Stolen magic is the most malefic. By its nature, it stinks of the putrescence and splintered bones of the magical creature, warlock or witch, from whom it has been stripped away. The acrid taste of it invariably overwhelms my senses. My tongue seems to blacken and engorge enough to choke me every time I detect stolen magic, every time I force myself to focus on its stench long enough to discern who wields it and for what purpose.
I am Grant Everett Webb.
Six years ago, when I was nineteen years old, the ancient, wicked warlock, Wymerus, used a summoning spell forged from stolen magic to force me from the remote Newfoundland and Labrador fishing town, Cow Head, where I was born and raised. That spell sent me across North America in search of my grandmother reported missing in Vallejo, a town about fifty kilometers north of San Francisco, California, where the Napa River and Carquinez Strait meet.
On my first night there, I nearly lost my virginity to the wicked warlock's cohort, the demon Adramelech made into flesh as Adam LeCher, the greatest pitcher in the history of professional baseball. Though I had long idolized Adam for his athletic prowess and physical beauty, not even he as a very willing partner could temp me into anonymous sex.
With the help of the mortal, Stuart Brown (who's now my boyfriend and lying half asleep beside me on our shared towel on this Malibu beach), I soon discovered that I was a warlock.
More incredibly, I realized that my childhood imaginary friend, Pyewacket, whom I'd always imagined as a Siamese cat like the one in the movie, is, in fact, quite real: he is a magical creature, one of many whom we warlocks and witches call elementals. I now understand that Pyewacket had come to me each and every time, from the very beginning, whenever I'd called out to him, though I'd failed to notice his true self–a black mountain lion–until the night I struggled against Adam LeCher's unwanted sexual advances.
In my search for Grandmother, I was fortunate enough to join forces with the Devil's Imps Motorcycle Club, a Vallejo-based coven of warlocks who had known her for quite some time. Soon, a coven of witches in Malibu also reached out to help us. Together, we discovered that the wicked warlock had sent Grandmother back in time to August 19, 1859, and had bound her within Vallejo's old capitol building.
Just when I despaired that we would fail to rescue her, a magnificent elemental, aptly described by one witch as "the angeliferous giant," came to us and gave me a massive power boost so that I was able to go back in time, accompanied by Ace, the sole warlock in our group who could travel back with me, since no mortal, warlock or witch can revisit a time, in which they've already existed.
In the early morning hours of August 20, 1859, we at last freed Grandmother and sent her home, though I regret that we failed to prevent Wymerus from burning to the ground the old capitol building.
He then kidnapped my boyfriend Stu to use as a pawn to lure me back to my true timeline. I knew that I’d find the two of them on the baseball diamond in Vallejo, where Wymerus had first called out to the demon Adramelech nearly two centuries earlier, when that area had been untamed grassland along the Napa River.
On the baseball diamond, Wymerus confessed that he'd been obsessed with me since our first encounter in 1859. He had promised the demon Adramelech my body to possess forever, if the demon would help capture me. The wicked duo was convinced that our rendezvous on the baseball diamond was to be their big moment; but neither of them knew that I'd spent time in 1859 Vallejo on the northern shore of the Carquinez Strait with an older African-American man, whose wisdom proved unfettered by his physical disabilities. He helped me look beyond my fears to become at all times who I really am: the warlock who can see forever. I see and feel, at all times, everyone alive now, in the past, and in the future, which is more fantastic than I could ever imagine. I see and feel the great circle of birth, life, death, rebirth. I feel the pain. I see and feel the peace. And, most of all, I feel the love, which is the indefatigable source of the magic that we warlocks and witches wield.
With the help of the warlocks and witches who joined me on the baseball diamond, and with our power magnified by that of a great many more warlocks and witches from around the world, I vanquished the wicked warlock by binding him within a magical ring borne by the angeliferous giant. I then let the demon Adramelech possess my body in order to vanquish him, too, for he then saw, with my eyes, that there truly was no place in our world for such a loveless creature as himself.
Now, as I lay dozing under the evening sun alongside Stu on sandy Latigo Beach in Malibu, I was sickened to detect the distinctly acrid taste of stolen magic, this particular strain most foully tinged with something hot and metallic. I noted with disgust that this stolen magic tasted very much like a pot of boiling human blood.
I sat up, startling Stu, who opened his eyes and rose up onto his elbows.
I looked over my shoulder at him. I love everything about him. I love holding him in my arms. I love kissing him. I love using my hands, my lips, my tongue to explore every centimeter of his muscular body. I love doing this all the more so as he does the same to me. I love how tan he always is. I love his black hair, square jaw, wide mouth, thick eyelashes and black eyes. I love being loved by such a kind, intelligent, empathetic man.
I bit my lower lip and clenched my fists in the warm beach sand. I couldn't let myself imagine anything bad happening to him. With my mind, I searched the world for the mortals who had had their flesh and blood consumed to create this stolen magic. I was perplexed, then alarmed, when I couldn't locate them.
"What?" Stu asked, his eyes growing wide, as he studied my stricken face.
I couldn't speak for a long moment, for I now acutely tasted the flesh of the mortals burnt away, mummified, drained completely of its blood.
Stu didn't blink as he continued to stare at me.
At last, I shook my head.
"Stolen magic," I breathed, looking north toward San Francisco and Vallejo. "Made from people. Made from a lot of mortal people."
I stood up, clearly seeing, with my mind, the two parallel spans of the Carquinez Bridge, which connects the East Bay counties of the San Francisco Bay Area to Vallejo, Solano County and the rest of Northern California.
"I have to go," I said to Stu, who jumped to his feet, as a great storm of orange butterflies whooshed around me.
I knew that the stolen magic was coming for someone on the westbound span of the bridge. I was impatient that I hadn't already identified that person, as I frantically studied the drivers and passengers of the motorcycles, cars, trucks and commuter buses hurling over the bridge. I knew that someone's life was about to jump the rails, when the stolen magic reached him or her.
But whose?
My heart skipped a beat, as I watched the mortal, Matt Arno, run westbound in the bridge's bike lane near the center of the span. He has black hair and wore a short-sleeve shirt, designer jeans and expensive sneakers. He was clutching in his right hand a magical object.
"I'm coming with you," Stu said to me on Latigo Beach. "Grant! Grant!"
I watched my boyfriend turn in circles, unable to see me, as I magicked myself invisible, the orange butterflies the physical manifestation of my power and now a great tornado whirling around me.
"No," I said, "something's happening. It's too dangerous."
"Oh, my god," I heard Stu say to himself, as I raised my hands over my head.
I rose swiftly over the beach and looked for my motorcycle, which, to the astonishment of a very stoned surfer, started itself, then shot straight up into the cloudless sky over the Pacific Coast Highway, orange butterflies soon swirling around it to render it invisible, as it flew toward me.
I headed north and, picking up speed, glanced over my shoulder at my bike catching up with me. A few moments later, I swung my left leg over its seat and settled in, clutching the handgrips.
I could feel Matt gasping for air, as he sprinted closer to the center of the bridge, where he intended to fling the magical object over the bridge's handrail and massive suspension cable. He desperately hoped that the magical object would drown or, better yet, shatter forever once it struck the glittering surface of the strait some forty or so meters below.
At great speed, I flew north along the California coast toward the bridge.
I saw, with my mind, Matt skid to a stop when someone flickered into existence in front of him an instant before that person reached out with their hands in an effort to snatch the magical object away from him. The putrid stench of the stolen magic nearly overwhelmed my senses. I couldn't identify Matt's flickering assailant as mortal or immortal. He felt impossibly like both. Or neither.
I again bit my lower lip. I've never sensed anyone–or anything–like this.
As I watched, with my mind, Matt battle his assailant, I dropped from the sky toward the bridge, steering my bike right at Matt. I know that I cannot interfere with the horrible things that mortals do to one another. I mean, if I were to begin, where do I stop? And what good things will be undone in the future, if I undo all the bad things in the past? With that said, I will never hesitate to protect mortals and immortals alike from the unnatural malignancy of stolen magic.
Whatever you are, I thought, I'm not letting you fuck with Matt.
I knew that Matt is three years older than me, that he had rarely gotten into fist fights while in boarding school and art school in France, and that he is not nearly as buff as I've become from my daily workouts with Stu and the Vallejo coven warlocks. To my surprise, though, Matt held his own, repeatedly punching his left fist into the face and abdomen of his assailant, who I was now astounded to see was not a single man, but several mortal and immortal men and women, who flickered briefly into and out of existence, each one of them trying to pry away from Matt the magical object, which looked like a leafless bonsai tree potted in a decorative, ceramic container.
I watched an expensive, electric sports car shriek to a stop on the bridge's shoulder very near where Matt was battling his flickering assailants. The mortal, Tom Edwards, leapt out of the car. He ignored the screeching tires and angry honks of a semi truck behind him, as he ran around the front of his car to jump the fence separating motor vehicles from the bike lane. Tom has reddish brown hair and sported a bushy beard and mustache. His suit jacket got caught on the fence, briefly slowing him down. While Tom sprinted toward Matt, I caught flashes of the flickering men and women's long hair, tattoos and sinewy arms. Tom pulled a pistol from his hip holster and pointed it at Matt's assailants.
"Duck!" Tom shouted a moment before Matt looked over his shoulder at the pistol, then hunched down, protectively wrapping his arms around the magical object.
Someone flickered into view much longer than the others had. I couldn't tell if they were mortal or immortal, if they were a man or a woman. He or she wore a tattered, Medieval-looking tunic and stockings. A thorny, metal helmet covered much of their head and prevented me from seeing their face. They swayed in place. They didn't look like they had enough strength to remain much longer on their feet, let alone to make a grab for Matt’s magical object.
I slowed my bike until I hovered alongside the bridge a meter or so from Matt.
Tom fired his pistol twice at the swaying person.
I watched that person flicker away an instant before the wicked warlock, Wymerus, took their place. I was beyond dismayed to see him once more unleashed upon the world. I was so astonished to see him that I could only gape at his sublime face now contorted with rage and half obscured by his brown hair cut long in front. I noted that he still wore the exquisite suit that he'd worn on the night we'd bound him within the magical ring.
I couldn't breathe, as I watched Wymerus effortlessly close his hands around the bullets, as if Tom had tossed pennies at the warlock.
I nearly vomited at the foulness of the stolen magic now crashing around me like ocean waves to drown me. My blood turned ice cold. Over the last 2,000 years, Wymerus has killed and stolen the magic of 135 witches and warlocks to become the most despicable and the most powerful warlock, whom I have the displeasure of knowing.
I watched him glare at Tom, who ogled him in astonishment.
How is this possible? I cried out loudly enough to be heard by Grandmother, Eunice Finch, the Vallejo coven warlocks and the Malibu coven witches.
I was startled when Wymerus glanced over his shoulder at the spot, where I was hovering on my bike. I was certain that my magic made even him blind to my presence. He chucked the bullets over the bridge’s handrail and suspension cable toward the strait below, then looked at Tom.
"Put your gun away and go home before you cause an accident," Wymerus murmured to the mortal, then smirked, when Tom immediately holstered his pistol, turned away and jumped over the bike-lane fence to race back to his car.
Matt straightened up, squarely returning Wymerus' gaze.
"Who are you?" Matt demanded. "What's happening?"
Wymerus raised his hand to snap his fingers at Matt, who spun in the air across the bike lane.
"War!" Wymerus bellowed, then vanished, as Matt plunged over the side of the bridge toward the water below.
Matt was surprised that he still clutched the magical object. He closed his eyes.
If this is it, he thought, this is it.
Not on my watch, I said loudly enough for him to hear my thoughts at the same time I garbled the memories of the people traveling across both spans of the bridge so that no one paid much attention to the extraordinary events that they had just witnessed in the bike lane; and so that they later deleted any video footage that they found of what had just happened.
Matt opened his eyes, surprised, when he felt his fall cut short, as if an enormous, invisible hand had caught him and was now holding him in place several meters above the sparkling water.
"Holy crap!" he marveled, as he watched great clouds of orange butterflies swirl around him a moment before he spotted me riding my bike down from the bridge toward him. "I'm dead."
You're not dead, I said to him, so get ready to hop on.
He decided that nothing in his life had prepared him for the surreal moment of watching a buff, blond man wearing nothing but baggy, blue swim trunks ride a motorcycle out of the sky toward him.
"Hop on!" I said to him seconds later, when I stopped the bike alongside him long enough for him to climb on behind me.
I was relieved to feel him press his chest and abdomen against my back. I didn't know what Wymerus had planned for Matt or his magical object, but I was beyond thrilled that I'd rescued the mortal. I waited for Matt to wrap his left arm tightly around my rib cage before I accelerated the bike up and under the parallel spans of the bridge.
I could feel his heart beating wildly. I sensed that he was breathing too fast. He didn't notice that he was shaking all over, as I realized that he was in shock.
You're going to be all right, Matt, I said.
"What? How can I be after that? How do you know my name? This can't be happening!" he yelled into my ear over the roar of the motorcycle's engine. "I know I'm dead!"
I promise you you aren't, I said. But, unfortunately, you've caught the attention of the worst person I know.
I was annoyed that I didn't already know for what purpose Wymerus was wielding this stolen magic. I searched through time and couldn't find from where or when these flickering people had come nor to where or when they had gone after they'd vanished from the bridge. I didn't understand why I couldn't find the source of this foul strain of stolen magic, though I had no doubt that it was forged from the flesh and blood of mortals.
"War!" Wymerus had shouted at Matt.
I shuddered.
I wasn't looking forward to another battle with Wymerus.
Too many people have died because of him.
I scowled, certain that things were about to go from very bad to much worse.
I turned my bike toward Vallejo. We rose upward until we were level with the eastbound span of the bridge. We glanced into the cars and a Vallejo-bound commuter bus that we passed, their occupants magicked blind to our flying alongside them.
Seconds before we reached the steep, grassy cliff on the northern shore of the strait, I guided the bike up and over the steel truss of the cantilever bridge, then past vehicles brought to a sudden crawl at the bridge's toll plaza.
"Wow," Matt breathed, when I next guided the bike down toward Highway 80.
I magicked him into the motorcycle helmet and leather jacket that I kept in my bedroom closet at my house in Vallejo. I then focused for a moment to dress myself in the motorcycle gear that I typically wear while traveling up and down the California coast. The instant my bike's wheels struck the highway's pavement, I made sure that no one was looking in our direction, then made us visible.
We need to get you somewhere safe, I said to Matt, weaving my bike between the cars, trucks and buses that we passed.
Matt clutched me more tightly. I knew that he felt like he was lost in a dream.
A few moments later, I smiled inside my helmet, when I sensed roaring toward us on their motorcycles three of the coven warlocks. To motorists unacquainted with the trio, the warlocks looked intimidating in their black helmets, Devil's Imps Motorcycle Club leather jackets, gauntlet gloves, leather pants and motorcycle boots. I knew that the warlocks had been heading over to the southern shore of the strait to eat dinner at an old, waterfront restaurant built nearly under the bridge. The moment they'd felt me fly in from Malibu to confront the stolen magic, they didn't hesitate to turn around on the bridge's interchange to join us.
What happened to hanging in Malibu? Mouth asked me, as he pulled even with my bike, looked over his shoulder at my passenger, then gunned his engine to ride a few meters ahead of us. Miss us?
Always, I replied, in all honesty.
Does Stu know you got a hot Frenchie humping your backside? Little John teased me, when he caught up with my bike, glanced over his shoulder at the mortal, then shot ahead to ride alongside Mouth.
A moment later, I nodded to Little John's boyfriend, Eric, who kept pace with my bike so that we four warlocks rode in tandem.
This is Matt Arno, I said to the warlocks. That bonsai tree he's holding is not a bonsai tree.
We know, Eric said. It feels to me like you've just caught yourself a leprechaun with a pot o' gold.
Something like that, I said, scoffing, despite everything that had just happened.
Where we headed? Little John asked, glancing back at Matt and me.
Get off at Tennessee Street, I said, seeing, with my mind, where Matt lived, where he'd safely kept the non-bonsai tree until now. Then, head west.
With my mind, I showed the warlocks the storybook house that has been in Matt's family for seven generations. Its steeply pitched roofs, oddly shaped windows and central turret capped with a conical roof make the whimsical house stand out on its winding street a few blocks northwest of Tennessee and Tuolumne streets.
Of course, the little elf lives in Hansel and Gretel's house, Mouth said. You know, I've never tasted leprechaun dick. Think he squirts rainbows?
Little John and Eric chuckled.
He's already got a boyfriend, I said, seeing, with my mind, the mortal, Tom Edwards, driving contentedly west on Highway 80 toward his penthouse condominium in downtown San Francisco, as compelled to do so by Wymerus’ magic. Or almost does.
So what? He looks as young as you. I probably need less than five minutes with him to get a taste of that rainbow, Mouth said, laughing, as he led us off the highway and into the westbound exit lane to Tennessee Street.
You need a boyfriend, Little John said to Mouth.
I've had plenty of boyfriends, Mouth replied. I just don't need one of my own.
Little John and Eric laughed.
Grinning, I magicked green the traffic lights ahead of us so that our bikes roared unabated down Tennessee Street, coven warlocks riding in tandem along this tree-lined street a rather common sight, since the club's motorcycle shop is only a few kilometers away in an alley off Sonoma Boulevard.
"They know where I live," Matt marveled aloud, after we'd turned north onto Tuolumne Street, then made a left onto his street a few blocks later.
Matt's storybook house is unmistakable behind a massive fishtail palm tree.
I gave a reassuring squeeze to Matt's arm tightly wrapped around me, then gunned my bike ahead of the other warlocks. I turned onto Matt's driveway, focusing for a moment to deactivate the house's sophisticated security systems and to swing open the garage door. I then drove inside the garage, stopping beside a blue roadster.
Orange butterflies swirled around us, as I next focused to teleport my bike to the blacktop parking lot outside the club's motorcycle shop.
"Holy crap," Matt gasped, now standing behind me, with his arm still wrapped around me.
When I again lightly squeezed his arm, he was quick to release me, staggering backward several steps. He watched the other warlocks ride one by one into the garage, their bikes instantly teleported to the shop's parking lot the moment they'd driven far enough inside to be out of view of curious neighbors.
As we four warlocks pulled off our helmets, I magicked back to my house the helmet and jacket that Matt was wearing. I watched him lean against the back wall of the garage and do his best to keep his eyes on all four of us warlocks. He protectively clutched the non-bonsai tree against his belly, while I took a moment to admire the elegant wood paneling that adorned the garage's walls and ceiling.
"Hello, little leprechaun," Mouth purred at the mortal.
The warlock towered over us. He has reddish brown hair, long sideburns and very blue eyes. He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at the mortal at the same time he pointed his index finger at the garage door to magick it shut, then pointed at a light switch to flick on the overhead lights.
I looked around the garage, because I wondered why the non-bonsai tree had been invisible to prying eyes while inside this house for so many decades. I then understood that the top, bottom and four sides of its original, magically protective box had been pulled apart and carefully secreted into the exterior walls, roof and basement floorboards of the house, so as to expand the protective space, within which the magical object could exist.
I turned to Matt, before saying: "You're okay."
Matt bugged his eyes at me, his mind reeling that my voice aloud sounded exactly as it had in his head.
"What?" he could only manage.
"You're okay," I repeated. "This was the first time you've taken that thing out of the house, isn't it?"
"Yes. I mean, no, I tried to burn it up in the backyard yesterday, but that obviously didn't work," he said, before clearing his throat to ask: "What are you?"
"Warlocks," I said.
"Warlocks," he echoed, his eyes still very wide. "Well, sure."
"Surprise, little leprechaun," Mouth said. "We exist."
He leered at the mortal, then did an almost comical double take at the roadster, beside which we stood.
"What the fuck!" Mouth exclaimed. "Is that what I think it is? Grant, does it have stamped on its chassis CSX 2,000-something?"
I glanced at the car, nodded, then read aloud the number that I saw, with my mind, as clearly as I saw, in 1962, the men who were assembling this 75 Cobra MkI.
"Holy shit," Eric breathed, his leather jacket creaking, as he reached out to caress the car's passenger door.
Mouth beamed a huge grin at the mortal, before exclaiming: "You are a leprechaun!"
"What?" the mortal gasped, pressing his back firmly against the garage wall at the same time Mouth strode up to him to squeeze his shoulders affectionately.
I sensed that the mortal was trying, with very little success, to process everything that had happened to him since he'd sprinted over the bridge's bike lane. His heart was still pounding wildly in his chest. He did his best to look composed as he gawked up at Mouth, but I knew that the mortal desperately wanted to slump to the floor and hide from the world for as long as it took for him to wake up from this bizarre dream.
Warlocks, gather around, I said a moment before I magicked myself into sneakers, jeans and my favorite tee shirt celebrating the annual Cow Head Lobster Festival.
I stepped up to Mouth and the mortal.
"Mouth's only teasing you," I murmured to the mortal, as I gazed into his black eyes. "He knows you're not a leprechaun. We are warlocks, see, but nothing like whoever those were that attacked you on the bridge."
The mortal and I both noticed, when Mouth magicked himself into his blue shop overalls with no shirt or shoes, because his obvious erection jutted out the crotch of his uniform.
You can read my mind, can't you? the mortal asked me, licking his lips, as he looked into my eyes, then down at Mouth's rigid cock.
Yes, I answered, pleased that the mortal didn't flinch away, when I lightly pressed my palm against the side of his face. See what I say is true.
At my touch, the mortal moaned softly at the waves of euphoria cascading over his body with an increasing intensity. His cock steadily erected up the front of his jeans the more clearly he understood that the source of our magic is the love that we warlocks and witches feel intensely for one another and for our friends and families, as well as all the reciprocated love that we feel flowing back toward us from all these people. The mortal sighed, when Mouth bent at the waist to plant kisses over the mortal's other cheek.
Little John and Eric, who were now dressed in hoodies and jeans, lightly drew their hands up and down the mortal's arms.
I smiled at the warlock couple. Little John has black eyes and full lips. He is a little shorter than me, leanly muscular and very hairy. He always keeps his dark mustache and beard neatly trimmed. His hair is two shades darker than Eric's and cropped very short like his boyfriend's. Eric is a head taller than Little John and me. He is the most muscular of the coven warlocks and nearly as hairy as Little John.
I looked at the mortal, who realized that he was feeling the arousal that he associated not with the first passionate kisses that he shared with a man, but, rather, with the many times he was with one of his boyfriends in bed or at a party or on a Paris street corner late at night, while they kissed and gently explored the other man's body, neither one of them in a hurry to strip or fuck. In moments like those, time seemed to slow down or become infinite. In moments like those, Matt felt connected, body and soul, to his boyfriend.
Matt swallowed dryly. He was surprised that he now knew the names of the warlocks caressing him. He marveled that he also knew a great many more things about us, as if we had been intimate friends for years.
This is how you guys feel all the time, isn't it? he asked Mouth, who kissed the mortal's lips, his tongue darting furtively over the mortal's.
You bet, Mouth said, kneading the mortal's shoulders passionately.
You guys must fuck all the time, the mortal said, moaning loudly, as he traced his left hand over the coarse fabric of Mouth's overalls to explore the taller warlock's muscular chest and abdomen, before reaching down to squeeze his erection.
Like bunnies, actually, Mouth said, bucking his hips rhythmically, as they kissed fervently.
Little John, Eric and I continued to caress the mortal, feeling as aroused as Mouth, who keenly enjoyed the mortal's hand squeezing his rigid member.
I closed my eyes. I focused on everything that the mortal had experienced over his life. I reveled in the love that he feels for his family, for his best friend in Paris, and for the boyfriends, whom he has gained and lost over the years. With my magic, I expanded my mind to reach the Vallejo coven warlocks, the Malibu coven witches, Grandmother, and the witch, Eunice Finch, who has long been Grandmother's friend and, in 1859, proved to be our great ally, when she helped Ace and me rescue Grandmother.
I sensed that everyone was anxiously waiting to hear from me since I'd cried out in despair on the bridge. I let them feel the vileness of the stolen magic that had led me to the mortal in the bike lane. I showed them the flickering assailants, whom he'd battled in order to retain his magical object. I showed them the return of Wymerus.
Several witches and warlocks cried out the wicked one's name in surprise or anger.
Matt wanted to throw away his magical object, I said to everyone, when they attacked.
Wymerus told the mortal we are at war, said Maria Mendoza-Gelzon, who is the leader of the Malibu coven witches. She has long, black hair. She was forced to retire as a deputy district attorney in Los Angeles County, before her colleagues might notice that she had barely aged in her 25 years of public service. She was currently stuck in traffic on the Ventura Freeway near Topanga Canyon Boulevard in Woodland Hills. He certainly must have known his use of stolen magic would make us aware of him. I wonder why he's so interested in this magical object. It is rare, certainly enough, but we have believed all this time he was still bound by the spell. If we are at war, he has lost the element of surprise. To what purpose was that stunt on the bridge?
I don't know, I said, scowling. And why didn't he take the magical object before he threw Matt off the bridge? I don't sense Wymerus or the stolen magic anywhere in the world. That's really what's so bizarre and scary about this.
I saw Benjamin Miller standing beside a motorcycle that he was repairing in the warlocks' shop. Benji is tall and muscular. He has cropped, blond hair, a high forehead, a straight nose, and a bushy beard. His thick mustache always hides his lips. Stu likes to call him the "fucking Viking," especially when we're all naked together (despite my habit of teasingly reminding Stu that Benji was born in London, England, on December 22, 1349, nearly two centuries after the Norman Conquest, which basically heralded the end of the Viking era). Benji is the leader of the Vallejo coven warlocks. Six years ago, when I came into my powers, he was also my beloved mentor.
We must remain vigilant, Benji said to everyone. Since Wymerus didn’t take the magical object, we mustn’t assume that was his main objective. Perhaps, that attack on the bridge was to distract us from something else he truly desired. If you cannot see him, Grant, he is likely hiding somewhere in time.
Wymerus is certainly a clever devil, Eunice Finch said across town, while driving her jalopy up steep York Street, which was lined with colorful Victorian houses. She looks very much like a rosy-cheeked, bespectacled Mrs. Claus. But we have defeated him once, and we will do so again.
We will, Grandmother said atop York Street from her backyard garden, where she was watering in a deep, terra-cotta container an abundance of sweet peas growing out of season on this first day of October.
I smiled. The love and steadfast support from these many men and women warmed my heart. I pressed my palm more firmly against the mortal's cheek, as Mouth continued to kiss his lips. The mortal moaned softly, lost in the waves of euphoria overwhelming his senses.
With my mind, I now turned my attention to my boyfriend, Stu, who still lay on the towel that we had been sharing on Latigo Beach. The sun had dipped closer to the Pacific Ocean. I saw that he had packed away in his backpack our water bottles and sunblock, then slipped on his blue tee shirt and sneakers. His eyes were closed, while he nervously waited for me, tapping his fingertips rhythmically over his abdomen.
I'm okay, I said to him.
"Thank god!" he cried out more loudly than he'd intended, not looking to his left at a group of teenaged girls who raised their eyes up from their smartphones long enough to glance inquiringly at him.
Something weird has happened, I said to Stu, but everyone's okay. I'll show you later. My instinct is to always hold you in my arms and never, ever, ever let anything bad happen to you. You know that. I really want you with me right now, but I think you're okay there. Do you want to stay? Or come to Vallejo? Or go back to Twin Peaks?
"Are you staying in Vallejo?" he murmured, sitting up at the same time he eyed a row of surfers riding a wave toward shore.
Yeah, I need to. For now.
"Vallejo, then," Stu said, then grinned, as he watched a storm of orange butterflies swirl around him in a tightening circle.
Moments later, while the butterflies steadily flickered out of existence, he realized that he now sat on the towel in the middle of the living room of my Victorian house, which stands directly behind Grandmother's house and is on the southeastern corner of Montgomery and Georgia streets.
"Never freaking used to that!" Stu exclaimed, hopping up to his feet so that he could fold the towel. "When're you coming home?"
I said: Soon, I hope. Your motorcycle's parked outside. I love you.
"I love you," he said, flashing his very white teeth and impressive dimples, as he grinned up at the ceiling.
I smiled back, then returned my attention to Matt in his garage.
"Matt," I said, still caressing his cheek. "I want to tell my friends about you and your non-bonsai tree."
The mortal opened his eyes, as Mouth released his shoulders and took a step back.
A bit woozily, the mortal focused his gaze on me while he lowered his hand from Mouth's crotch.
Little John and Eric looked the mortal up and down.
"Oh, what a big contact high you’ve got there," Little John said to him with a grin.
The mortal still held the non-bonsai tree against his belly, but he no longer feared us.
"How do you guys get anything done when you feel like this?" he asked me. "I just want to take off my clothes and lie in bed, naked and hard."
Mouth hurriedly said: "Don't let us stop you!"
The mortal swallowed drily, then said to me: "You can see me, right? I mean, you can see me all the time. You can see everyone like that, can't you?"
I nodded.
"But how's–how's that possible?" he asked. "I thought only Santa Claus and God could do that. No, never mind. I know. Warlocks."
"Well," Eric said, "Grant's kinda special."
"And how embarrassing," the mortal said, turning his head to make eye contact with each one of us warlocks.
"What do you mean?" I asked, lowering my hand from his cheek.
"You know," the mortal said. "Farting in my sleep. Sitting on the toilet."
I laughed, shaking my head, before saying: "I don't want to show my friends that. I want to show them how you got that non-bonsai tree and how you ended up out there on the bridge today."
"Everything?" he asked, stepping away from us.
"If you want, see, I can show them the PG-13 version," I offered, watching him cross the garage to push open a door that led into the kitchen.
"No," he said, standing in the doorway, as he looked over his shoulder at us. "Show them everything. The good and the bad. But, first, come on in, you guys. I've never had warlocks in my house. I think."
He led us into the sleekly modern kitchen fitted with dark, mahogany cabinets and granite countertops. We warlocks were immediately drawn to the twin oversized, stained glass windows above the sink. The two panels depicted in exquisite detail bunches of lavender and blue grapes dangling on lush, curling vines.
"Wow," Little John said.
"My great-great-great-great-grandfather’s brother made those," the mortal told him.
"Talentless bastard," Mouth said, then winked at the mortal, who flashed him a crooked smile, before opening a cabinet door to reveal rows of cut crystal glasses.
"Does anyone want anything to drink?" the mortal asked us.
When we declined, the mortal led us through the kitchen, past the dining room and into the living room, whose fine furnishings had the voluptuous curves and sharp angles characteristic of the Art Deco movement. I knew that each piece was quite old and obviously well cared for. I watched Eric and Little John turn nearly a complete circle, as they admired framed posters of steamships and trains created in the 1920's and 1930's by Adolphe Jean-Marie Mouron.
"I have one condition, though," the mortal said to me.
I nodded.
"I have to lie down," he said. "I feel like I've been drugged by you guys. And even though you say I'm okay here in my house, I don't feel okay. I haven't felt okay for days. I want him–Mouth–with me."
Mouth widened his eyes.
"Naked?" the warlock asked.
"If you want," the mortal said to him, then looked at me. "When you showed me how you guys feel, I somehow saw Mouth is old, like hundreds of years old, and a warrior."
"That's not the word I'd use," Mouth said to him.
"But you are," the mortal insisted, "however you want to describe yourself."
"Mouth," I said, "please go with Matt. Watch over him while he rests."
The mortal stepped closer to me, extending his hand.
"Thank you for saving me, Grant," he said, shaking my hand. "That's the closest I've ever come to death. I thought I had died. I probably would have without you."
"I'm glad I could help," I said, feeling my face, neck and chest flush, as he steadily gazed into my eyes.
After a time, he released my hand and nodded to Mouth, who hurried after him into the tile foyer.
Then, wordlessly, they climbed an ornate staircase to the second floor.
His heart pounding fast with anticipation, Mouth followed the mortal down a hallway, whose beautiful furnishings nearly rivaled what we'd seen downstairs, though Mouth was mostly focused on how snugly the mortal's designer jeans hugged his bubble butt. Mouth could smell the copious pre-cum that the mortal had leaked into his underwear. Mouth shook his head in amazement at the unexpected turn of events that had brought him into this house today, as the mortal led him toward a door at the end of the hallway.
Mouth wanted to ask the mortal which were his three favorite sexual positions, but, instead, asked: "Your folks art thieves?"
The mortal scoffed, then, without looking back at Mouth, asked: "Do you think people can only get rich from stealing and treachery?"
"Most of them, yeah."
"I'm an Arno," the mortal said, pushing open the door, and flicked on a light switch.
"A what-o?" Mouth asked, as he looked around the bedroom and was not surprised by how sumptuous its Art Deco furnishings were.
"An Arno," the mortal repeated, placing the non-bonsai tree on a side table. "You know, Arno and Arno."
"Oh," Mouth said, pleased to watch the mortal sit on the edge of the bed, where he kicked off his sneakers, then bent forward to peel off his socks. "Your family's that family that makes pretty trinkets and stained glass like the windows in your kitchen?"
"Yes," the mortal said, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, as he next undid the buttons down the front of his short-sleeve shirt.
Mouth cleared his throat.
"This is the part where we both strip, right?" he asked, admiring the mortal's hairy chest and abdomen.
"I know you can fight naked," the mortal said. "You know I want to see you naked."
"Can I lie naked and hard beside you?" Mouth asked, his heart skipping a beat, when the mortal slipped off his shirt.
Mouth was pleased that the parade of passing centuries had not dulled one iota his lust for male beauty. He was thrilled to see that this mortal hadn't shaved and clipped his hairy torso like some topiary project, as was today's custom. Mouth liked that the mortal has a lean physique, tiny nipples mostly hidden in his black chest hair, and an earthy, even sour scent, which Mouth was certain that he would enjoy exploring while sniffing and licking the mortal’s very hairy armpits.
"Well, sure, you can undress," the mortal answered, "but I'm not having sex with you."
"I admire such discipline," Mouth said, wiggling his eyebrows at the mortal, who turned his head to watch the warlock unhook the shoulder straps of his overalls. "Even when misplaced."
They gazed at one another, as Mouth slipped his overalls down his chest, abdomen, hips, and very hairy thighs and calves. Mouth carefully stepped out of them, then straightened up naked and achingly aroused for the mortal's viewing pleasure.
"Look what you do to me," Mouth breathed.
The mortal's face was contorted with lust. His lips trembled, as he breathed rapidly. He stood up from the bed and stepped toward Mouth, who was greatly disappointed that the mortal hadn’t already dropped to his knees to suck him off.
"It always feels good being naked and hard with a man who wants to be naked and hard with you," the mortal murmured, pausing for a moment, before stepping even closer to Mouth.
"Well said," Mouth said, relishing the intensity of the other man's gaze.
"Can you twitch?" the mortal asked, his eyes now locked onto Mouth's rigid cock, which pointed straight out from his unkempt thicket of reddish brown pubic hair.
"What?" Mouth asked, even though he knew what the mortal meant.
"You know, make it go up and down."
Mouth twitched his cock up and down, his balls jiggling between his thighs.
The mortal stepped so close to Mouth that the warlock's cockhead nearly touched the mortal's hairy belly. When the mortal still hadn't taken Mouth by the cock, the warlock ran his hand over the mortal's lean, hairy chest, noting his nipples were fully erected.
"Keep your hands to yourself," the mortal said, brushing away Mouth's fingers.
"I'm here to guard you," Mouth countered. "I might have to hold you very close."
The mortal flashed him another crooked smile, before asking: "How old are you?"
"I've lost track," Mouth answered, in all honesty, as he watched the mortal press his hands against Mouth's lower groin just above his pubic hair.
"Hundreds and hundreds of years old," the mortal marveled, lightly running his hands up Mouth's abdomen to just below his broad chest. "I still feel drugged. If I close my eyes, I can see you fucking men in the woods, by rivers, and in, uh, in teepees. I can feel what you feel. I can feel you coming. And there's one warlock–He's very blond and very hairy.–whom you absolutely crave inside you. You like to feel him coming inside you. You love him. You love knowing his cum's inside you."
All this talk about coming was nearly more than Mouth could endure. He very much wanted to magic away this mortal's jeans and underwear, flip him over onto his belly on the bed, eat his asshole, then furiously fuck him until they both came and came.
"Take your clothes off," Mouth said, raising his hands to pinch the mortal's nipples.
The mortal again brushed away Mouth’s hands.
"I like your tattoo," the mortal said, running his hand down Mouth's right side to trace his fingers over the tattoo design of a pentagram containing a circle, with different-colored stars in and around the two symbols.
"Thanks," Mouth said, resting his hands on the mortal's shoulders.
The mortal took a long step backward out of the warlock's reach.
"What's it mean?" the mortal asked, still eyeing the tattoo.
"We call it the 43 Tattoo," Mouth answered. "It's a coven thing. Take your clothes off."
The mortal closed his eyes, his lips once more trembling.
"I can see your memories," he said. "So many men."
"Take your clothes off," Mouth more forcefully repeated, his pulse quickening a moment later, when the mortal nodded, then unsnapped his jeans, before unzipping the fly. "White boxers? You're so old school."
The mortal gulped dryly, then shucked his jeans down his hairy legs and pulled his feet free a bit awkwardly.
As he straightened up, Mouth was thrilled to see the mortal's erection jutting out his bulky underwear. Mouth was thrilled to note that the mortal had leaked so much pre-cum that the fabric of his boxers was transparent around his swollen, pink cockhead, which is about the same size and shape as Mouth's own engorged crown.
"Let me help you," Mouth offered. "I've never stripped a Frenchie before."
"I don't believe you. I'm only half French, anyway. My mom's from Manhattan. Dutch and English," the mortal said, letting Mouth step close enough to hook his fingers under the elastic waistband of the mortal's underwear so that the warlock could draw the boxers far enough away from the mortal's hairy belly to peek inside.
The two of them gulped noisily at the same time.
Mouth was delighted by the mortal's unkempt thicket of dark pubic hair. Mouth loved seeing up-close the mortal's shiny, pink cockhead, and appreciated even more seeing pearly pre-cum gleaming along his piss slit. Mouth inhaled deeply, savoring the mortal's musk. Mouth had no doubt that he would enjoy licking and sucking the mortal's balls for hours.
"Down they go," Mouth said, gulping drily several times, as he used his hands to slip the boxers off the mortal's hips and down his thighs and calves.
Mouth’s eyes were locked onto the mortal's erection curving slightly upward over his pale, wrinkly scrotum, as Mouth dropped to his knees and carefully helped the mortal step out of his underwear.
"There. Much better," Mouth enthused, looking the mortal up and down, as he tossed the boxers toward the bed. "Perfection, in fact. How'd you say it? It definitely feels great being naked and hard with a hot man."
Mouth was in no hurry to rise up from his knees. He was pleased to note that the mortal's erection is nearly the same size and shape as his own.
How I want to listen to this sexy man moan while I suck his cock, Mouth thought, reaching out to caress the mortal's pale hip.
"Such soft skin," the warlock marveled.
The mortal took another step back from him, before commanding: "Put your hands behind your back."
"So, now, I'm under arrest?" Mouth asked, intrigued.
"You've not been doing what I’ve asked," the mortal observed. "I'm not having sex with you. I know you're really distracted right now by your, uh, your very hard cock. I need you to focus on me."
"I am very focused on you," Mouth insisted. "Trust me."
"Put your hands behind your back," the mortal repeated, then stood motionless until the warlock happily complied.
Mouth decided that he definitely approved of the mortal's hairy, lean physique, as Mouth watched the mortal step over to a closet door, slide it open and slip a red, silk tie off a metal hanger next to a row of neatly hung dress shirts. Each time Mouth saw the twin globes of the mortal's pale, hairy ass, the more certain Mouth became that he would very much enjoy eating this mortal's pink butthole.
"You should let me suck your dick," Mouth suggested, when the mortal stepped toward him.
Mouth was thrilled to spot pre-cum drooling down the mortal's rigid member a moment before the mortal walked behind the warlock.
"You've done this before," Mouth said, surprised that a shiver of delight made his entire body tremble with anticipation, when he felt the mortal use the tie to bind Mouth’s wrists together.
"Too tight?" the mortal asked, his warm breath washing over Mouth's shoulder.
"As tight as you like," Mouth answered, craning his head over his shoulder for a peek at the mortal, who was now on his knees behind Mouth.
"Tell me what you want to do to me," the mortal murmured, running his hands over Mouth's ass cheeks a few times, before kneading them hard.
"Why don't you let me show you, instead?" Mouth asked over his shoulder, enjoying the unexpected massage.
"Tell me," the mortal insisted, standing up so that he could massage Mouth's shoulders.
Mouth turned his head to grin up at him.
"You're a tease, Matthieu Arno of the Arno and Arno dynasty," he said. "Or one kinky motherfucker."
"Tell me, Mouth."
"Okay. Well, frankly, I want to throw you down on that bed," Mouth said, "and flip you over onto your belly. I want to use my hands to pull apart your sweet, sweet ass cheeks, and get a good, long, hard look at your pink hole. I want to lick your hole and eat your hole and bury my tongue deep inside your hole. I want to do it for so long, you're going to think I'm never going to stop. I promise you in no time I'm going to have you squirming over that bed and moaning and groaning longer than you've ever thought possible. Truth be told, you'll never want me to stop, but you're not sure you're man enough to let me keep eating you out, even though it makes you feel so good. You thrash about so much, I have to hold you down by your hips. We warlocks can't give or get diseases from you mortals, so just when you doubt you can take any more of my tongue slithering and dithering inside you, I spit on my dick and slide that slick snake all the way inside you. Believe me, when I tell you I fuck you like you've never been fucked. My deep thrusts soon have you so delirious, you're gasping for air. I have to lie down on top of you and hold you really hard by the shoulders to keep you from squirming away, and that's when I really drill your warm, tight, wet hole. You can't catch your breath, try as you might with all your might again and again, the longer and the harder I pound your ass. You realize this is the best fuck of your life just about at the same time I come inside you. I mean, I blast my load inside you like I'm a fireman trying to put out a fire in your hole. You can't believe how much cum I spurt inside you. We're all sweaty and I'm still coming inside you, when I roll us over onto our sides, so I can grab your cock and use your pre-cum as lube to whack you off to the best orgasm of your life. You make a huge mess all over that fancy bed of yours. You can't believe you've just had the best sex of your life with this crazy, old warlock."
The mortal released Mouth's shoulders.
Oh, my god! Mouth cried out to himself, shaking with excitement. I need to come bad.
You can read my mind, can't you? the mortal asked.
Yes, Mouth answered. I can feel how horny you are, too. Untie me, so we can fuck. You can rest all you want, afterwards. Trust me.
I'm not having sex with you, the mortal said. But can you see what I see?
Mouth shook his head, then closed his eyes, as he tried to calm himself down in order to focus more precisely on the mortal's mind.
I was expecting a better story, the mortal added.
What? Mouth asked, taken aback by the criticism at the same time he managed to find a way to expand his mind to embrace the mortal's imagination.
The mortal sensed their connection, then imagined this scenario:
"I wanted a story ten times better," he said to the warlock. "More like this one. Try not to come."
The mortal walked around the kneeling warlock, whose hands, in this scenario, were no longer tied behind his back.
"We're going to need a bigger place," the mortal said, when he once more faced the warlock. "Stand up."
Mouth rose to his feet and was not surprised to see that the two of them were naked and fully aroused. The warlock caught his breath, when he realized that the two of them were now standing atop a steep, grassy hillside. To the west, he could see the rooftops of hundreds of houses sprawling across Vallejo toward the San Pablo Bay and Napa River. To their east were nothing but rolling, green foothills.
Mouth again caught his breath, when saw that they were no longer alone on the hillside. Naked and standing shoulder to shoulder were all the men, whom the warlock had fucked over the centuries. The great lot of them formed a single line snaking over the foothills like the Great Wall of China. Silent, their faces expressionless, their arms at rest at their sides, and their chests thrust out a bit, the men looked remarkably alike, despite their being of different races, ages, heights and body types. Blond, clean-shaven men with little body hair stood next to very hairy men sporting thick, unkempt beards. Pale, bald men with elaborate handlebar mustaches stood beside tall, dark-skinned men with black braids hanging past their shoulders. Thin, shaggy-haired men with muttonchops stood beside others quite muscular and clean-cut. Mouth saw that all the men had flaccid cocks. Most were uncircumcised. Their members dangled against their scrotums, which were more often than not hidden in thickets of pubic hair.
"You have excellent taste," the mortal said to Mouth, "and, yet, no two are similar. Truly, on display here is the magnificent variety of the human male."
"I do enjoy variety," the warlock muttered in the mortal's bedroom.
"Walk with me," the mortal said, stepping toward the great row of men.
As he and Mouth approached the line of men closest to them, several of those men moaned loudly, their chests heaving, as they threw instant erections.
The mortal marveled at the different shapes and sizes of their rigid members, then reached down to make a fist around Mouth's throbbing erection. The mortal used it like tiller to guide Mouth across the hillside. All of the men, whom they approached, became fully aroused, many crying out in excitement, their faces and chests turning bright crimson.
The mortal stopped beside a dark-skinned man with long braids. He was lean and nearly as tall as the warlock. His cock was impressively long and thick. The mortal very much wanted to lick his shiny, swollen cockhead.
"Jerk him off," the mortal commanded Mouth, who slowly wrapped his hand around the man's hard member to stroke him.
"Oh!" the man cried out. "I wanted to meet the mysterious arrow-catcher. One day, I saw for myself that it was true. No one but he can snatch arrows from the sky. We wrestled in a field of clover flowers, as a warm rain fell. His strange skin, his strange smell, his strange magic excited me. No one but he knows I lay under him. Oh!"
Mouth and the mortal watched the man ejaculate a massive load, which mostly struck Mouth's hip.
"Now, this one," the mortal said, guiding Mouth by his cock to a short, very thin man with bright blue eyes, shaggy hair and a thick beard.
Seconds before the two of them stood beside the man, his member engorged and stood nearly straight up against his belly, exposing his surprising plump scrotum.
"Praise the Lord," the man breathed, as Mouth jacked him off. "After coming down from the goldfields so many times, I'd been robbed and beaten enough times to know better, but when I saw him bathing there in the stream, I knew that that perfect pole of his had my name on it. He stood still and didn't say nothing, whilst I walked out from under the trees to undress beside him. He didn't say nothing, whilst he bathed me and pushed me down on all fours."
"Oh, shit," Mouth nearly shouted in the mortal's bedroom, his whole body trembling mightily, as his memories cascaded around him.
His face flushing, the short, very thin man did his best to throttle his cries of pleasure, as he fired his semen straight up into the air.
"And this one," the mortal said, leading Mouth by his cock down the row of naked men, whose members fully erected while the two of them passed by.
The mortal stopped Mouth in front of a muscular man with short, dark hair. His rigid, circumcised member curved slightly upward over his hairless scrotum.
Mouth massaged the man's balls for a moment, then jacked him off.
"Man, I hate coffee," the man said, bucking his hips rhythmically. "The smell of it. The taste of it. I mean, I hate everything about it. Especially, having to serve it to the rude customers you only get downtown. Such annoying, pompous assholes, all of them busy typing away on their precious Raspberries or Strawberries or whatever the fuck they’re called. And all of them always dressed in black like a pack of vampires babbling about Y2K whatever. But that coffee does get me laid. A lot. All I had to say to this hot guy was: 'Do you got a condom and lube?' And there we were in the stockroom, with our pants down around our ankles and his dick up my ass."
The man covered his face with his hands to stifle his moans at the same time he shot his load in quick spurts.
"Oh, shit!" Mouth shouted in the mortal’s bedroom, when the mortal made a fist around Mouth's throbbing cock and furiously beat him off to a nearly instantaneous orgasm. "Oh, shit! You fucker!"
Sometime during their imagined trek over the foothills, the mortal had retrieved a towel from the closet and now aimed Mouth's spurting semen onto it.
While the warlock's body was wracked by one of the most intense orgasms that he'd had in recent memory, Mouth could do little but repeatedly hunch over each time his abdominal muscles mightily convulsed. He was soon out of breath. He was impressed as much by the mortal's storytelling skills as he was by how deftly the mortal was jacking him off.
"To be quite honest," Mouth murmured some time later, opening his eyes to gaze dazedly at the mortal squatting in front of him, "I'm more of a man of action than a storyteller."
"Your story was fine," the mortal assured him, releasing Mouth's erection, then used an unsoiled corner of the towel to gently wipe down the warlock's rigid member. "I liked seeing your whole upper body turn bright red, and your muscles clench up everywhere, and your upper lip curl back in a snarl just before you came."
"You noticed all that, did you?" Mouth asked, still catching his breath, as he watched the mortal step back to the closet and toss the towel into a hamper. "That means you like me. Let me help you out."
"No," the mortal emphatically said, before sprawling across his bed. "Come here, but don't touch me."
"Can I take this tie off?" Mouth asked, standing up a bit unsteadily.
Despite the madness of Wymerus' sudden return, Mouth was pleased to have had some mischievous fun with this handsome mortal mysteriously in possession of a much-coveted magical object.
When the mortal nodded, Mouth turned sideways to him and watched the mortal's eyes grow wide in amazement, as the tie unraveled itself from around Mouth's wrists, then rippled across the room like a flying serpent to return to the metal hanger, from which the mortal had fetched it.
"Warlocks are real," the mortal murmured to himself, as Mouth lay down on his back beside him.
"So, apparently, are leprechauns," Mouth said, eyeing the mortal's rigid cock bobbing over his hairy groin. "That was fun. You really tuned into me, Matt. And, shit, you've got a powerful imagination. While we were up there parading over that hill, I tuned into you, too. I know your heart's broken. I can feel it. I promise you that won't last, though. Especially, when you stop spending so much time looking backwards."
The mortal scoffed, diverting his gaze to the ceiling, as he slid his hand over the mattress to hold Mouth's hand.
"So, you're fucking hot and a therapist," the mortal said to the ceiling. "Where've you been all of my life?"
"Here and there," Mouth answered. "We warlocks mostly make money through stealing and treachery."
The mortal gave Mouth's hand a tight squeeze.
Mouth raised his head to look across the mattress at the non-bonsai tree on the side table, before asking: "That's a money tree, isn't it? It cranks out cash."
"Yes. But it's really a nightmare tree. It almost killed me today," the mortal answered, then sighed, as he turned away to look down the second-floor hallway. Okay, Grant. We're ready. Where are you going to start?
At the café in Paris, I said from downstairs, where Eric, Little John and I were now seated in the living room, the day Jason Stein came back into your life.
"Wow. Not my proudest moment," the mortal said, again squeezing Mouth's hand. "But okay. Show them how I go from there to here, with four warlocks in my house. And this one naked with me in my bed."
This is the first chapter of my gay erotic, paranormal thriller novel, Go To The Lighthouse!, now available here on Amazon. This novel is the first book in the Tales of the Vallejo Coven Warlocks series, which is about the powerful warlock, Grant Webb, confronting the limits of his power, as he battles a new strain of malefic magic and strives to protect the Vallejo coven warlocks, their friends and all of humanity from annihilation. If you can’t resist spoilers, be sure to read the tags at the end of this chapter to find out more about the plot.
