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  “You’re leaving?” he asked when he found her packing. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, but I really need to be on my way. There’s a lot I want to see and do this summer, you know.”

  “Where are you going?” Eli asked.

  Miranda zipped her suitcase. “For starters, I think I’ll drive up the coast to Oregon and Washington.”

  “Will you miss me?” He took her in his arms and kissed her long and slow, his tongue playing for time.

  “Of course,” she said when they came up for air. “But this isn’t goodbye. We’ll hook up again when it’s safe.” She ran her fingertips along the growing bulge in his jeans. “How about a quickie for the road?”

  Eli pushed up her skirt and pulled down her panties. When Miranda stepped out of them, he held them to his nose and inhaled her scent. “I’m keeping these to remember you by.”

  Giggling, Miranda started unfastening his fly, but he grabbed her hand. “C’mon outside.”

  “It’s raining,” she protested.

  He led her to her car and opened a back door. “Get in.”

  “You want to do it in the car?”

  “You’ll be spending a lot of time in this car—I want it to hold fond memories for you.”

  As Miranda crawled into the back of the Kia, her skirt hiked up around her hips.

  “I haven’t had sex in a car since high school, for good reason,” she complained. “We’d have been a lot more comfortable in bed.”

  Eli slipped his hand between her legs, thumbed her clit, and slid a finger inside her. Instantly she stopped grumbling and spread her legs, giving him a good view of her pussy. As her fluids started flowing, he slipped in another finger.

  “Are we having fun yet?” he asked.

  “Mmmmm…”

  With his other hand he unzipped his jeans, took out his cock, and stroked it. He’s ambidextrous, she mused. She rearranged herself so she could suck him while he continued fingering her slit. As his pre-come oozed into her mouth, he pulled a condom package from his pocket and tore it open with his teeth.

  Miranda straddled him. Trying not to bang her head on the car’s roof, she rode him until she thought she’d split right up the middle. As she felt the familiar rush to the finish, Eli moaned and came with her.

  Yes, I’ll definitely miss you. She climbed off and straightened her clothing. Maybe I should upgrade to an SUV.

  * * *

  Miranda saw the hawk circling a moment before she heard the drum. Following the sound through Seattle’s Green Lake Park, she came upon a man dressed entirely in black, sitting on a park bench and playing an African djembe. Auburn hair fell to his shoulders and a necklace of what looked like fangs hung around his neck. He glanced up as she joined the small crowd of listeners, smiled at her, and shifted to a lively rhythm that spoke to her in a language beyond words.

  The beat resonated through Miranda’s body, and she swayed along with it.

  Closing her eyes, she felt the sound swirling around her, filling her with such joy she could barely keep from laughing aloud. She heard a chorus of men chanting, a woman’s voice ululating. But when she opened her eyes, she saw no one singing. How odd, she thought. Again she closed her eyes, and again she heard the voices.

  When the drumming stopped, the crowd applauded. Some dropped money in a coffee can near the drummer’s feet as they dispersed. Miranda started to clap, but ended up holding her palms together at her heart as if in prayer.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “My pleasure,” the drummer answered.

  “I heard singing.”

  “Ah, good. They’re always here, but few people hear them.”

  “Who?”

  “The spirits of the drum.”

  Confused, she shook her head to clear it. “When I arrived, you started playing a different beat.”

  “Drumming is an ancient form of communication. Each rhythm has a meaning.”

  He grinned, exposing even, white teeth. “When I saw you coming, I played the beat that announces the presence of a beautiful woman.”

  Miranda looked up and saw the hawk still circling overhead. It seemed to be watching her.

  “I’m Miranda Malone.” She held out her hand.

  “Lancelot Lucas.” He took her hand in both of his, as if they were old friends. His eyes, golden like a jungle cat’s, mesmerized her and for a moment she lost awareness of everything else. A tingling warmth ran up her arms, into her chest, and she felt strangely lightheaded.

  “Where did you learn to drum like that?”

  “I studied with a Senagalese master drummer in Salem, Massachusetts.”

  Astonished, Miranda said, “I’m from Salem. What a coincidence.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Now the tingling sensation moved up Miranda’s legs and nestled between them.

  A soft fluttering, like a butterfly’s wings, tickled her pussy. What the hell’s going on? she wondered. Her knees began trembling and she sat on the bench, trying to get herself under control. The hawk swooped down and perched on the back of the bench near Lancelot’s shoulder.

  Miranda stared at the bird in awe. “Oh my God.”

  “This is Hermes,” he said, and the hawk bobbed its head.

  Hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, she asked, “What brought you here?”

  “I came searching for a pyramid hidden in a mountain, where occult initiations have been held for generations.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “I did.” He smiled and his golden eyes flashed. “Would you like to see it?”

  Won’t my friends in Salem be envious? She answered, “Yes.”

  * * *

  I must be out of my mind, following a strange man into the wilderness, Miranda scolded herself as she hiked uphill behind Lancelot. I can’t even get a cell phone signal out here. This is how women get murdered and never found.

  Back in the park, the idea of exploring a magician’s secret pyramid had sounded like an irresistible adventure. Now, however, it seemed the height of folly. She was hot and tired, but Lancelot, who must have been fifteen years her senior, scrambled over boulders as sprightly as a boy. And that crazy hawk stayed right overhead, a sentry.

  “Not much further,” he called over his shoulder.

  She paused to catch her breath. Gazing at the magnificent landscape, she realized she would never be able find her way back to civilization.

  Lancelot held out his hand. As she took it, a bolt of energy surged through her.

  Instantly her fatigue and trepidation disappeared. He pulled her up onto a rocky ledge, then pushed aside some juniper boughs, exposing a steep path. “This way.”

  After climbing about thirty feet, they reached an opening between two tall stones.

  “Hope you’re not claustrophobic.”

  Removing his backpack and pushing it ahead of him, Lancelot crawled into the opening. Miranda followed. Darkness swallowed them. Her hands and knees slid along cool, smooth stone; her head brushed the top of the tunnel. She tried not to think about snakes, spiders, and other creepy-crawlies. Listening to Lancelot’s scuffling up ahead, she wondered again what had possessed her to undertake this insane odyssey. As the tunnel narrowed even more, she had the peculiar feeling of moving through a birth canal.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, reading her mind.

  He stopped crawling and a light flickered, silhouetting his form. Suddenly a brilliant flare burst like a comet in the darkness, revealing a space before them. Lancelot stood up and lit another torch.

  Scurrying into the light, Miranda gasped as she emerged into a vast pyramid whose peak reached three stories above her head. Twelve wrought-iron lanterns hung on the walls. As Lancelot lit them, chasing the chill from the room, she noticed the massive crystals circling the space and glowing with an eerie illumination of their own. The entire chamber appeared to be shimmering.

  In the center of the room stood an ornately carved stone table large enough
for a banquet. On its top rested two majestic candlesticks, one holding a black candle and the other a white one. She moved closer, her steps echoing on the stone floor, to examine the four objects between the candles. She’d lived in Salem long enough to recognize a witch’s tools: a magic wand, a jeweled chalice, a dagger, and a silver pentagram.

  Lancelot joined her at what she now realized was an altar and lit the candles. Then he picked up the wand and carried it to one corner of the pyramid. Holding the wand as an extension of his outstretched arm, he walked clockwise around the room, pausing at each corner to draw a pentagram in the air. Light shot from the wand’s tip, so that when he’d completed his circuit, a wall of whitish fog surrounded them.

  Weird, she thought, but cool.

  As Lancelot returned the wand to the altar Miranda asked, “Are you going to initiate me?”

  “If you like.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  He laughed. “Relax.”

  With his fingertip, he traced a pentagram on her forehead. A wave of pulsing heat undulated through her body, making her tingle all over. Once again she felt the fluttering in her pussy, which quickly escalated to a powerful throbbing.

  He’s casting a spell on me, she thought. Somehow the idea didn’t frighten her in the least.

  From beneath the altar Lancelot dragged a long, red-upholstered bench. Suddenly, Miranda’s knees buckled and she sat down on it gratefully. He grasped her shoulders and studied her, his golden eyes blazing. “Are you okay? Sure you want to proceed?”

  She nodded as another ripple of desire rushed through her. Despite the cool of the underground cave, drops of perspiration broke out on her forehead. His fingers drew a line down the center of her torso; when they reached her pussy, Miranda moaned and pressed against them.

  With hands that seemed to be made of fire and ice, Lancelot undressed her. He’s certainly got the magic touch, she mused. As he lay her down on the bench she felt herself softening, opening to receive him. Her juices leaked onto the red upholstery.

  When his fingers found her slit, she took them in hungrily. When his tongue tasted her clit she spread her lips to give him better access.

  “Don’t come yet,” he ordered, removing his mouth and his fingers.

  Miranda squirmed and whimpered in protest, pinching her nipples as she watched him undress. Except for the necklace of fangs. His body wasn’t as nice as Eli’s—a bit of a paunch, love handles. But when he exposed the biggest cock she’d seen outside of porn flicks, she sighed, “Oh my God.” Will that fit inside me?

  He stroked it until white light glowed around it like a glistening sheath. That’s the strangest condom I’ve ever seen, she thought as he knelt between her legs and rubbed the swollen head along her wet seam.

  “The magic wand is a phallic symbol,” he told her, easing his tip into her. “A wand should be at least six inches long, but only as big as you can comfortably handle.”

  Miranda giggled and raised her hips, trying to take his wand deeper into her, but he held back. Teasing her, he slid the head in and out, stroking the hot spot just inside. As she felt her orgasm gathering, he pulled out.

  “Please…” she pleaded.

  “Not yet. Stay on the edge as long as possible. You want to build power.” He stroked her breasts and sucked her hard nipples, tantalizing her without letting her come.

  The necklace of fangs brushed enticingly against her skin. He slid his cock, greased with her fluids, up her belly and between her breasts, massaging himself with her smooth flesh.

  “Let me suck it,” she said.

  She opened her mouth as wide as she could and Lancelot quickly filled it. Gently, trying not to gag her, he probed her hot mouth. Her tongue flicked the ridge of his head, her lips embracing as much of his thick shaft as she could manage. When his cock started to throb, he withdrew it and went back to tickling her cunt with it. Miranda had no idea how long the dance went on; she’d lost all track of time. After a while, however, she discovered she could maintain an intense level of excitation without succumbing. The sensation was exquisite.

  Suddenly she noticed the rope he held: silky gold like drapery cord, maybe six feet long. She’d never been into bondage, but she couldn’t have objected even if she’d wanted to.

  “Soon you can come, my pretty,” he told her, “and as you do, I’m going to tie knots in this rope. Then I’ll give you the rope and you’ll tie knots while I come. Understand?”

  Miranda nodded and he thrust into her. Never had she felt so full or so inflamed.

  When he hit bottom, she exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. As soon as one orgasm ebbed another swelled behind it.

  Lancelot busily tied knot after knot in the golden cord as she bucked and writhed beneath him, shrieking like a banshee. The pyramid echoed with her cries. Eventually the crashing force of her convulsions mellowed to a gentle throbbing and he handed her the rope.

  As he sheathed his wand again and again, Miranda managed to tie several knots.

  He groaned, stabbed a final time, and lay still. His heart hammered against hers.

  When her mind cleared and his breathing returned to normal, Miranda asked,

  “What’s with the knotted rope?”

  Lancelot lifted himself off her and sat up. “You’ve just been initiated into one facet of sex magick. Sex generates tremendous power. The knots capture and hold that power. Take the rope with you—if ever you need extra strength, all you have to do is untie a knot.”

  The sun had begun its descent when they emerged from the pyramid. Hermes the hawk perched on one of the tall stones, waiting for them. Racing against nightfall, they hurried down the mountain.

  “Do you think you’ll ever come back to Salem?” Miranda asked as they drove toward Seattle.

  “Perhaps. I’ll certainly let you know if I do. I’d enjoy teaching you a lot more about sex magick.”

  Card 2: The High Priestess

  Late one afternoon, a week after Miranda had departed, Eli came upon Sybil seated beside her scrying pond. He paused in the shadows of an oak grove, silent as a deer, not wanting to interrupt her. But she sensed his presence—he could never hide anything from Sybil—and turned toward him.

  “Come here.” She patted the grass beside her. “Let me show you something.”

  Eli knelt next to the silver-haired woman and stared at the emerald-green pond.

  Dragonflies hovered like tiny helicopters above its surface. The sun’s rays spilled across the water like warm honey. The pond, he knew, served as Sybil’s magic mirror, reflecting images of the past, present, and future.

  She leaned over the pond again and motioned for him to do the same. “Tell me what you see.”

  “I don’t know, Sybil…” He squinted at the water. “I can’t see pictures in it like you do.”

  “The pictures aren’t in it. They’re in you. The sparkling surface triggers your intuition. Be quiet and allow impressions from your subconscious to rise into your awareness.”

  He tried again, without success.

  “Don’t try so hard. It might help to let your eyes unfocus a bit.”

  Eli cast his gaze across the pond and allowed his vision to blur. Patches of light and shadow slid across the water. As he watched, they converged to form what looked like mountains. Peering closer, he noticed two tiny shapes, moving. The scene grew clearer, enabling him to distinguish two people climbing the mountain: a man, followed by a dark-haired woman. Inexplicably he felt a spark of desire. Miranda? he wondered.

  But before he could be certain, a breeze rippled the pond and the vision disappeared. It’s just my imagination.

  “I got this weird impression that Miranda is mountain-climbing,” he said, still not believing what he’d seen.

  “First impressions are usually right. That’s the creative side of your brain talking to you, rather than the analytical part.” Sybil patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Miranda’s well and having fun.
You’ll be together again soon.”

  He smiled at his lifelong friend, thinking that she epitomized feminine beauty.

  “Before Miranda left, I asked her what she thought about you. She said you’re a MILF.”

  “A what?”

  “A MILF. It’s an acronym for ‘mother I’d like to fuck’.”

  Sybil laughed. “And what did you say?”

  “I told her you’re very spiritual.”

  “Can’t one be both?”

  Now Eli laughed. “I think she’s a little jealous of our relationship.”

  “That’s only natural. We share a past that doesn’t include her.”

  Eli turned and gazed into the pond again, hoping to recapture the scenario he’d witnessed before. This time, however, he saw the murky figures of two men in a white car. A pang of fear jabbed him. He tried to make out the landscape around them, but it was too blurry to recognize.

  “They’re looking for me,” he said. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was sure the men in his vision were the ones who’d destroyed Meditrina’s grapevines.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Sybil answered, “but you’re safe here. For a while, at least.”

  “I can’t put you at risk by letting you hide me. I’d better leave.”

  He started to stand, but Sybil grabbed his arm and pulled him down beside her again. “Hold on. We’re not in any immediate danger.”

  Eli sighed; his shoulders sagged under the weight of the fear and stress he’d managed to keep at bay for the past week and a half. Here at Sybil’s peaceful, secluded retreat, he could almost forget he was a hunted man. Now the reality of his situation slapped him like an icy wind off the north Pacific.

  She placed her cool palm on his cheek and gently turned his face until his green eyes met her violet ones. “You must learn to trust your intuition. It will guide you through the challenges ahead. I want you to start paying attention to hunches, serendipitous happenings, things you know but can’t explain.”

  Like the vision of the men in the white car. Suddenly he was very tired. He lay down on the soft grass and put his head in Sybil’s lap. Being with her always made him feel safe, perhaps because she’d helped bring him into the world.