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Conjuring Asylum
A Palmore’s Home for Wayward Mages Story
AJ Mullican
About Conjuring Asylum
Siren Smith has been a resident of Palmore’s Home for Wayward Mages for her entire adult life, but as long as she can steal intimate moments with her conjured lover, Tiras, she doesn’t mind living in the asylum. It’s the times when she gets caught, the times when they inject her with the magic-stealing serum that sends Tiras back to the Ether, that she can’t stand. When her lover starts to act strange one night only to disappear for days on end, Siren’s fragile psyche begins to unravel. Without Tiras, how will she cope with her asylum life?
Chapter One
Three orderlies, two nurses, and a sadistic doctor with a loaded syringe—that’s what it took to sedate me this time.
Next time, I’ll have to make them work harder for it.
Tears stream down my cheeks as the wretched serum steals my magic again. My companion dissolves into mist, and the staff exits. With a creak, a groan, and a clank, the door shuts and locks, and I’m left alone—bruised, naked, and sobbing—on the floor of my room. I know from past experience that it’ll be hours before the serum wears off. I won’t see Tiras again until morning at the earliest.
Tiras used to try to help me when the orderlies caught us together, but after the first time one of them hurt him, I forbade it. It broke my heart knowing he went back into the Ether with a split lip. He was fine again the next time I conjured him, but the guilt still eats at me sometimes.
With my arms and legs sore from being held down and numb from the serum, it takes a while to crawl back into bed. My empty, lonely bed. I pull the covers over my nude body, though I’ve long since lost all sense of modesty. When big, burly orderlies constantly barge in while I’m with Tiras and wrench us apart, modesty seems pointless.
It wasn’t always like this. When I first came into my magic as a toddler, Tiras—or Mr. Williams, as I called him then—would play games with me when I conjured him. We’d toss around a ball or have tea parties with my stuffed animals, whatever my little heart desired. No one cared what we did or how long we spent together, not even my parents, because everything was innocence and light in those days. Besides, Mom and Dad weren’t about to deny themselves a free babysitter.
Things changed, however, when I turned eighteen. I hadn’t noticed when I was younger, but Tiras is gorgeous. Jet-black hair, taut, toned muscles, and an ass so firm it sends my hormones into overdrive. Oh, those nights with Tiras… Those are times of self-discovery and self-gratification. Or, I suppose you could call it conjured gratification. I mean, in a way it’s self-created, but Tiras has his own mind, own thoughts—his own hands. My Gods, those hands…
That’s when Mom and Dad stopped calling me a prodigy and started calling me a whore.
The first time my parents caught me, they grounded me from magic for a week. The second time, they sent me to counseling. The third time, though?
The third time I was committed.
You see, mages are supposed to use their powers to help others. We’re considered a gift to society because we’re born with special abilities. Tiras, in my parents’ opinion, should have been put to work earning a wage for our family, like most conjured beings were. I couldn’t bear to subject Tiras to indentured servitude, though, especially not once we fell in love.
Loving a conjured being is forbidden. There’s all sorts of rules against it, hence the asylum and the serum. The asylum isn’t too bad, once you look past the magic-sapping serum and the pyro twins down the hall, who never miss a chance to mock the “nympho conjurer.” I do my best to ignore those two. At least I never killed anyone with my magic. Harm none, bitches.
Mom and Dad have never visited me here. I’m nothing more than an embarrassment now, a black sheep, a skeleton in their closet.
A closet named Palmore’s Home for Wayward Mages.
I lie there in the dark, pondering the possibility of escape. Every once in a while, I think about getting out of here. Running away with Tiras. Being free.
Then I remember that there are seekers who would find us in a matter of days, if not less, and I know it’s nothing more than a pipe dream. Besides, what would Tiras and I do for food, for lodging, for a living? Tiras has a uniquely—specific—skillset, none of which are marketable to potential employers, and so far, I’ve been unable to conjure anyone other than him. So much for my prodigy status.
As the serum takes full hold of my faculties, thoughts of my parents fade from me. I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I wake as dawn’s first rays break through the barred windows of my sparse room. They cast long shadows on the dingy, once-white walls—and on Tiras’s nude form beside me. I’ve slept off the serum and conjured him in my sleep, something I haven’t told anyone, not even Dr. Palmore, that I can do.
He brushes a mahogany lock of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear with a gentle hand. The corners of his lips are tugged into a frown, marring his beauty.
“You should let me help you when they come for us. You’re hurt.”
“If I let you help, you’ll get hurt.” It’s an old argument, the only argument we ever have, but tiresome, nonetheless.
“I’ll heal as soon as I go back. This,” he brushes his fingertips against a painful lump on my forehead, probably obtained when one of the nurses dragged me off the bed and slammed me into the rough, worn linoleum floor last night, “will not heal anytime soon. This angers me.”
My hand shoots up to the lump, which I hadn’t even noticed before. “Oh, that old thing? That’s nothing.”
Tiras places a tender kiss on the lump and wraps his strong arms around me. “Siren, please—I can’t stand to see you hurt because of me.”
I melt at the sound of my name on his lips. My chin tips up, and I stretch to bring my mouth to his. With one hand buried in his silky hair, I probe his mouth with my tongue. He tastes like exotic spices, though as far as I know he doesn’t need to eat when he’s in the Ether.
For the next hour we feast on each other, our limbs intertwined, only stopping when the squeak-squeak-squeak of the breakfast cart’s wheels echoes down the hall.
As if he knows my thoughts, he sighs and strokes my cheek. “I don’t want to go.”
“I know,” I say, “but if I don’t make you go, they will. At least this way I’m not too drugged to bring you back later.” A bright glow lights my hands, and I dismiss him with a kiss. The sudden cold air against my lonely lips gives me a shiver.
I scramble out of bed and get dressed just in time. The lock clanks as Ettie, the day cook, turns her key, and the heavy metal door groans when she opens it. As has become her habit, Ettie backs the breakfast cart in and clears her throat before she turns around. She’s caught Tiras and me in a compromising position more than once, and I guess she just assumes we’re more likely to be in bed together than not.
“Good morning, Miss Siren,” she says as she picks up a tray from the cart. “Waffles for you this morning, hon.”
“Thanks, Ettie.”
She jumps when she hears my voice coming from right next to her and not the bed, where she expected me to be. “Good gracious, Miss Siren! Don’t startle an old woman like that!”
I laugh and take my tray from her shaking hands. “You’re not old, Ettie.”
“You’re mighty chipper for being dosed.”
“I’m not dosed.” I frown. “What makes you think I’m dosed?”
She puts a meaty hand on her hip. “If Mr. Williams isn’t here, then you must be dosed.”
Geez, she makes me sound like some kind of sex addict. “I slept off the dose they gave me last night. Tiras wanted to leave this morning, so I dismissed him.”
“Hmph.” With a curt nod, Ettie leaves me, locking the door behind her.
Fine. Let her t
hink what she wants. I don’t care.
I pick at my off-brand Eggos until they’re cold, but I’m not hungry—not for waffles, anyway. I crave more of Tiras, but Wednesday mornings are for physical fitness therapy, so I’ll have to wait.
The class is almost empty today. The pyro twins stay in their room, as do the water mage and the mentalist. I’m grateful that it’s just myself and the windtalker; despite the name, he seldom speaks. We muddle through the tedious yoga program, but my mind is back in my room with Tiras, and who knows where the windtalker’s mind is at.
Lunch is served right after yoga, and whatever ailment the pyro twins have claimed this time seems to have resolved itself in time for food. They laugh and carry on in the dingy dining hall as though they were never sick this morning—and odds are they weren’t.
Free hour takes forever to get here. I rush to my room and slam the door behind me.
Tiras smiles when he appears, and I throw myself into his arms. The embrace stirs a warmth in my groin, and I reach between us. He’s ready, at full attention, and I calculate how much time we have before I have to return to the dining hall for dinner. If we’re quick about it, we won’t get caught.
With his silky-smooth shaft in my hand, the warmth between my legs becomes a pool, and he moans as I begin to stroke. “Siren…”
“Shh,” I say. “We have enough time.”
He grins and lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he walks me to the bed and lays me down. His knees are both gentle and firm against my legs as he positions himself for entry. I prefer more foreplay than this, but in this place, we have to take what we can get.
I bury a hand in his hair and pull him closer. He drives me to ecstasy and beyond, and I bite his shoulder to muffle my screams. This excites him even more; my eyes roll back as he pushes into me again and again. The metal-framed bed creaks with a steady rhythm, a sure giveaway to anyone walking down the hallway as to what I’m up to in here.
I don’t care. Let them know. I have to have him. I have to have all of him.
He finishes with a final push, emptying himself into me. I don’t know if conjured beings have seed, but if they do, Tiras and I have been lucky. I very much doubt I’d be allowed to keep a half-human/half-Ether baby.
When he’s done, he rolls onto his side, taking me with him. I’d love to lie here like this forever, but I know we can’t. Still, I missed him during my sessions today, and I’m glad for his touch. “I wish they’d let me take you with to my therapies,” I say as I stroke his toned chest. “Life here would be more tolerable if I could have you by my side all the time.”
He stiffens. When I look up, his lips are pressed tight, his expression grim. “But would you really want me here all the time?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course I would. The only reason I’ve ever dismissed you is because other people don’t want me to be with you. Even as a child, I never dismissed you unless Mom and Dad told me to.”
He disengages from me and stands. He rakes his hands through his hair and paces back and forth. On a normal day, I’d be taking in the sight of his tight ass in front of me, but he’s acting strange. I suspect this day is going to be far from normal.
“Tiras—I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you, forever. If the rules weren’t what they are, if I could have you by my side at all times, not just here alone in this room, I would choose that over any other thing.”
“And if the rules weren’t what they are?”
I blink a few times, confused. “But they are what they are. We can’t exactly change them, especially not from in here.”
He stops his pacing at the chair by my dresser—far out of reach—and sits with his elbows on his knees. “Maybe we can.”
“Huh?”
Amber eyes meet mine across the room, and a thunderstorm brews in them. For the first time in my life, I’m scared of what Tiras might say or do. Not that I think he’d ever cause me actual harm, but I’ve never seen that look in his eyes, either.
“Do you want me to stay?”
I cock my head, and my brows draw tight as I try to figure out what he’s getting at. “I always want you to stay; it’s the doctor and the nurses that take away the magic that brings you here.”
“I know, and they take away your magic because of what they catch us doing.”
“Well, yeah. It’s kind of frowned upon for a conjurer like me to sleep with their conjured being.”
“Indeed.” He stands again and goes back to pacing. “So as long as I’m your ‘conjured being,’ we can’t truly be together, then, can we?”
I’m more confused by the second. Is he—is he trying to break up with me?
“Tiras,” I say as I get up and cross to stand in his path, “what’s this all about?”
He grabs my shoulders, and though not painful, his grip is tight. “I don’t have time to explain. I just want to know if you want me to stay. Not just overnight or for a few days. Forever.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
The dinner bell chimes, echoing throughout the asylum’s speaker system, and interrupts me. Tiras’s eyes dart to the locked door and back to me, and he lets go of my shoulders. “Send me back, Siren.”
“Wait, what? You just asked if I wanted you to stay—”
“Just do it!”
My hand flashes with light as I dismiss Tiras back to the Ether.
Dinner comes and goes, and I don’t even know what I’m eating. An orderly leads me back to my room for the bedtime ritual of PJs and pills. Nurse Ryan, the night shift nurse, waits for us when we get back.
I take my pills—mundane pills, modern psychiatric meds that don’t affect my magic—and show Nurse Ryan my empty mouth. He grunts and presses on the hinges of my jaw, forcing my mouth further open to double-check that I haven’t cheeked anything. Ryan’s a bit of a “Nurse Ratchet” type. Well, Nurse Ratchet with a penis. A dick with a dick, if you will. He’s tall and gangly, with a brown buzz cut and a permanent sneer. I’m pretty sure he hates his job and hates mages, but from what the pyro twins say about him, he probably can’t find decent work elsewhere in this town. Something about an incident at the last hospital he worked in.
Once satisfied that I’ve been a good girl, he leaves and locks the door behind him; I’m alone again. I want to conjure Tiras for an explanation, but it scares me to think of what he might say when he does come back.
It’s the first night in my ten years at Palmore’s that I don’t even try to conjure him. Instead, I cry myself to sleep, curled into a tight ball of misery.
I wake alone, and fresh tears spring forth. I don’t know how I’ll make it through the day knowing my relationship with Tiras is in this limbo. After picking at my breakfast—and eating none of it—I make up my mind to conjure my love at bedtime and get to the bottom of this. We’ll have all night to talk once they call “lights out,” and he won’t make me dismiss him in the middle of the conversation.
Today’s Thursday, and that means arts and crafts. If I want to keep my magic to conjure him later, I have to behave now. Off I go to play with safety scissors and glue sticks and construction paper and whatever else the arts director has in store for us.
Arts is rather boring today, more so than most Thursdays, but I think it has less to do with the therapy and more to do with wanting to talk to Tiras, to find out what he’s so anxious about. My own anxiety builds just thinking about it, and I almost want to ask for one of those pills they let me take when the serum’s effects drive me bonkers.
After arts and crafts is lunch. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I force myself to eat one, but I don’t really taste it. I’ve got more important things to worry about besides what flavor jelly Ettie slapped on the bread today.
Once lunch is over, I have group therapy. Group therapy is different from the arts and crafts because group therapy is where we all sit in a circle and talk about how to use our magic responsibly. It’s all a crock of shit, but if I don�
�t go, I’ll get the serum for sure.
The pyro twins are in rare form today. They start in as soon as I enter the room.
“Hey, nympho! Fucked any good conjured beings lately?” Thomas laughs at his own joke.
“I bet that's the commotion we heard down the hall the other night,” Tessa says. She’s got a long leg draped over the edge of the plastic chair she's sitting in, playing with a small flame by running it through her fingertips. Her bright yellow-and-orange hair matches the flame she conjured, and her brother has the same terrible dye job.
“Yeah,” I say as I take my own seat at the far side of the circle, “you’re probably right. You see, I don’t have my own live-in lover like you two do. Must be nice that Dr. Palmore lets you guys share a room.”
Tessa bristles, and the tiny flame expands to encompass her whole hand. “Bitch, if you don’t shut up with the lame incest jokes, I'm gonna fry you to a crisp!”
“Calm down, Tess.” Thomas grabs the flame from her hand and snuffs it. “Don't let her goad you into getting serum'd up. She's not worth it.”
Dr. Palmore walks in just after Thomas extinguishes the flame, so I guess I'll have to wait for another day to see Tess get the serum injection she deserves.
“Good afternoon, mages. How are we all doing today?”
We all mumble our replies, but as usual no one wants to be here, so no one's really enthusiastic. Dr. Palmore isn't deterred by our combined apathy. He starts the therapy session right away, and since I was the latest to be caught in the act of misusing magic, he starts today's session with me.
“Now, I don’t know if everyone has heard, but Siren had a relapse a couple of nights ago. Siren, would you like to talk about it?”
No, I really wouldn’t, but if I don’t, I'll get in trouble—so I guess I will. I do my best imitation of remorse. “I'm sorry, Dr. Palmore. I just—I just missed him.”
“But you could have conjured him just to talk, couldn't you? If the core of the issue was missing your conjured being, a little chat should suffice. Don’t you think that maybe the real problem is…something else?”
Hexes and Handcuffs: A Limited Edition Collection of Supernatural Prison Stories Page 40
