by K D Grace
He was getting close, thinking about Marie, thinking about her and the ghost on the fells, thinking about her masturbating in her bed. Had she played with her pussy before she fell asleep tonight? Had she fondled and tweaked her lovely breasts. Had she thought about him? He reached for the hand towel he needed more often than he cared to admit these days and convulsed his heavy wad into its folds just as Lisette vanished with a little yelp. He felt like he would come forever. The hard shudders prying him open from the inside somehow felt dark and raw, like he’d been holding it too long, like even the relief that washed over him and eased him over the edge into sleep was somehow not enough, could somehow not ease the spreading darkness. The thought niggled its way into his consciousness just before he plunged into the dream world. Perhaps this was just a little bit of what the ghosts felt. Had Lisette made him feel that way? But before he could contemplate further, he slept like the dead.
Chapter 5
Briefly, Sky became aware of Anderson still nestled inside Tara, though his breathing was now the deep even drag of sleep, which he didn’t need but could enjoy at will. Sky lay snuggled close, her head on Tara’s shoulder, her hand cupped around a breast. She knew she was asleep. They were all asleep. Only Fiori stood sentinel in the waking world, as silent and unmoving as the stone on which she sat.
Then Sky was under again, back in the cave with Marie, only this time it was through Tara’s eyes she viewed the woman, and in spite of the carefree enthusiasm Tara presented, Sky could feel the doubt, the tension, the clench of fear deep in the coven leader’s belly all overlaid by way more sorrow than one person should ever have to bear. But waking up from her lovemaking with Anderson, Marie Warren was blissfully ignorant of all of that.
Then there was the good-bye kiss in front of Lacewing Cottage, and the dream flared with heat and passion, all on little butterfly wings. It wasn’t entirely sexual. There was a heavy dose of excitement and nerves, the kind associated with that very first kiss. The energy of the memory crackled and buzzed with exhilaration that could only be felt in the presence of magic, and for a moment, Sky wasn’t sure if it was her own excitement or the excitement of Anderson and Tara in the dream world that she felt. But it was there. It was clear, much more clear than most dream magic tended to be. She floated along on the feeling until it dissipated and flattened and cooled.
Then it chilled, like the first hard breath of winter in Cumbria. Her eyes fluttered open to the grey half-light that might have been dawn, but the sunlight couldn’t reach them inside the cave. Fiori’s candles had bathed the chamber in shades of orange and rose, not this dull flat grey. She stirred to find Tara and Anderson gone. The smell of sex thinned around her, and she was cold, so cold that her teeth chattered. Fiori still sat sentinel on the rise of stone casting a dark, hulking shadow across the dream bed.
Shivering, Sky grabbed for a blanket. She was about to ask Fiori why she had let the others leave before the magic had run its course, but her words died in her throat as the shadow rose around Fiori until she was completely eclipsed in the enormity of it. Sky’s stomach knotted and threatened to rebel as the owner of the shadow, now standing directly behind the unaware Fiori, rested a huge palm along one side of her pale face. He hunched just enough that with the other he could grope Fiori’s bare breasts none too gently. Fiori’s eyelids fluttered and she stretched upward and backward like a cat into his embrace.
At last he spoke. ‘I paid a visit to Lacewing Farm this morning. Afraid your friends, the sodomite farmers took the blame for upsetting Mr Meriwether’s exquisite mare.’ The man tisk-tisked. ‘Such filthy wretches. Your Marie is lovely, by the way. That’s right, I had a good look at her after I sent her landlord and his Mountain Rescue friends off on a wild goose-chase for a missing walker.’ He shook his head sadly, all the while his hand roamed over Fiori’s body like a rodent searching for food. ‘Yes, Marie Warren is very lovely, indeed, but weak. Disappointingly weak, really. I had so hoped for more of a challenge.’ And with a sigh that was almost sensual, he raised both hands to the sides of Fiori’s face, tightened his grasp and twisted until there was a sickening snap.
‘Sky, Sky!’
It was hard to hear her name being called over the screaming. It was only as she fought her way up into the waking world between Fiori and Tara that she realised she was the one doing the screaming. ‘It was Deacon,’ she gasped, when she could speak. ‘He was right there behind you, Fiori. I saw him. He spoke to me. He wanted me to know that he could hurt us, that he could hurt them – Tim and Marie. Marie,’ she gasped. ‘Is she all right?’
Suddenly Anderson materialised on the cushions, still naked. ‘Both Marie and Tim are sleeping peacefully,’ he said without preamble, ‘though Tim only very recently according to Lisette. There was indeed a strange Mountain Rescue call out, and Tiggs and Finny assure me that they were not responsible for the incident with the mare. It would appear that Deacon has graced Lacewing Farm with a visit in spite of all our efforts to curtail him.’
Tara laid a warm hand on Sky’s arm. ‘We all saw it, Sweetie. He intended that we should.’ They all looked at Fiori, who had said nothing since Sky came up from the dream. She sat, still naked, nibbling on her lower lip. ‘Don’t worry, I’m all right.’ she said, raising a hand to her neck. ‘I’ve already been there, remember?’ She forced a smile, but her face was ashen, her lips pale and set tight.
Tara released a long, slow breath and ran a hand through her dishevelled dark hair. ‘Well, this changes everything then, doesn’t it? I mean we can’t bring her into this.’
‘It changes nothing,’ Fiori shook her head slowly. ‘We have no choice but to bring her into it. It’s what we expected all along, and you have to stop pretending otherwise, Tara. Marie is already in it, and so is Tim Meriwether. It’s only made worse by the fact that neither of them knows. If we want this to stop, then we have to take a stand now, and like it or not, there’s no way of excluding the two of them from the solution.’
‘Especially not when our dear Marie may very well be a part of the problem,’ Anderson said. He squared his shoulders and gave a curt nod. ‘I will go to her.’ He raised a hand before Tara could speak. ‘And I will be sure to stay hidden. Sadly, I fear she will not be happy to see me under the circumstances, so it is just as well. It seems that the incident with Tiggs and Finny, along with a consultation with Tim Meriwether has led our Marie to the logical conclusion about the state of my physical existence. Poor timing, I fear, but there is nothing for it, is there?’
‘Be careful, Anderson,’ Tara said. ‘If she can enflesh you just by touch alone without even knowing what she’s doing, we don’t know what other powers she may have. But –’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It is of the utmost importance that we keep her safe.’
The hulk of a man was standing behind a woman with hair the colour of the flames that danced around them. He took her face between his hands almost tenderly. He was saying something about Lacewing Farm, something about Tim, and he mentioned her, but Marie couldn’t make out what he said. Then he tightened his grip on the woman’s face until the pressure of it ached over Marie’s cheekbones, and just when the pressure was unbearable, he twisted. There was a snap of bone and cartilage, a zinging charge of electricity up her spine then sudden darkness.
And Marie Warren found herself upright in the middle of her bed, drenched in sweat, screaming her throat raw. She switched on the bedside lamp, nearly tipping it over in her effort to drive back the darkness that suddenly seemed unbearable.
It was the banging of the shutters that brought her fully back into the waking world, trembling, teeth chattering. An icy wind blew through the window that she had left open to combat the unseasonal heat, but now she was freezing. Shivering hard, she got up and jammed the window shut, cursing under her breath.
Tim’s Land Rover was now parked next to his farm house. He’d been called away by Keswick Mountain Rescue, for which he volunteered. Some tourist was lost around Raven Cra
g. By bedtime he still wasn’t home.
The relief at seeing he was back froze in her chest. The fine hair on the tops of her bare arms prickled. In the pale amber light of the lamp, her image was reflected clearly in the dark glass of the window pane.
But she wasn’t alone.
It was a reflection of a reflection she saw. Her night-shirted back was clearly visible in the free-standing mirror next to the closet, but through the patina of mist on the surface from the unusual chill, a dark image stood behind her, heavy arms folded across a broad chest, something coiled in his hand. For a split second she could almost swear she heard his heavy breath. It wasn’t possible, and yet there he was, the man from her dream, standing on the other side of the mirror smiling out at her. ‘You dreamed their dream,’ his voice was a deep rumbling between her hip bones. ‘What a clever girl you are, invading dreams that don’t belong to you. Rather rude in reality, but then I suppose no one can really blame such an innocent, someone who doesn’t know any better.’ She could swear she felt his hot breath against the back of her neck. ‘Perhaps you’d like to share my dreams as well. I’d welcome you with open arms, my lovely.’ He raised his hand in a swift upward motion, palm spread wide facing the sky and suddenly the fire in her pelvic girdle leaped upward to a blinding flash behind her eyes.
Images flew at her like a driving storm. There was a sailing ship tossing in an angry sea with Tara standing on the prow chanting words Marie couldn’t hear. There was water and fire and people drowning in both. There was a pale woman with golden hair sinking lifelessly beneath the waves. There was another woman tumbling backward off a precipice and falling endlessly. There were screams from the leaping flames, there was the crack of a whip, the brittle snapping of bones and Tara wandering the fells raging at the darkened sky. There was pain and suffering and sorrow deeper than anything Marie had ever felt before. And Tara Stone was at the centre of it all. The unbearable lot of it pressed down so hard on Marie that she cried out and doubled over as the man’s voice exploded inside her head. ‘Shall I now show you your own death? Would you like to see that too, my beauty, or perhaps you’d find Tim Meriwether’s death more interesting?’
For a split second she felt Tara’s rage, and it exploded up through her and outward in all directions, like no anger, no pain she had ever felt before. Then somehow, from somewhere, it was suddenly her own rage that shoved its way to the surface, as she forced herself upright. A tingle and a sharp burst of heat rushed back down to her belly where it settled in a tight embrace, and she was blessedly free of the man in the mirror.
She stumbled toward her bed just as the pale shape of Anderson wavered then appeared. He rose from where he sat, walked quickly to the mirror and with a hand that seemed to take shape as he moved made an arching swipe across the misted glass. For a second Marie felt a wave of nausea, but only for a second, then she found herself stumbling drunkenly, barely able to stand. ‘Anderson? Anderson, what the hell’s going on?’
He literally materialised around her, and it was a good thing. She wouldn’t have made it back to the bed without his solid support. At first he felt like cold marble, but the hard muscle of his embrace warmed almost instantly to body temperature.
‘What the hell are you doing here? Who was that?’ She slapped his hands away once she was settled onto the bed. ‘You think just because you’re a ghost you have the right to come and go as you please and materialise when you want and make things cold and scare me and, and, and fuck me.’ She bit back an angry sob.
He pulled away slightly and folded his hands in his lap, sitting there on the edge of the bed like he was the fucking king of the universe. ‘I apologise for all of those offensive behaviours. I can certainly see how they would not be tolerated in polite society. Though I cannot take credit for the chill, I am sorry you had to endure it. As for the fucking you, however,’ he held her gaze. ‘I cannot apologise for something I did not instigate, but neither am I sorry that fucking you did take place. Are you?’
‘Well I … I mean. I … No, but I might not –’
‘You might not have fucked me if you had known I was a ghost? Yes I am aware of that.’ He leaned forward so close that she could feel his warm breath, very disconcerting coming from a ghost. ‘However you were not intended to see me at all. I was sent to guide you down off High Spy without being seen.’
She blinked. ‘You can do that?’
‘I could have, yes, but you saw me.’
‘Of course I saw you. Even in the fog, I saw you! You were right there in plain view.’ Christ, her voice was starting to sound hysterical again and the burning dance and tingle in her pelvic girdle felt like it would burst into flame. Involuntarily, she clutched at her stomach.
‘I can assure you, my dear Marie, I was in plain view to no one but you, a fact of which I was unaware until it was too late.’ His eyes followed her hand. ‘You must relax into the feel of my presence.’
‘What?’
He nodded to her stomach. ‘You are a rider. The sensation you are experiencing low in your abdomen will always alert you to the presence of spirits, whether in the flesh or not. It is nothing to be feared.’
‘A rider? What the hell is a rider? And who was that man in the mirror? Another horny ghost? A friend of yours?’
‘No friend of mine, Marie, I assure you, nor is he yours.’ He reached for her hand but she jerked it away. ‘I am deeply saddened by any behaviour on my part that was untoward, but now that you have seen me again, and after recent events,’ he nodded toward the mirror, which still contained the swipe mark of his large hand, ‘I must ask that you please accompany me back to Elemental Cottage. There, all shall be explained to you and you will be …’
‘What? I’ll be what?’
‘In good company. And now that my state of existence has been made known to you, I sincerely hope not to be offensive to you again.’ He stood and straightened his dark jacket. ‘I will wait in the parlour for you to dress – that is if you will condescend to go with me.’
‘Damn right, I’ll go with you. I want an explanation, and I bloody well expect to get one.’ Plus she was scared shitless. But if there was one thing she’d learned in her old life, it was how to bluff.
As he left the room, he turned and offered her a wry smile. ‘We will have to take your vehicle, Marie, as I have no mode of transport.’ His lips curled into a delicious bow that she would have liked to have kissed off his face in spite of the fact that she was angry at him. ‘After all, I am a ghost and seldom find myself in need of transport.’
Tim woke with a raging, nearly painful, hard-on. He groaned and fumbled with the sticky towel that half tented his erection beneath the duvet. The night’s wank fest with Lisette came back to him in a rush of guilt. Stupid really. There was nothing to feel guilty about. It didn’t happen often, and what did the taunting and the egging on of someone long-dead have to do with him, anyway? He never asked for any of this. None of it was his fault. He shuddered as he gripped his cock, and his whole body tensed with the weight of arousal way too heavy for someone who had just come so hard such a short time ago. He opened one eye and squinted around the darkened room. Lisette was nowhere to be found and neither were any of the usuals who were likely to be hanging about his room after dark hoping to catch him masturbating. Bunch of voyeuristic bastards, he thought. Still it was strange that no one was there.
The thought was barely formed before the scent of sex shoved in around him from all sides with oppressive intensity. OK, he’d always had a vivid imagination, but the clarity with which the vision struck him was startling. Marie lay writhing on a bed of cushions and the Elementals were touching her, exploring her, eating her out. But then she was back in her own bed dreaming sex just like he was dreaming sex. He gasped and pressed his thumb to the underside of his cock to keep from coming. Jesus, they were all over her in his imagination! And it was so real! And it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He more than saw it, he felt it, almost like he was there, almost
like his hands were on her, on them, kneading rounded breasts, teasing gaping slick pussy lips apart, raking stiff nipples and clits with impatient fingers.
And there was someone else, a man. He was surely imagining the man Marie had described to him earlier, the ghost, though he didn’t look very ghostly. He was in a cave, half dressed with his fly open, and Marie was on his lap naked, positioning herself, lowering herself so that her gaping pussy was right above the man’s cock. He lifted her effortlessly and with a grunt slipped up inside her. Tim could feel her tight grip, as surely as if she were mounting him. He could feel her skin, glistening with the heat of lust, he could feel the grudging yield of her hole to the man’s thickness, which felt like his own thickness.
Then the smell of sex surrounded him again, closed in on him, and my God, he’d never had such a vivid fantasy! They were all over each other, all over him. He could nearly feel heated flesh against his own fevered skin. He, like the man in his fantasy, struggled to hold back just a little longer, just a tiny bit more, knowing that the orgasm they were all about to have would be shattering, wanting it to be, wanting it to build until it blew him apart into ecstatic little pieces tiny enough to float away on the night breeze off over Robinson and High Spy, out across Derwent Water, dissipating onto the breeze above the Sharp Edge of Blencathera and vanishing deliciously, blissfully, like he’d never been.
Then he was back in his body and his cock would be controlled no more. He arched up, heels digging into the mattress, spine bowing, buttocks clenching, flooding the towel with his lust. Behind his tightly closed eyelids pinpricks of light burst into a photo-negative image of the space where Marie and the witches and the dark haired man writhed out their own lust, then he was in Marie’s room watching her rise from her bed, practically floating to the window. And just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he could have sworn that in the mirror standing at the foot of her bed he saw the image of a deep-chested man with a bullwhip curled in his hand.
