He really had no idea it was one.

  I felt like an idiot, but more than that, I felt afraid. Just because this was a gay bar didn't mean every guy in there was gay. I'd learned the hard way that these places were magnets for pushy straight guys looking to pick up women who wanted sanctuary from the hunting grounds of regular bars and clubs, and just because Dennis seemed like a gentleman--or at least as much of a gentleman as he could be if he was willing to follow strange women into dark hallways--didn't mean he was one. Flirtation was one thing, but acting like a horny college student at his first frat party had landed me in a situation that might well get me beaten up or worse.

  "I have to go," I said, pushing out of his grasp. He made no move to grab me, but his face was blank with confusion as he watched me hurriedly straighten my clothes.

  "I'm sorry if I did something to upset you."

  "No. You didn't do anything, I just... I have to go," I said, deciding to take my chances on there being a back door further down the hallway. I was already leaving the poor guy with blue balls, and dashing out through the bar would only make it look like he'd been anything other than sweet and gentle. I prayed to no one in particular that he wouldn't follow me as the crisp night air hit my face and lungs, but I didn't look back until I made it to my car.

  When I dared to glance back at the door, no one was there. I let out the breath I'd been holding, my respiration still shallow from the stranger's touch, got in the car and drove without looking back. A fitting end for my first foray into carnal lust. I decided that forgetting Dennis and chalking the whole thing up to experience was the best move, even if his verdant energy was still tingling on my lips. I told myself it could have gone so much worse and I should be grateful that it didn't, that I was driving away from a wildcard and not the nicest guy I'd ever met. That it was better to remember him as a lesson than stick around long enough for him to become a dangerous mistake. By the time I made it back to Stillwater and trudged up the stairs to my studio apartment, my common sense had won the battle over my heart. Mostly.

  Five

  Saturday night, the Whitaker estate was even statelier than I remembered from the one time I had passed it. I looked at all the expensive cars in the driveway and the perfectly manicured topiaries lining the lawn and down at the bottle of wine I had brought as a gift. Was it too late to chuck the wine in the bushes? Going to a social gathering the night after my disastrous outing at the bar was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was too late to bail without making an even worse impression than I already had. By now, surely half the town was talking about what had happened at the diner, and if nothing else, I could use the distraction.

  The door opened before I finished climbing the stairs and a woman in a considerably more modest version of the maid costumes I had seen in movies motioned for me to come inside. The entryway was already filled with guests and I could feel more than a few sets of curious eyes on me. Word must have spread about my unplanned lunch date with the good doctor.

  "Thanks," I said as the maid took my coat.

  Carla emerged through a sea of guests and gave me a squeeze. She looked elegant as ever in a fitted blue dress and pearls, and she held me at arm's length to look me over. "Don't you look cute," she gushed, stroking the buckskin vest I was wearing over a fitted button-down shirt and the nicest pants I owned. I realized I was the only guy there who wasn't wearing a suit and cringed internally. "Oh, and you brought a gift." She took the wine and did her best to look thrilled. "I'll put it with the others. Come in, com
e in," she said, ushering me into a spacious living room with a fireplace, a grand piano and antique furniture that looked like it was probably as old as the town itself.

  "Sorry I'm underdressed," I said awkwardly.

  "Don't be silly! It's just a mixer."

  I was beginning to realize that mixer was Stillwater lingo for an excuse to dress up and get sloshed. Carla was scanning the crowd like she was looking for someone in particular and I found myself hoping it was Nick, but I didn't want to ask.

  "You're in luck. Every eligible bachelor in town is here tonight," said Carla, dashing any hopes I'd had that my gayness wasn't as obvious as I feared. I was about to tell her that as eligible as those bachelors might be, I wasn't, when she caught sight of whoever it was she happened to be looking for and waved frantically. "There's one in particular I've been wanting you to meet. I think you two will really get along."

  "Why is that?" I asked warily. He was probably the only other gay guy in town, which meant we "belonged together."

  "Oh, just a hunch. He's a veteran, you know. There he is!"

  "I don't really --" Oh, please no.

  Dr. St. James was there, dressed to the nines in a sleek black blazer and looking infuriatingly cool with a martini in his hand. He glanced over from the white-haired man he had been conversing with and frowned in our general direction.

  "I really don't think this is a good idea," I said, starting to back away. Carla had my arm in a vice grip and the doctor was heading straight for us.

  "Daniel," Carla cried, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Look who actually showed up at a party."

  "I wanted to have a word with Lucas about something," he said, his gaze settling on me in a way that left little room to wonder what that something might be. He really was serious about running me out of town if he was enlisting the mayor to do his dirty work. I struggled not to let my nerves show. It seemed Carla hadn't heard about our encounter at the diner, and I was wondering how long Daniel would keep it that way.