A thin dark finger of blue stretched across the middle of the country and then continued west. From the eastern side of California, it moved farther west, and as the map refreshed, it zoomed in, once, twice, until the tip of the thin blue arc appeared to end at the outskirts of Spencer’s Cove.
“Show them the rest.” Dena had moved closer, standing behind Abby with her arms crossed. She wasn’t looking at the tracking device.
“Yeah, this is where things get exciting.” Jai held it up so she could enter another string of numbers.
When she set it down to let that search run, a second slender arc of blue appeared. It angled toward Spencer’s Cove from the northeast. A third strand of blue was headed toward their location from the sea.
“That’s all very interesting, but what does it mean?” Foster asked.
“I think it means we have not one, but three threats to worry about.” Evan took an educated guess.
“Exactly.” Dena looked at Abby. “When there is this much raw power at stake, there’s always someone who wants to take it for their own purposes.”
“Not all those who have the gift play for the good guys.” That was as much as Evan wanted to say in front of Abby. She’d told Foster part of this.
“It’s a bit more serious than that isn’t it?” Foster glared at Evan.
“Save it for tomorrow, Foster.” Evan wanted to shut this conversation down.
Abby was going to have enough anxiety dealing with the hormonal and energy shifts in the hours before her transition. Evan would carry the rest of this burden. She would be the one to worry about Abby’s safety. Evan would be the one figuring out how to protect her.
“Well, now that we’ve seen Jai’s magic cell phone at work, who’s ready for dessert?” Cora held a pie aloft, warm from the oven.
Chapter Twenty
Foster followed Abby to the library. She’d mentioned finding her grandfather’s journal, and Foster was anxious to take a peek. Dinner had been a floor show, at times surreal, at other times hilariously morbid. The expressions on Evan’s face were priceless. Foster had mostly just listened, committing the dialogue to memory for some later use. Authentic dialogue in fiction mostly had to be stolen from actual conversations. You could fake some of it, but there was no substitute for good old-fashioned eavesdropping.
Dena and Jai left after helping with the supper clean up. Everyone had exchanged phone numbers as if they were starting up a book club or planning for the lesbian national pastime, a potluck. They promised to return the next day. Dena was giving Evan a hard time about not having everything ready for the ceremony, which sounded a little scary. Abby didn’t seem worried about it. She’d seen Abby transition already from the seriously shy girl she’d surprised in the kitchen the first night to a woman who seemed to be blooming into a confident woman. Sure, there’d been moments of uncertainty, but Abby’s shyness was definitely receding.
The library was a welcomed oasis of calm. The soothing companionship of books was something Foster and Abby both appreciated.
There was a small room adjacent to the library. Abby disappeared into it for a moment and then returned with a leather-bound book in her hand. This volume wasn’t nearly as old as the manuscript Foster had taken from the trunk, but it was obvious from the soft wear on the cover that it had seen some long years of use.
“I found it in my grandfather’s desk.” Abby handed it to Foster and then took a seat beside her on the chaise.
“Did you read any of it yet?” Foster turned the first few pages.
“Only a little. He was looking for Mercy. I only later realized what he meant by the reference.”
Abby was sitting very close. She brushed a lock of short hair away from Foster’s ear. Chills raced down Foster’s arm. She was trying her best to focus on the words on each page, but Abby was making it hard to concentrate.
Abby scooted closer, resting her hand on Foster’s thigh. Heat radiated down her leg. She cleared her throat and squinted at the book. Was the room suddenly warmer? She tugged at the neck of her T-shirt with her finger. She was wearing a white T-shirt under an oxford and was feeling that was two layers of clothing too many.
Abby’s hand drifted up her leg, dangerously close to her crotch. She swallowed and tried to focus. She shifted away from Abby a few inches, but Abby scooted even closer. She almost jumped out of her skin when Abby traced the edge of Foster’s ear with the tip of her tongue.
What book? Who cares? Forget the book.
“Abby?” Foster’s throat was dry.
“Foster…”
“Yes?”
“Take me to bed,” Abby whispered close to her ear.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but then felt Abby stroke the very sensitive inside of her thigh. She turned, and before she could say anything else, Abby kissed her. This was not a timid, first kiss, this was a deep, tongue dancing, passionate kiss. A kiss that lead to other things, a kiss that refused to be ignored.
Foster set the book on the side table without opening her eyes or breaking the kiss. She missed the table and heard the book flump to the floor. She didn’t care. Abby was practically in her lap, kissing her, sinking her fingers in Foster’s hair. Foster rested her hands on Abby’s waist. She teased the exposed skin at the hem of Abby’s blouse.
Abby was tugging at the buttons of her oxford. She was trying to get past the T-shirt too. Abby moved into Foster’s lap, straddling her waist. She was trying to go slow, but desire was ratcheting up in her system. Foster slid her palm up from the curve of Abby’s waist until she cupped Abby’s breast. She could feel the hard point of Abby’s nipple through the thin material of her blouse.
Abby surprised her by unbuttoning her blouse and pulling her bra aside. She raised up, positioning her breast near Foster’s mouth. Foster willingly obliged Abby’s silent demand. Abby moaned softly as she teased Abby’s nipple with her tongue.
Foster was lost in erotic exploration, every curve, every inch of hot exposed flesh. She wanted Abby in the worst way. But this angle was no good. Foster rotated Abby onto her back and began to work the button of her jeans free, then the zipper. Abby’s hands were inside her shirt, her nails skimmed across Foster’s lower back.
Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, Foster had the thought that maybe they should move to Abby’s bedroom, but she was powerless to take her hands off Abby, even for a moment. She caressed Abby through her underwear, her arousal obvious despite the thin fabric barrier. Abby moaned against her mouth as Foster touched her. God, Abby was so wet. She spread her legs and Foster stroked as Abby arched against her palm.
Abby’s hand was inside the back of Foster’s jeans. She squeezed Foster’s ass.
“I want you…” Abby’s words were breathy against her neck.
“Abby, I’ve wanted you since the first night…and every night since then.” She realized she’d only been there for a couple of days, but to her libido, two days in close proximity to Abby felt like eternity.
“I want to feel you against me.” Abby was unfastening Foster’s belt. She started to push Foster’s jeans down over her hips.
Had they closed the door to the library when they came in? She couldn’t remember, but in the haze of her raging libido, she swore she heard a door slam. A rushing sound circled. Her eyes were closed, so she assumed it was the sound of blood swarming, pounding in her ears.
She wanted desperately to be inside Abby. The friction between them was going to bring them both to orgasm, and they were still wearing way too many clothes. She could sense Abby’s cresting arousal as if it were her own. Maybe it was her own. She was having a hard time telling the difference. Every sensation seemed swirled and amplified.
Abby kissed her, open-mouthed and desperate. The rushing sound was getting louder. Foster opened one eye, and something whooshed past where they were lying on the chaise. Foster broke the kiss and stared.
“What’s wrong?” Abby still hadn’t noticed what was happening around them.
�
��Abby…the books…”
Books, all shapes and all sizes, swirled around them. The entire collection was spinning around and above them as if every volume had been swept up by a tornado. Foster blinked a few times, but this was real. Her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.
Beneath her, Abby’s skin glistened with a light sheen of perspiration, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes darted about the room.
“Abby, sweetheart…”
“Yes?”
“Are you doing this?”
The look on her face told Foster that Abby was equally surprised, but the swirling books had to be Abby’s doing. That was the only believable explanation.
“I didn’t mean to do that.” There was uncertainty in Abby’s voice, possibly a brief return of shyness.
“It’s okay.” She stroked Abby’s cheek. “Everything is okay.”
Abby smiled up at Foster. She pulled Foster down into a deep, languorous kiss, and out of the corner of her eye, Foster saw the swirling storm begin to slow, and one by one, books dropped softly to the carpeted floor.
***
Evan followed the fence line to the barn. The horses were clustered together in the open grassy area of the largest paddock. Even with cozy, clean stalls available in the barn, sometimes even at night the horses preferred to be in the open.
Tonight, they seemed a little spooked, restless, on high alert. I know just how you feel.
Tomorrow, the eve of Abby’s thirtieth birthday, would be the full moon, and dark matter was gathering. Why not just hold the ceremony in a graveyard while they were at it and throw a little more gasoline on the fire?
She hit the switch on the box just inside the door, and a glaring overhead light cast sharp shadows into the corners. After a few minutes of rummaging in the tool cabinet, she found what she was looking for, a pickax. She shouldered the axe and strode back toward the house. Only the lights in the library and the kitchen were visible. Cora left an hour earlier. Foster and Abby were somewhere in the house, and it didn’t take a deductive genius to figure out what they were probably up to. The sexual tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
No one had thrown up a roadblock for her plan to utilize the wine cellar so she was proceeding. The narrow steep stairs led from the large pantry down to the cool, dimly lit subterranean room. Dusty bottles were nestled inside a honeycomb style rack along one wall. Tomorrow she should take some time and remove all the glass from the room, except for the small window, which she’d cover with plywood. Maybe Foster could help her move the wine bottles to a safe distance after breakfast.
The circular trench she’d started wasn’t quite deep enough, and the dirt floor was so hard-packed that the axe had become necessary. The first couple of swings didn’t find much purchase in the ancient, rigid soil. Each swing was bone jarring, but she kept at it. As she worked she started to heat up and stripped down to her tank undershirt. This felt good. Physical exertion was what she needed to lose some of the tension from the day, hell, this whole week, the entire month. She took a break for a moment and wiped her face with the shirt she’d tossed aside.
Evan had been on the verge of losing patience with Foster and her cavalier attitude, but during dinner she’d sensed a cognitive shift. Foster and Abby both were beginning to believe. Abby was surely having more symptoms than she was sharing. Maybe she was sharing with Foster. Evan hoped that was true. Abby had obviously crafted a solitary life for herself out on the edge of the world, but she was going to need help to get through this. Not just this part, but also the first days after the ascension.
She’d been annoyed by Dena at first, but the truth was they needed her, and Jai too. Evan let the axe rest on the ground as she stood and arced her back into a stretch. Jai was a fledgling witch. That had come as a surprise. No wonder she’d been drawn to Jai, aside from her looks. Damn, she was sexy as hell. But the fact that she’d been surprised by both of them bothered her. There had to have been signs of some kind, and she’d obviously missed them. Maybe she was slipping. Maybe she really was unfit to serve the Council after all. Fieldwork was all she was good for.
The axe struck with a hard and satisfying blow, kicking up debris on either edge of the trench. She knelt to check the depth. About ten inches. That was probably adequate.
She rocked on her heels and sat on the floor. She held the axe handle in both hands between her bent knees and rested it against her forehead. Angry tears rose and she couldn’t stop them. Tears she hadn’t shed for Jacqueline, tears she hadn’t shed for herself. She buried her face against her arm and sobbed.
The sobs subsided as quickly as they’d come. She sniffed and pressed her wadded up discarded shirt to her face. This was her chance to make things right, and by God, she was going to do things perfectly this time, by the book. She would not let Abby down.
Chapter Twenty-one
Abby tugged Foster by the hand. They wove between stacks of fallen, stacked books in the library and then up the staircase. Foster was holding her belt and jeans together with her one hand as Abby dragged her along. She felt like a teenager sneaking around with a secret lover. When they reached the guest room at the top of the stairs, she pulled Foster inside and closed the door. Foster was flushed and breathing hard. Her hair was adorably tousled and her unbuttoned oxford shirt all askew. Abby leaned against the door taking Foster in.
Being around Foster had evoked some deep yearning. Abby realized that she’d given up, closed herself off, locked away her heart, and then Foster had shown up, out of nowhere, with the key.
She advanced on Foster slowly, the way she would approach one of her startled horses. Foster’s parted lips were a bit swollen from their kissing frenzy in the library. Abby brushed her lips across Foster’s tenderly, then her cheek, kissing her way to Foster’s ear where she whispered, “Let’s get in bed.”
Foster nodded mutely and released the top of her jeans. They drooped around her hipbones as she slowly took off her button-down shirt and then her T-shirt. Abby watched Foster undress as she opened the bottom few buttons of her blouse and then unfastened her bra and let it fall to the floor. Foster wasn’t wearing a bra so once the undershirt was gone she was bare-chested too.
Abby pushed her pants over her hips and Foster mirrored her movements, letting her jeans pool around her ankles. She stepped out of them, and as Abby advanced she backed toward the bed in her Y-front briefs.
The drapes were open, bathing the room in moonlight. Foster crawled backward onto the bed and Abby followed on her knees. Her body was on fire; every nerve receptor vibrated, hummed with desire and need. She straddled Foster’s waist, gently removed her glasses, and set them aside. Then Abby resumed her position, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and angled downward to kiss Foster. Her skin tingled everywhere Foster touched her. Foster finally rested her palms on Abby’s thighs, squeezing with her fingers as if she felt the need to hang on as the kiss deepened.
Abby switched positions, curling up next to Foster. She trailed her fingertips down the center of Foster’s chest and teased just below the waist of her briefs.
“I thought you said you’d never done this before.” Foster caressed Abby’s shoulder and swept her palm down Abby’s arm.
“I haven’t.” Foster’s hand covered hers, partway inside Foster’s underwear.
She wasn’t sure if this was a signal to slow down, but Abby didn’t want to. She wanted to finish what they’d started in the library.
“How is that possible?” Foster brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”
“It just never happened. I told you why.” Abby wasn’t really in the mood to talk about the past. She wanted the future and all the possibilities that the future held. She raised up on her elbow and kissed Foster. She whispered against Foster’s lips. “Stop talking.”
Foster laughed softly.
I don’t really know what I’m doing.
“Yes, you do.”
Abby was certain the thought had been just that, silent rather than voiced, but Foster answered. Foster rotated their positions so that she was on top.
“You seem to know exactly what to do to make me want to make love to you.” Foster’s gaze was intense, like a knife edge. She brushed the back of her fingers over Abby’s cheek.
“Make love to me.” Abby pushed Foster’s briefs over her hips. She wanted nothing between them. She needed to feel all of Foster.
Foster shoved the briefs down past her thighs, then farther with her foot until she could kick them off. She kissed her way down Abby’s stomach until she reached the lowest part, just above the waist of her underwear. Foster kissed each inch of ultra-sensitive exposed skin as she eased the waistband down and over Abby’s hips.
If Abby thought she was on fire before now she was in flames, a raging, uncontrolled burn. She writhed beneath Foster’s mouth, arching into her, filling her fingers with Foster’s hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip. Foster’s mouth was on her now. Her body began to convulse with each stroke of Foster’s insistent tongue.
And then Foster stopped. Abby inhaled sharply from the painful loss of contact. She searched Foster’s face. What was she doing?
Foster’s mouth was on her breast now, and she felt Foster’s fingers where Foster’s mouth had been. She spread her legs and clung to Foster’s shoulders as Foster’s fingers slipped inside. Foster’s movements were intoxicating, her mouth, her hands, her fingers thrusting slowly inside, deeper, deeper. Abby was coming undone. Foster was grinding her sex against Abby’s thigh too. Abby became acutely aware of Foster’s wet center riding her thigh. She put her hands on Foster’s ass, applying pressure, increasing the friction between them.
She held Foster’s face, pulling her upward against her mouth. Abby had the fiercest need to kiss Foster. The orgasm built to a crescendo and then exploded like the flash of so many stars against the black of night. Like an expanding supernova, her climax shattered every perception she’d held so tightly. All she could do was hold on to Foster as the orgasm claimed her, her senses rippled and broke apart like the surf against the ragged cliffs.
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