Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

Note from JetBoy: A sweet little story from the files of our dear departed Karin Halle. She is missed, but her work lives on. Immense thanks to BlueJean for editing. 

 

by Karin Halle

A photograph often tells more about its subject than what is captured by the lens alone.

Something about the photograph had attracted my attention, but it was necessary for me to study the image closely in order to isolate and identify that nebulous something.

The photograph was old, that much was clear from the sepia tone of the print and the style of clothing worn by the people contained within. Nothing else about the picture really stood out, not at first anyway. Just a group of folks at a picnic.

A handwritten sign held aloft by one of them displayed the words Happy Bank Holiday. There were seventeen people in the frame, both men and women, although fewer men. Most looked to be in their teens or early twenties. The faces of those in the foreground were clear enough to make out, but those towards the back were somewhat out of focus, undoubtedly the product of old and unsophisticated photographic equipment.

The picnickers were all sitting on the ground in comfortable sprawls. No food was visible, although one man had a cup in his hand and was holding it up in salute. Everyone was smiling, with two exceptions – one woman who looked rather maudlin, and a man who peered off to one side, as if his attention had been captured by something off camera. They’d probably missed the photographer calling, “Everybody smile!”

The scene was captured from a slight elevation, as if the revellers were in a hollow, or more likely the photographer was standing on something when the shutter was pressed.

Then something else caught my eye. I had been scrutinising the photograph so closely I’d missed the obvious, but it absolutely sprang out when I wasn’t actually searching.

Two girls were lying together, not alongside each other but coming together at an angle. They seemed to be among the younger holidaymakers. One was lying on her back, while the second was a little to the side, with her head resting on the shoulder of the other. Both were smiling, and it seemed to me that they might emerge from the paper into the real world at any moment.

It was an unusual pose – not exactly improper, but I had the sense that it was a little too intimate to be socially correct, especially in those early years of the twentieth century. And yet, that was what had drawn me to it.

***

“Why in the world did you rest your head on me that way?” Lilith asked Jemima after the picture had been taken and the photographer had dismissed everyone. She’d taken care to draw her friend away from the rest of the group of bank employees, so they were out of earshot.

“It just looked so comfortable,” Jemima said with the merest hint of a smile. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“People will see that when the picture is developed, Jemima. What will they think then?”

“That we were enjoying the celebrations?” Jemima replied effortlessly. “But it really was lovely. So soft, though firm at the same time.” She reached out, and to Lilith’s utter horror, cupped her left breast.

“Jemima!” Lilith spluttered as she slapped at the offending hand. “Don’t! Someone might see!”

Jemima moved her hand away, but said quietly, “Is that the only reason you want me to stop? If that’s your only concern, I know somewhere we can go. A place where nobody will be able to see us.”

Lilith’s eyes darted nervously around as Jemima took her friend by the hand and led her away from the other picnickers. They followed a worn path that led them through a strand of trees and towards some railway tracks.

Both girls were trepidatious, for reasons that differed only a little. Lilith, because she wasn’t sure what her older friend had in mind. Jemima, because she wondered how Lilith might react to her planned advances.

The path ended at a siding on which four semi-retired passenger coaches sat. Too old and dilapidated for regular use, they were dragged out of storage only when needed to meet the demands of a high traffic day. Hauling picnickers to a public holiday celebration placed that kind of demand on the railroad, and was the sole reason that the old coaches hadn’t yet been scrapped. Currently, the coaches were sitting abandoned, and the locomotive that had towed them there was away doing other work. It would not return until long after sunset.

Jemima marshalled Lilith aboard the nearest carriage and into one of the compartments. She pulled the shade on the door and latched it, then squeezed past her friend to pull the shades on the windows. The blinds screened them from parting eyes without completely darkening the interior.

Jemima smiled at a nervous-looking Lilith, then unceremoniously returned a hand to her friend’s breast. “Now nobody will be able to see, will they?”

This time Lilith didn’t slap the hand away – in fact, she didn’t protest at all. She’d been anxious concerning Jemima’s intentions, but had been secretly hoping that whatever they were, it would be something thrilling. This most certainly qualified.

With a tilt of her head, she was able to brush her lips across Jemima’s. Delighted at this development, Jemima turned the exchange into a real kiss, her mouth pressing back firmly against Lilith’s.

Startled at first by the passion her friend was displaying, Lilith rapidly relaxed into the kiss. Just when she was beginning to grow bold enough to match Jemima’s enthusiasm, she felt herself being gently pushed back, her thighs coming into contact with the edge of the seat until she was sitting. Jemima took a place next to her, and the two of them resumed their kiss.

At fifteen, Lilith wasn’t a complete novice at kissing, but her previous experiences had been hurried; experimental. This was different, and it was with another female too!

When she felt Jemima’s tongue run over her lips, her mouth opened without even a command to do so. Real kissing was, she considered, instinctive.

Jemima was in her mouth, teasing and tasting her. Lilith longed to know how it felt to taste someone like that. She pushed the tip of her tongue to meet Jemima’s, and her friend yielded, allowing her to advance. Exploring Jemima’s mouth was incredible!

She felt the touch of her friend’s hand on her breast again. Intriguingly, she found it aroused her. Her breasts had always been sensitive, and Lilith realised she wanted more – she wanted Jemima’s hand on her bare flesh.

Lilith broke their kiss and pushed Jemima’s hand away, then fumbled at her clothes, eager to free her breasts.

“You’re all fingers and thumbs,” Jemima purred. “Let me do it.”

Lilith dropped her hands to allow Jemima to unhook the buttons on her blouse.

“Oh, they’re so lovely,” Jemima cooed when her friend was bare to the waist. She brushed a single fingertip over one breast, then the other. Then, to Lilith’s unparalleled wonder, Jemima put her fingers to her nipples and gently squeezed. Lilith hummed in pleasure, her tender cones responding in their own way.

Jemima slid off the seat to kneel upon the floor. Lilith watched in amazement as her friend leaned forward and kissed a breast. When Jemima sucked the entire tip into her mouth, Lilith thought she might simply melt into a puddle. She felt Jemima’s teeth graze her nipple and tensed, but the soft bite caused more pleasure than pain.

Then Lilith felt Jemima’s hands pushing her back onto the seat. She was lying prone now, and Jemima was pulling up her skirts! Hands touched the naked flesh of her thighs.

“Oh, my goodness…” she whispered as the hand moved towards her sex.

Taking her time, Jemima teased – alternately tickling Lilith’s inner thigh and touching the cotton covering her privates.

Lilith surrendered unconditionally, putting one foot to the floor while leaving the other resting on the seat, raised at the knee.

Pleased by this gesture of acceptance, a purring Jemima slipped her hand into Lilith’s bloomers and up towards the rise of her mound. Lilith gave a soft moan of pleasure.

Feeling the abundant wetness of Lilith’s missy, Jemima whispered, “Ooh, so ready!’ as she moved a finger between her friend’s engorged labia, liberally spreading the slickness.

Lilith pushed back against Jemima’s finger, and hearing the contented sounds her friend was making, Jemima knew the time had come. With the greatest of care, she slipped a finger into Lilith’s vagina. Lilith sighed breathlessly, squirming on the seat as Jemima’s finger moved back and forth.

Her friend’s movements increased in tempo, and Lilith began moving her hips in rhythm. A second finger moved to her entrance. There was slight resistance as Jemima joined it to the first, and the younger girl took a sudden gasp of breath. Then Jemima was fucking her friend again, this time with two fingers.

Hips and fingers worked in tandem, but Jemima had another surprise for her younger friend.

Seeking out the little bump near the top of Lilith’s missy, Jemima pressed down on it with a thumb, just a little.

The touch set Lilith on a course that would take only moments to reach its conclusion. Jemima could have taken both her hands off Lilith at that moment, the girl’s orgasm was already unstoppable, but she didn’t relinquish control. She did ease off a little, though, slowing the rate at which her fingers fucked Lilith, and was amused to hear the younger girl whimper in protest.

At the instant she was sure Lilith had reached her peak, Jemima plunged especially deep.

Lilith wailed in ecstasy. It was a long time before she was able to speak again, and even then she could only manage one word at a time. Finally, she was able to form an entire sentence. “Lord Almighty! What did you do to me, Jemima?’

“I gave you something that you aren’t likely to get from a man. And you were so beautiful, Lilith! You’re still positively glowing!”

“Oh, that’s just perspiration, silly,” Lilith giggled.

“It is awfully hot, isn’t it?” Jemima said in a low voice. “Perhaps we should remove our clothes to cool off.”

Unable to hide her surprise, Lilith gasped, “All our clothes?”

“Yes. I want to see the rest of you. And I want you to see me.”

“And do you… want me to do those things to you, too?”

“I do, but only if you want to.”

Despite casting an anxious look at the compartment door, Lilith decided she did want that, very much so. And in such an isolated spot, hidden inside the train carriage, the risk of being caught was slight enough that it could safely be ignored.

“Oh, darling Jemima! I do want to, really I do!”

Both girls shed their clothes with considerable haste. Soon enough, they were both entirely naked. They drank in the sight of each other’s youthful bodies.

Lilith, younger by more than half a year, looked less womanly than her friend. Her breasts were smaller, her hips narrower, and there was only a sparse smattering of hair adorning her mons. She was astonished at how much more mature her friend looked.

Uncomfortable under Lilith’s scrutiny, Jemima lost a little of her confidence. “Do I meet with your approval?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

To her relief, her worries were unfounded. Lilith was so lavish with her compliments that Jemima found herself blushing.

“Does that mean you’ll make love to me, then?” Jemima asked timidly.

“Just try to stop me!” Lilith said. Having little experience of such intimate matters, she was obliged to rely on what she had just learned from Jemima.

Kissing her friend’s inviting mouth was an easy thing to do, as was putting her hand to Jemima’s breast. Fondling the soft globes took slightly more courage and determination, but Lilith quickly found that playing with another girl’s breast was even more enjoyable than playing with her own. She gave the nipple a gentle pinch and, encouraged by Jemima’s sigh, covered it with her mouth and began to suck.

After a short while, and at the urging of Jemima, she switched to the other breast and gave it the same attention. She was rewarded by a gasp from her friend.

“Please, dear Lilith,” Jemima said. “I need more.”

Though lacking Jemima’s confidence, Lilith decided she would be brave and put her hand to the older girl’s privates. Cautious about doing something so intimate, she let her hand run down Jemima’s bare body, over her waist and her navel, and across her abdomen. When her hand encountered the soft thatch of curls above Jemima’s private place, Lilith hesitated momentarily. Jemima had more hair, she observed, but it was just as fine as her own.

Jemima had misunderstood Lilith’s shilly-shallying, presuming her younger lover was taking that extra time to tease and tantalise. “I shall burst, my sweet!” she cried. “Please! Hurry!”

Jemima’s need was clear, and Lilith was roused to action. She set about trying to get her fingers into just the right place, fumbling awkwardly.

Jemima voiced her exasperation once more. “Oh, don’t tease, Lilith. Put them inside me.”

Acutely aware of the desperation in Jemima’s voice, Lilith slipped a couple of fingers into her friend’s vagina, then sought out the special place just above with her other hand, brushing a finger back and forth over the stiff little node.

Judging from Jemima’s moan of pleasure, Lilith was sure she had found all the necessary places. Uncertain whether she was applying enough pressure, she began to move two fingers in and out of Jemima’s hole while gently stimulating the bump with another.

When Jemima cried out, “Oh, Heaven! You’re an enchantress!” and began to tremble and shake, Lilith was confident that what she was doing was having the desired effect.

To her amazement, Lilith felt Jemima’s vagina clamp around her fingers, and she watched as her friend’s belly moved up and down in rippling waves. She continued to plunge her fingers into the depths of Jemima’s sex, her finger still firmly pressed upon that magic button.

Finally, spent at last, Jemima panted, “No more, my love, no more! You’ve worn me out.”

For a moment the two girls simply gazed at one another. And then Lilith was pressing herself against Jemima’s supine body. They kissed once more, taking their time. Lilith began to rub Jemima’s bare breasts, and Jemima responded by rolling them both over so that she was lying on top of her naked friend.

“That was the best feeling I have ever had in my life,” Jemima murmured. “And now I’m going to make you feel good.”

Jemima got to her feet, then grasped Lilith by the ankles.

With no idea of what her friend was up to, a curious Lilith watched and waited. She was no more enlightened when Jemima pushed her feet wide apart, but she was vaguely aware that she should be mortified at being exposed in such a way. Jemima was able to see everything. Everything!

When Jemima leaned forward and put her face between Lilith’s legs, it was almost too much for the fifteen year old to bear. But what Jemima did next was even more shocking.

She put her lips to Lilith’s privates and kissed her there.

Lilith gave a gasp of surprise, then another when she felt Jemima’s tongue spear her womanhood, moving back and forth inside her. Lilith knew she must be dripping with wetness by now, but Jemima seemed not to care. Indeed, her friend lapped at the warm fluids, as if thirsty for that special essence.

When Jemima found Lilith’s magic little button, brushing a thumb over it while continuing to taste her, Lilith began trembling uncontrollably. She could think of nothing other than the sensations building inside her. When the orgasm finally struck, she cried out in ecstasy.

Jemima regarded her friend with amazement, and also some degree of pride at having induced such a reaction. She dipped her head and gave Lilith’s spent vagina several more swipes of the tongue, then shifted position so the two of them were face to face. The two girls kissed, and Lilith could taste herself on Jemima’s mouth.

“I’d like to try that on you,” a breathless Lilith remarked. “The licking thing, I mean.”

“I can’t wait,” Jemima told her. “But not today. We should get dressed and head back before the others begin to wonder where we are.” She pressed her naked body to Lilith’s and whispered, “Next time, my love.”

“What?” Lilith gasped in mock horror. “Next Bank Holiday? I couldn’t possibly wait that long!”

“No, silly. Next Sunday. I know a place where we can go.”

***

I put the photograph back in the cardboard box with the many others that were for sale in the Trash and Treasure store. Another thought came to me. I took the photo out again and studied it for a moment before turning it over.

On the back, in faded handwriting, were the words: At the Sidings – Bank Holiday, August 1, 1910.

I wished I knew the story behind that photograph, and what the relationship between the two girls had been. Of course, it may have been nothing but an innocent pose, most likely was. After all, if there had been a special kind of intimacy between them, they would hardly have dared display it quite so blatantly, especially so in those days of rigid convention. And yet, somehow that old sepia print was telling me a different story.

My mind set, I took the photograph up to the counter and claimed it for my own.

The End

The story thus far: Seeking a missing Texas Ranger, our old acquaintance The Tequila Kid comes across a poor family named Miller. Like many others in the area, this widow Sarah and her two little girls, Amy and Cindy, have been brutalized by a wealthy scoundrel named McCuller, who intends to drive away all the owners of small farms and ranches in the area and take their land. Later, drying off from heavy rain at the local stable, Sheriff Lucas Clay comes in search of The Kid, demanding she surrender her guns. Knowing Clay to be corrupt (and in league with McCuller), The Kid asks to speak with him in private. Moments later at the jail, he threatens her, and she deals him a beat-down, then informs him that she means to arrest McCuller and Tyson Avidite (a banker who is part of the conspiracy) before she leaves.

From the sheriff’s office, she goes to the Silver Slipper, the town’s saloon, gambling house and brothel. There, she encounters a young man named Jud Nelson, who she’d seen Sheriff Clay harass earlier. Recognizing him as a decent sort, she hires him to watch the jail to see if Clay leaves. Then she meets a twelve-year-old girl named Dixie, who does menial work at the Silver Slipper and is bullied by Toots, the brutish bartender. The Kid asks Dixie which girl is the most popular of the whores. Star, the girl replies, and The Kid gives Dixie the money to pay for Star’s services that evening.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, The Kid enjoys an intense hour of sex with Star. Afterwards, she asks the prostitute a few questions about the town and its doings. She learns that Clark Hansen, the missing Texas Ranger she seeks, disappeared around the same time as Dixie’s older sister Dallas, who was one of the whores at the Silver Slipper. The Kid asks about Ben McCuller, but Star refuses to answer, claiming “it’s too dangerous.” When The Kid goes back downstairs, Jud returns to let her know that Sheriff Clay just left town, riding hard in the direction of McCuller’s place.

Figuring she’s done as much as she can for one night, The Kid decides to join an ongoing card game, where she ends up winning a decent amount of money, as well as a neglected horse, which she takes to the local stable where her own horse is being kept.

The next morning, The Kid is informed by Jud Nelson that Cy Warren, McCuller’s enforcer and dirty-jobs man, has just entered the sheriff’s office, using a key. On their way to confront him, The Kid is taken aback to recognize the horse Cy has hitched up outside as Thunder, who she knows to be the property of Clark Hansen, the missing Texas Ranger she is seeking. More determined than ever to get answers from Cy Warren, she boldly strides into the sheriff’s office, a nervous Jud close behind.

The Kid quickly catches Warren in an obvious lie about his having purchased Hansen’s horse, and arrests him on the spot, drawing her gun before he can. Once Cy is locked up, she and Jud set off for banker Tyson Avidite’s office. With the genuine ranch deeds in her possession, she and Jud quickly establish that the ones Avidite is holding for McCuller are obvious forgeries, created in an effort to steal the area’s small ranches from their rightful owners.  Confronted by the evidence, Avidite breaks down and confesses to his role in McCuller’s crooked conspiracy. 

Later that day, The Kid steals onto McCuller’s land while he is away. She encounters his vicious pair of trained dogs, and deploys Indian methods she learned as a young girl to make friends with them. That accomplished, she carefully breaks into his study, where she fiddles with a certain something in the man’s desk drawer before making her escape.

The Kid has one more task to accomplish before turning in. She drops by the Silver Slipper to liberate the young girl Dixie from her menial position. The vicious bartender Toots is intent on stopping The Kid, but she takes him down with a couple of well-placed punches, then helps herself to a large wad of cash from the man’s pocket for Dixie’s back wages. The Kid and the girl then depart, leaving an enraged Toots behind.  

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by Purple Les

Leaving the Silver Slipper with young Dixie in tow, The Kid took the girl to a cafe. There, she drank coffee and watched as Dixie devoured a big bowl of beef stew and a slice of pie.

“Thank you, Kid,” Dixie finally said, laying her napkin to one side. “I can’t rightly recall the last time I ate so good.”

“Looks like you needed it,” The Kid replied. “Like another piece of pie?”

“No, no,” Dixie quickly said, patting her tummy. “That was plenty. I’m fit to bust!”

The Kid got to her feet. “Best be on our way, then. There’s somewhere else we got to go before gettin’ you settled in.”

A few minutes later, The Kid led Dixie to the town’s general store, knocking on the locked door while Dixie gawked at a fancy dress in the window. The owner had just closed for the day, but when The Kid told him, “I aim to spend a lot, and it won’t take long,” he relented, opening up to let The Kid and the scruffy -looking girl inside.

Using her poker winnings, The Kid bought Dixie a winter coat, two plain dresses, a skirt and blouse, a week’s worth of underwear, stockings, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, two pairs of shoes, a green ribbon for her hair, two nightgowns, a small sack of peppermint candy and a sturdy carpet bag. The Kid and Dixie left with bundles and packages wrapped in brown paper, stacked in their arms.

Earlier at the cafe, The Kid had asked the waitress if she knew of a respectable boarding house. “You could try Miz Tisdale’s place,” the woman replied. “She’s down to the end of the next street over.”

As it happened, Mrs. Tisdale was a cheerful German widow who did have a single vacancy left. The room was small, but tidy and reasonably priced, so The Kid put down a week’s rent.

After depositing the packages in the room, The Kid left Dixie to rest while she went to fetch her saddle bags and rifle.

Upon returning, she sought out Mrs. Tisdale, who was seated in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. “You folks provide baths? Me and my friend need to get ourselves washed up somethin’ fierce.”

The plump German woman nodded. “Ja, all who stay here get one bath a week, no charge. Any extra is half dollar.” She put her paring knife down, dropping a peeled potato into a metal tub filled with them. “You want now?”

“Reckon we do, ma’am,” The Kid replied.

 ***

Dixie found herself all but overwhelmed by it all. Just a few hours earlier, she’d been working as not much better than a slave in the town’s whorehouse. Now she sat in a tub full of hot soapy water.

The room was a small shack attached to the kitchen. There were four nice metal bath tubs arranged in a square with a white bed sheet hanging between each one.

“This is good, ja?” Mrs. Tisdale inquired, once The Kid’s tub had been filled.

“It’s just fine, ma’am,” The Kid replied.

“I go, then. Call when you need to rinse.”

Dixie heard Mrs. Tisdale leave as she studied the silhouette of a naked Kid slowly lowering herself into the tub, then heard her murmur, “My, that feels nice.”

The sound of small splashes and sloshing water could be heard as Dixie and The Kid put their soap, washcloths and scrub brushes to work. Then it was quiet as they luxuriated in the hot water, each lost to her own thoughts.

After a while, when the water was growing tepid, The Kid called for Mrs. Tisdale, who returned with a young girl, about thirteen or so. “My daughter Beth. She will rinse.” Mrs. Tisdale said, then left.

Approaching Dixie, a bucket in her hands, Beth said, “Stand up, please.” When she complied, Beth carefully poured half a bucket of warm water over her, washing the soap away, then handed Dixie a towel. “You can dry off now,” she said. “Just wear the towel up to your room, and I’ll collect it in the mornin’.” With that, the girl moved to the other tub. Glancing at the sheet, Dixie saw Beth rinsing The Kid.

Towels wrapped around their bare bodies, Dixie and The Kid padded up the back stairs to their room.

Dixie stared wide-eyed as The Kid removed her towel, using it to finish drying her hair. The Kid’s back was to Dixie and the young girl looked appreciatively at the lean, tight frame of her benefactor.

Removing her own towel, Dixie got into her new cotton nightgown. Meanwhile, The Kid had donned a pair of men’s red flannel long johns. She took Dixie’s towel and finished drying the girl’s hair, then hung both towels on the door hook.

The Kid opened the parcel that held Dixie’s new hairbrush, then patted the bed. “Sit you down, and I’ll fix up your hair.” They sat together, and as The Kid brushed out Dixie’s hair she asked the girl, “What d’ye think happened to your sister?”

Staring at the floor, Dixie shook her head. “She’s dead.”

“How you reckon that?” The Kid asked back, pausing in mid-stroke.

“It’s been months,” Dixie said, a mournful cast to her voice. “The only way Dallas would be gone this long is if she was dead. She’d never leave me behind without a word like this. Never.”

“That gal Star says her and the other girls figured your sister ran off with Ranger Clark Hansen. You don’t think that might of happened?” Putting the brush aside, The Kid began to braid the girl’s hair.

“No. Like I said, the only thing that would keep Dallas from comin’ for me is if she was dead.” She gave a heavy sigh. “I stopped waitin’ for her weeks ago. I don’t know where she is or how it happened, I just know she’s gone forever. I feel it, deep inside.”

“Were she and Ranger Hansen close?”

“She liked him, I guess,” Dixie replied with a shrug. “Not sure how much. He rode out to see McCuller, and when Dallas heard that the next day, she followed him out there.” A long pause. “Never saw either one of ‘em again.”

A silence fell on the room as The Kid put the last braid in Dixie’s hair. “There. All done,” she said.

“Thanks,” Dixie said. “You best watch out for Toots. He’ll come looking for you, tryin’ to fetch me back.”

“Why’s that?” The Kid asked.

“It’s ‘cause this man named Ben McCuller bought me from Toots. He gave Toots five hundred for me now, and he’ll give another five hundred when he marries me.”

That caught The Kid by surprise. “Marries you?” she exclaimed, rising to place the hairbrush on a small oak dresser. “How old are you, Dixie?”

“Twelve. When I turn thirteen in March, McCuller will marry me, and Toots gets his money. If Toots don’t get me back, he’ll prob’ly have to give back the five hundred he already got. He sure won’t like that.” With a mirthless snicker, she added, “Star says Toots would rather eat a rattlesnake than part with a dollar.”  Dixie bounced a few times, testing the mattress. “This here’s a soft bed. I ain’t been in a real bed for a long time.”

Frowning, The Kid muttered, “I just don’t get why McCuller wants to buy you like that, Dixie. And why in hell would he leave you with that polecat Toots?”

“I can’t figure it, either,” Dixie replied. “All I know is he come into the bar one night, and when I went over to his table, he looked at me like he seen a ghost. ‘Betsy’, he called me. I’d never laid eyes on him before… and I got no idea who this Betsy is. That’s when he gave Toots the money to hold onto me. Toots says that’s the only reason he don’t make me whore for him. My sister didn’t like it none, but what could we do?”

The Kid turned the lamp down, then seated herself in a wingback chair. “Well, by the time you turn thirteen, McCuller will either be dead or in prison, so don’t you worry no more ‘bout him or Toots.”

The Kid was about to say more, but the words died on her lips as Dixie got to her feet and padded over to where she sat, the girl’s eyes never leaving hers.

Looking Dixie up and down, The Kid liked what she saw. She’s taller and better formed than most girls her age. And maybe she’s still a child, but her body has other ideas about that.

Dixie’s shape was clearly visible through the nightie she wore. Her breasts were small but well formed, the stiffened nipples pressing against the white cotton.

Dixie murmured, “You done so much for me, Kid. I want to thank you, but there’s only one way I know to do it proper.”

The girl reached down for the hem of her nightie, tugged it over her head, then let it drop to the floor.  Now naked, she extended a hand to The Kid.

Dixie guided The Kid to her feet, then wrapped both arms round the woman’s neck, standing on tiptoe, drawing her close until their mouths met.

When The Kid bent forward to deepen the kiss, Dixie parted her lips, slipping her tongue into The Kid’s mouth to explore.

As their tongues mingled and danced, Dixie let her hands slide down The Kid’s back. Fondling her older lover’s ass with the left hand, she used the right to undo the two buttons that held up the trap door of The Kid’s union suit.

When The Kid felt the child’s hands cupping her bare bottom, her head swam. Guess I oughtn’t to be surprised. Star told me Dixie and her sister was sweethearts. 

Breaking their kiss, Dixie began to undo the row of buttons that ran down the front of The Kid’s long johns. Once she’d unfastened the last one, Dixie spread the front open and helped The Kid finish undressing.

Now nude, The Kid stood before Dixie, giving the girl a good long look. All she wore was a gold ring on a fine silver chain.

“You sure are pretty,” Dixie said, feeling herself blush as she looked The Kid up and down. Even with those tattoos and that scar on her nose, there’s somethin’ about her that makes me all hot and crazy inside. I’m gonna enjoy doin’ the deed with her.

“So are you,” The Kid replied, that familiar warmth making itself known between her thighs. Much as she loved coupling with other women, there was something about the bare body of a young girl that sent her lust soaring… and Dixie’s was exquisite. A touch too thin, but surely that was Toots’ doing. Bet he begrudges his girls every bite they eat, she told herself. Then Dixie gets left with the scraps. 

But what really angered The Kid was the bruises she saw on the girl’s body. That nub-fingered polecat, she fumed. By God, he makes me mad enough to swallow a horn-toad backwards. She kept those thoughts to herself, not wanting to spoil the moment. Instead, she bent to scoop Dixie up in her strong arms, then carried her over to the bed, where she gently set the girl down.

“This right here is thanks enough for me, Dixie,” said The Kid. “Just knowin’ you’re safe.”

Dixie smiled up at her protector, eyes sparkling. “Nope,” she said, patting the bed next to where she lay. “You lie down here and let me love you. I’ve been wantin’ this all day long.”

Once more, The Kid looked the girl up and down. The sight left her giddy with need. The small pert breasts and stiff, succulent nipples. Dixie was thin about the shoulders and waist, with hips that were beginning to take on a woman’s contour. Her legs were long and shapely, and the light dusting of golden pubes adorning the girl’s mound couldn’t hide her moist labia.

The Kid absently licked her lips, the storm rising inside. Yep, she’s still a little girl… but she’s hungry for what a woman wants. 

“Please, Kid,” Dixie insisted. “I want to so bad. Please?”

Even if she’d wanted to, The Kid couldn’t refuse. Stretching out next to Dixie, she waited, ready for whatever the girl chose to give.

Dixie scooted down to the foot of the bed, crawling between the young woman’s legs. She licked her lips at the view of The Kid’s cunt, then buried her mouth in the thick pubes, her tongue emerging to explore the dripping interior.

“God almighty,” The Kid moaned, thinking, It sure as hell ain’t her first time doin’ this. Looking down the length of the girl’s body, she admired her pert little bottom. I’d like me some of that.

“Why don’t you turn yourself around,” The Kid said, “so I can get a taste, too.”

Without removing her mouth from The Kid’s sex, Dixie quickly swiveled her body until she was straddling the young woman’s face.

So pretty, The Kid thought, lightly tracing the twelve-year-old’s downy cleft with a finger. Dixie gave a muffled moan to encourage her.

The Kid’s began to tease the girl’s pussy with light, glancing flicks of the tongue, but it tasted so good that she hungered for more of her little lover’s essence. Fastening her mouth to Dixie’s cunt, she pressed her tongue inside.

By an unspoken but mutual agreement, they quickly fell into a game of bringing each other to the point of climax, then retreating.

Finally, The Kid gasped, “Now, Dixie, now,” then fastened her lips to the girl’s tiny clitoris.

The two lovers furiously lashed each other’s clits with their tongues until they came — The Kid first, Dixie soon after — riding their ecstasy as far and high as it could take them, finally lying side by side, exhausted.

A couple of minutes later, Dixie roused herself, climbing from the bed and padding over to the ewer and washbasin. There she cleaned herself up, carefully washing between her thighs. The Kid watched, then got up to do the same.

The room was cold in the aftermath of their loving, so they both got back into their nightwear before returning to bed. The Kid put out the lamp, and they cuddled together under the covers, listening to hard raindrops battering the window.

“That was real nice,” Dixie said softly. “I haven’t had such good lovin’ since Dallas left.”

“You and your sister… you did this sort of thing?” The Kid asked, pretending to be surprised. She already knew the answer, Star having mentioned the true relationship Dixie shared with her missing sister.

“I can’t hardly recall a time when we didn’t,” Dixie said. “Dallas taught me how when she was sixteen. I think she learned it from Ma, ’cause when Pa died, she took us into her bed; then all three of us was lovers.” She sighed. “Ma passed the next year. The bank took our house and land, so me and Dallas had to move on. Here’s where we ended up.”

“Damn those bankers,” The Kid muttered. “They’d steal a fly from a blind spider.” She touched her lips to Dixie’s head. “You go to sleep now, child.”

“G’night,” Dixie whispered, nestling into The Kid’s arms.

***

The next morning found The Kid up early. She took clean clothes from her saddlebag and put them on, then gently awakened Dixie.

“Mmmm… g’mornin’, Kid,” Dixie said, stretching her limbs.

“Mornin’, sweet stuff. I got some business to take care of; shouldn’t take too long. When you get up, go on downstairs for breakfast, then come back here and wait for me. While I’m gone, why don’t you unwrap them new clothes and pack ’em in the carpet bag?”

“Aw, do you gotta go right now?” Dixie pouted. “We could have some fun first.”

“Whoa, girl,” The Kid chuckled. “You ’bout wore me down to a nub last night. We start foolin’ around now, I won’t get nothin’ done.” Bending down, she gave the child a kiss. “You be good while I’m gone, okay?”

“Reckon I can… if we can be bad some more when you get back,” Dixie replied.

“I’ll hold you to that,” said The Kid, winking as she left.

She went to the cafe for a quick breakfast, then bought two bags of food to take to the jailhouse — one for Jud, one for their prisoner Cy Warren.

Jud had already made coffee, and The Kid tried a cup while he devoured the bacon, eggs and gravy biscuits she’d brought him. She took a sip, then made a face. “If I get a minute, I’ll show you how to make proper coffee, Jud.” She added more to the cup, then picked up the second bag. “I’ll just take this back to Warren.”

“Cheapest breakfast on the menu, right?” Jud said, polishing off the last of his eggs.

“Yep. Grits and fatback,” The Kid replied, unlocking the door to the cells.

They could hear Cy bellow, “God damn it, when you gonna let me outta here?”

“Shut the hell up,” The Kid called, opening the door with her elbow. “Or by God, you’ll be goin’ hungry this mornin’.”

***

The Kid and Jud had just stepped outside for some air. “Reckon I better cut Warren loose sometime soon,” The Kid murmured, rolling herself a smoke. “I ain’t got enough to hold him, and he knows it.”

Jud frowned. “What the…? If that’s so, why in tarnation did you arrest him in the first place?”

“To make him sweat a little,” The Kid replied, “and to show him I mean business. That’s a big part of bein’ a agent of the law, Jud. Lettin’ folks know you ain’t to be trifled with. Otherwise, they’ll eat you alive…”

The Kid trailed off, her attention caught by a large buckboard wagon with a team of horses. Two men were loading it. She recognized one of them from McCuller’s ranch, where he’d been splitting logs.

“They’re both from McCuller’s, ain’t they?” she asked Jud.

“Yep,” Jud answered. “The big one’s Sam, I told you ’bout him. He’s McCuller’s cook, handyman, whatever the boss needs. That little feller feeds the boys in the bunkhouse, so they call him Cookie.” Jud chuckled. “It weren’t the best grub I ever ate, but it was hot and there was plenty of it.”

The Kid saw a man timidly approach Sam and Cookie. It was a farmer whose home she’d visited a few days earlier, inquiring into the whereabouts of Ranger Hansen. Jack Vale, that’s his name.

“Howdy, fellas,” Vale said, taking off his hat. Pointing at a large barrel, he said, “Um… think you could spare a handful or two of that flour?”

“You go to hell,” Sam said, then studied the man closely. “Huh. You’re one of them farmers out that way, aintcha?”

“Th-that’s right,” Vale replied. “See, it’s been mighty hard–”

“Listen, you,” Sam growled. “Instead of beggin’ from us, what you oughta be doin’ is packin’ up your shit and movin’ on. You damn dirt scratchers ain’t welcome round these parts. Now git!”

“Now hold on!” Vale protested. “We got a right to be here–”

“Sam, Sam,” Cookie said. “You oughtn’t to talk to this fella like that.” He turned to the farmer. “Now, what was it you wanted?”

“Well, just a little flour…” Vale began.

Cookie drove his fist into the man’s stomach. Vale dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.

“There,” Cookie muttered. “That’ll learn ya.” He glanced at Sam. “Next time, don’t talk. Just hit. Saves time.” Turning to spit on the groaning farmer, he said, “Now get you gone, less’n you want a boot in the nuts to go with that.”

Vale crawled a few yards, then struggled to his feet. McCuller’s men snickered, watching him make his way down the street in a painful stagger, then they got back to loading the wagon.

Her arms folded, The Kid looked thoughtfully at the huge load of supplies. “C’mon, Jud.” she said.

What’s she up to now? Jud wondered as they sauntered over to the two men, who were carefully placing one last barrel on the wagon.

“Howdy, boys.” The Kid said amiably as Sam and Cookie began to tie their load down. They gave her a bored glance and continued their work.

The Kid said nothing, just stood there looking at the two men. Finally, Sam snapped, “Need somethin’ from us?”

“Just for you to come with me to the jail,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “See, you’re both under arrest.”

Halting in mid-motion, the men glared at her. Jud felt his gut tighten again. Godamighty, he thought, that girl’s sure got some sand.

“Under arrest?” the larger man bellowed. “Who the hell are you, then? I know the sheriff ’round these parts, an’ he ain’t no goddamn girl.”

The Kid reached into a pocket and pulled out her Texas Ranger badge, holding it up. “And this here is actin’ sheriff Jud Nelson,” she said, jerking a thumb in Jud’s direction.

Sam spit on the ground, while Cookie, who remembered Jud from when he worked on McCuller’s ranch, said, “This some kinda joke, Jud?”

“Ain’t no joke,” was The Kid’s firm reply.

“Under arrest for what?” Sam asked with a sneer.

“Assault, for one. Also, you boys is wearin’ guns in town. I understand that’s against the law here.”

Both men laughed. Sam said, “Assault? That broke-down scutter was beggin’ in the street. He got what was comin’ to him. Hell, Sheriff Clay would of cracked his head.”

“And so what if we’re wearing our guns?” said Cookie. “You can take that there tin badge and shove it up your snatch. We’re leavin’ now, so get lost.”

“Come on down now, boys, ‘fore you get hurt.” The Kid said as she opened her coat, revealing her guns.

“Jud, what is this? Is she crazy?” Cookie asked Jud.

“No, she ain’t,” Jud said. “This here is the Tequila Kid.”

The two burly cooks exchanged a quick glance, then slowly climbed out of the wagon. “Now, listen here,” Cookie said, “You’ll be in a fine mess when McCuller hears of this.”

The Kid drew her right hand Colt. “Take off them gun belts nice and slow, then hand ‘em over to Jud.”

Once the men were disarmed, she marched them to the sheriff office and into the cell block, where she  locked them up separately. Cy Warren was as surprised to see Cookie and Sam as they were to see him.

“You boys like a cup of coffee?” The Kid asked as she pulled the key from the lock.

“Don’t do it!” Cy snapped, “Not unless you like drinkin’ water from the outhouse.”

“Well?” asked The Kid, looking from Cookie to Sam.

“Reckon I’ll pass,” Cookie muttered, rubbing his head.

“Don’t drink coffee nohow,” said Sam.

The Kid shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and left the cells, elbowing the door shut.

Jud was leaning back against the desk, frowning. “What’s he sayin’ about my coffee?”

“Never mind that,” The Kid said, seating herself at the sheriff’s desk and opening the large drawer. “I got a job for you, Jud. And I guarantee you’ll enjoy it a lot more’n listenin’ to these prisoners bitch and complain all damn day.”

“This office is gettin’ a mite stuffy,” Jud agreed. “I’m in a mood to be out and about. What ya got that needs doin’, Kid?”

“Makin’ folks happy,” The Kid replied. Taking a fat leather pouch from the drawer, she placed it in Jud’s hands. “You’ll find the deeds McCuller stole in here, plus eighteen thousand dollars of that bastard’s money. I want you to go round to each of those families and give ‘em their deeds back, plus a thousand dollars each. Tell ‘em McCuller ain’t meddlin’ with their affairs no more.”

Weighing the pouch in both hands, Jud frowned. “I don’t know ‘bout this, Kid. Shouldn’t you wait to do this until you got McCuller locked up? What if he sends his men out to get his money back? Shit, he’ll prob’ly kill ‘em all and say they stole from him. And my life won’t be worth a plugged nickel.”

The Kid rested a hand on Jud’s shoulder. “I promise you this. It might mean puttin’ a bullet in him myself, but I will stop that black-hearted scoundrel from hurtin’ any more families.”

The young man studied The Kid’s face, then nodded. “Fair enough. I’ve come with you this far… might as well finish the job.”

“I knew I was right about you, Jud. Say, once this all blows over, you might think about keepin’ this sheriff job. I’d say you got the grit for it.”

Jud was clearly pleased, but tried not to let it show. “Thanks, Kid. I’d best get saddled up. Lot of ridin’ to do.”

“Hold on a second,” said The Kid, looking out the window at McCuller’s wagon. “I got me an idea.”

Jud gave a weary laugh. “Aw, Kid… not another idea,” he said, but listened attentively as The Kid explained. Finally, he shrugged. “Might as well. It ain’t like you can make McCuller any madder than he’s gonna be.”

“Good,” The Kid said. “You’ll need a hand, though… and I think I know who to ask. Lemme see that pouch for a minute.” She delved inside for a moment, taking what she needed. Producing the stack of deeds, she handed them to Jud. “Which of these belongs to a family called Vale?”

Thumbing through the documents, Jud handed her the right one. “Here y’go. What’s this all about?”

“You’ll see,” The Kid said, stuffing the rest of the deeds back into the leather pouch. “Come with me.”

Stepping outside, The Kid looked up and down the street for Jack Vale. She soon spied him, seated on the steps of the general store, hat in his hands.

When she and Jud approached, Jack gave her a strained smile. “I’d like to thank you for runnin’ them two ruffians in, ma’am. They had no call to be treatin’ me like that. Hell, I wouldn’t ask no one for help if it weren’t for my young’uns goin’ hungry.”

“Just doin’ my job, Mr. Vale. Here, I got somethin’ for you.”

Before the man’s astonished eyes, The Kid counted a thousand dollars into his outstretched hand, then added the deed to Vale’s property.  When he held it all, Vale stared up at her. “Wh-what is this?”

“Ben McCuller ain’t runnin’ things around here no more,” said The Kid, “so here’s your deed back. We reckon he owes you compensation for the trouble he gave you folks, and that’s what the money’s for. Now, can I ask you to do somethin’ for us, Mr. Vale? It’d be a kindness to your neighbors.”

Jack Vale was flabbergasted, staring in disbelief at the money he held in one hand, then the deed in the other. He looked up at The Kid, eyes wide. “Anything you need from me, ma’am. Anything at all!”

The Kid instructed the man to take the wagon of supplies to the farms and ranches that were being starved out by Ben McCuller and divide the contents among them, his own included, then bring the empty wagon back to the jail.

With a hearty nod and a few more words of gratitude, Vale climbed into the buckboard and took up the reins.

Turning to Jud, The Kid said, “You take Thunder and ride along with Mr. Vale.”

With a quick nod, Jud addressed Vale. Follow me down to the stable, and I’ll get saddled up.” He set off, walking briskly down the street with Jack Vale and the wagon close behind.

The Kid stood with arms folded, watching the two men go. Returning to the office, she seated herself at the sheriff’s desk, pondering Jud’s concerns.

Maybe he was right — I should of waited to pass out that cash. I’m pokin’ a hornet nest here. 

Tapping her fingers on the desktop, she pondered. One thing for damn sure – I gotta make a move on McCuller ‘fore he finds out about me takin’ his money. Tomorrow night, that’s when I’ll do this.

From where she sat, The Kid could hear the three prisoners talk amongst themselves, mostly griping about their lot. Rolling a cigarette, she had a leisurely smoke, then got up and went back to the cells.

“I hear tell the fine for wearin’ guns in this town is twenty-five dollars… or a day and night in jail. What’s it gonna be, boys?” The Kid asked.

“We ain’t got that money on us!” Cookie protested.

“Too damn bad,” The Kid replied. “You’ll be out tomorrow mornin’, then.” Turning to Cy, she said, “I got thirty dollars of yours in the desk from yesterday. You care to pay your fine now, or you gonna stay here with your friends?”

“I want out!” Cy Warren snapped. As The Kid unlocked his cell he told the other two men, “I’ll be back to get you sprung, boys.”

Out in the office, The Kid took twenty-five dollars from the money she’d confiscated, then gave him the remaining five.

Stuffing the money into his jeans, Cy hissed, “Just so you know, bitch, I’m ridin’ hard for the ranch and comin’ straight back with McCuller’s men. Then I’ll gut you like a goddamn trout. Maybe we’ll wreck this town too; show what happens to them that mess with us.” Looking about, he bellowed, “And where’s my fuckin’ gun?”

The Kid stood slouched, thumbs hooked in the belt of her pants. “There won’t be no ‘ridin’ hard’ for you, mister. That horse is evidence, and he ain’t goin’ nowhere. Don’t try to borrow, buy or rent a horse from the stable, either. Abner’s under strict orders not to do business with you, else I’ll close him down.” That was a lie, but she figured it was a good bet Cy wouldn’t check on the story. “Now about the gun…” She took Cy’s gun belt from the lower drawer. “If it was up to me, I’d drop this in the well, but the law says you get it back.” The Kid handed it to him. “Don’t strap it on till you leave this town, or I’ll toss you back in jail.” She tossed his stiletto onto the desk. “And this stays out of sight.”

With a look of purest hatred, Cy bent to tuck the knife back into his boot.

Folding her arms, The Kid said in a soft but ice-cold tone, “You’ll walk back to the ranch. And when you get there, tell McCuller I’ll be comin’ to arrest him.” She gestured dismissively at the door. “Now get out of my town.”

On his long walk, Cy Warren fumed with every step, gritting his teeth so tightly it gave him a headache. He dreaded the thought of facing McCuller, telling his boss that a goddamn girl not only locked him up for the night, but took his horse…

He drove his balled fist into his palm with a satisfying smack. I’ll kill that bitch if it’s the last thing I do. Only I’ll make her hurt first. Get her beggin’ me for mercy before I put the knife in.

Soon to come: Chapter Seven!

For a list of the many characters who populate this saga, check out Dramatis Personae.

The vicar of Derwold has been murdered by an unknown assailant. Unaware of the events that are about to unfold, Sadie tries to fathom the mysteries of the ancient standing stone near her cottage with the help of Freya and Millie. Later, Freya pays a visit to Derwold Manor, and she and Elsa enjoy an afternoon of passion. It turns out Elsa is using Freya for her own ends, and the eleven-year-old is tricked into revealing all their secrets.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by BlueJean

1

Sadie could easily sympathise with Daniel the spaniel. His mistress was highly strung, hyper-emotional, and knew next to nothing about dogs. Daniel needed a strong pack leader to follow, but Jill Sanders clearly wasn’t up to the task.

So Daniel had been given no choice but to step up to the plate and assume that role himself. The trouble was, he simply wasn’t designed for leadership. It left him feeling stressed and upset, and all he really wanted to do was cock his leg against trees and sniff the occasional bottom.

Worst of all, Daniel had a really silly name.

“Has he got cancer?” Jill whispered behind a hand, as if Daniel not only understood complex sentences but might also be able to lip-read.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Sadie assured her client.

Pet readings were part of what Sadie considered ‘minor witch business’ – the small stuff, the stuff that didn’t draw attention. Other aspects of minor witch business included homeopathy, dowsing, and cleansing homes of negative influences. She’d also located missing pets and livestock, but that was strictly off the books.

“What’s wrong with him, then?” Jill whined, nervously chewing on a fingernail.

Sadie knew the tears would begin soon. Jill Sanders was a crier. She just bloody was.

“There’s nothing wrong with him, Jill. Not really. It’s just… well, there’s no easy way to say this.”

Jill buried her face in Daniel’s fur. Daniel didn’t seem particularly thrilled about it. “Oh, God, tell me, Sadie!”

Sadie lay a comforting hand atop Jill’s, then ploughed ahead. “The thing is, Jill… Daniel… well, he doesn’t like his name.”

Jill stared disbelieving for a long, awkward moment. “What?”

Any minute now, Sadie thought. Any. Minute. Now.

“He’s not too keen on his name.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, pet readings aren’t an exact science, but yeah, that’s what I’m getting. To start with.”

Let’s go slowly here. One bombshell at a time. Tears are one thing, but we don’t want the poor woman shrieking like a banshee and pulling her hair out. With Jill, anything was on the table.

“But… that’s his name!” Jill cried, her previously concerned demeanor rapidly giving way to purest misery. “How can he not like his name? I d-don’t understand, Sadie. Help me to unders-s-s-stand!”

And the tears came, accompanied by huge racking sobs.

Sadie reached out to pat Jill’s hand. “Aww, no, you mustn’t cry, Jill. It’s not a huge deal, is it? Just pick a new name for him. How many pets get to have a brand new name? He’s a lucky dog!”

“But he’s been Daniel since he was a puppy! The only other name that rhymes with spaniel is Nathaniel, and I can’t call him that because his litter brother’s called Nathaniel. Nathaniel’s owned by my friends Joan and Tony. We walk the dogs together sometimes. How can they both have the same name? Oh, this is awful!”

Sadie took an awkward sip of her tea. Maybe this pet reading venture had been a mistake. Sure, it was nice to make a bit of extra money during the summer holidays while the school was closed down, but… well, it just seemed a bit tacky. Oh, it was all above board – most witches were able to read animals on some level, no smoke and mirrors there. But compared to sending spirits back to the cycle, or delving into ancestral memories to see through the eyes of the Mother of Humanity, pet readings were like getting a weekend job at Carphone Warehouse after spending all week as an astrophysicist.

Needs must, Sadie supposed. And it wouldn’t do to act all high and mighty, would it? Witches were duty bound to help people in need, after all, not get ideas above their station.

Humility, Sadie, humility. Remember, Daniel the spaniel’s counting on you!

“We want to try and get away from the whole rhyming thing if we can, Jill,” Sadie explained as tactfully as she was able. “I think it’s the ‘aniel’ part he doesn’t like.”

Jill wiped her nose with a hanky and did her best to compose herself. “I do kind of like ‘Geoffrey’ as an alternative. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to not calling him Daniel, though.” The distraught woman regarded Sadie with red, puffy eyes, and no small amount of caution. “W-what else did he tell you?”

Sadie steeled herself. “He, er, doesn’t like the dried biscuits you feed him. And he needs you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and show some leadership.”

Jill’s eyes filled with horror. Her fists shook to either side of her head as if she were playing an invisible set of maracas. “Oh, God! I’m not a bad person, am I?!” she wailed. “What’ve I done to deserve all this heartaaaaache!”

That last word rose into an ear-piercing shriek. Daniel leapt off his mistress’ lap and shot through the dog flap in the back door.

Run, Geoffrey, formerly known as Daniel! Run like the wind!

2

Sadie had not long left the Sanders farm when her phone began vibrating in her cardigan pocket. She pulled her car onto the side of the road and left the engine idling. The caller was Vivaan Dinesh, Derwold’s resident doctor. Sadie rarely received calls from him, unless it was to remind her about an appointment.

“Hi, Viv.”

The line was choppy as usual. Derwold’s poor mobile coverage was something the residents grumbled about endlessly, but ultimately learned to live with. It was beautiful, peaceful countryside or a decent phone signal. Never both. The reception had been especially poor these last couple of days, though.

“…adie. Can you come over to… gery…”

“Say again, Viv? The line’s awful.”

“I need to see you at the surgery… urgent…”

“Is something wrong? Has someone been hurt?”

“… want to say over the phone… know who else to call… soon as you can, Sadie.”

“Okay, Viv. I’m on my way. Hello? Are you there, Viv?”

The call ended abruptly. Vivaan had sounded tired and agitated, which was unlike him. Sadie drove the short distance to the small surgery, unsure what to expect when she got there.

3

Millie was obliged to play alone more often than not these days. Freya was more interested in pop music, or reading books, or tending to her herbs in the greenhouse.

“Your sister’s becoming civilised,” her mum had told her half-jokingly, and Millie wondered if ‘civilised’ might be the exact opposite of ‘fun’.

Regardless, there was no choice for the eight-year-old but to adapt.

She considered seeking out the other children that lived within walking distance of Beekeeper Cottage, but her options were limited. At six years old, Lola Hughes was too young to be of any real use, and Lola’s mum always insisted that her little one was Millie’s responsibility whenever they played together. Millie just wanted to have fun, not be responsible for someone.

Archie Cornaby was her other choice, but his idea of fun was to throw rocks at trees or count cows (he usually made it to nine before he lost count and had to start again). The boy had the imagination of a tree stump.

It was one balmy afternoon, while she was traversing the wilder parts of Derwold Woods, pretending to be a famous explorer, that Millie heard a faint cry off in the distance. She did her best to follow its source, but each time she was sure she must be heading the right way, the wind carried the sound in some new direction.

Nevertheless, Millie had a great deal of experience traversing the forest, and after several course corrections, finally arrived at a curious scene.

Bernard the Druid was frantically clinging to a branch halfway up a large tree. Pacing back and forth on the forest floor, sharp eyes ever watchful, was the black panther that had accosted Millie in the churchyard a few days before.

Having seen Millie approach, Bernard’s eyes widened in alarm. “Run, Millie! Run for your life! I’m done for, but you still have your whole life ahead of you!”

The big cat briefly regarded Millie, then peered hungrily back up at Bernard.

Prey.

Millie projected a thought at the creature. Not prey. Bernard.

The panther clearly didn’t agree with the human child’s assessment. It raised itself up on its hind legs and hooked its claws into the trunk of the tree.

Bernard emitted a high pitch squeal and made a clumsy effort to climb even higher. “No! Help me, Millie! It’s coming to get me! Brân, Ogma, Danu, Esus, and several other Gods whose names I can’t bring to mind, help meeeeee!”

“Keep calm, Bernard!” Millie hollered. “Mum says if you panic around a bee, it’ll sting you.”

“It’s not a bee, Millie! It’s a whacking great panther! They climb trees! They. Climb. Treeeees!”

Prey?

No! Not prey. Go hunt a deer or I’ll tug your tail!

The panther gave one last look at the potential meal cowering in the tree, then decided it probably wasn’t worth the effort. It stalked quietly away through the ferns.

“You can come down now, Bernard.”

“Oh, thank the Gods! I thought I was done for.”

Bernard made his way awkwardly down the tree. Several times, Millie was sure he’d take the quickest route and simply fall to the bottom, but somehow he managed to keep his footing. “Bear with me, my friend. I’m not quite as adept at climbing trees as I once was. And robes aren’t the ideal climbing attire. Who in the name of buggery would let a panther loose?!”

“I’ve seen it before,” said Millie. “Maybe it escaped from a zoo.”

After what seemed like an eternity, Bernard set foot on the forest floor with a relieved sob.

“Are you all right, Bernard?”

Bernard sat himself down on a moss-strewn log and exhaled a tremulous breath. “I’ll not lie to you, Millie. I’m afraid I’ve wet myself.”

Millie took a place next to the hapless druid. “Oh. Well, that’s one good thing about wearing robes, isn’t it? The wee just runs down your legs and out the bottom.”

Bernard considered that particular silver lining. “There are some perks to wearing robes, I suppose. On the other hand, one’s socks and boots tend to take the brunt. Oh, Millie, I’m such a coward! A coward and a fool.”

“You’re not a coward,” Millie told him, offering what support she could. “Anyone would’ve been scared if a panther was going to eat them.”

“But it’s not just the panther,” a deflated Bernard admitted with a dramatic sigh. “The truth is, I’ve been afraid all my life. I’m not who people think I am. They see me as this mighty druidic figurehead, strong and resourceful, worthy of their respect.”

Millie wasn’t sure people saw Bernard that way at all, but didn’t want to upset him even more by pointing it out.

“But, and I realise this might come as a shock to you, I’m not even a real druid. I’m a fraud. A phony. A charlatan. I’m ashamed to say it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“But… you have a robe and a staff.”

“Oh, it’s true, I look the part. But I was never ordained, you see, never even trained. In my old life, I was a banker, you know. Quite a well respected one, if truth be told. But the board members at the bank where I worked were putting unbearable pressure on me to meet quotas. And my wife… well, she was having an affair with one of my work colleagues. I was too cowardly to confront either of them. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my grown up children were constantly bullying me for money whilst telling me what an awful father I was. One day, I’d simply had enough.”

A sad smile curled the corners of Bernard’s mouth. “I played a druid in World of Warcraft for many years – it was a sanctuary from all the stress in my life. One day I thought to myself, ‘what if I were to become a real druid? What if I just abandon everything and live my dream?’ So I sent away for a robe and a staff, purchased some books on the druidic faith, and away I went!”

Bernard raised his fists into the air, then let them slump back into his lap again. “I thought it was the bravest thing I’d ever done. But it was just another act of cowardice, wasn’t it? I ran away. Ran away from my responsibilities. Most of all, I ran away from myself. And now here I am wearing this ridiculous robe, boots filled with wee, telling my sob story to a small child.“ He offered Millie an apologetic smile. “No offense meant.”

Millie let out a big sigh, then placed a comforting hand on Bernard’s shoulder. “Oh, Bernard. You really are a sausage.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s okay to have secrets. It’s okay to pretend to be someone else – I do it all the time. But whatever you do, the most important thing is to be kind, and try to help people. Then everyone will see who you really are.

“I have a friend who has a big secret. She’s like a superhero, but she can’t tell anyone who she really is because people like her weren’t treated very nicely in the olden days. When I found out her secret, it didn’t really change anything because she was still my friend. She was still her. And I already knew she was brave and kind. Because that’s what bravery is. It’s all the little things you do, not the big things. You don’t need to save the world to be brave.”

Bernard considered Millie’s words. Her delivery was a little muddled, and it didn’t quite get to the root of all those issues. But there did seem to be a kernel of truth in there somewhere.

“You might be on to something there,” Bernard said. “I should stop feeling sorry for myself and jolly well pull my socks up. Er… not these socks, though. These socks are destined for the bin, I fear.”

Millie giggled at that.

Bernard gave her a quick pat on the knee, laughing along with her. “Ah, you’re wise beyond your years, my young friend!”

Millie bounced off the log with a boundless energy Bernard could only dream of. “Let’s go before the panther comes back. I’ll make sure you get back to your tent safely.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Bernard said, pushing himself off the log with his staff. “I can’t deny, I’m in dire need of a dry pair of underpants and a change of socks. Thank you for rescuing this old fool.”

Millie only just managed to stop herself laughing at the squelching sound when the unfortunate man got to his feet.

“I wonder if we might keep this whole fake druid business hush-hush for the time being,” Bernard cautioned. “And, er, the part where I piss myself, ideally.”

“It’s okay, I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Excellent! You’re a true friend, Millie!” Bernard raised a fist into the air. “A-ranging we go, then. Onward ho!”

Millie raised her own fist aloft. “Onward ho!”

4

The surgery was quiet, as usual. Recently, there had been some concern amongst the villagers that its days were numbered. General practice surgeries across the country were disappearing at an alarming rate, usually merging into what the county councils liked to refer to as hubs, a roundabout way of saying they didn’t have enough money to keep things running as they were.

Vivaan met Sadie at the entrance. The doctor looked tired and drawn. “Thank God you’re here. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Sadie lay a hand on his arm. “What’s happened, Viv?”

Vivaan hesitated. “I… it’s probably best if I just show you. But I need to warn you, Sadie, it’s not a pretty sight. If you have an aversion to dead bodies, more specifically, ones that’ve been… interfered with, please tell me now and I won’t burden you with this.”

“It’s okay. I’ve always had a robust disposition. You’re scaring me, though. What’s going on?”

Sadie followed the doctor down a short flight of stairs to the basement that served as Derwold’s mortuary. In the absence of an official coroner, Vivaan was left with no choice but to perform the post-mortem himself.

He turned the overhead strip light on, then led Sadie to a stainless steel table where a body lay covered by a plastic shroud.

Sadie’s stomach lurched when he pulled it back.

“Okay?” Vivaan asked her.

It took her a long moment to recognise the vicar. His eyes were gone, his throat had been cut from ear to ear, and there was a large hole in his skull. Sadie felt a rising horror and fought to push it down. Clearly her disposition was not quite as robust as she’d believed, though a sight like this would’ve shaken anyone.

“Sadie, talk to me.”

“What?”

“Are you okay? I need to know you’re okay before we continue. I know this is difficult to look at.”

“I’m all right. No, of course I’m not all right. Who the hell did this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Shit, Viv. We need the police here.”

“They won’t come.”

Sadie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘they won’t come’?”

“I keep phoning them. They keep promising to send someone, but no one comes. Each time I speak to them they have no recollection of my calls. Something’s terribly wrong here, Sadie. It’s why I called you. I think this might be, you know, supernatural business.”

Vivaan was one of the few people who knew of Sadie’s dual life. His own grandmother had been one of the last remaining professional witches back in his native India.

Sadie forced her eyes down the length of the dead man’s pallid body. He’d been cut open at the stomach, but above that, something had been carved into his chest. “A pentagram…”

“It’s satanic, right?”

“Yes.”

“The work of some cult, you think?”

Sadie shook her head. “There are less than two hundred people living in Derwold, and we know them all. The idea there’s a secret satanic cult in the village that suddenly decided to make itself known just doesn’t seem plausible.”

“A lone perpetrator, then?”

“Maybe. Is there anybody staying in Derwold right now that we don’t know?”

Vivaan thought about it. “The only person I can think of is that druid chap.”

“Bernard? What about his friends?”

“Friends?”

“The young potheads that shuffle around after him. His ‘followers’, I guess.”

“Oh. They moved on with all the other festival folk. I got the feeling they were rather underwhelmed by our druid.”

“And they all left the village before the vicar was…” Sadie could barely bring herself to say the word, “murdered?”

“Yeah. At least a week before. The body was at the vicarage for two days before I realised no one was coming out here to deal with it and moved it here.”

“So that just leaves Bernard,” said Sadie. “If we’re to believe it was someone close at hand. It might not’ve been.“

“I find it impossible to believe he could do this. That man couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag, let alone kill someone with this kind of brutality. It could’ve been someone from outside the village. But Derwold’s so remote, it makes you wonder why anyone would travel all the way out here to kill a vicar. Unless they had good reason to.”

“Jesus, we’re way out of our league here, Viv. I’m a schoolteacher.”

“You told me once that there was some sort of barrier around Derwold. Is that what’s stopping the police from getting through?”

“No. No, it wouldn’t stop people coming and going,” Sadie explained. “How could it, when we get all those people coming through during the summer months, and all the mail and supplies that get delivered?

“It was part of the whole Derwold legend – the dryad supposedly placed a protective spell over the village centuries ago. It was meant to deter destructive forces from entering, but a spell like that is more discouragement than anything, it’s not an actual physical barrier. If someone really wants to get through, they will.”

She paused a moment to think, then added, “The police never set foot in Derwold, do they? I don’t think any of us have really stopped to consider that or what it means. On the other hand, the Witchfinders came through here centuries ago when my ancestor Isabel was arrested and executed. So if there is a protective wall around the village, it’s more like… like the power of suggestion, I guess.“

“It didn’t do a very good job of keeping out the baddies this time, did it?” Vivaan said with an eye towards the corpse on the table.

“No,” Sadie agreed. “Unless the killer has always been here. Unless Derwold is home for them.” The name suddenly felt strange on Sadie’s tongue. Like a cold shard of ice. “The Derwolds…”

“The Derwolds? The family, you mean? What about them?”

Sadie shook her head. “Maybe nothing. Who found the vicar?”

“His housekeeper, Glenda Moore. She was in a right state. I told her to keep it under wraps until the police arrived. I’ll pop by her house later to see how she’s holding up.”

“Good. If this gets out, there’ll be a panic. When you see Glenda again, you need to emphasise how important it is that she keep quiet about this. At least for the time being.”

“We can’t keep this secret forever, Sadie. People will notice the vicar’s absence before too long.”

“I know.” She turned to leave.

“Where are you going?”

Seeing the vicar like that horrified her, to be sure, but Sadie was surprised how calm she felt, given the circumstances. She and the vicar had never exactly been friends but, like all the villagers, she knew him well, had worked alongside him organising festivals and fêtes. Oh, she’d heard the rumours about his penchant for little boys and girls, like everyone else, but Sadie had never seen anything untoward herself, and how could she, of all people, judge anyone for something like that?

Perhaps there was folly in that – to turn a blind eye instead of asking awkward questions. But hadn’t that always been the way of small, remote communities? Anyway, it was too late now.

There was a killer on the loose somewhere out there. And a very real possibility they were still here, watching, waiting. Despite all that, Sadie felt more alive than she had in months. Pet readings were all well and good, but this was real witch business. Her every nerve ending seemed poised for the task at hand.

She turned back to Vivaan briefly. “Where am I going? To catch a killer, of course.”

5

Sometimes sex just wants to happen. Desire infuses the air like the sweetest of contagions.

While Sadie is out conducting her murder investigation, Georgia, Freya and Millie, oblivious to the danger around them, are drawn together in a subtle choreography of mutual arousal.

Georgia passes the greenhouse where Freya tends to her herbs. Her hand brushes along the metal frame. Freya turns, and the two of them share a smile.

Millie runs round and round the garden with Bee in tow. She laughs gleefully. She’s feeling frisky, naughty.

Freya washes her hands at the kitchen sink. Her mother ghosts behind her and reaches round to wash hers, too. Her daughter’s hair is sweet smelling. They giggle together. Millie helps herself to juice from the fridge. The three of them share a look.

Georgia reclines on the couch in the living room, taking respite from the stifling afternoon heat. Her chores are done, and the rest of the day is hers. The patio doors are slung wide, allowing a breeze to stir the skin on her bare legs. She wiggles her feet. She’s feeling lazy. The heat makes her horny.

Freya is teaching Millie a yoga move on the floor. She lifts one of her sister’s legs up behind her body and stretches it gently but firmly. Millie giggles. Freya looks back at her mum to see if she’s watching.

Georgia watches. And watches.

Sometimes sex just wants to happen.

Millie rolls over onto her back and adopts a crab pose. Before she can react, Freya hooks her fingers into the waistband of her sister’s shorts and tugs them down around her knees, along with her panties.

Millie laughs breathlessly. “Take them all the way off.”

Freya obliges. Now the eight-year-old is naked from the waist down. “Take yours off, too,” Millie tells her big sister. Freya shimmies out of her leggings, almost tripping on them as they bunch around her feet.

“Remember when we used to do this?” Freya asks her sister as she climbs on top of her, pressing their bare slits together.

Millie twines both arms around her sister’s neck. “Mm-hmm. Humpy humpy!”

“I remember, too,” Georgia coos as she slips a hand into her shorts.

“You weren’t there when we did this, Mummy,” Millie insists.

“Oh, but I was. Two little imps hiding in the poppy field, rubbing their girly bits together.”

Freya grinds against her sister, arching her back to press down more firmly. “How do you know about that, Mum?”

“A mother always knows what her little ones are up to. Never doubt it.”

Georgia rises languidly from the couch, then advances toward her daughters. She likes to watch, for sure, but watching just isn’t cutting it anymore. Sitting on her heels, she reaches out to stroke Freya’s bum as it moves back and forth. She can smell her little girls, the  intoxicating perfume of their arousal.

Her fingers delve into the crease of Freya’s arse until they are briefly trapped between two warm, moist little pussies. When she withdraws them, the tips are coated with wetness. Georgia smells her fingers, then sucks them clean. There’s no place for inhibition any more. They’ve all been through too much to hide anything.

“Stop humping a minute,” Georgia tells Freya. She reaches behind and grabs a cushion from the couch, then has Millie lift her hips briefly so she can push it beneath her bum. “Get up on your knees, Freya.”

“Mummy’s gonna do something naugh-tee!” Millie warbles gleefully.

Now Georgia has her girls right where she wants them. Freya is kneeling over Millie, her pussy almost touching her sister’s. Underneath, Millie spreads her legs wide.

Georgia cranes her neck and licks Freya first. Her oldest daughter exudes a clean musk. She’s becoming a woman. Her tongue slithers through warm, wet folds, chin brushing against a sparse smattering of virgin down.

A brief dip of the head and she’s mouth to pussy with her youngest, the smooth slit a stark contrast to Freya’s musky confection, but no less delicious for that. She stabs her way inside Millie’s snug hole, savouring the tart flavour. Then she prises Freya’s arse cheeks open to marvel at the flower of her anus.

When it’s Freya’s turn again, Georgia runs her tongue all the way from her pussy to her arsehole. She scrubs her tongue round the dusky orifice. When she’s done rimming Freya, she seeks out Millie’s little pucker, giving it the same treatment.

The two girls emit muffled whimpers, and when Georgia leans her head out briefly, her suspicions are confirmed: her two angels are deeply engaged in a soul kiss. Now she moves back and forth between them, a finger in each of their tight, gooey little pussies while she sucks on their clits, eager to see who will come in her mouth first.

Freya’s legs suddenly quiver uncontrollably. Her pussy squirts a small amount of ejaculate that coats her mother’s mouth and trickles into her sister’s slit. “Oh! Oh! Oooh!”

“Do me, Mummy!” Millie squeals, pulling her pussy lips apart.

How did we end up here? Georgia muses as she flicks her tongue over her little girl’s clit and fingers her tight hole. How did we end up at such a place of exquisite debauchery?

Then Millie comes too. She lies on the floor, arms and legs splayed out while a big wide grin lights up her face.

Georgia wonders what to do about her own needs. Perhaps she’ll go upstairs to bring herself off, or maybe she’ll just stay down here and do it in front of her children. That would surely make her come all the harder.

But then the girls fall upon their mother with giggles and breathless squeals.

It’s like any game of rough ‘n tumble two children might play with their mum, but when Millie and Freya start to unfasten Georgia’s clothes, the facade of innocence falls away to reveal the stark truth of their relationship – they are lovers.

When Georgia is left in nothing but her panties, she nudges the girls aside and gets to her feet. “Millie, lay back on the carpet for me.”

Millie does as she’s told. Freya sits and watches with interest, a hand toying idly between her thighs.

Georgia slips a very moist pair of knickers down her legs. She steps out of them, then brings them to her face to smell. The heat of the day has left them intensely musky, her arousal only increasing the aroma.

She happens to know a little girl who likes dirty panties.

Freya regards the sodden prize with greedy eyes. Barely a night goes by without a pair of used knickers being squirrelled away beneath her pillow, sometimes Sadie’s, sometimes her mum’s. Often both.

Georgia throws the panties at her oldest daughter. “Sniff these while I rub my pussy on Millie’s mouth.”

Freya inhales her mother’s discarded knickers while she fingers herself.

Georgia steps over Millie, peering down at her. “Will you lick my pussy, pixie? Mummy licked yours, so I think it’s only fair.”

“Okay,” Millie agrees, her eyes dancing. She knows what’s coming next.

Georgia sinks down into a lewd squat over her little girl’s face. “Ready?”

“Yah!”

Georgia closes the last few inches between her throbbing sex and Millie’s mouth. She moves her hips back and forth, brushing her pussy against the child’s lips. Millie pokes her tongue out and lets the tart, earthy taste of Mummy’s cunt fill her mouth.

Freya retreats to the couch. Sitting back against the cushions with her legs slung wide, one hand strums her clit while the other clutches the soiled panties to her face. She watches her mother rubbing herself on her little sister.

Georgia regards her oldest daughter with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, sniff those panties for Mummy,” she hisses. She reaches out and pushes a finger into the crease of Millie’s pussy, massaging her firm lips. Her hips move back and forth over Millie’s face.

Millie does her best to stick her tongue inside her mother’s pussy, so she can fuck her with it, but Mummy just won’t sit still long enough to give her a chance.

With her youngest daughter eating her out, and her oldest sniffing her knickers, Georgia knows it won’t be long until she tumbles over the precipice and into an earth-shattering climax. She knows just the thing to take her those last few inches, too. “F-Freya… it’s time to put Mummy’s panties down now. Come and lick your sister.”

She remembers the first time she caught them eating each other out, mouth to pussy in their bedroom when they should have been fast asleep, the sight of it as shocking as it was arousing. Georgia had watched them through a gap in the open door. Watched and masturbated.

Freya crawls off the couch and plants her hands on the back of Millie’s thighs, drawing her knees up and out. She dips her head between her little sister’s legs and flicks her tongue through the puffy labia.

Millie twitches and whimpers. Georgia can feel her little one’s warm breath on her sex. Hands on her hips, she grinds a little faster. “Oh, you dirty girls. My sweet, dirty little girls. I’m going to come all over your mouth, Millie. Mummy’s going to have her orgasm on your pretty lips. Here it comes. Oh, fuck yes. Fuck!”

Millie twitches and writhes beneath her climaxing mother. She’s coming too. Georgia thinks she deserves it for doing such a fine job on her mummy. Dismounting Millie’s face, she dips down to kiss the eight-year-old on her messy mouth, then moves down to kiss Freya, too. While she’s there, she plants a gentle peck on Millie’s flushed pussy.

Freya decides not to come again just yet. Instead, she’ll pay her new friend Elsa a visit and see what naughty things they can get up to.

6

The borders of Derwold were marked – relatively speaking – by a ring of ancient standing stones. It was widely believed the menhir in the field adjacent to Sadie’s cottage was the last one remaining, but Sadie knew there were others. True, some of them were long gone, uprooted to make way for agriculture, or perhaps simply pilfered, but the rest lay hidden amongst trees and dense foliage in the woods that surrounded the village, or had toppled over and been swallowed up by the earth over long centuries or even millennia.

Sadie knew where most of the remaining stones were situated. From that mental map she set out to trace the village border and follow its circumference, to determine if any residue of ancient Dryad magic still remained, enough that it might be preventing the police from entering.

The closer she came to the edge of the small hamlet, the more certain she became that something was terribly wrong.

Billy Buckham discovered the dark magic at work before his mistress did, and it had nearly been his undoing. Smelling death on the wind, he followed its heady trail to find one dead animal after another – birds, small mammals, even a deer or two – scattered along woods and fields that marked the borders of Derwold. By the time he’d thanked whatever god cats pray to for the veritable feast laid out before him, he was already shaking his head in confusion, tongue lolling.

Sadie snatched him up and carried him several metres back to safety. Billy recovered quickly, but Sadie suspected if she hadn’t been here he would’ve likely ended his days like the rest of these forest animals. “Stay here, Billy,” she told the tomcat. “It’s not safe, you hear me?”

Still somewhat perplexed, Billy could only blink at his mistress.

Sadie approached the dead animals tentatively, then pushed further on, fighting the feeling of dread and confusion that met her. It was like walking through a river of glue. Her limbs screamed with the effort, her head filled with a dense, murky fog.

Nothing made sense. Up was down, back was forward. The trees seemed to bend towards her like malevolent sentinels; the sky darkened and then crushed downwards. Nausea enveloped her, and Sadie realised with a jolt of horror that she hadn’t drawn a breath of air for several long seconds, almost as if that vital function seemed unimportant.

Now it was clear how all these animals had died – they’d simply forgotten to breathe.

Finally she could advance no further. If she tried, she was sure to fall here in this seldom-traveled part of the woods and perhaps never be found again.

Retreating was much easier, as if the village wanted her to go back, wanted her to return to the safety of its confines. And of course, that was the very nature of the hex that had been woven along the borders of Derwold: to keep those on the inside in and those on the outside out. Something or someone had turned Derwold into a prison.

“What the hell has she done, Billy?” Sadie groaned as she stumbled back towards her cat. “Why would the dryad do this?”

“Not I, witchling. Not I.”

Sadie spun to face the speaker. For a moment she saw nothing but trees and greenery, but then her eyes adjusted. There, perched upon a fallen tree trunk a short distance away was The Green Lady. The Dryad of Derwold.

“Astris…” Sadie whispered.

“We must speak, you and I,” Astris said. “Sister to sister.”

Soon to come: Chapter Six!

The story thus far: Seeking a missing Texas Ranger, our old acquaintance The Tequila Kid comes across a poor family named Miller. Like many others in the area, this widow Sarah and her two little girls, Amy and Cindy, have been brutalized by a wealthy scoundrel named McCuller, who intends to drive away all the owners of small farms and ranches in the area and take their land. Later, drying off from heavy rain at the local stable, Sheriff Lucas Clay comes in search of The Kid, demanding she surrender her guns. Knowing Clay to be corrupt (and in league with McCuller), The Kid asks to speak with him in private. Moments later at the jail, he threatens her, and she deals him a beat-down, then informs him that she means to arrest McCuller and Tyson Avidite (a banker who is part of the conspiracy) before she leaves.

From the sheriff’s office, she goes to the Silver Slipper, the town’s saloon, gambling house and brothel. There, she encounters a young man named Jud Nelson, who she’d seen Sheriff Clay harass earlier. Recognizing him as a decent sort, she hires him to watch the jail to see if Clay leaves. Then she meets a twelve-year-old girl named Dixie, who does menial work at the Silver Slipper and is bullied by Toots, the brutish bartender. The Kid asks Dixie which girl is the most popular of the whores. Star, the girl replies, and The Kid gives Dixie the money to pay for Star’s services that evening.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, The Kid enjoys an intense hour of sex with Star. Afterwards, she asks the prostitute a few questions about the town and its doings. She learns that Clark Hansen, the missing Texas Ranger she seeks, disappeared around the same time as Dixie’s older sister Dallas, who was one of the whores at the Silver Slipper. The Kid asks about Ben McCuller, but Star refuses to answer, claiming “it’s too dangerous.” When The Kid goes back downstairs, Jud returns to let her know that Sheriff Clay just left town, riding hard in the direction of McCuller’s place.

Figuring she’s done as much as she can for one night, The Kid decides to join an ongoing card game, where she ends up winning a decent amount of money, as well as a neglected horse, which she takes to the local stable where her own horse is being kept.

The next morning, The Kid is informed by Jud Nelson that Cy Warren, McCuller’s enforcer and dirty-jobs man, has just entered the sheriff’s office, using a key. On their way to confront him, The Kid is taken aback to recognize the horse Cy has hitched up outside as Thunder, who she knows to be the property of Clark Hansen, the missing Texas Ranger she is seeking. More determined than ever to get answers from Cy Warren, she boldly strides into the sheriff’s office, a nervous Jud close behind.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

By Purple Les

The Kid pushed the door to the Sheriff’s office open and strode inside. Jud Nelson close behind.

Cy Warren looked up in surprise from behind Lucas Clay’s desk, where he stood pawing through the drawers.

Warren stood a muscular five foot eight, with dark eyes and hair. His clean shaven face changed quickly from surprise to anger as he drew his Colt single-action army revolver.

Jud stood still as a statue, his eyes wide in astonishment. Even though he knew Cy to be a fast draw and deadly shot, he saw Warren freeze just when his gun had cleared the holster.

When he glanced to his left, Jud saw why. Even though Cy drew first, The Kid had her gun cocked and aimed at Cy’s chest before he could draw a bead.

“Put that gun on the desk.” The Kid said softly, but with an edge to her voice.

Cy did just that, then raised his hands shoulder high. He took a few steps backwards, moving away from the desk.

“Where’s Sheriff Clay?” The Kid asked.

It amused Jud to watch Warren try to think on his feet, but he still felt that knot of tension in his gut.

“Uh, well, now,” Cy began. “Clay come out to McCullers and um, got him a fresh horse, and rode off to Gila Flats on, I ain’t sure what sort of business, but it was somethin’ that couldn’t wait. And, uh, he asked me to be actin’ sheriff while he was away. Said he’d be gone a spell.”

“All right, now tell me how it is you come to be ridin’ Ranger Clark Hansen’s horse.” The Kid said tersely.

“Uh, he ran off with some saloon girl, and traded him for a team of horses.”

The Kid broke into a grin. “Run off with a gal, huh? That does sound like somethin’ he’d do. So Clark told you what a good horse Midnight was, but he needed that team more. Bet he drove a hard bargain for that team, too.”

“By God, he did,” Cy said, relaxing a bit. “‘Old Midnight ain’t just any old horse’, he told me. I gived that Ranger his team, but he’d only barter if I let him pick which horses he wanted.”

“Don’t that beat all!” The Kid exclaimed. “There’s just one thing wrong with your story, though.  His horse’s name is Thunder, not Midnight.”

Cy’s face fell as he realized how The Kid had tricked him. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you sure are,” The Kid replied, narrowing her eyes. “Now why don’t you take off that gun belt and empty your pockets, then stand against that wall. Do it nice and slow. My trigger finger’s feelin’ a mite itchy.”

With a look of pure hatred, Cy did as The Kid said, finally placing both hands against the wall. The Kid holstered her gun and patted Cy down, pausing to pluck a wicked-looking stiletto knife from his boot.

Drawing her Colt once more, The Kid cocked it, placing the tip of the barrel against Cy’s back. “You’re under arrest, Warren.”

“The hell you say!” the man growled.

“You got five seconds to march your ass back to them cells, mister,” The Kid replied. “One… two…”

Cy hastened into the back where the jail cells were kept. The Kid shouldered him into the nearest one, then slammed the door shut with a satisfying clang.

As she turned to walk away, Cy Warren bellowed, “What’s goin’ on here, goddammit? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!”

The Kid glared at him. “You’re under arrest on suspicion of horse thievin.'” She turned to leave, then glanced back. “And for bein’ a piss poor liar.”

Rifling through the desk drawer, The Kid turned up a deputy badge in a drawer, then looked up at Jud. “I hereby appoint you actin’ sheriff.” She clumsily pinned the badge on the nonplussed man. “Now come along with me. We got us a warrant to serve.”

They made their exit, leaving Cy Warren fuming in the cell. As they advanced toward the bank she asked Jud, “You really sell your gun?”

“Hell, no.” Jud puffed as he tried to keep up with The Kid’s brisk stride. “I got it hid.”

“You any good with it?”

“‘Bout average. My draw ain’t quick, but I can sure hit where I aim.”

The Kid smiled. “Good. I prefer workin’ with an honest man.”

Leading the way into the bank, she walked up to a man seated at a desk wearing a black suit. “Tyson Avidite?”

The portly brown-haired man glanced up with brown eyes that shone like earthworms glistening in the rain. “Can I help you?”

“I’m a special agent for the Texas Rangers. I got a federal warrant to examine everything in this here bank.”

“I — I beg your pardon?” Tyson stammered, his hand trembling as he took the warrant from The Kid.

As he read it The Kid said to him, “You cooperate fully and I’ll see how lenient I can be for you.”

His face like thunder, Tyson called out to the lone teller, “I’ll be busy for a while, Hoskins. Handle things yourself.” He turned to The Kid. “Where d’ye want to start?”

“Where’s the safe?”

Tyson Avidite led The Kid and Jud to his office, where the bank’s vault was located, then opened it as per The Kid’s instructions.

“Where do you keep land deeds?” The Kid asked.

His face gone a deathly pale, Tyson pulled out a metal box and opened it.

“Take a look through those, Jud.” The Kid said.

“Here, now!” Tyson objected. “This man has no right to read these documents.”

“He sure does,” The Kid calmly replied. “Jud’s the acting sheriff. Your friend Clay’s gone missin’.”

“Hell fire,” Avidite muttered, all but collapsing into a chair.

Jud thumbed through the deeds, then glanced up at The Kid. “These are fakes. Every one is signed with the same X and a name printed in. All of ’em say they got sold to Ben McCuller for a thousand dollars.” He quickly counted the documents. “There’s eighteen of ’em here. Damn, McCuller’s been busy.”

“Now take a look at these ones, Jud.” The Kid pulled a packet of papers out of her vest.

As Jud studied them, Tyson Avidite sat quietly, his chalk-white face glazed with sweat, staring down at the floor and shaking his head.

“These are the real deeds,” Jud finally announced.

“What’ve you got to say for yourself, Avidite?” The Kid said harshly. “From where I sit, it sure looks to me like you’re in a shitload of trouble.”

“I… I…” the banker began, clearing his throat.

Jud poured Avidite a glass of water from an earthenware pitcher. Avidite seized the glass, took a big gulp, then stammered, “Nothing. I have n-nothing to say!”

“That’s too bad,” The Kid said. She took hold of the banker’s wrist. “Goodness me, those are mighty soft hands you got. You’ll have a hard time of it, breakin’ rocks for a twenty-year stretch.”

“Oh, my God,” Tyson mumbled.

Jud took Kid a step back, whispering , “He’s got a bad ticker, Kid. You best be careful here.”

Kid winked back, “Good thinkin’, Jud. A little bullshit will catch more flies then fear will.”

Dumbfounded by that remark, Jud watched The Kid saunter back to Tyson, pulling up a chair next to where the banker sat. “I figure you ain’t a bad sort, Avidite. Just fell down some, judgement-wise.”

She laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Listen here. I’m closer than white to rice with the Captain of the Texas Rangers, and the Governor of Texas. McCuller’s the big fish; one we’re lookin’ to put away. If you’ll turn state’s evidence against him, I’ll do what I can to get you a suspended sentence.”

A little color returned to Tyson’s face. “You know Governor Hubbard?”

“Jumbo? I sure do. Back in the day, I helped get his brother out of a fix. He owes me one.”

A glint of hope was in Tyson’s eyes, then he shook his head. “It’ll be too late by then. McCuller will have me killed before this ever comes to trial. He’s got dangerous men on his payroll.”

The Kid faced Tyson, her arms folded. “Like Sheriff Clay? Or Cy Warren? Listen, Clay’s done run off, Warren’s locked up in the jail, and once you confess, McCuller will be sharin’ his cell.”

“I d-don’t know,” the banker mumbled.

The Kid unfolded her arms, “Way I see it, you got two choices, Avidite. You tell me what I want to know and I hide you away in protective custody… or you go straight to jail and get tried for bank fraud. What’ll it be, Avidite?”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Tyson groaned. He took another gulp of water, then slumped in his chair. “It was McCuller, all of it. He blackmailed me. He knows something that would ruin my life if it ever got out. Don’t ask me what; I won’t say.” Heaving a despairing sigh, he continued. “He had me draw up these fake deeds. McCuller never paid a red cent for any of them. Then he gave the ranchers and sodbusters notice to vacate. They all have to be off their land by Christmas day or he’ll burn them out.”

“He paid you and Clay off, then?” The Kid asked. Tyson nodded.  “You’ll be safe enough for today and tonight, I reckon. Tomorrow I’ll move you somewhere safe. I’ll do what I can to make sure you get off light for turnin’ state’s evidence. Now we got us some work to do.”

The Kid had Jud and Tyson alter the real deeds, instructing Tyson to mark each deed and mortgage as paid in full, with Jud checking his work. Then she had Tyson put a thousand dollars cash with each person’s mortgage. The only depositor with that much money in the bank was Ben McCuller, and The Kid made sure the money for the farmers came out of his account.

Gathering up the real and the fake deeds, The Kid assembled them into a tidy stack. “I’ll be back, Avidite,” she said. “Don’t try leavin’ town, now. If I have to fetch you, it might put me in a bad mood. Understand?”

“Yes,” the banker replied, staring down at his hands.

“I’ll be seein’ you soon, then,” she said, touching the brim of her Stetson. With that, she left the office, followed by Jud.

On the way back to the sheriff’s office, Jud finally had to ask, ”You really know Governor Hubbard?”

The Kid gave a snort of laughter. “Shit, no. I never met the man. But it got Avidite to talk.” She noted Jud’s frown. “Don’t bother feelin’ sorry for that snake. He’s as bad as any of ‘em. I didn’t see him showin’ a ounce of sympathy for them folks McCuller means to burn out; did you? Naw, he’s too busy feelin’ bad for his own damn self.” She shrugged. “He’ll be doin’ time… but if he hires a good lawyer, it might only be a couple of years. He deserves that much, at least.”

Jud gave a long, low whistle. “Man alive, Kid. Hope I never end up on your shit list.”

“You purely don’t,” The Kid replied with a grin, slapping Jud’s shoulder. “I ain’t one to mess with.”

***

On returning to the sheriff’s office, The Kid had Jud draw her a map of McCullers ranch, and asked about the daily operations. Jud informed her of the unguarded parts of the ranch and about McCuller’s guard dogs.

“Watch out for them dogs,” Jud cautioned. “They’re half grizzly bear, half mountain lion and all mean. Shit, I’d rather take my chances with a grizzly.”

“They’re attack dogs?”

“Killin’ dogs,” Jud replied. “I seen one of ’em snap a man’s arm like it was a dry twig.” He shook his head. “This damn fool cattle thief thought he could peel off a few steers from McCuller’s herd. Lucky for him, McCuller called the dog off soon’s the man’s arm got broke, then told him to make tracks; let the other cattle thieves know McCuller ain’t one to mess with.” He shuddered. “Said next time, he’d let the dogs finish the job.”

The Kid gave a thoughtful nod. “Thanks, Jud.” She reached for her hat. “I’m goin’ out to McCullers and snoop around while they’re all out workin’ the ranch proper. I intend to check out his house.” Getting into her coat, The Kid added, “Keep Tyson on ice for me ’til I get back.”

“God damn it, hold on a second!” Jud shouted, slamming his fist down on the desk, then slumping down in the sheriff’s chair. “Things are movin’ too fast for my likin’, Kid. Yesterday I was just the blacksmith’s helper, but at least I knew what was what. Now I’m the damn sheriff, and I don’t know as I even want to be!”

The Kid didn’t respond right away. She sat back down, took out her makings and began to roll a cigarette. “You’re right, Jud,” she said. “I got you mixed up in this without even askin’, and I shouldn’t of done that.”

“Well… I could’ve said no,” Jud said, somewhat embarrassed by his outburst. “I just wonder if I’m gettin’ into a hole I can’t dig myself out of.”

Sitting back, The Kid studied the young man in the sheriff’s chair. “I won’t lie to you, Jud. What’s about to happen… well, it might get a mite sticky. We got some bad, bad men here, tryin’ to divvy this town up like it was a apple pie. And they’ll get away with it, if no one stands up to ’em.” Striking a match on the sole of her boot, she put it to her smoke and took a long draw, then continued. “The first time we met, I saw you for a right fella, one who ain’t in McCuller’s pocket. All I need is for you to wear that sheriff’s badge for another day or two. Fair enough?”

“I’m still listenin’, ain’t I?” Jud said. “What all is it you want me to do?”

The Kid got to her feet once more. “Keep Cy Warren shut up in that cell, that’s the main thing. And soon as you can, go get your gun and wear it. Tomorrow, we’re gonna deliver these deeds and money to the right families. We’ll be makin’ a lot of folks mighty happy.” She paused. “That’s all. Reckon you’re up for it?”

By then, Jud had rolled a cigarette of his own. He absently put it in his mouth, deep in thought. The Kid struck a match and lit it for him.

Jud took a long pull, exhaled, then slowly nodded “All right, Kid. It’s the craziest damn thing I ever done, but count me in.”

“Good,” The Kid replied, making for the door. “If you need a mount, use Thunder. For now, I’ll take him to the livery. Reckon I’ll be back from McCuller’s in three, four hours.” She was about to exit, then abruptly looked back. “I’m much obliged to you, Jud,” The Kid said. Then she left.

Jud finished his smoke, then hunkered down in the sheriff’s chair, arms folded, frowning. Best go get that gun pretty soon, he thought. Got a feelin’ I’m gonna need it.

***

Jud’s hastily scrawled map was a good one, accurate enough to get The Kid to the outskirts of McCuller’s ranch in under fifteen minutes after the ride out there.

She tied Button up in a sheltered pine grove, then hiked about half a mile to the ranch house, making sure to stay downwind of where the dogs were kept.

A bald, burly man with a thick beard was busy splitting logs, swearing under his breath with every swing of the axe. According to Jud, the man’s name was Sam, and he served as McCuller’s cook, handyman and guard.  She watched him carry the cut wood to a nearby shed, a few loads at a time, then take an armful back to the house.

Once Sam was indoors, The Kid drew closer, cautiously approaching the rear of the house. As a girl, she’d been trained in the skill of moving through the forest in near-total silence, but it wouldn’t be enough to fool a dog. Sure enough, she saw two massive beasts on the front porch raise their heads, ears pricked up.

The Kid reached into her bag and, before the dogs could bark, threw two raw steaks into the yard. The dogs ran straight to them and tore into the meat.

That McCuller’s a damn fool, The Kid thought, shaking her head. Trains his dogs to kill, but not to turn down food from a stranger. 

In her younger days with the Mojave, any outsider who tried to “chum” one of the tribe’s pack with food was apt to lose a hand or worse. The dogs’ training was the responsibility of Five Feathers, the tribe’s medicine man, and he had passed much of his knowledge along to The Kid when she was no more than twelve.

The Kid stared in awe as the great beasts gobbled down the steaks. She’d never seen such big dogs, bigger than wolves. They were jet black and muscular with short shiny fur, short pointed ears, huge heads and big fangs and paws. It was an unnerving sight, watching those huge jaws at work.

The Kid had carefully rubbed a special mixture of herbs into each slab of beef, just as Five Feathers had taught her years ago. The two monsters snapped up the last of the meat, and The Kid anxiously waited for the mixture to work its magic. Hope I mixed it up right, she mused. Better have done, or I’m most likely a goner.

Once the meat was gone, the dogs’ attention shifted to her. Shit, she thought, bracing herself for what would surely be a futile attempt at escape.

But just before The Kid turned tail and fled, one of the beasts shivered, pausing in mid-step. The other dog took a few strides in The Kid’s direction, then began to chase his own tail, loping around in circles for a few turns. By then, both animals were looking distinctly glassy-eyed. Before a minute had passed, they were sprawling contentedly on the ground.

Now The Kid drew closer, her pulse racing. Thus far, Five Feathers’ medicine worked as intended. Now came the real test.

Along with the steaks, The Kid had brought a half pound of sliced bacon. Kneeling by the dogs, she began feeding  it to them, piece by piece.

They gobbled it up and licked her hands. The Kid patted their heads and scratched behind their ears, speaking softly to them in her native tongue. She put her forehead against the head of each dog in turn, intoning ancient, secret words to them in a low voice. Finally, she let them smell her all over, especially between the legs.

By the time she moved away with one last whisper of, “Good boy,” the dogs were watching her depart in relaxed silence.

Keeping a lookout for Sam, The Kid made her way around the house until she found the window of McCuller’s office, which was unlocked. A moment later, she’d hoisted herself inside. She checked the office door – it was locked from the other side.

Looking the room over closely, The Kid drifted over to the big oak desk near the window, where she seated herself. The drawers all had locks, but none of them were fastened shut, so she began to examine their contents.

The big bottom drawer on the right contained nothing but three bottles of whiskey, one of them half empty, and four glasses. The drawer above held two boxes of cigars and a tray filled with matches. There were three drawers on the left hand side, two of them filled with documents. Of course, none of these meant anything to The Kid.

McCuller’s cash box occupied the top left-hand drawer, held shut by a heavy combination lock. The Kid picked it up; tested its heft. His ill-gotten gains, she told herself.

She thought of Sarah Miller; how the woman’s husband had been murdered by McCuller’s hired thug. Of Sarah’s little girls; how pale they were, how loosely their clothes fit their thin bodies.

This money came out of that family’s hide, The Kid mused, giving the box an angry shake. And more than a dozen other families like theirs. Damn that man’s hide. Damn him.

Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, she put the box back where she’d found it, then opened the middle drawer. There we are, she thought.

The Kid examined and fiddled with what she found there, then put it back. Rising from the chair, she made a quick exit through the window. She crept through the yard, sprinted back to where Button waited, then rode back to town at a brisk clip.

On her return, she put up Button at the livery, briefly chatting with Abner while she checked on Thunder and her newly acquired palomino. From there, she made her way to the sheriff’s office to meet Jud who, she was pleased to see, was wearing his gun and badge.

They went to the local cafe for a quick meal, then returned to the office. The Kid was carrying a serving of corned beef and cabbage she’d bought for Cy – the cheapest item on the menu. “Can’t let the man starve to death,” she told Jud. “Be damned if I’ll spend more than two bits on him, though.”

The instant The Kid opened the door that led to the cells, Cy was raging and blustering, calling The Kid every foul name he could bring to mind. He quieted down when The Kid passed his meal through the bars and eagerly tucked in, muttering curses between each bite.

“What in hell are you gonna do with him?” Jud asked, back in the sheriff’s office.

“Nothin’ for now.” Tequila said. “Let him stew back there for the night. Let him wonder… and let McCuller wonder, too. I reckon he’ll figure Cy’s out drinkin’ or with a whore, and forget about him for the night. I’ll let him go in the mornin’.”

“Best keep a hand on your gun when you do, Kid. I reckon by then he’ll be mad enough to bite through a railroad spike.”

“I got pretty sharp teeth myself… and they’ll be sunk into his ass if he gets out of line. Stay put till I come by in the morning, Jud, then you can go get you some shut-eye. There’s one more thing I gotta do.”

***

The first thing The Kid noticed when she walked into the Silver Slipper was Star, who was escorting a man up the stairs. Their eyes met, and Star gave The Kid a wistful smile before leading the young cowpoke into her room.

It was still early in the evening. There were only a couple of men waiting for a turn with one of the girls, and a few drinkers on hand, including three men who had just stationed themselves at the bar. Glancing about, The Kid spied the young girl Dixie, trudging down the stairs with a load of dirty towels.

Toots was busy pouring drinks for the men who had just arrived, so The Kid chose that moment to approach Dixie, taking her aside.

The Kid took Dixie’s armful of dirty towels and tossed them in a heap under a table. “I’m here to get you out of this place,” she murmured. “Go gather up all your things, then bring ‘em back here.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “I… I don’t have to work here no more?”

“You sure don’t,” The Kid replied with a smile. “Hurry on, now.”

A dazed Dixie quickly stole away. A couple of minutes later, Toots called for her from the bar, then muttered, “Where is that damn brat?”

Star was coming down the stairs, but paused in mid-step when she saw Dixie return. The child wore a ratty looking old coat that was a size too small for her, and carried a small burlap bag.

When Toots saw her, his lips curled into a snarl. Coming around the bar, he stalked over to where Dixie and The Kid stood. He was only paying attention to the girl, though. “God damn it, what the hell are you playin’ at?” he hissed, drawing his arm back to strike. But as Toots swung at the back of Dixie’s head, The Kid reached out to seize his wrist.

Glaring at The Kid, Toots growled, “What is this? Who the hell d’you think you are, meddlin’ in my business?”

The Kid gazed calmly at the barkeeper as she flashed her badge. “By my authority as a Texas Ranger, I’m makin’ this girl a ward of the state of Texas, and takin’ her into my protection. She’s to be placed with a family.”

Star watched from the stairs, stunned. With a dirty laugh, Toots tried to reach around The Kid to get at Dixie. “Bullshit!” he roared. “That girl belongs to me. Get back to work, Dixie, or I swear I’ll take my belt to you.”

The child seemed to wilt, her hands trembling. But The Kid defiantly stepped up to Toots. He towered over her, but she held her ground, fixing the man with an icy stare. “Don’t interfere with the law, mister. Lay a finger on this girl, I’ll make you regret it.”

Toots’ reply was a wide haymaker swing at The Kid’s head. She crouched quickly, ducking the blow, then drove her right fist into the bartender’s midsection. His stomach was soft and doughy, so The Kid got a good solid punch in.

Toots gave a winded grunt and doubled over, but only for a moment. When he straightened up, fists clenched and wild-eyed, The Kid pummeled his jaw with a lightning-fast left jab, followed by a hard right uppercut that took him down. The room seemed to shake when the big man hit the floor.

Gazing down at the dazed, bleeding barkeeper, The Kid spoke. “Any questions?”

Toots’ face was a portrait of purest loathing, but he didn’t move except to carefully check his jaw. “I didn’t think so,” The Kid said. Turning to Dixie, she took the girl’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They took a few steps toward the door, then The Kid paused. “Hold on, girl… there’s somethin’ I forgot,” she said, then turned back to Toots, who couldn’t conceal a flinch as she approached. The Kid bent down, reached into his top shirt pocket and plucked out a fat wad of cash. “This is Dixie’s back pay,” she said, tucking the money into her vest.

Star was watching from the stairway as The Kid and Dixie left the saloon without a backward glance. Toots was still sprawled out on the floor. “Goddamn, if that don’t beat all,” she murmured. Making her way down the rest of the stairs,

Then Star came down the stairs and walked up to the men waiting their turn with her. “Who’s next, boys? Don’t worry, I won’t treat you like that gal treated Toots.”

The men laughed. A big drover stood to take Star’s arm, and they mounted the stairs.

Toots got up slowly, deliberately, then snatched up a chair and threw it across the room. No one spoke as he returned to his place behind the bar. Taking up a damp rag to wipe blood from his mouth, he began to mutter, “The bitch, the bitch, the bitch. Kill her, I’ll kill her dead. Stone dead.” He squeezed the bloody rag until his knuckles were white. “You’re dead, bitch. I’ll cut your goddamn throat. Ranger or not, I’ll make you pay!”

On to Chapter Six!

For a list of the many characters who populate this saga, check out Dramatis Personae.

Several days later, Simon and Elsa host a housewarming party in the grounds of the old manor. Elsa treats Freya to a tour of the recent restoration efforts, and the seeds are sown for a burgeoning friendship. Meanwhile, post mistress Sally Jeffries has a few too many drinks and ends up accidentally setting fire to pompous druid Bernard, then has a few choice words for Simon Derwold, who she remembers from decades before. Georgia, Sadie and Millie make their way home, where they indulge in a night of passion in the lounge, only to be interrupted by Elsa and Freya. Elsa comes to suspect her new neighbours are not all that they seem.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

1

by BlueJean

The old vicarage stood solitary at the end of an isolated track, a short walk from the village green and the small Anglican church where the vicar had sermonised for almost half a century. He had been a young, fresh-faced layman back then, full of genuine good-natured cheer, a spring in his step. His messages from the pulpit offered simple moral guidance – be kind and tolerant, work hard, love your neighbours.

Those were the years he’d begun volunteering as a helper for both the Brownies and the Cub Scouts. In those days there were no background checks, and people had a tendency to turn a blind eye to anything suspicious involving the clergy. On the rare occasion when the little ones told their parents, flat-out denial had usually been sufficient – the word of a priest could always be trusted over a child’s, after all. If it progressed beyond that, his superiors would give him a slap on the wrist, warn him not to do it again, and then find some way to cover up the truth.

In time, the vicar came to understand two undeniable facts about himself:

The first was that he would never be God’s man, not after the things he’d done. That door would be closed to him forever, and for a true believer – because despite it all, he was – that was a terrible weight to bear.

The second was a colder, harsher truth: There was a special place in hell reserved for the vicar of Derwold.

Over the next few decades he learnt to accept these two fundamental maxims like a man condemned.

He wondered how many children he’d molested over the years. They’d come and gone, leaving him with a deluded sense of untouchability, as if the small, isolated village was somehow trapped in its own bubble, and that what happened in Derwold stayed in Derwold. Like most of the other villagers, he would never truly grasp the strange truth of that.

But the children grew up, moved away, and for the most part, never came back. Derwold was a village few returned to, though why that should be, no one had ever given much consideration.

And yet, one of them had come back. The boy.

He’d been the first the vicar had touched, but surely the boy wouldn’t remember. It was a long time ago, and that was the other thing about Derwold – once you left its confines, the village wanted you to forget.

And if the boy did remember, wouldn’t he have done something about it by now? No. No, the boy had as much to lose as the vicar if he told. More, perhaps.

He’d put an end to his pursuit of children for a number of reasons. The vicar was old now; it wasn’t as easy as it’d once been to entice them back to the vicarage, or convince their parents there was nothing untoward about a man of the cloth borrowing their little ones for the day. And the rise of the internet had ushered in an age of paranoia and hysteria – now every white man of middle-age was a potential kiddy fiddler. It was a great shame. Some beautiful children had frequented his parish in recent years. The Newton girls, for example. Oh, how often his mind wandered to Freya and little Millie…

These days the vicar resigned himself to enjoying the pictures and the videos. The internet was both a blessing and a curse in that respect, he often thought.

It was late one dreary, drizzly evening when the vicar of Derwold, seated in his study at the computer desk with his trousers around his ankles, gave a sudden start to hear the vicarage doorbell chime. Who on earth could be calling at this hour? It wasn’t without precedent – on occasion there had been a sudden death in the family and he had been called on to undertake last rites. And pilgrims passed through the village infrequently, travellers, backpackers, requesting the hospitality of the vicarage. It was an inconvenience, but they simply couldn’t be turned away.

The vicar shut his aging PC down with a sigh, hoisted his trousers up, then struggled to his feet.

Hell must have got fed up with waiting and decided to seize the initiative. It would be the last time the vicar ever opened a door.

***

Victim is a white male. Mid-seventies. Local vicar. Initial cause of death believed to be a sharp instrument across the jugular vein, almost certainly a knife. Metal crucifix, most likely belonging to victim, driven upside down into skull with great force. Eyeballs removed, placed inside ear cavities. Penis removed, placed inside mouth. Disemboweled. Symbol carved into chest – appears to be a pentagram. Has all the hallmarks of a ritual killing. 

Autopsy report by medical practitioner Vivaan Dinesh in the absence of an official coroner

2

There’s always a kernel of truth in every legend, myth or folktale. One need only sift through the detritus of human misunderstanding, misinterpretation, exaggeration, flat-out lies and plain old stupidity to catch a glimpse of it. Sadie had come to realise the truth of these old stories was often stranger than the fiction.

Legend had it that the ancient standing stones dotted around Great Britain were gateways of sorts. Sadie had spent years pondering the meaning of that vague notion until Millie and Freya had told her about the day they’d travelled through the menhir stone near her cottage.

The question was, had they really travelled back hundreds of thousands of years, before Homo Sapiens had even reached these lands, or were they merely seeing through a window in time? Was it possible the menhir had somehow amplified Millie’s genetic memories, allowing her to tap into the Neanderthal ancestral line? It seemed unlikely – though we share a small amount of DNA with our Stone Age cousins, it was surely not enough to access their memories.

But Sadie Laine was nothing if not determined. With the help of her two young apprentices, she set about trying to fathom the mysteries of the menhir stone. She’d purchased safety harnesses and climber’s ropes to attach the three of them to a nearby tree. When Freya asked her if that was really necessary, Sadie told them she got the idea from an old movie called Poltergeist and that it was just a precaution. She also made them wear high-vis vests.

“This is completely mental,” Freya said in a disgusted voice, swatting at the bright yellow material. “What’s the point of these?”

“Health and safety,” Sadie insisted.

“How do fluorescent vests make us healthier or safer? I mean, have people suddenly become so shortsighted we can’t see each other properly any more? Are we all going to start bumping into each other unless we’re lit up like Christmas trees?”

Sadie looked momentarily stumped, but then began nodding vigorously. “Yes, well, I applaud your curious nature, Freya Newton! And I’m sure there are satisfactory answers to all those questions. But the point is, everyone uses high-vis these days. I’ve even seen dogs wearing them. Ethel Weatherford never leaves home without hers, and you’ll be grateful for that extra bit of visibility when she comes hurtling towards you on her mobility scooter, believe me. Poor Tony Framton never really got over being impaled on her handlebars… And besides, the vests came free with the harnesses.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Georgia had pointed out on numerous occasions that if she kept rolling them like that they’d drop back inside her head one day. “They don’t mean a thing. Elsa says they’re just a symbol of pointless auth… auth… au-thor-itarian-ism.”

Millie gave her sister a sideways glance. Elsa was Freya’s new friend. It was all she ever talked about these days – Elsa this and Elsa that and Elsa the other. Millie just couldn’t be doing with it. Her sister had once idolised Sadie, until Sadie came to live with them and then Freya decided their teacher wasn’t so amazing after all.

Plus, there was something weird about Elsa. When she shook her hand that night a while back, Millie had felt something… something bad, maybe.

“Never mind what Elsa says,” Sadie told Freya, hands on hips. “Elsa doesn’t have two young girls to protect against potential space-time catastrophes. While we’re out in the field getting our hands dirty, working hard to unravel the mysteries of the universe, Elsa is most likely at home in Derwold Manor with her feet up, reading a copy of Country Life and sipping chamomile tea. She’ll never know what witches like us do to keep the world safe.”

“We’re not the Avengers…” Freya mumbled.

“I actually like my high-vis jacket,” Millie told them both, doing her best to be positive and prevent another argument.

“You’d like a cow pat if it glowed in the dark,” Freya replied sullenly.

Millie thought that was particularly mean and uncalled for. “No, I wouldn’t, actually, Freya! You take that back!”

Sadie was clapping her hands to demand their attention. “All right, settle down. Millie, clear your mind and touch the menhir again.”

Millie cleared her mind. She touched the stone for the umpteenth time. Nothing happened.

Sadie propped her chin with her knuckles. “Hmm. What exactly were you doing when you got sucked in last time?”

The two girls looked at each other with a smirk. “Freya was licking my kitty,” Millie admitted.

Freya rattled out a half-surprised, half-appalled laugh. “Omigod, I can’t believe you just told her that!”

“What? It’s not exactly a secret anymore, is it?”

Sadie didn’t seem in the slightest bit fazed. “That’s interesting. Sexual arousal may have triggered the stone. Or perhaps simply a strong emotional response was enough.”

“But Astris was there too,” Millie pointed out. “She probably had something to do with it.”

Freya shook her head. “I remember the dryad saying she didn’t bring us there.”

“Then it’s clear what we must do, apprentices!” Sadie boomed. “We shall recreate the exact conditions of that day.”

How she planned to have the girls go at it suited up like rock climbers, Sadie wasn’t sure, but it was a beautiful day in the secluded barley field, and she was certain they’d find a way to overcome any difficulties.

But the three of them hadn’t noticed Bernard the Druid marching through the barley towards them. Bernard didn’t exactly fit in with their plans.

“Ho!” The druid hollered as he strode towards them, staff in hand. “How goes it, Miss Laine and company?”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Freya hissed. “Tell him to go away, Sadie.”

“Don’t be mean. I can’t stop people going about their business.”

“But he’s such a twat.”

Sadie gave her a disapproving look. “We’ll have less of that if you don’t mind, Freya Newton.”

“Hello, Bernard,” Millie said.

Bernard had swapped his old burnt robe for a new one, a leaf-green affair with elaborate gold trim. It had a cheap look to it that made Millie wonder if he’d brought it from a fancy dress store. Truth be told, Bernard looked a bit silly, but he was quite nice really. He once showed her how to catch a fish by tickling it, and she showed him how to stop a nettle sting hurting by rubbing a doc leaf on it.

“Hail and well met, Millie! What brings you three young warriors out here to the menhir?”

“We’re cataloguing wild flowers,” Sadie replied quickly, sounding just a little too rehearsed.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. They grow all around the stone. Yarrow, buttercup, bluebells. Other ones, too. It’s fun, isn’t it, girls? Hands up who likes cataloguing wild flowers.”

Millie and Freya tentatively raised their hands.

Bernard raised his with much more enthusiasm. “Well, bravo!” the druid cried. “I’m all for passing nature’s knowledge on to the next generation.” A brief pause. “May I ask, why the safety harnesses?”

Sadie looked uncannily like a deer caught in headlights. “These? Oh. Er… sinkholes.”

“Sinkholes?”

“Yes. They’ve been known to open up now and then round these parts. Better to be safe than sorry, you know?”

Bernard stared confusedly for a moment, then brought his staff down with a mighty thud – or as mighty as a length of mahogany hitting a patch of grass would allow. “Excellent thinking! Protect your investment, as we used to say in the banking world.” He gestured to the menhir. “Well, don’t mind me. I must pay my daily homage to this ancient beauty. Just pretend I’m not here.” With that, the druid knelt down before the monument and raised his arms into the air. “Macka malai! Shamalee moo! Kranping poppawoppa!”

“What’s he doing?” Freya whispered.

“I don’t know,” Sadie whispered back, both fascinated and appalled. “I don’t think Bernard does, either.”

Bernard began dancing round the menhir, making high pitched whoop whoop whoop noises. Sadie and the girls quietly crept away, hiding their amusement as best they could.

3

While Millie and Sadie headed home, Freya made her way towards Derwold Manor. Elsa had told her she could visit whenever she liked, and sometimes even phoned the eleven-year-old to invite her round. Freya liked spending time with her. Elsa seemed to understand her in a way that her mum and Sadie never could, always managing to say the right things at the right time.

And there was no denying she fancied the Lady of the Manor quite a bit – her red hair and pale creamy skin, her freckles, the stylish outfits she wore. Elsa was older than Georgia by a few years, but she was one of those women who seem to grow more beautiful as time passes.

The gardens of Derwold Manor had mostly gone to rack and ruin since they were abandoned decades before, but the rose garden had inexplicably thrived. Though unruly and overgrown, hidden amongst bushes and long grass, Elsa had made some effort at restoring the mutinous beds, pruning and deadheading the crimson blooms until they resembled something of their former selves.

“They’re blood roses,” she told Freya as they walked through the gardens.

The grounds were alive with activity, teams of gardeners restoring vegetable plots and lawns, unearthing pathways long hidden beneath weeds; reshaping topiary. Elsa would allow no one but herself to touch the roses, though.

“I wonder how they survived,” Freya mused.

Elsa placed a hand around her young friend’s waist, and Freya felt herself shiver at the touch. “It’s said they’re so named because blood sustains them.”

Freya gave a little snort. “How would they get blood?”

“Oh, the occasional animal wandering into the garden would be enough. A deer, perhaps. With a little persuasion it might be drawn towards the roses where those sharp looking thorns await. And then…”

She poked Freya in the ribs, making her squirm and giggle. The two of them laughed together, drawing amused and conspiratorial looks from the nearby gardeners.

Freya found herself gazing up into the older woman’s grey-green eyes. “I’m glad we met each other,” she said in hushed tones.

“As am I,” Elsa told her with a smile. “I never had children myself, but if I ever had a little girl, I’d want her to be just like you.”

Freya felt the warmth reach her cheeks.

Elsa placed a hand on her shoulder. “Shall we retreat indoors? I can show you our latest restoration efforts.”

“Sure.”

Elsa led them through the Great Hall and up the grand staircase. The floors had been stained and polished since Freya had been here last, and pictures had been hung on the walls.

As they ascended the stairs, one particular picture caught Freya’s eye, causing her to double take. It was a huge oil painting depicting a naked woman being mounted by a black horse with steaming breath and fiery red eyes.

Elsa gave a soft chuckle, amused by Freya’s shocked look. “It’s an interesting painting, isn’t it?”

“It’s… I mean, it’s nice, but it’s so rude. Why would anyone do that with a horse?”

“Why shouldn’t she? Passion takes many forms, Freya, some of them quite unconventional. When one frees themselves from the restraints of society, true freedom becomes attainable. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

“Yes, I think so. Is that what you believe?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Freya glanced towards the painting again. “But she could get into trouble. And people would hate her if they found out.”

“It’s a sad fact of life that some must pursue their passions in secrecy. But imagine a world where that was no longer the case. A world where everything was permitted.” Elsa flashed her eyes, her smile full of mischief. “Perhaps even a world where women ruled!”

“So… if you found out someone was doing something really naughty, something that might be against the law, you wouldn’t tell on them?”

Freya realised she was trying to find a way to tell Elsa about all the rude things she’d been getting up to with Millie, Sadie and her mum over the past few months. Given how unconventional her relationships had become recently, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get another perspective, she supposed.

But there was another reason she was aching to tell her new friend: She wanted Elsa to know how sexually experienced she was, that she wasn’t just another immature schoolgirl diddling herself to posters of teen pop idols. It seemed important somehow. Perhaps Elsa could be trusted with her secrets, but she’d have to tread very carefully.

Elsa leaned into her. Freya could smell her expensive perfume. Suddenly fingers were teasing at the skin of her bare midriff. “You might be surprised to discover how open my mind is, Freya. I’m not exactly a saint myself, you know.”

Emboldened, Freya placed her hands atop Elsa’s. “Is it okay to tell you I think you’re really pretty?”

“Yes, it’s okay. The feeling’s mutual, I can assure you.”

Freya’s heart raced inside her chest. In the last year alone she’d somehow managed to entice her teacher, her own mother, and now the Lady of the Manor. She was starting to think she must be irresistible to older women. A fine thing for the self-esteem of any eleven-year-old.

Elsa took her hand. “Simon’s away on business for the day. The workmen aren’t back until Monday, and the gardeners are forbidden from entering the manor with their muddy boots. It seems we have Derwold Manor all to ourselves, Lady Freya. How about you and I go upstairs to have some fun?”

“I’d really like that…” Freya murmured, her pussy tingling with anticipation. “Lady Derwold,” she added with a smile.

She followed Elsa upstairs and through a long central corridor, other strange paintings catching her eye as she went: A group of robed figures standing on what looked like a big Jewish star. A half man, half goat looming over a sleeping woman. A blonde-haired man with shining armour and golden wings languishing upon a throne of dark stone.

At the end of the corridor they reached a door. Elsa opened it, ushering Freya inside. The room was still and womb-like, the wallpaper and fabrics as deeply crimson as the blood roses outside. A huge four-poster bed dominated the space.

Judging by all the female paraphernalia, this was undoubtedly Elsa’s room, but there was nothing that looked definitively male. Freya supposed Simon must have his own room, and wondered why that might be.

“Wow. I love your bedroom,” she told Elsa with breathless enthusiasm.

“I’m glad you approve,” Elsa replied, approaching Freya from behind and slipping an arm around her waist. She bent to kiss the nape of the eleven-year-old’s neck, causing Freya to draw in breath. “Is this all right?”

Freya gazed up at the older woman and gave a nod. “Mmm-hmm. I actually have quite a bit of experience when it comes to sex, believe it or not.”

Elsa snaked a hand between Freya’s thighs, stroking lightly through her leggings. “A girl your age? Surely not! Have the local farmer’s boys been having their way with you in the haystack?”

“Not that kind of sex,” Freya uttered disdainfully. “Girl sex.”

“I’m just teasing,” Elsa chuckled, circling the girl slowly. Finally, she moved towards the bed and sat back on it. “One can tell much about another’s body language if they’re observant. And I’m nothing if not observant, Freya. I know you want me as much as I want you.” She beckoned with a finger. “Come here.”

Freya strode towards her, tossing her hair back as she went, hoping the gesture made her look mature and confident.

Elsa slipped her tweed jacket off, then began to work the buttons of her blouse free. Her cleavage was creamy pale, a scattering of light freckles adorning each breast. “I must warn you, I’m a rather dirty girl in bed. Inhibition is the bane of sexual freedom, I find.”

Freya didn’t exactly know what that meant, but she had her doubts Elsa was any dirtier than Sadie or her mum, being a posh lady and all.

Elsa unhooked her bra and pulled it away, allowing her bare breasts to spill free. She took Freya’s hand and placed it on one of the fleshy globes. Freya kneaded it softly, trapping the stiffening pink nipple between her fingers.

“A little harder, if you don’t mind,” Elsa suggested, placing her hand atop Freya’s. Satisfied with this first test of her young friend’s willingness, she gently nudged Freya away with a stockinged foot. “I simply must see you naked, Freya. Stand there for me and remove your clothes. All except your socks. I like those to stay on.”

While Freya shed her clothing piece by piece, anticipation banishing any inhibitions she might otherwise have had, Elsa pushed her skirt down her legs and kicked it away. When she rolled her stockings down, Freya couldn’t help notice how toned her legs were. This wasn’t some overprivileged woman who sipped chamomile tea with her feet up all day, but someone always on the move, busy with something or other.

When Elsa slipped out of her knickers, Freya’s eyes were quick to track them as they dropped to the floor. Elsa regarded the girl’s curiosity with amusement. “Oh, I see. Would you like them?”

Freya quickly drew her eyes away from the discarded underwear, berating herself for her lack of subtlety. She shrugged nonchalantly.

Hooking her toes into the satiny material, Elsa kicked the panties towards Freya. The eleven-year-old caught them easily.

“You can keep those as a souvenir. Slip them around your neck for now, then spread your sweet little vagina open for me.”

Freya put her head through one of the leg holes of the underwear, the faint musk of Elsa’s sex teasing her senses as the silken material slipped past her face. Wearing the knickers like a kinky necklace, she stepped toward the bed and parted the lips of her pussy.

“Look at that plump rose bulb,” Elsa murmured with rapt approval. “Ready to burst into flower at a moment’s notice. A young girl on the cusp of change. You’ll never be as powerful as you are right now, Freya, my dear. All that raw emotion can be so exquisite.” She brought a leg up onto the bed, then allowed a finger to glide through the folds of her vagina. When she pulled the digit away, a tendril of sticky fluid clung to it. She smeared it upon her red pubic hair, then repeated the process several more times until her thatch glistened with moisture. “Play with yourself,” she demanded.

Freya took another couple of steps towards the bed, eager to wallow in the thick aroma that emanated from the older woman. She buried a finger inside herself, the thumb of her other hand brushing her clit.

“Oh my,” Elsa chuckled, her own fingers whisking up a thin layer of creamy discharge. “I can see you’re certainly no stranger to a quick diddle. Have you ever used your tongue on a girl, I wonder?”

Freya offered a quick nod. “Loads of times.”

Elsa brought the other leg up onto the bed, spreading her knees wide. She pointed a single finger at the fiery gateway between her legs. “Show me.”

Freya didn’t hesitate. Squatting on her heels, she placed a hand on each of Elsa’s inner thighs and pressed an open-mouth kiss into Lady Derwold’s cunt, her tongue probing its folds and creases. She peered up, locking eyes with her new friend. See what I can do, Elsa? See how grown up I am? Aren’t you glad you made friends with me?

“My word,” Elsa crooned, pinching her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. “I’ve done some wicked things in my time, but having it away with such a young girl might just take the biscuit.”

This is just the start. I know how to do lots of other rude things, Freya might have replied, but her mother had always told her never to talk with her mouth full. She scissored two fingers into Elsa’s warm, wet cunt, then clamped her lips around the large clitoris that had slipped free of its fleshy sheath.

Elsa uttered a surprised cry, then rattled out a breathless laugh. “Kinky little thing! You found Aunty Elsa’s sugar plum!“ she cried, twitching and writhing. “You’re going to make me spend all over that pretty mouth if you keep that up!”

Freya pistoned her fingers back and forth and sucked on Elsa’s clit, the woman’s ecstatic shrieks echoing off the old panelled walls of the manor.

Finally, Elsa lay exhausted, a pleasant post-orgasmic thrum radiating through her body.

Freya stood at the foot of the bed with her hands on her bare hips, a pleased little smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “How’d you like that?“ she cooed.

Elsa fought back the impulse to leap off the bed and slap the smug little brat across the face. Clearly, Georgia Newton had not felt it prudent to teach her offspring manners, unlike Elsa’s own mother. Elsa had learned those lessons the hard way – other lessons, too. They’d been hammered into her like nails into flesh. Ultimately, her mother had paid the price for teaching her daughter so thoroughly.

Careful how you sharpen your blade, Mother, lest you cut yourself.

Nevertheless, she would thank her mother if she’d still been alive. Those lessons would serve Elsa well when the revolution began. They had hardened her, stripped away all notions of compassion and empathy.

In the meantime, she would do well to keep Freya Newton on side. The girl had not yet served her purpose. And besides, the little brat really was a fun toy to play with.

Elsa propped herself up on her elbows and forced a smile for the girl. “My goodness, you weren’t fibbing when you said you had some experience in the art of passion. I’m awfully curious to know where you learnt such things.”

Freya looked coyly at her. “Well… I could tell you. I could tell you lots of secret things. Some of them you probably wouldn’t believe. Um, but if I told you, you wouldn’t be able to get me into trouble, would you? Because you did something with me that’s against the law, so…”

The girl had guile, Elsa couldn’t deny her that. “How clever of you. I’d love to know your secrets, I must admit. And I wouldn’t say a word to anyone. But before we get to that, perhaps you’d like to sit on my face so I can taste that sweet little confection of yours.”

Freya climbed up onto the bed and walked to the head where Elsa waited. Standing over the woman, the eleven-year-old prised her pussy open lewdly. “Is this what you want?” she teased.

“Indeed it is. Let me taste it.”

Freya sank to her knees until her pussy was brushing Elsa’s painted lips. She rocked herself back and forth, hands gripping the black wrought iron of the headboard.

Elsa found the girl’s arsehole, probing the pink opening with the tip of her tongue. Freya strummed her own clit while her new friend rimmed her, then Elsa was at her cunt again, mouth pressed into the delicate folds.

The Lady of the Manor licked her lips, drawing the tart taste of Freya’s sex back into her mouth. There was powerful magic there – the essence of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. Menstrual blood was even more potent, and Elsa had dabbled in her fair share of blood magic.

Freya moved her hips in rhythm with Elsa’s tongue, and soon that familiar ache gave way to the sharp release of climax. She expelled a breathless cry, then fell away from Elsa.

Elsa turned onto her side and drew Freya close, the child’s back resting against her breasts. “What a naughty pair we are.”

Freya offered a satisfied hum.

“Now. What was it you were going to tell me, my dear? I’m all ears.”

Freya took a leap of faith. “Well. It all started last summer…” she began.

Elsa brushed her cunt lightly against Freya’s arse as the child told her fantastic tale. Freya left nothing unsaid – Mr. Dalliard and the Dryad, witchcraft and vengeful spirits; standing stones that led through time itself. Then she hesitantly told Elsa about the intimacy she’d come to share with her mother and sister, and her teacher Sadie Laine.

Maybe Elsa wouldn’t believe the magic parts, but at least she’d found someone who would listen. Elsa could be trusted. Elsa would understand. Elsa was her friend.

So Elsa listened. And she did believe. Every word. Because some parts she already knew, and others she’d suspected. Freya merely filled the gaps of her knowledge, provided the missing pieces.

And now she had them trapped. Georgia Newton and her pretty schoolteacher girlfriend Sadie Laine had been doing some rather wicked things with Mrs. Newton’s little girls, things that could get them into a great deal of trouble if the wrong people found out. And if that wasn’t intriguing enough, it turned out that Miss Laine was of the Wicca, and the youngest Newton girl had a mysterious power of her own. That much had been evident the night she’d touched the little one’s hand.

Elsa knew all their secrets now. The board had been set up, the first piece played.

Now the real game would begin.

On to Chapter Five!

by kinky_sis, assisted by kinkychic

It was a drag being back at the office – boring paperwork to catch up on, mostly routine stuff. On the one hand, I wanted to be back in the field, covering the action. On the other, I didn’t want to be away from my Ric. Not yet, anyway.

I spoke with her on the phone every evening, and I came to realise that the girl was far cleverer than she let on. There was little doubt that she had a bright future, although she didn’t yet know in what area. Her dream was to race cars, she said, but she couldn’t see that happening.

At last, it was Saturday. I’d told Ric to be ready for a day out, but I didn’t tell her where we were going. She didn’t mind – she said she liked surprises.

We hadn’t driven far before she was leaning over and caressing my leg. I didn’t stop her. It felt nice, if somewhat distracting. I still didn’t object when her hand went under my skirt.

But when she began rubbing the front of my knickers, it quickly became difficult to concentrate on driving. “Ric, not here.”

She pouted a bit. “But I haven’t played with my favourite pussy for nearly a week.”

“What do you mean ‘favourite’?” I fired back, pretending to be jealous. “How many pussies have you got?”

She laughed. “Oh, only yours and mine. I like playing with yours more than mine, though.”

Her fingers had just found their way into my knickers and made a beeline straight for my clit. The car swerved when I jumped.

“Pay attention to your driving, Jay,” Ric said with a grin.

Easier said than done. But shit, it felt good to be touched by her again. I’d never been fondled whilst driving, and had to admit it was highly erotic. I also knew it wouldn’t take much to make me come.

A sign came into view: Lay-By ½ Mile Ahead.

Thank fuck for that, I thought, hoping it wasn’t full of lorries.

I screeched to a stop in the thankfully empty lay-by, then reached down to grab the handle that slid the seat back. I raised my arse as Ric pushed my skirt up. I’d just discovered another advantage of having a young, petite girlfriend: she fit easily into the footwell.

Ric’s head dipped between my thighs and I slid my hips forward to meet her, pressing my clit against her mouth.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Ric,” I moaned. “You’re so good at this. Now use your fingers. Fuck me. I need it so bad.”

I needn’t have bothered asking – she was already working on me. As much as I would have loved to stretch it out, my body had other ideas. The orgasm rushed at me like a whirlwind. I gripped the steering wheel and shuddered with pleasure.

Ric knew I’d come, but continued to use her tongue and suck on my clit. No more, I thought, but didn’t have the willpower to stop her. And then I was coming again.

I heard something that made me jerk and open my eyes. Two young women had stopped by the car. They’d obviously seen what was happening. Although they were both in their early twenties, they were giggling like schoolgirls.

I pressed the window button, lowering it. “Having a good look? What, you want some?”

That deflated them a little. “Sorry, we only wanted to check out your car.” They quickly turned away, walking back to their own vehicle. Ric and I burst out laughing.

“I think we oughta go, don’t you?” I said.

“Aww, don’t I get a turn?” she asked, still laughing.

“Later, Ric. I promise.”

A short while later, Ric saw the signpost: Santa Pod Raceway. “Omigod, is that where we’re going, Jay?!”

“You got it, baby.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy. Santa Pod is Europe’s most famous drag racing strip. There were all kinds of weird and wonderful contraptions on show. Most were lost on me, but Ric was constantly quoting figures from the detailed program she held – engine sizes, bhp’s, terminal speeds, and so on. I simply marvelled at her enthusiasm. I watched her breathing deeply, taking in the smells of burning rubber and the fumes of race fuels. She was totally immersed in the whole scene.

On the way home, I drove at a fraction of the speed of some of the cars we’d watched, even though I was still nudging over the speed limit. “Did you have a good day, babe?” I asked Ric.

“Oh, you better believe it. The absolute best. Thank you, Jay.”

I wanted to take her back to my place for a bit, but time was running against me, so I took her home instead.

Her mother was pleased to see Ric so happy, but held her hands up when Ric began spewing racing jargon. “Enough! I don’t understand a word you’re saying. Why don’t you take Jay up to your room. I know you’ve been waiting to show her.”

I was taken aback. Her mum had not yet allowed me to go upstairs with Ric. I was intrigued.

As soon as Ric shut the door to her bedroom, I reached for her and we came together in a kiss to die for. I reached to push her shorts down but she stopped me.

“I know you want to see my pussy, but that’s not what Mum meant.” Laughing, she took my hand. “Come and see.”

I looked around her room and saw the pictures. All of me. I recognised most, but not all of them. She fired up her laptop and a minute later, selected a folder. “Open it,” she said to me. I saw the title: Hero Behind A Lens.

She must have spent hours searching the internet. There were dozens of pictures – some of me, some taken by me – from places like South America, Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe. Every picture had notes under it, detailing things like when I was a prisoner of the Contras, dodging bullets in the Middle East, wading waist-deep across a river surrounded by African soldiers, and meetings with rebel leaders. It was all there.

I looked at her in confusion. “I’m flattered, Ric. But it looks like a bit of a fixation.”

She grinned. “Oh, I’m fixated all right. But it’s more than that. I’m planning to write your biography. It’s only notes at the moment, but when I’ve finished with those, I’ll have to interview you.”

I thought about it for a minute. Yes, I suppose there was a story there. I’d never considered it before. But my Ric had, and she’d already done a lot of work.

I swivelled the chair to face her. “Come here, you. I need to feel my girl.”

Ric was pulling up her top even as I was unfastening her shorts. She was wearing a pair of the sexy knickers that I had bought and posted to her.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” she said. “It gave Mum a bit of a shock, especially the pair with a hole in the front. That really had her flustered. I told her they were for easier peeing. She thought that was clever but told me to make sure I held onto my skirt when it was windy.”

“They look gorgeous on you. But I need to take them off now.”

“No you don’t. I want to keep them on. You can still play with me. Make them nice and mucky for me.”

“Um… that’s kind of slutty, isn’t it?”

She looked at me, all wide-eyed innocence. “Not at all. I’m just learning to have fun. You can take them home to wash for me. Or whatever else comes to mind… Now, are you going to stop talking? I’ve been waiting all day for you to touch me.”

She spread her legs as I pressed the crotch of her knickers in between her lips. I could feel her clit, that lovely little bump all ready for me. I watched as she closed her eyes – the ecstatic look on her face, the way her hands went to her breasts. She’d certainly come a long way in such a short time.

A damp patch had formed on her crotch. It was wet; slippery under my fingers. I felt a small tremble from her and began to rub faster. Ric let out an Oh of pleasure, then pinched her nipples hard. Not content to simply keep touching, I dropped to my knees and pressed my face to her knickers, smelling her intense aroma. It was too much – I needed to taste her. I pulled the knickers aside and put my mouth to her, using my fingers to spread her wide open. Using my probing tongue to lick deep, I savoured the taste for a few seconds before going to her clit.

A hard suck caused her to tremble and give out a squeaky, “Yes!” I’d discovered that, unlike myself, Ric didn’t need fingers inside. She came easily if I just concentrated on her clit.

I continued licking, and sensed she was building to a peak. I gave her the treatment – sucks, licks, hard flicks of the tongue. She hunched forwards over my head, teetering on her toes, then grabbed my shoulders as it hit her hard. All I could think was that my wonderful baby was coming. The strange noises she was making told me she was trying desperately not to scream out loud.

Ric slowly sank to the floor, and I gathered her into my arms. She crammed her lips to mine and gave me a wet, hot and sexy kiss. “I love you so much, Jay,” she said when we’d come up for air. “Do I make you happy?”

“Do you really need to ask? I’ve never been happier. You’ve made me feel so alive.”

I helped her dress after she’d changed her knickers. I stuffed the messy ones in my pocket, then we went back downstairs.

Ric’s dad ignored us as usual. Her mum looked suspicious but only asked if I was impressed with all the research her daughter had done. Of course I was. How could I not be?

***

I knew there were places where a girl Ric’s age could drive a car, so I Googled race tracks. Brands Hatch had two courses available, so I arranged a meeting.

While Ric was still upstairs, I told her parents what I had planned. Ric’s mum was aghast. “She’s much too young to drive and on a racing track. It’s dangerous.”

I explained that the cars were dual control and she would always have an experienced instructor with her. Plus they were limited to a certain speed. There was one other thing. I wanted her to do the stage one course on a Saturday, the second course the next day. That would mean us staying overnight.

I didn’t seem to be winning her mum over, but then got a surprise.

“Oh, let her go,” Ric’s dad said. “I’m sure if Jay says it’s safe, then it is. Besides, it’ll do Erica good to get ahead of the game.” Having said his piece, he picked up his newspaper and turned away.

“Well. I suppose she can go,” Ric’s mum said, resigned.

I hadn’t told Ric anything about my plans. I wanted to make sure it was all okay before I said anything. Before I did, though, we visited a friend of mine who happened to be a farmer. He had a beat-up old Ford Fiesta. He said he didn’t care if she hit anything, just mind his expensive farm machinery. It wasn’t long before she was haring about the place, and not doing too badly at it.

Ric got really excited when I told her we were going away for the weekend. Naturally, she wanted to know where, but I told her it was another surprise. She didn’t mind. She said my surprises were always good.

I collected her at 7 AM. She picked up the envelope lying on the passenger seat as she climbed into the car. “Where shall I put this?”

“Open it,” I told her.

She ripped it open and pulled out the vouchers. Her jaw dropped. “They’ve got my name on. Does that mean… Am I going to… Oh, Jay! I can’t believe it!”

When we arrived at Brands, I took Ric to the office and left her to it. She would spend some time attending an introduction and safety briefing before she’d be allowed to get into a driver’s seat.

I took myself off to wander around the paddock area, admiring the few cars that were either being worked on or just polished up. One guy said he’d seen me arrive in my Lotus. “That’s some beast you’ve got there,” he told me. “Have you ever taken it around the track?”

I laughed. “Me? Not a chance. Besides, my work’s dangerous enough without me risking myself out there. I’m only here to watch my—” I hesitated for a moment. Fuck it. Why hide it?  “My girlfriend is having lessons.”

A small group of learners were coming down the steps from the office. Ric waved to me as they were taken towards some Mini Clubmans parked up by the track.

I watched her complete the first few laps erratically, but it soon became clear she was getting better. Twenty-five minutes later and she was travelling at the maximum permitted speed – only sixty miles an hour, but plenty fast for a beginner.

After the track session, they returned to the office, then it was a break for lunch.

When Ric came to find me, she was ecstatic. “I’m really driving, and guess what? It’s so much easier than I thought. It feels a bit slow, though. I swear, my skateboard goes faster than that. I can’t wait for tomorrow – we get to go quicker. If I pass, that is.”

They had one more session on the track before it was all over. Most collected their pass certificates; one or two didn’t. They didn’t give out marks, but each driver got a report. Ric’s was exemplary, with only one criticism: Has a tendency to want to go too fast.

Back at our hotel, we dined in the restaurant. The food was great, even though most of the conversation was about cars.

Ric managed to stop rambling for five minutes. She reached for my hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve done nothing but go on and on, haven’t I?”

I laughed. “It’s your weekend, and I really don’t mind. I want you to enjoy yourself. If you’re happy, then so am I.”

She just stared at me for a bit, then: “How did I get to be so lucky and meet the most wonderful person in the world? Or am I dreaming?”

We finished our meal, and I asked her if she wanted to go to the bar.

“I don’t want a drink, thank you, Jay. I just want to go to bed.”

“Hey, lover, you’ve got a long day tomorrow, so no sex for you tonight.”

She pulled a face, then smiled. “But that doesn’t stop us from enjoying a bit of foreplay does it?”

“Oh, I think it does. You know how one thing leads to another.”

“Crap, I thought I had you for a minute there. Spoilsport.”

Back in our room, she tried everything – undressing in a sultry way to catch my attention, bending over to pick her knickers off the floor with her little arsehole winking at me.

I wasn’t having any of it. “Do I need to tie you to the bed?”

Clearly, that was a mistake. “Ooh, yes please!” She held her hands up in resignation when I gave her a look. “Okay, okay, I get the message.”

***

The next day, Ric sailed through the course. Her average lap speed was sixty-seven miles an hour, which is a creditable lap time for anyone. It meant she was doing well over a hundred on the straights.

Back in the office, I went to see the manager. “Is Ric your sister or your daughter?” he asked.

“No, she’s my friend. Girlfriend, actually.”

To give him his due, he didn’t bat an eyelid. “Well… Uh. Ric is rather good, a natural you might say. She told Mac that she wants to race. There’s quite a way to go before she can do that, but Mac thinks we should give her a chance. But I need to tell you it’s not cheap.”

I glanced at his name tag. “Cost is not a factor, Mr Davidson. If you think it’s worth pursuing, we’ll take your word for it.”

He gave me a telephone number. “Give them a ring. She needs to be racing go-karts first. If that works out, she can progress to the next level.”

On the way back home, Ric rang her mum; told her everything was fine and that she’d passed with flying colours. As it was so late, she asked if it was okay to stay over at my place. We were both surprised when her mother didn’t put up any argument.

***

Back at my flat, I cracked open the Prosecco. “For my clever girl who’s going to be a star one day. I’m so proud of you.” It was nice sitting there holding hands and sipping our drinks, but I noticed a serious look on Ric’s face. “What is it, love?”

“Well, I sorta think we’re established now, in our relationship I mean. I want to ask you more personal things, if it’s okay.”

“You can ask anything you want, you should know that.” But I was intrigued. Where was this going?

“Remember I told you that I looked up lesbian stuff on the internet? Well, they had toys and things. They looked like lots of fun. I wanted to know if you’ve got any, that’s all.”

I laughed. “Funny you should ask – I’ve been thinking about sex toys, wondering if you might be into that kind of thing. Why don’t you go to the bedroom? Bottom drawer, next to the bed. Bring what you find.”

I watched her skip away, still marvelling at how fucking sexy she was. When she came back, she was struggling to hold my collection. The huge smile on her face told me everything. She sat down next to me and began sorting through the toys. She seemed to be going by size. I didn’t say a word; just watched her.

Eventually, she turned to me. “A-may-zing! But I don’t know what some of them are for.” She held up a butt plug that had a tail. “This one for instance.”

“Well, what do you think it might be for?”

She looked puzzled for a second, then laughed. “Oh, okay. You stick it in your… yeah, okay.”

Next, she selected several dildos. “I know what these are for – I’ve seen them online. But why so many sizes? Like this smaller one for instance.”

It was new, still in its box, although I’d already put the batteries in. “I just got that one. It’s a bit smaller because it’s for you to start with. It vibrates when you turn it on.”

“Jay, is it okay if I take my clothes off and try some of them? Maybe you could show me?”

“You don’t need my permission to get naked, baby.”

I never saw her undress so fast.

I was surprised when she went for the butt plug first. “If you’re going to try that, you need some of this.” I passed her a tube of gel.

She read what it said on the side, grinning broadly. “On my arse or the toy?”

“A bit on both. Why don’t you let me?”

She turned around and bent over, her arsehole only inches away. I couldn’t help but lean in to kiss the little star. “Just for good luck, my love,” I said, and she giggled.

My fingers were trembling in anticipation as I smeared a small dollop of lube around her tight hole before easing a little inside.

“It’s cold!” she squealed.

“You want to push it in or do you want me to?” I asked her.

“Oh, I want you to do it,” was the reply.

I pressed the plug against her hole and gave it a few wiggles. “Tell me to stop if it hurts. It probably will a little, but as soon as it pops in you’ll be fine.”

“Go for it, Jay. I want my tail.”

I began to push, but there was too much resistance. “You need to relax a bit, baby, you’re too tense. Don’t let your arse fight it.”

I saw her body loosen up, and slowly her arse stretched open to accommodate the toy. Now it was almost at the widest part.

“Ouch, that hurts a bit. Don’t stop though, I’m okay.”

I eased the plug in a bit more, until suddenly it popped inside. “There you go, it’s in. How does it feel?”

“It feels kinda weird. I want to see. Can you get a mirror?”

I went to fetch the small mirror I kept in the bathroom, then held it for her as she twirled about and bent down to look back between her legs.

“Oh, I like that. It’s fucking sexy,” she told me. Then she was prancing around and wiggling her hips, tail swishing merrily from side to side.

“Okay, that’s a good start, now what?”

She picked up the small vibrator, then handed me a bigger one. “Let’s masturbate for each other.”

I got rid of my clothes as quickly as I could. “Side by side or opposite one another. What would you like?”

“Oh, definitely opposite. I wanna see you do it.”

When we’d each taken a place at either end of the couch, I showed her how to turn the toy on, and how to increase the speed, then suggested she start on the lowest setting and slowly build up.

Easing the tip of my own toy between my pussy lips, I slowly began moving it up and down. I watched as Ric mirrored my actions.

She glanced up at me. “Oh, wow, this feels so good.”

I held myself open, then moved the vibrator to my clit, going round and round in little circles. Ric again followed my every move. I saw her whole body instantly tense, a look of awe on her face. “So good!” She made herself relax before moving the vibrator round her clit.

“Now you might want to turn it up,” I told her.

The pleasure she was feeling was obvious. Her face was an absolute picture, her eyes going wide when she found a special spot. Her whole body began to tremble with the sensations she was experiencing. “J-Jay… I’m gonna come. I… I can’t stop myself.”

I quickly reached for another toy. It slipped easily between her lips and deep into her cunt. I set it to high pulse mode.

“Oh, my fuck!” Ric screeched as she began to shake uncontrollably.

I left the dildo buzzing away inside her and did the same for myself, inserting a bigger toy that throbbed beautifully. I kept my eyes fixed on my angel, fucking herself to a glorious climax. My own orgasm erupted out of nowhere. I lay back in my seat and let the big toy do its work.

When eventually I opened my eyes, Ric was peering back at me. I saw her love for me. I also saw her lust as she licked her new toy clean.

I watched juice running down from her pussy, and dropped to my knees in front of her. She lifted her legs up high for my tongue to lick her from arsehole to pussy. My arms wrapped around her hips and I pulled her against my loving mouth.

“Happy, my love?” I asked her when I’d come up for air.

She gazed down at me with the biggest smile on her face. “Too right I am.”

***

Our world was about to get turned upside down. Ric had only competed in four go-cart events. She came third in the first one, then won three in a row. After the final race, a guy approached as Ric and I were celebrating with a hug.

I almost glared at him. “Hey, some space, buddy, we’re busy here.”

He looked a little taken aback, but managed to compose himself quickly. “I can see that, but you might just want to hear what I have to say.”

I put Ric back down and gave him my full attention. “Yes, I’m sorry. That was a bit rude of me.”

He held out a business card, but the name meant nothing to me. Ric snatched it out of my hand. “Oh, my God. Carlin F3 team. And you want to talk to me? like… no way.”

“We seriously do. I came up here today just to see you race. You’re everything I was told you’d be. If you’d like a test drive in one of our cars, then call that number on Monday.”

Ric’s screech was loud enough to deafen us. “You hear that, Jay?” She turned back to the man, then gestured to me. “This is Jay. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Good to meet you, Jay. I’m Kenny.” He turned back to Ric. “So, do you know much about our cars?”

Ric gave a wry smile. “I might surprise you. How’s this: Your F3 car is a 3.4 litre V6 engine. It produces 380 hp at… er, I think it’s 8000 rpm. Top speed is a little under 200 mph. 0 to 125 mph in 7.8 seconds.” She paused. “How am I doing?”

Kenny looked bewildered. “What are you, some kind of racing encyclopedia? That’s all spot on.”

Feeling a little left out of the conversation, I added, “Ric was only fifteen when she told me all about my Lotus Evora, stuff that even I didn’t know about my own car.”

I could almost see Ric’s brain ticking over. “What?” I asked.

“Oh, just trying to remember a few of the drivers who drove Carlin cars before they moved up to F1. Sebastian Vettel, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Rosberg, Lando Norris. There must be loads more that I can’t think of just now.”

Kenny was looking from me to Ric admiringly. “An Evora, eh? Impressive machine. And your racing knowledge is astounding, Ric. So ladies, what do you think? I’m assuming you’re interested?”

To her credit, Ric looked to me for approval. I nodded my head, and she turned back to Kenny. “Just try stopping me. But seriously – have I put in enough hours to be driving one of your cars?”

“I wouldn’t be wasting my time here if I didn’t think you have what it takes. You’ll have a whole day to get to know the car, then we’ll want to see you put in some fast times. And don’t take me the wrong way here, but it’d also be good for our image to find a girl who can really drive. I think that might be you. I watched how you rubbed it into those guys today. Reminded me of a young Vettel.”

Ric looked so buoyant, I thought she might simply float away.

***

We had the go-cart loaded onto the trailer and were about to drive off when I saw the track manager making towards us, gesturing for me to wait.

“So, how did your meeting with Kenny go, Ric?” he asked.

“I got a test drive, but how did you know about Kenny?”

“It was me that told him to get his arse up here before someone else did. I’ve seen drivers of your calibre before – naturals. I think you’re going places. Just remember me when you’re on the podium, and give me a call anytime to let me know how it’s all going.”

Ric climbed back down from the 4X4 and went to give him a big hug. “Thank you, Bill. I won’t let you down. You’ll see.”

We said our goodbyes and hit the road. It was a good two-hour drive home. I could see Ric was bubbling with excitement, but I’m sure it was still only just starting to sink in.

“What do you want to do, babe?” I asked. “Head home? Or maybe we should book into a motel for the night, find ourselves a good restaurant and celebrate.”

She turned to me with a smile. “Jay, I said thanks to Bill. But really it was you that got me here. It would never have happened if I hadn’t met you. I want to buy you dinner, and then afterwards… I dunno, maybe you could eat my pussy or something. Whaddya reckon?”

There was a lovely little Italian restaurant close to the motel. The maitre’d eyed up the trophy I’d plonked in the middle of our table. It turned out he was a huge motorsports fan.

“So, you are a big star, no?” he asked me. “Bello trophy!”

“Not me, it’s hers,” I said, pointing to Ric. “She won it today.”

It threw him for a moment. “So young and bellissime, and winning races. Perbacco!” He reached across and refilled Ric’s wine glass. “Old enough to win, then old enough to drink wine, I think. But do not tell me how old, eh?”

I dug out a portrait photo of Ric from my briefcase. She signed it To Giovanni, my next win is for you. Ric xxx. Giovanni was so thrilled, he didn’t want us to pay the bill, but I insisted. I always pay my way.

We killed two bottles of wine and then a few shots of grappa. It was quite obvious that Ric couldn’t walk in a straight line, but I wasn’t that much better.

Back at the motel, we managed to giggle our way through a shower before tumbling into bed. Ric gave me a sloppy kiss. “I love you. Are you going to fuck me now?” Then she fell back into a drunken slumber.

For a while, I just lay there staring at her. Ric had said she was lucky to find me. But I was just as lucky to find her. The depth of my love for this girl had taken me by surprise. I couldn’t begin to imagine not having her in my life. She was living her dream, and I wanted to join her on that journey. Perhaps it was time I stopped putting myself in danger with the job; start thinking about a new life with Ric.

It occurred to me that it was time I spoke to her parents about her moving in with me. They knew the score, and had mostly come to terms with our relationship, just as they now accepted she would be racing cars. I would speak to them tomorrow.

A small smile teased at Ric’s mouth when I kissed her. I whispered a goodnight.

The End

The story thus far: Seeking a missing Texas Ranger, our old acquaintance The Tequila Kid comes across a poor family named Miller. Like many others in the area, this widow Sarah and her two little girls, Amy and Cindy, have been brutalized by a wealthy scoundrel named McCuller, who intends to drive away all the owners of small farms and ranches in the area and take their land. Later, drying off from heavy rain at the local stable, Sheriff Lucas Clay comes in search of The Kid, demanding she surrender her guns. Knowing Clay to be corrupt (and in league with McCuller), The Kid asks to speak with him in private. Moments later at the jail, he threatens her, and she deals him a beat-down, then informs him that she means to arrest McCuller and Tyson Avidite (a banker who is part of the conspiracy) before she leaves.

From the sheriff’s office, she goes to the Silver Slipper, the town’s saloon, gambling house and brothel. There, she encounters a young man named Jud Nelson, who she’d seen Sheriff Clay harass earlier. Recognizing him as a decent sort, she hires him to watch the jail to see if Clay leaves. Then she meets a twelve-year-old girl named Dixie, who does menial work at the Silver Slipper and is bullied by Toots, the brutish bartender. The Kid asks Dixie which girl is the most popular of the whores. Star, the girl replies, and The Kid gives Dixie the money to pay for Star’s services that evening.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, The Kid enjoys an intense hour of sex with Star. Afterwards, she asks the prostitute a few questions about the town and its doings. She learns that Clark Hansen, the missing Texas Ranger she seeks, disappeared around the same time as Dixie’s older sister Dallas, who was one of the whores at the Silver Slipper. The Kid asks about Ben McCuller, but Star refuses to answer, claiming “it’s too dangerous.” When The Kid goes back downstairs, Jud returns to let her know that Sheriff Clay just left town, riding hard in the direction of McCuller’s place. Figuring she’s done as much as she can for one night, The Kid decides to join an ongoing card game.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

By Purple Les

The Kid stood for a moment by the empty chair at the poker table. The elderly man in the black suit rose and took a slight bow. “Allow me to introduce myself, Miss. I am Colonel Beauregard Haskill, though you can call me Bo. I’m sure I speak for all my fellow players in saying that we would be honored to have you join our game.”

“Reckon I will, then,” The Kid replied. She dumped her poker chips she had in her hat on to the table, right in front of the empty chair. Returning the hat to her head, she sat down.

The Colonel gestured to his right. “This gentleman is Mr Harv Benson.”

Harv Benson, a clean shaven middle-aged man who seemed average in every imaginable way, nodded his head saying, “How do, ma’am.”

“And this,” The Colonel paused, his jaw tightening slightly, “Is Mr Final Preston.”

Final Preston was overweight, sweaty, unshaven and, The Kid suspected, a born loser of his own making.

“The deck passes to the right. Dealer’s choice.” Preston told The Kid, anxious to get back to the game.

The Kid could see why: Preston had the smallest amount of chips left. Hmm. Bo’s doin’ fine, Benson’s holdin’ his own, and Preston’s desperate to win his money back.

She gave the players a brief nod “Nice to meet you, Bo. Howdy, gents. I’m the Tequila Kid. Who’s deal is it then?”

Colonel Haskill raised an eyebrow in surprise, but otherwise maintained his poker face. The name didn’t seem to mean anything to the other two men, or if it did, they didn’t let it show.

“It’s my deal,” Final Preston said. “Five card stud. Everybody ante up.”

The Kid played slow and quiet at first. Contributing to the kitty, folding early and watching others take the pot. She rolled a cigarette or two while observing the game, taking the measure of the three gamblers. There was a bottle of fine Kentucky bourbon on the table. “I abhor cheap whiskey,” said Colonel Haskill. “Luckily, this establishment stocks a few bottles of superior stuff at my request. Young lady,” he continued, signalling to Dixie, who came right over. “I’d like a clean glass for my friend.”

“Yes, sir,” the young girl murmured, then hastened to fetch.

As the game continued, Haskill told stories of his life before, during and after the Civil War. The Kid saw an old rogue with blue eyes, a smile on his lips, and an underlying touch of sadness that he was nearly able to conceal. He looked tired, but explained, “Unfortunately, all the beds here are already occupied. True, I could share one, but I’d rather enjoy myself at cards than lay in a crowded bed with a snoring stranger.”

As for Harv Benson, he was married and owned a freight business. He was using the bad weather as an excuse to postpone his trip home. “Told my missus I had to wait up at the office for a late wagon.” He told them. “If she knew what I was doin’ right now, she’d call God’s wrath down on me. See, my wife caught the religious bug ‘bout a year back. Now she hates card playin’ worse than damn near anything. Tells me, ‘It’s Satan you’re a-gamblin’ with, and your soul is the stakes’.” Sighing, he laid down a pair of cards. “Dealer takes two.” Benson won often enough that his pile of chips didn’t gain or lose much.

Everything about Final Preston marked him as a loser. His greasy brown hair hung limply over his forehead. His stubbly face and shifty brown eyes gave him a feral look. Sort of like having my mornin’ coffee with a Gila monster, The Kid thought. Occasionally Preston would win a pot, then lose it and more besides on the next few hands.

The Kid began to rake in some of the bigger pots as the night wore on, all the while pretending to be a novice. “Now what beats a pair again?” she’d ask, scratching her head. Plenty of men were quick to assume no woman could possibly know her way around a deck of cards; an error The Kid often used to her advantage. Before long, she had more chips than anyone.

As she continued to play, The Kid watched the customers thinning out; settling their tabs, then vanishing into the night. Eventually, the piano player closed the lid on his battered instrument, clapped a derby hat on his head and exited without a word to anyone.

A few minutes later, The Kid saw Belle, Kitty, and Star hand over any tips they’d made to the bartender Toots. He was about six feet tall with a high head of black hair that had been greased and combed back. His face was pockmarked and clean shaven.

Once he’d taken the girls’ money, they turned to leave. Dixie was with them, looking utterly exhausted. The Kid’s jaw tightened when Toots gave her one last smack to the back of her head. The other girls gave him dirty looks, but none of them said anything.

I don’t rightly know if there’s a God up above or not, The Kid mused, but if I ever see him face to face, I’ll ask why it is women and girls have such a hard row to hoe in this life. What’s that Dixie child ever done that she should get treated so bad?

Memories of her own younger days flooded The Kid’s mind. At the age of twelve, she went through her tribe’s initiation rites into womanhood, where she’d been named White Raven and given the dark blue tattoos on her chin and around her upper arms.

A week later, the U.S. Cavalry attacked the Indian camp when the warriors were away. The blue coats slaughtered the elders, then raped the women and killed them, along with the children. Many of the corpses were mutilated for souvenirs. The white men laughed as they piled the bodies high, doused the heap with coal oil and set it ablaze. Years later, The Kid could still recall the hideous stench of the burning.

She, however, had survived. A cavalryman who had intended to rape White Raven noticed her blue eyes. Quickly realizing she was white, he saw a better use for her. Instead of forcing himself on the girl, the blue coat took her with him, hoping to find her family and collect a handsome reward for her return.

She was brought back to the Army fort and the nearby town. The Kid remembered how the town folk gathered to see the mysterious girl who had been raised by Indians. The blue coat asked the crowd if there was a good Christian family among them who would take the girl in, at least until her family could be found.

There were no takers. The onlookers shouted things like, “She’s a heathen savage,” or “She ain’t white no more.” The local preacher just shook his head, muttering, “This girl’s been ruined by their men. No respectable family would have her now.” The men ogled her near nudity, the woman turned away in disgust, and the children spat at her, throwing stones and clumps of dirt.

The Kid remembered the French woman who approached the cavalryman and said, “I will take this girl.” By then, he was fed up and ready to cut his losses, so he handed White Raven over without a word and went on his way. This woman smiled and said, “Come, child,” and the girl meekly followed.

Big Bertha ran a combination trading post and brothel. She was a keen observer of people, and sensed there was more to this girl than met the eye.

Bertha gave her clothes. Taught her to speak French. She passed along her considerable cooking skills. She even showed the girl how to play checkers. This strange creature would not tell anyone her Indian or her white name, so Bertha and the others simply called her “Kid.”

The girls who serviced men at the brothel grew very fond of The Kid, as did the women who served as cashiers at the trading post. As for Bertha, she was extremely protective of her young charge. Any man who tried to bed the girl was apt to get a thrashing from Cedric, the bouncer and the sole male employee in Bertha’s hire… or from Bertha herself, who could throw a wicked punch.

Some of the skills The Kid had acquired with her tribe were put to use in her new life. Bertha noticed right away that the girl liked being around horses, so she was made a stablehand. Furthermore, The Kid was an excellent shot, so she was able to hunt wild game for the brothel’s dinner table.

The Kid recalled the horse Big Bertha had saved, a mare that had killed a man who was taunting her colt. Bertha had taken the horse instead of allowing her to be shot. The mare quickly came to be known as Devil Bitch. With time, effort and a good amount of patience, The Kid befriended the horse. Soon, she was the only one who could ride her.

One late evening after closing time, an armed bandit robbed the trading post. Holding a gun to Bertha’s head, he forced her to open the safe and empty it of cash, then locked her and the cashier in the office. Only The Kid was left, and the bandit demanded that she fetch him a horse. Leading the man out to the stable, The Kid saddled up Devil Bitch and handed him the reins. “Her name’s Buttercup,” was all she said.

When the outlaw mounted her, the large bay mare immediately threw him to the ground, then crushed his skull with one blow of her hoof.

Not long after that, Bertha made a gift of the horse to The Kid, who named her Buttercup. The mare never lost her disdain for strangers, but she was always sweet-natured to The Kid.

Remembering Buttercup, The Kid felt an all-too familiar jolt of sorrow. Her horse had broken a leg while they were riding, attempting to evade the armed thugs of Rameses Kingsley. At least Kingsley had paid for this and many other crimes with his life, but the ache she felt for Buttercup was still tender. I’d rather of shot myself than that horse.

The Kid started when she heard Colonel Haskill’s voice, “Pardon me, dear lady… but the deal is yours.” Opening her eyes, she saw the deck resting on the felt at her elbow. Picking up the cards, she shuffled, passed the deck to Benson for the cut, then dealt out four hands.

After a half hour had passed, Toots announced, “I’m done closin’ up the bar. You folks’ll have to stop playin’ soon, cash in and head out.”

Harv Benson stood, stretching his limbs. “Reckon I’d best be makin’ tracks. If I stay much longer, my missus’ll have her preacher out huntin’ me down – Bible in one hand, a cross in the other.” Gathering up his chips, he nodded. “Evenin’, all,” then took his winnings over to the cage, where the very bored-looking cashier sat.

Colonel Haskill took out a pocket watch and checked the time. “I believe I’ll cash in as well. Maybe some of the men are hitting the trail again, and I can find myself an empty bed. Thank you for a very pleasant evening.” With a brief bow to The Kid, he followed Benson to the cashier cage.

“How ‘bout a hand of showdown, Kid?” Final Preston asked, gazing hungrily at The Kid’s pile of chips.

“I’m game,” The Kid replied.

Final pushed half his remaining chips into the middle of the table. The Kid saw his bet, then gave Final the cut before she dealt the first card. Jud Nelson watched from the bar with keen interest.

The Kid turned up an ace for Final and a deuce for herself. “Your bet,” she said.

Final added a couple of chips to the pot. The Kid matched it, then turned over a jack to Final and a four to herself.

“No help to either of us. Ace bets,” The Kid said.

Final grinned and put a couple more chips in, with The Kid covering him.

The third card brought another jack up for Final and a six for The Kid. “Pair of jacks bets,” she said.

After the chips were added, The Kid turned up the fourth cards. Another ace to Final, a trey for herself.

“You got two pair, Final.” The Kid said, studying at the cards in front of them. “Bet’s to you.”

Final took a slug from his glass, staring at the cards on the table. I got two pair, and she’s workin’ on an inside straight. Even if she makes it, I’d win with a full house. Besides, she gotta draw a five to fill that straight… otherwise, the best she can manage is a pair, and I got that beat already. He pushed the remainder of his chips into the center.

The Kid matched him, then picked up a chip, studying it thoughtfully. “If I raise you, the game’s over, Final… unless you got somethin’ else to bet.”

Final rubbed his mouth, then quickly said, “Y’know, I feel good about this hand. Tell you what… I got a horse I’ll throw in. Push the rest of your chips in and I’ll put up my horse.”

“Where’s your horse at?” The Kid asked. “I wonder what makes it worth the rest of my chips.”

“Why, she’s right outside. A real beauty.” Final declared.

With a snort of derisive laughter, The Kid said, “The one outside? Shit, that poor critter can barely stand.” She kept her cool, but fumed inside. Anyone treats a horse like that oughta have his butt kicked. I’ll take a chance on losing my money just to get that pitiful creature away from him.

“I got that horse ‘bout five towns east of here,” Final said. “She’s a beautiful filly. Family was down on their luck. It was their little girl’s horse. I thought she’d bust a gut cryin’ when they sold it to me, but they needed the cash. That horse is worth five times what I paid for her. C’mon, how ‘bout it?”

The Kid pushed her chips into the center. “Fine, you’re covered. Mind you, I’m only doin’ this to get that poor animal away from you ‘fore you kill it.”

The Kid took the top card off the deck and turned it up slowly. Final winced. It was a nine, but he still had his two pair. By then Jud, Toots, and the cashier in his cage were all watching the players.

The Kid slowly picked the top card off the deck and looked at it, her face blank. The three spectators watched with held breath. The Kid slowly put the card down on the table with her others.

Final’s face fell when he saw the five of hearts. “Goddamn,” he muttered, slumping back in his chair.

“Well, I’ll be switched. That gives me a straight, and the pot,” The Kid murmured as she raked all the chips over to herself. “Now let’s see the bill of sale for that horse, mister, or I might think you got her by dishonest means. Jud, could you lend me your eyes?”

Jud read the bill of sale out for The Kid. He had Final Preston sign it over, then The Kid added her mark, the outline drawing of a raven. Next to it, Jud wrote The Tequila Kid.

Sauntering over to the cage, The Kid cashed in her chips. With her winnings, she now had three hundred and ten dollars in cash. Not a bad night’s work. she thought.

“That’s it. We’re closed,” Toots announced.

The Kid made her way back to the table. She, Jud and Final put on their coats and hats and made their exit, Toots locking the door behind them. The rain had dwindled to an icy mist.

Final Preston fell to his knees in despair. “Shit! I’m flat busted.”

“No, you ain’t,” The Kid replied. Stepping down into the muddy street, she took the rope from the saddle, cut off a good length with her Bowie knife and fashioned a rough hackamore from it, which she draped over her shoulder. She removed the saddle, bridle and all the other gear from the horse, then heaved the lot into the street.

As she put the hackamore on the horse, The Kid told Final, “If you sell this saddle and the rest, there oughta be enough for breakfast and a coach ticket out of town. Which I recommend you take, ‘cause anyone who treats a horse this way is already on my bad side. Now get your sorry ass out of my sight.”

Rushing into the street, Final gathered up the saddle and as much of the gear as he could carry, slipping in the mud several times, then hastened away, puffing with exertion.

The Kid approached Jud. “You let me know the second Clay gets back in town,” she murmured, then led her new horse down to the livery stable.

***

Waking at sunrise as he always did, Abner went to the neighborhood hash house for breakfast. When he got back, the old man was surprised to find The Kid grooming a horse, one he hadn’t seen before. Opening for business, he got caught up with a steady stream of cowboys picking up their horses, ready to hit the trail, and didn’t have time to chat with The Kid.

Finally, when things had settled down a bit, he went over to watch The Kid as she finished cleaning the horse.

Drawing closer, Abner ran his hands up and down the mare’s legs. “She’s a mite underfed, but seems sound enough. Where’d you get her? Least I got space for another horse now.”

“Won her in a poker game.” The Kid said. “I was right surprised to find a nice Palomino under all that dirt.”

“Well, let’s get her fed proper,” Abner said. Stuffing a feed bag with oats, he put it on the mare, then patted her neck as she tucked in. “Yep, she’s a real beauty.”

The Kid took the hard boiled egg from her coat and ate it slowly while Abner fed and watered Button.

Jud Nelson came in, giving The Kid a nod. She approached. “Clay get back to town?”

“No.” Jud stated. “But Cy Warren just rode in. He let himself into the Sheriff’s office with a key.”

The Kid rubbed her chin. “Cy Warren… ain’t he McCuller’s dirty jobs man?”

“The same,” Jud answered.

Putting her coat on, The Kid took a couple of bills from her pocket and gave them to the young man. “Here’s your ten. You done a good job. Now… care to accompany me to the sheriff’s office?”

Jud hesitated, then shrugged. “Guess I will.”

Abner watched The Kid and Jud step into the street. He stood in the entrance for a moment, lost in thought, then went back mucking out the stalls.

***

The morning sky was a dark gray as they walked toward the sheriff’s office. Suddenly The Kid came to a stop on the boardwalk, so abruptly that Jud Nelson bumped into her. She was staring at a large, jet-black stallion tied to the hitching rail in front of the sheriff’s office.

As The Kid came close, the stallion nickered at the familiar smell and sound of her.

Patting the horse’s neck while he nuzzled her, The Kid said, “Good to see you, Thunder. I sure wish you could tell me what happened to Clark Hansen.” She stepped back, her gaze fastened on the office door. “Don’t you worry none, big fella,” The Kid added, giving the stallion’s flank a pat. “I’m gonna find out where Clark is.”

She turned to Jud. “Ranger Hansen don’t go nowhere without this horse. Look, he’s still wearin’ all Clark’s gear, too.”

Jud studied the hand tooled-black leather saddle and matching bridle. It was one of the finest saddles he’d ever seen, complete with detailed metal work. The Kid examined the rifle scabbard, which still held Clark’s Winchester. The letters CH were engraved on the stock. As well as the leather saddle bags as well. The Kid looked into these, but they held nothing of Clark’s.

Jud felt the hair on his neck rise when The Kid turned to him, a cold fury in her eyes, and said, “Cy Warren, huh? Well let’s go see this feller. The horse can’t talk, so I’ll get my answers from him.”

Knowing Cy Warren for the vicious killer he was, Jud felt a knot in his stomach as The Kid grasped the doorknob and pushed her way into the office.

On to Chapter Five!

For a list of the many characters who populate this saga, check out Dramatis Personae.

A brief summary of the previous chapter: The next day, Freya has a chance meeting with Elsa Hart, wife of the new lord of Derwold Manor. A little later, Freya joins Sadie and her sister Millie for a lesson in alchemy, but things don’t quite go as planned when Millie inadvertently amplifies the potency of the love potion they’ve brewed. After the effects have worn off, Millie visits the churchyard to pay her respects to an old friend. Whilst there, she has an encounter with a black panther, and discovers she can communicate with the creature.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by BlueJean

1

Lord and Lady Derwold had pulled out all the stops for their housewarming party. A large marquis had been set up in the grounds of the old manor house, where crisply-attired catering staff served food and drink. A DJ presided over the entertainment, along with jugglers, fire breathers and tarot card readers. Fiery torches were planted into the ground here and there, giving the whole jamboree a pagan-style ambiance.

It made sense to host the soirée in the sprawling grounds of the manor – the weather was warm and pleasant, too good to be cooped up indoors. And even though Simon and Elsa had already moved in, renovation work on the interior had yet to be completed. Georgia wondered if that was merely an excuse to keep the peasantry outside where they belonged, then chided herself for such cynicism.

At any rate, the peasantry had certainly turned up in force. Apart from a few families who tended to jet off to more exotic climes during the school summer break, just about everyone from the village was present and correct. Mrs. Jeffries, accompanied by her husband Jeff, seemed to be in particularly fine spirits. She was already looking a little worse for wear, and Georgia had borne witness to Sally Jeffries when she’d had a skinful. Oh, they’d all been privy to that particular spectacle at one time or another.

There were a few stragglers, too – the spill-over from the summer solstice festivals they’d been having down on the village green. Morris men had donned livery and wielded sticks to perform their ancient dances, and Bernard the Druid was hanging around like a bad cold that couldn’t quite be shaken off.

Bernard was an ex-banker who had either suffered a nervous breakdown or a midlife crisis, depending on which source you believed. This had somehow led him to the conclusion that his life’s calling was to become an ordained druid. By all accounts, he spent his days touring the ancient standing stones dotted around Britain. He was a plump man with a comb-over and a bristling moustache, and a personality that fell somewhere between bumbling and pompous. He had his own following, too – a handful of naïve young unfortunates who seemed to spend most of their time stoned shitless. Still, poor old Bernard was harmless enough, Georgia supposed. And Millie seemed to like him.

Bernard was currently engaged in a heated debate with the vicar. “I won’t deny you your god, my good man,” he was saying, rocking on his heels in the way that some men do when they feel the need to add gravity to their words. “But you need to understand that He’s only one of many.”

The vicar’s thin, nasally voice could only pale in comparison to Bernard’s booming timbre. “I admire your conviction, Bernard, I do. It’s a fine thing to have one’s beliefs. But I’m afraid there’s only one true God.”

“Nonsense! People were paying homage to the Old Gods long before Christianity emerged.”

The vicar’s eyes were furtive beads flickering to Millie and Freya, then the other children in the vicinity. Georgia wondered what the penalty for twatting a dirty old vicar was in the 21st century. They’d have undoubtedly stuck you on a burning pyre for assaulting a man of the cloth back in the day, but freedom of expression had come a long way since then.

“Ha! Quite so, Bernard, quite so. But could it be that your ‘Old Gods’ are in fact other facets of the one true God? Could that be a possibility, do you think?“

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m afraid not, vicar.” Bernard laced his arms behind his back and rocked on his heels again. “When I was a banker, we used to have a saying, you know.” He briefly paused to make sure everyone was listening, then continued. “Better banking. Higher purpose.”

The vicar waited for Bernard to elaborate, while the druid’s followers hung on his every word. After an awkward few moments, it soon became apparent that Bernard had nothing more to add to these rather bizarre pearls of wisdom.

The confused vicar scratched his head. “Ah. Yes. That, er, that seems to be more of a slogan than a saying. And… well, I’m not sure what your point would be.”

Judging from Bernard’s smug smile, he considered that a victory. “It’s hard to teach the ignorant. Come along, my young friends – those prawn vol-au-vents won’t eat themselves, you know!” And with that, he marched off towards the food tent, his entourage in tow.

“If there’s a god,” Georgia confided to her friend Roy, “I really hope She’s a woman.”

Roy offered sympathetic hums. “Spare a thought for me, girlfriend,” he said. “Bernard and the vicar are the only eligible men here. Serves me right for moving to a village populated almost exclusively by married farmers. My dating options are practically non-existent!”

Georgia gave her friend a consoling pat on the arm. “I don’t know about the vicar, but maybe Bernard’s up for a bit of man-love.”

Roy shuddered at the thought.

Sadie, ever popular, was being fawned over by some of the local children and their parents. Georgia sidled up and kissed her on the cheek. Everyone slowly drifted away from them. It happened sometimes, but what of it? Georgia didn’t need their approval, and Sadie was so comfortable in her own skin she barely seemed to notice.

“So where’re the Lord and Lady of the Manor?” Georgia asked.

Sadie pointed to where Freya and one of her school friends were chatting to a tall, slender woman with frizzy red hair. “That’s Lady Derwold herself. Her husband seems to be keeping a low profile.”

“She’s called Elsa Hart, by the way,” said Georgia. “I’m reliably informed she decided not to take her husband’s name.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So, let me get this straight – Mr. Derwold purchased the manor back? Or his family never sold it in the first place?”

“I’m not really sure,” admitted Sadie. “There was some sort of scandal, and the family just upped and left. This was back in the seventies. There aren’t many people from those days still living in the village. I keep meaning to go online and dig up some information.”

“How mysterious.”

“Isn’t it just?”

The sound of accordion music cut through the low murmur of conversation, and the sharp jingle of shin bells heralded another round of merriment from the Morris dancers. There was something inherently mesmerising about watching a group of grown men dressed in flowery outfits skipping about like children, Georgia thought.

It was then that she realised an actual child was weaving in out and out amongst them.

Sadie did a double take. “Er… is that Millie?”

Georgia put a hand to her mouth in astonishment.

Millie was doing her level best to keep up with the dancing men as they pranced about with their sticks, clutching an improvised baton of her own that she’d fashioned from a tree branch. Her tongue was poking out in concentration as she tried to mimic their choreographed moves – whirling and stepping and bowing.

When the dancers formed two lines opposite each other and cracked their sticks together above their heads, Millie did her own little dance through the middle, hands on hips while she spun and pirouetted. The Morris dancers broke away, then circled round to form a single line.

As each dancer skipped past Millie, they knocked her homemade baton with their own, then passed again to form a circle around her. The dance concluded, they lifted her above their heads and gave a great cheer. Millie threw her stick into the air and joined them in their whoops and hollers.

After being deposited back onto the ground, Millie came running over to Sadie and Georgia with a triumphant grin. “Did you see me?! Did you?!”

“The whole village saw you, pixie!” Georgia told her with a hug. “You were amazing!”

“That was quite the impromptu performance,” Sadie agreed.

“I asked them if I could join in, but they didn’t think it was a good idea because of health and safety. They said they might whack me over the head with their sticks or tread on me by accident, so I said, ‘Okay, bye then!’ and pretended to go away, but I found a stick and waited until they started dancing, and then just joined in anyway!”

“If Millie Newton wants to dance, Millie Newton will dance! Health and safety be damned!” Sadie exclaimed.

2

Freya and Elsa found themselves laughing together as Millie did her funny little dance with the Morris men.

The eleven-year-old had been thrilled when the Lady of the Manor had recognised her amongst the throng of villagers, even remembering her name. Her classmate Mia had shot her the filthiest of looks, and that only added to Freya’s elated mood. It was always a good day when you could piss Mia Webb off.

Elsa had poured herself into a tight-fitting crimson dress that seemed like something a 1940s film star might wear. Her red hair was wild and untamed. To Freya, she looked like some kind of fiery queen holding court.

“Your sister certainly knows how to make an entrance,” Elsa said, curiosity infiltrating her freckled face. “She has a very unusual aura.”

“She’s not that great, really,” Freya told her, suddenly worried that her new friend might be more interested in Millie than her. That wouldn’t do at all. “She’s, um… she’s a special needs child.” Freya felt a bit guilty for saying such a thing about her sister. Only a bit, though. Millie did do some weird stuff, so it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Elsa gave her a knowing smile. “You’re not jealous of your sister, are you, Freya?”

“Huh? No. No way!”

The idea was horrifying. Being annoyed by Millie wasn’t the same as being jealous of her. Was it?

Elsa placed a hand on the small of Freya’s back. “I’m certain you have your own talents. You may not know they’re there yet, but one day they’ll bubble to the surface. Often, it’s self-doubt that stops us from realising our full potential.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes. I was the same at your age, always worrying about things beyond my control. Then I discovered who I was meant to be. You learn to navigate your way through life as you get older. And to accept yourself.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Elsa glanced up at the manor behind them, then back at Freya with a sly smile. “How about you and I sneak off for a while? I’ll give you an exclusive tour of Derwold Manor.”

3

The very air of the manor was thick with history and neglect. Elsa led Freya through room after room, some newly painted and furnished, but most untouched, peeling wallpaper and the smell of mildew a testament to long years of abandonment.

Tradesmen worked throughout the building, with several busying themselves installing a huge chandelier in what Elsa called The Great Hall. A central staircase dominated the cavernous space, and Freya thought it looked like something borrowed from the set of Downton Abbey.

Her attention was drawn to the curious-looking man descending the stairs. He wore a tweed jacket and a garish pair of mustard-coloured trousers, and his shock of grey-brown hair seemed to snake out like tentacles, wild and untamed. “And who’s this?” he asked in ardent tones.

“This is my friend, Freya,” Elsa told him. “We’re having a little sneak-peek, aren’t we, Freya?”

Freya offered a nod. “It’s an awesome house.”

The man skipped down the last few remaining steps, hiked his impressively vulgar trousers up, then peered down at her with a wide, slightly unhinged grin. “I’m delighted you approve, Lady Freya, she of beauty and fertility!”

“Pardon?”

“Freya is one of the old Norse goddesses,” he explained. “Did your mother and father not name you as such?”

“I – I dunno, to be honest. I suppose they just liked the name.”

The man put his hands to his face in a theatrical display of shock. “Oh, the shame of ignorance! Names should never be taken lightly, you know. Names have power.”

Elsa let her hands rest on Freya’s shoulders. “Stop teasing, Simon. Freya, this is my husband, Simon.”

“Oh, you’re the new lord of Derwold.”

Simon took Freya’s hand and shook it heartily. “Indeed I am, Lady Freya. Born and raised. Blood and bone!”

Freya offered a confused smile. “O-kay?”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Freya. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have guests to entertain!”

And with that, the strange new lord of Derwold Manor kissed his wife on the lips, then trotted away at a brisk clip.

“Shall we continue our tour?” Elsa asked, and Freya agreed that they should.

4

Simon Derwold looked as mad as a badger to Georgia. The rather scruffy-looking Lord of the Manor seemed to have a permanent grin on his face, and his eyes never seemed to stop moving. He was the kind of man you tried to put some distance between when he starts whistling too loudly in the coffee shop, or decides to start doing pushups on the bus. Yes indeed, something was just a little bit off about Simon Derwold.

“Welcome to our humble home!” Mr. Derwold hollered into the mic he’d commandeered from the DJ. He was flanked by two burly looking men. Georgia had seen them around the village from time to time, presumably performing various tasks for their employer. She thought they might have been called Burt and Ernie, like the puppets from Sesame Street, but on consideration, that seemed improbable.

“You honour us with your presence,” Simon Derwold was saying. He surveyed the crowd of people before him like a child gleefully eyeing up candy in a sweet shop. “Many moons ago my forebears wandered the halls of this manor. And it’s true, they didn’t always afford the people of Derwold the respect they deserved. But times change. We honour our ancestors, but also acknowledge their shortcomings.

“I’d like to think I’m a man of some integrity, and I’m sure there are many ways I can give back to the birthplace of my namesake. I really just see myself as another villager. I hope you’ll treat me as such.”

“Does he think we were all just about to get down on our knees, then?” Georgia muttered.

“Shhh!” Roy hissed with an accompanying snort of amusement.

“And besides,” the lord of the manor continued, “the law prohibits me from hanging villagers from trees these days. It’s political correctness gone mad, I tell you!”

Sadie’s brow darkened at that. She’d never considered it until now, but wouldn’t it have been one of Simon’s ancestors who had been responsible for facilitating her own ancestor Isabel’s execution all those centuries ago?

“I’m joking! I’m joking!“ Simon tittered. “Now, enough of my nonsense! Let me just thank the Old Gods,” he gave the vicar a cursory glance, “for guiding me back to my ancestral home. Feast! Dance! Be merry!”

He handed the mic back to the DJ, then Destiny’s Child boomed out of the speakers.

“He’s a character, isn’t he?” Sadie opined.

“Quite dishy, in a mad professor sort of way,” Roy mused. “A bit rich for my blood, though.“

Georgia’s attention seemed to be focused elsewhere. “I think we might have a problem…” she intoned.

Sadie turned to her. “What’s the matter?”

Georgia pointed across to where some of the villagers were dancing to “Bootylicious”.

“Oh, shitting hell,” Roy muttered.

Sally Jeffries looked like she was about to take off. Her plump bottom quivered around the dance floor as if someone had passed five-hundred volts of electricity directly into her anus. Her arms thrashed around like lethal pistons made of flesh, and she seemed either oblivious or unconcerned about who might get caught in the crossfire.

“Who let the dogs out!” she hollered. “Who let the dogs out! Techno, techno, techno, techno!”

“She’s doing it,” Sadie said in horror and amazement. “It’s happening.”

“Do you think we should talk her down before she goes to the Bad Place?” Roy asked.

“It’s too late,” Georgia insisted. “All we can do now is watch.”

“You fancy some of this, do ya?!” Sally shrieked to a stunned Morris man, wiggling her substantial arse at him. “You want some of this boo-tay?! My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!”

As people cautiously backed away, Sally twerked across the lawn like a hovercraft on legs, knocking over one of the torches that’d been set up around the grounds. It toppled over, the flame catching the edge of Bernard the Druid’s robe.

Bernard hopped backwards, unaware at first that he was beginning to smoulder. “Extraordinary woman.”

Millie ran up to the clueless druid. “Bernard! You’re on fire!”

“Hmm? What’s that, Millie?”

“You’re on fire!”

“Fire? On fire, you say?” Bernard’s eyes travelled down to his feet, then widened in alarm. “Augghhh! I’m on fire!”

“Oh, shit!” Sadie yelled as she ran over to help. “Someone put Bernard out!”

Roy and Georgia stood rooted to the spot as the flames travelled up the druid’s robe with alarming speed. One of the Morris dancers took aim, then hurled a large tankard full of ale at Bernard as he frantically tried to separate himself from the flaming vestment.

And Sally Jeffries, postmistress extraordinaire, was a terrible force of nature that could not be stopped. “I’m a firestarter! Twisted firestarter!”

Sally’s husband Jeff stepped in to try and calm her. “Steady, Sal. You’ll ‘ave someone’s eye out in a minute.”

“Who let the dogs out, Jeff? Eh? Who let the fuckin’ dogs out?”

“I dunno, luv. It might be an idea to stick ’em back in the kennel, though. You set poor Bernard alight. Not ideal, is it? Reckon it’s a good time to call it a night, yeah?”

Sally shuddered to a halt. Everyone stared open-mouthed. And then the night entered her eyes. “What the fuck you lot lookin’ at?!”

“Come on, Sal. Let’s not make a scene again, eh?”

“Why’s the newspapers late again this morning, Sally?! How come you ain’t got no Hobnobs in this week, Sally?! There’s broken fuckin’ eggs in this carton, Sally! You fuckers! I ain’t your bitch!”

“Sally Drodge! As I live and breathe!”

It was the new Lord of the Manor who spoke. Most of the other onlookers were either peering down at their feet in embarrassment, or simply staring open-mouthed, but Simon Derwold seemed thrilled with the postmistress’ outburst. Did he and Sally know each other, then? Georgia wasn’t sure this was the best time for reunions.

Sally squinted through a drink-fuelled haze. “It’s Jeffries now, if you must know. And may I enquire who the fuck you might be?” Her eyes widened. “Simon Derwold…”

“It’s nice to see a familiar face. How long’s it been, Sally?”

The postmistress stalked forward. “Not long enough. Oh, you were a nasty boy, Simon. Weren’t ya? Eh? You was the worst…”

That wide, wide grin again. “That’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?”

“I know what you done, Simon. I remembers. Nasty, nasty boy…”

Jeff put his arm around his wife’s waist. “Let’s get you home, Sal. Have a nice cuppa cocoa and an early night, shall we?”

Sally Jeffries allowed herself to be led away. As for Simon, he idly wandered off with his minders in tow.

Bernard stood nearby in nothing but a pair of Thomas the Tank Engine boxer shorts and a white vest, gazing sadly at the smouldering remains of his robe. It’d been stamped on, beaten repeatedly with several very stylish garden cushions, and doused with enough real ale to intoxicate a small village. Even the wildly optimistic would have had no choice but to deem it entirely unsalvageable.

“I like your underpants, Bernard,” Millie told him earnestly. “I have quite a few pairs of knickers with cartoons on.”

Bernard looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but nevertheless he raised his ox horn of cider gamely. “Well… here’s to unusual underpants, Millie, my friend!”

5

By the time Georgia and Sadie decided they’d had enough of the festivities, the light was beginning to fade from the sky, but the party was still in full swing, and would be for many hours to come.

Freya elected to stay behind with Elsa, who promised to have her home by ten. Georgia’s oldest seemed to get a kick out of being Lady Derwold’s new chum, so they left her to it. That was one of the great things about living in a small community in the country – everyone knew everyone, and trust was a given. And who safer than the Lord and Lady of the Manor?

Millie, on the other hand, was happy to accompany Sadie and her mum home. After her spontaneous performance with the Morris men, and the kind of excitement only a flaming druid can muster, she was all tuckered out and ready for bed.

The summer evening was warm and balmy as they traversed the narrow country lanes back to Beekeeper Cottage. It was that magical time of day when the sun sits heavy on the horizon, and the distant hum of farm machinery fades away to an almost zen-like stillness, only punctuated by the occasional sparrow preparing to nest down for the night, or a fox-call off in the distance.

Georgia and Sadie held Millie’s hands as she skipped between them. The big girls were a little tipsy, basking in that sweet spot of alcohol consumption somewhere between not enough and too much.

“I wonder what Astris is doing now,” Millie pondered.

“Who knows?” Sadie said. “Having a party of her own with the creatures of the forest, maybe.”

They’d seen nothing of their mysterious dryad for months now, the large acorn she’d left them being the only reminder that she’d not simply been a figment of their imagination all along. Sadie wondered if they might not have forgotten her altogether, if not for that parting gift. Perhaps that was its purpose – to remind them she was still out there somewhere, still protecting the village.

“I’m still not convinced she’s real,” Georgia said defiantly.

Millie gave her mum a disapproving look. “Astris is definitely real, Mummy. I saw her. Freya did too.”

“But is she actual flesh and blood or just a – a dream thing?”

“Both, I think,” Sadie ventured. She considered trying to explain that there was a spectral realm beyond the veil of our own world, but didn’t think Georgia was in a ‘spectral realm’ kind of mood. And besides – how could she explain something she was only beginning to understand herself? “My great aunt Muriel wrote in her journal that she spoke to Astris. Her description matches Millie and Freya’s perfectly.”

Georgia blew out a big breath. “I… I just can’t get my head round it.”

Sadie knew her girlfriend was firmly rooted in the secular world. It was Georgia’s anchor; her protective wall. And maybe a witch needs someone like that in her life – someone to keep her grounded. A yin to her yang.

“But you saw her, didn’t you?” Sadie asked. “That night at the tree?”

“I saw something,” Georgia admitted. “I saw too much that night, I think…”

“I can almost figure it out,” Millie said in a faraway voice. “How it all fits together. The dryads and the other special people. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces missing.”

Georgia pushed Millie’s hair back behind her ears, an almost nondescript gesture that seemed to encompass so many different things – the protection of motherhood, a reaffirming of bonds, an element of rebuke or restraint. “I’d much rather you concern yourself with regular little girl stuff, thank you.”

Sadie held her tongue. Millie’s arcane abilities remained a point of contention between her and Georgia. She believed Millie needed guidance, but her mother was in denial. Georgia allowed her girlfriend to train her daughters in the Wiccan disciplines, but Sadie didn’t think she really believed it was anything more than a bit of fun – Sadie and the girls playing at witches and magic, keeps them out of mischief.

The truth was, nearly all practitioners of Wiccan were healers and herbalists who knew how to tap into the Earth’s power, enhancing whatever innate skills they already possessed. But Millie was something else entirely. Sadie wasn’t exactly sure of the true nature of her power, but she felt a duty to protect her young charge nonetheless – from herself, if nothing else. Yes, Georgia was her mother, but Sadie was her teacher – both in witchcraft and more conventional learning – and that carried its own responsibility.

When they got back to the cottage, Bee greeted them as if she hadn’t seen them for months, her snout screwed up into a smile; tail whipping from side to side at a hundred miles an hour.

“Aww, Bumblebee!” Millie cooed. “Did we leave you on your own? Did we leave da poor puppy on her own?”

Sadie couldn’t imagine Billy Buckham being that pleased to see her. Billy liked playing hard to get.

“Jammies and wine time!” Georgia declared as she kicked off her shoes.

“Can I stay up with you and Sadie for a while, Mum?” Millie asked.

“I dunno, pixie, it’s getting late. You look like you’re ready for bed.”

Millie did puppy-dog eyes, then added an angelic smile for good measure. “Oh, pleeease! Just until Freya comes back, okay? I’m not even that tired anymore.” Her smile morphed into something decidedly less angelic. “I’ll let you both do stuff to me…”

Sadie hooked her hands into her hips. “Millie Newton, are you trying to bribe us?”

“Yep. Did it work?”

“Consider me intrigued,” her teacher said with just the right amount of pause. “I suppose your mum gets the final vote.”

Millie and Sadie turned to Georgia. Two pairs of puppy-dog-eyes were surely more than even the most responsible mother could resist. The beekeeper gave a resigned sigh. “My mother warned me about witches and their apprentices. Let’s go put our pyjamas on, then.”

Five minutes later the three of them were in the lounge in their jimjams, a bottle of wine adorning the coffee table. Millie clambered into Sadie’s lap while Georgia drew the drapes across the patio doors.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have them opened up?” Sadie suggested. “Let some cool air in?”

“And have Freya come in through the back with Mrs. Derwold in tow? Who knows what unspeakable things the lady of the manor might witness.”

Millie giggled at that. “Lady Derwold would probably do this,” she said, making a face that bore an uncanny resemblance to Edvard Munch’s The Scream. “Aieeee! What is happening here?! Those bad ladies are doing naughty things with the very pretty and awesome little girl. Run away! Run away!”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be awful!” Sadie chuckled, peppering the eight-year-old’s neck with kisses.

Georgia sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. She poured out two glasses of wine, slid one across the table towards Sadie, then took a mouthful of her own.

“Not joining us on the sofa?” Sadie asked.

“I might in a bit,” Georgia crooned. “But first, I’d like to watch you take my daughter’s pyjamas off.”

“Would you now?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Bee trotted over to offer her head for strokes. Georgia ran a hand through the dog’s soft fur, her other poised between her own legs. “Unbutton her top for me.”

Millie’s pyjama top had four big silver buttons. Sadie popped each one through its hook. “What now?”

Georgia continued stroking Bee. A finger teased the front of her pyjama bottoms. “What do you think? Take it off.”

Millie leaned forward to let Sadie slip the garment from her shoulders. Her chest was pale and boyish, her nipples so nondescript they were barely there. Sadie found herself wishing her young charge could stay like that forever, well aware of how selfish the thought was.

Georgia pushed her pyjama bottoms down her legs and kicked them away. She slung one leg across the arm of the chair, exposing herself to all that cared to look. Bee tried to sniff her crotch, and Georgia pushed her gently but firmly away. She turned her attention back to her daughter and girlfriend. “Lick two fingers, then tease my little girl’s nipples with them.”

Millie cooed softly as wet fingers came into contact with her skin. She turned to her teacher and Sadie kissed her on the mouth, tongue gliding over the child’s soft lips. Her nipples were coaxed to a rubbery stiffness as Sadie pinched them between forefingers and thumbs.

Georgia plunged two fingers into her cunt. “Lift your bum up, Millie. Sadie’s going to take your pyjama bottoms off.”

The momentary absence of Millie’s weight drew Sadie’s attention to her own aching need. She pushed it aside for the moment, hooking her thumbs into the elastic of Millie’s pyjama bottoms and pushing them down. Like Georgia and Sadie, Millie wore nothing underneath.

“I’ll take mine off, too,” Sadie said, managing to shimmy out of her pyjamas with Millie still in her lap.

Georgia gave further instructions. “Now sit back against Sadie, Millie. Then bring your feet up onto her legs. Yeah, just like that. Sadie, play with her pussy. And you better make a good show of it because I’m just about to get off.”

Sadie kissed the nape of Millie’s neck, breathing in the child’s sweet scent. “Let’s see how hard we can make Mummy come,” she whispered in her ear.

“Okay,” Millie giggled, then drew the lips of her pussy open. “Look, Mummy. Now you can see Sadie stick her finger in me. I love it when she does that.”

Sadie licked a finger, then brought it to the entrance of Millie’s pussy. She teased the moist opening, tracing circles around the circumference of the warm hole. “Shall I put my finger inside now?” the witch cooed. “Is that what you want to see?”

“Yes, finger my little girl,” Georgia hissed.

Sadie slipped a lubricated finger deep into Millie’s tight, gooey little cunt, drawing a surprised gasp from the eight-year-old.

“Ooh, yeah,” Georgia gushed approvingly, strumming her clit with an ever-increasing urgency. “Fuck that naughty little pixie, Sadie Laine.”

There was nothing to do but oblige. A mother’s will must be obeyed, after all.

Sadie plunged her finger in and out of Millie’s tight hole as the eight-year-old held herself open lewdly. The liquid sounds it produced thrilled Georgia, fanning the flames of her arousal all the more.

Millie slid forward a little and hoisted her knees up to her flat chest. “Put a finger up my bum too, Sadie!”

“Y-you heard my daughter,” Georgia panted. “Give her what she wants.”

Reaching beneath Millie’s bottom with her free hand, Sadie slipped a finger into the little girl’s anus.

Millie gasped, then gave a shrill giggle as her teacher violated both holes. “Look, Mummy!” she squealed. “Isn’t that just the rudest thing you ever saw?”

Sadie worked on Millie a while longer, then settled into a new rhythm of fingering the child with one hand whilst strumming her little clit with the other.

Millie suddenly arched her back and went slack-jawed. “Uh. Uh. Ughh!”

Sadie had to wrap an arm around her young student to stop her tumbling to the floor. “That’s it, let it out, cutie.”

Georgia let her own climax consume her, a hand trapped between her legs as she writhed in the chair.

Sadie began flicking her own clit, and Georgia realised her lover was the only one who hadn’t come yet. “You don’t need to do that, babe,” she murmured, and when she crossed the lounge on weak legs, Bee wasted no time in claiming the vacated chair. “Millie, would you like to help me lick Sadie out before you go to bed?”

“Yah, okay,” a flushed Millie piped, slipping from Sadie’s lap and folding to her knees on the floor.

Georgia took a place beside her little girl, fingers tracing the curve of Millie’s bare bottom. She pushed Sadie’s thighs apart, then pulled back her clitoral hood.

“You smell so nice, Sadie,” Millie told her teacher.

“Flick your tongue over her clit, sweetie,” Georgia instructed. “Ooh, yeah, that looks so sexy. Move your head round a bit so I can get my tongue in there too. That’s it, good girl. Let’s make Sadie feel good.“

Sadie peered down at mother and daughter working their magic on her. Sex with Georgia was always good, but involving Freya and Millie never failed to take it to another level. It was the culmination of all those years sneaking peeks up little girls’ skirts in class, stockinged thighs pressed tightly together beneath her desk as she imagined all the things she longed to do to them. Oh, the days she had gone back to her little round cottage when class had finished, her lacy panties soaked through. She would masturbate furiously, but it had never really been enough to satisfy her hunger. Then Georgia and the girls had come into her life.

Sadie’s orgasm oozed out of her like warm honey. “Give me a nice kiss, Millie,” she heard Georgia say somewhere far away. “Mummy wants to taste Sadie on your lips.”

Sadie watched them exchange tongues through a post-orgasmic haze.

Then the doorbell rang. Alarmed, the three of them shot to their feet.

“Quick, jammies back on!” Georgia crowed, then hollered, “Just a minute, we’re coming!”

“Don’t let them in yet!” Sadie hissed, scrabbling to pull her pyjama bottoms on. She tripped on the corner of the coffee table and went arse over tit. “Ow, bollocks!”

Millie flapped her hands up and down, her pyjama top on backwards. “It smells of sex in here!“

6

The beekeeper and her teacher girlfriend answered the door in their pyjamas – each other’s pyjamas, by the look of it, seemingly having swapped the bottom halves. Their faces were flushed, and their hair was in disarray. They slung their arms around one another’s waists, as if trying to project an air of normality. Elsa had obviously caught them in the middle of having sex, probably in the lounge while the youngest Newton daughter slept upstairs.

Elsa had met Georgia briefly at the party when Freya had dragged her over to ask if she could stay a little while longer, but she had yet to make the acquaintance of Sadie Laine, the village teacher. The young woman was certainly attractive, but Elsa couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that there was more to this teacher than met the eye.

“One daughter returned safe and sound, as promised,” Elsa said, a hand upon Freya’s shoulder.

“Why did you lock the door?” Freya asked brusquely.

Georgia looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected to be asked such a question. “Uh…” She turned to her lover. “Why did we lock the door?”

Sadie looked equally perplexed. “Because… I don’t know? It’s your house, isn’t it, darling?”

“Did you forget your key?” Georgia asked Freya.

The girl folded her arms. “I didn’t take my key, because we never lock the door.”

An awkward silence ensued.

Elsa offered her hand to Sadie. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Elsa.”

The schoolteacher reached out a dainty hand. Elsa allowed the smallest flow of energy to pass between them. Just enough to take measure of the woman. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

“Sadie. Sadie Laine. I teach at the local school. It’s lovely to meet you, Elsa.”

“I don’t have many friends here yet,” Elsa said. “It’d be wonderful if I could count you both among them. And Freya, of course. By the way, is Mrs. Jeffries usually that terrifying?”

Georgia put a hand to her mouth. “God, I’m so sorry about Sally!”

“She’s really lovely in the shop,” Sadie explained. “It’s just… well, it’s best not to make eye contact with her when she’s had a few drinks.”

“And whatever you do,” Georgia added, “don’t mention anything to her about it in the post office. It’s easier to pretend it never happened.”

“I see. Well, we all have our crosses to bear, I suppose,” Elsa said. She could see a little head poking out between the two women. “And you must be Millie.”

A hand shot out. “I am, actually. You must be the lady in the big house. I like your hair. Lovely to meet you.”

Elsa took the child’s hand. Energy thrummed through her, raw and untamed, so hungry it seemed as if it wanted to fill every part of her; consume her from the inside out. She put her barriers up quickly, and it was all she could do not to cry out in alarm. The little girl peered up at her curiously. Her pyjama top appeared to be on back to front.

“Would you like to come in for a glass of wine, Elsa?” Georgia asked.

“I won’t, but thank you. It’s late and I should be getting back before Simon burns the manor down.”

“All right. Thanks for bringing Freya back.”

Elsa walked back to her car and climbed in. When she peered into the rearview mirror, the beekeeper’s cosy little family had closed the door and retreated back into their cottage. One could only imagine what went on behind those walls. She brought a hand up to her face and breathed in the faint aroma of cunt. Are Georgia and Sadie having sex with little Millie? Surely not.

A shape separated itself from the shadows in the back of the car and settled on the headrest of her seat.

“My word, Minerva,” Elsa said as she pulled away from the Newtons’ driveway. “We seem to have some very interesting neighbours.”

On to Chapter Four!

by kinky_sis, assisted by kinkychic

I was somewhat nervous about seeing Ric home. After all, I’d just had sex with her! What if her parents could smell it on us? I never was a very good liar, and if they confronted me, I’d have a hell of a time trying to talk my way out of it.

As it turned out, Ric’s parents weren’t as bad as she made them out to be. The house was a bit disorganised, but it was clean, and smelled nice. Her father barely took any notice of me – he was engrossed in some rugby match on the TV – but her mother was different. Ric had said they didn’t care about what she got up to, but her mum studied me closely, asking what I did for a living. When she suddenly shot me a strange look and left the room, Ric shrugged in answer to my questioning look.

Her mother came back triumphantly waving a magazine. She tapped a half-page picture of burning oil wells in Iraq. There, in tiny print, was my name under the picture. I didn’t even know it had been published.

She asked me how old I was. “Twenty-six,” I told her, and that made her frown for a moment. Then her face softened somewhat. “Well, if it’s what Erica wants.”

And that was that. We agreed that I would be here at nine in the morning to pick Ric up.

My thoughts were in such a whirl, I found it hard to concentrate on my driving. I arrived home and got the coffee going. At some point, I’d have to tidy up after the way Sylvia had left things. Then I saw the answering machine was flashing. I played back the message.

“Hi, Jay, if you’re home. I’m not sure how to say this… other than to just say it. I won’t be back. I’m sorry to do it like this. I’ll send for my stuff as soon as I can. I hope we can still be friends.”

My first reaction was one of anger. Had our relationship really been that shallow? Deep down, I knew Sylvia had never fully committed herself. I should have expected this day would come; just not for it to happen like this.

My temper eased as I thought it through. In truth, I probably hadn’t been any more committed than Sylvia. I’d been upset with her after she’d gone off with Brenda, and most likely would have asked her to leave anyway.

My heart suddenly leapt. Sylvia had unknowingly done me a favour. I was going to ring Ric later, wanting to say goodnight to her before she went to bed. Now, I had a better reason. With Sylvia gone, I briefly wondered whether Ric’s parents would object to her staying with me for a while. I told myself it was too soon for things like that. Better to let events unfold.

Ric’s mum answered the phone. I made some small talk with her, then asked if Ric was there. She wasn’t quite done with me, however.

“You know your pictures are everywhere. I Googled you, you’re quite famous, and I think you’re very brave, what with some of these places you go to.” She paused, but I knew there was more. “Er… I need to ask you something, if I may. Why Erica? She’s only a child, what can someone like you see in her? I don’t understand.”

I’d been asking myself that very same question. Was it because Ric was so young and innocent after everything I had to deal with? Or, was it a side of me that I hadn’t known about until now? I didn’t know, and to be honest I didn’t much care. I wanted her in my life.

“Well, to be fair, she’s more than just a child,” I said. “She’s clever and funny, and more importantly, she knows what she wants. It was her that asked me if she could be my girlfriend, I didn’t go chasing her. Besides all that, I think she’s wonderful, and I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt her, that I promise.”

I heard Ric’s voice in the background. There was a clatter – that noise telephones make when they’re being passed about – then she was there. “I hoped you’d call. Sorry about Mum. What did you say to her?”

“Oh, I just told her you were a bad girl that needed a very firm hand.”

“Jay! I don’t believe you!” Ric cried. “You couldn’t have said that… could you?”

“Oh, babe, of course not, I told her you were wonderful. I was going to call just to say goodnight, but then I got some news, and I wanted to share it with you. Sylvia’s not coming back. She’s gone. For good.”

I heard a little squeal. “Oh, my God! That’s my biggest worry gone. I wasn’t sure what would happen when she came back, to be honest. I thought you might not want me any more.”

“Ric, there was never any chance of that. I said you were my girlfriend now, and I meant it, every word. You had nothing to worry about.” I heard a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Hey, you’re not crying, are you? I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Jay, I’m so happy. It’s just relief. It got the better of me for a second, that’s all.”

“I’m glad you’re happy. And so am I, never happier. Now I’ve got some tidying up to do, dumping all of Sylvie’s stuff, then making the place decent for my special visitor tomorrow. Sweet dreams, babe. I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Jay?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Thank you for changing my life.”

***

I’d hoped that it would just be a brief stop to pick Ric up, but her mum had other ideas. She wanted to chat, get to know me, she said. It seemed to drag on forever, but finally we made our escape.

I had my own car back now. Ric stopped dead in her tracks when she saw it. “Oh wow, a Lotus! You never told me you had a Lotus. And not just any Lotus either, an Evora.”

I was surprised. It’s not the sort of thing I expected a young girl to know. “You like it, then?”

“There are three cars I want when I’m rich: An Ultimate Aero, a McLaren F1, and a Lotus Evora. And you’ve got one of them!”

“Well, we have got expensive tastes, haven’t we? Come on, jump in.”

Ric spent most of the short journey telling me things about my own car even I didn’t know. She was still nattering away when we reached my flat.

I opened the door and ushered her in, knowing she’d be impressed. I’ve earned a lot of money from my job, and had no qualms about living comfortably. It wasn’t too flashy – I wasn’t into anything garish – but everything had to be top quality.

Ric was speechless. She didn’t know where to look first. I just stood and watched her wander around. She touched everything, sometimes with just a finger, sometimes with a caress. Then she stopped and stared at the new picture I had put up that morning.

It was a portrayal of pure sexual abandon. Just a glimpse of those beautiful eyes through a tangle of hair, lips peeking through, slightly parted in invitation. Her bare back was facing the camera, a shoulder turned slightly towards me. Her elbow was resting on a raised knee, barely revealing the swell of a breast. Her head was tilted back a little, peering across her shoulder. It was a stunning portrait.

Eventually, Ric turned to me. “It’s so beautiful. I can’t believe that’s me.” She paused for a moment, looking around again. “Now I wonder more than ever. Why me? You must be rich, you could have anyone you wanted.”

I put my arms around her. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” I lifted her chin. “You haven’t kissed me today. I’ve been waiting.”

It may have been more than ten minutes before we came up for air.

“I know it’s still early, but shall we have some wine to celebrate your birthday?” I said. “I have a little surprise for you.”

“But you can’t have got me a present already. You haven’t had time.”

I laughed. “You’ll see.”

I opened a decent bottle of Prosecco and poured two glasses. We clinked them together. “Happy birthday, Ric.”

I handed her a small box. She sat there staring at it, turning it this way and that. “Am I allowed to guess?” she asked, and I nodded. “A ring? Or maybe some earrings. But I think it’s a ring.”

She unwrapped the package, then flipped the lid. Her hand went to her mouth, and she peered up at me. I could see tears welling in her eyes. “It’s so beautiful.”

I took the ring out, worried it might not fit, but it slipped on Ric’s middle finger as if it had been made for her.

She took hold of my hands. “A friendship ring… it’s the most beautiful present I could have wished for. Thank you so very much, Jay.”

I glanced at the clock. “What do you want to do? Go out for some lunch? Or is it still too early?”

“Jay, there’s only one thing I want. Will you take me to bed, please?” She held me back before I could get to my feet. “I’ve got another confession to make first, though. I got a bit nervous last night. See, I don’t know much about sex, and I was scared you’d find me stupid in bed, so I searched some lesbian porn sites. I’ve never been on a porn site before. I thought I might be shocked, but what I found was so beautiful. I saw the lovely things they did, and it made me want to be with you so much. I… I went to bed and touched myself while I thought about you. Was that bad?”

“Oh, Ric, there’s nothing wrong with that, but even if it was, I wouldn’t have cared. Whatever you don’t know about sex, I’ll teach you. Besides, I masturbated last night, as well. I was processing your pictures, and, well, I got pretty worked up. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I didn’t expect her to be shy, not after the way she posed for my camera the day before, but today seemed different. She was clearly nervous.

Pulling her towards me, I told her, “Relax, my love.”

I kissed her doubts away, and her ardour quickly mounted. She lifted both arms when I raised her top, then let her skirt fall to the floor. Taking her hands, I guided them to my blouse. Her fingers worked their way down the buttons until she was able to push it off my shoulders. She unclipped my bra, and it joined the rest of the pile on the floor.

Kneeling in front of Ric, I hooked my fingers into her knickers. A thought popped into my head: I needed to buy her some nice sexy underwear. Not that I had anything against her plain white knickers, but I wanted her to feel grown up.

I slid Ric’s knickers down slowly, savouring the moment. I stopped when her pubis came into view and peered up at her. She was looking apprehensive again, so I leaned in and kissed the sparse jumble of hairs, pressing my lips to her mound.

I tugged her knickers lower, my kisses following until my mouth was covering her pussy. I let Ric’s knickers drop to the floor, then reached round to cup the cheeks of her arse, drawing her tightly to me.

Ric’s expression had changed. Now she looked excited, a knuckle caught between her teeth, the other hand creeping up her tummy. Extending my tongue, I slipped it into her. Her legs were trembling even as she cupped her breast, and she gave a breathless sigh, moving her feet apart. The sight of this young girl clutching her boobs seemed so wonderfully erotic to me.

I licked slow and deep, savouring the divine flavour, then took her clit between my lips, sucking gently. Ric’s response was clear when she thrust her hips at me, making soft mewing sounds. Her trembling increased, her moans growing louder. I felt a hand grip my shoulder.

Then she was bending at the hips, leaning forward. I kept my tongue moving, forcing her to a climax. She began to jerk, her nails digging into me. I welcomed the pain, knowing it was derived from my lover’s pleasure.

Ric shook almost violently as she came, a much more powerful orgasm than the one she’d had the day before. I knew she was going to fall, but I was ready, gathering her in as she collapsed onto me. Her arms were twined around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder. I rocked her gently as her breathing slowed.

“Can we go to bed now?” she mumbled. “I want to be in bed with you.”

Ric gave me a lovely view of her arse as she climbed into bed. As soon as I’d gotten rid of my knickers, I joined her, wondering whether it would be too soon to introduce her to a bit of arse play. I drew my beautiful girl to me, her lithe body fitting snugly into mine.

Her face went straight to my breasts. “I love your boobs,” she mumbled between mouthfuls of nipple. I was more than happy to let her play, simply closing my eyes and basking in the sensations.

“Will you lie still for a while?” she asked a moment later. “I want to explore your body.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise. I might need to get my hands on that sexy little arse of yours.”

There was that little giggle I loved so much. She put her lips to me again, working her way down my body until she reached my tummy. She took an age doing it, with little tickles here and there that were driving me mad with anticipation. She spent so long in that one area, I wondered whether she would go any lower.

She did. Her lips were still on my tummy, but straying closer to my mons. Her fingers trailed up and down my thigh, sometimes dipping between. Each time Ric moved, I thought she would finally get to my pussy, but although she did draw close several times, she never quite reached it.

I was just about to beg the girl to stop teasing when her lips suddenly brushed my sex, feather light kisses that soon became as frustrating as nothing at all. She clumsily pushed my legs apart, and I prayed relief was coming at last. I spread myself wide, inviting my young lover in.

Ric traced the cleft of my pussy, then slid her fingers inside and wriggled them about; feeling me, exploring. She took her time with it, and I let her, though I was getting quite desperate to come.

Then Ric gave me the touch I needed. I felt her fingers exposing my clit, and she gave it a little tug. She glanced up at me with a grin. “So beautiful, Jay.”

“Babe, it’s what you’re doing to me that’s beautiful. You’re driving me mad.”

Her smile turned impish, and she leaned into me to kiss my clit, never taking her eyes from mine. I watched as her lips pursed, and she sucked my clit into her mouth, giving her head a little wiggle from side to side.

I couldn’t keep myself still any longer. I lifted my hips, encouraging her, needing release. “Ric, fuck me. Make me come.”

She’d already done a good job exploring me, and soon I was surging towards my climax. My heart filled as it struck me that I’d found someone special to fill the void that Sylvia had never been able to. This girl was something else… and now she was mine.

As my pleasure mounted, I stopped thinking and just let go. I was vaguely aware that I was calling Ric’s name, and then it came like an explosion, an orgasm so utterly powerful I couldn’t breathe, blasting through me as I thrashed from side to side. I felt it slowly fade, then flopped back, my body limp. Ric touched me somewhere inside, and it was enough to trigger another orgasm.

I heard myself cry out, then I was shaking uncontrollably. I needed her to stop, but I didn’t want her to stop. Oh, God, it was wonderful.

I opened my eyes to find Ric staring at me, wearing a big grin. “Was that all right, then?”

Tears pricked at my eyes. “If that was you learning how to make love, God help me when you know what you’re doing!”

She came into my open arms, and we rolled together, caught up in a long kiss. I’d never felt such a closeness with anyone before. We lay in each other’s embrace, happily snuggled together.

I was frightened of what I wanted to say, but I felt it was needed. “Ric, I love you so deeply already. But you’re young, and this is all so new to you. I don’t want to risk losing you, not when we’ve just found each other. If I do or say anything that’s too much for you, you have to tell me. Please don’t be scared to speak your mind. Fair enough?”

She drew back to look at me, a very serious look on her face. I could almost hear her brain ticking. “I know I’m young, and haven’t had that many sexy feelings, and I definitely never knew I felt this way about girls… or ladies.” She gave a nervous giggle. “But when I saw you taking pictures at the river, and knew it was mostly me you were looking at… well, I got excited in a way I didn’t understand. But I liked it, and it’s why I waited for you. I never felt so turned on. I knew then I couldn’t let you get away. I wanted you.” She paused, lifting her fingers to my lips. “And it was super brilliant. God, I’m so very, very happy. I only want you to love me.”

Now, I couldn’t stop the tears coming, but it didn’t matter anymore. I pulled her to me and held her close.

***

I woke to find Ric gone. Panic gripped me for a second, but then I realised that she wouldn’t have wandered very far.

Barefooted, I padded into the living room to find her sitting at my computer, flicking through the pictures of her I’d taken the day before. I stood in the doorway and quietly watched her. She scrolled through the pictures quickly, pausing every so often to study a select few.

When she got to the hotter images, she slowed down. She came to one particular photo – the one where she was leaning over the top bar of the stile and looking back between her legs, her arsehole and pussy on clear display. She clicked the zoom button, drawing in on her bare bum.

I watched as she slipped a hand between her legs, then I saw her elbow moving back and forth.

She scrolled forward, still rubbing herself, then came to the picture where she’d prised her pussy lips open. She sat still for a moment, then zoomed in again. My God, you could see right inside her.

I came up behind Ric, my mouth close to her ear. “Do you like watching yourself? Does it make you hot?” I reached round and found her hand, still touching her pussy. I pressed my fingers against hers, moving them up and down. “Keep going. I want to see you come.”

I pulled another chair over and sat down next to her, then put a hand to my pussy, watching Ric all the time. She hadn’t stopped rubbing; she was too far gone to stop. But she glanced at me, her eyes going to my hand, a huge grin on her face.

My fingers curled around my clit and stroked the stiff nubbin as we watched each other. I’d seen girls masturbate before, but this girl was only sixteen. She was a picture of innocence until you noticed what she was doing, the intense hunger in her eyes as they fixed on my pussy and my busy fingers.

Ric was building up to a climax, and I rubbed myself faster in response, wanting to come with her. I found that it aroused my senses more to study her face, with just an occasional glance at her budding breasts or delicate sex.

Then she was making that face, the glazed look in her eyes telling me she was completely absorbed in an approaching climax. Forgetting about my own needs. I snatched up my camera and got to my feet, taking shot after shot from different angles, concentrating on close-ups of her ever-changing expressions. She didn’t seem aware of what I was doing, working to capture the sheer ecstasy she felt – a young girl in the throes of extreme sexual arousal, striving for orgasm.

Ric’s eyes closed; her body went taut. For several seconds she didn’t move, then she grabbed the sides of the chair as her body began to judder uncontrollably. She was coming. Her eyes snapped wide open and she was staring at me as a massive orgasm rippled through her. Ric wasn’t even touching herself as she came. I’d never seen that happen before.

Camera forgotten, I stood transfixed on the spot as I witnessed my young lover’s glorious climax.

Her eyes closed again as the tension drained from her body. I rushed to wrap her in my arms; felt her tremble as I whispered in her ear, “My beautiful baby, you were magnificent.” I plied soft kisses all over her face.

Her arms went around my waist and she clung to me. Eventually she looked up. “I never… it was… what happened?”

“Oh, baby, you just had the most amazing orgasm, and without being touched. It was beautiful.”

Ric looked over at the camera. “Were you taking pictures? Can we look? I want to see what I look like when… well, you know.”

I grabbed the laptop. “Let’s upload them first. Then you can see them on the screen.”

“I like posing for you,” Ric said while we waited for the pics to upload. “I want to do it some more. Sexy, naughty, any way you like.”

Now that I wasn’t concentrating on taking pictures, I was able to see the true beauty of what I’d captured. The range of Ric’s expressions conveyed pure sex. I could almost feel what she had just experienced.

Ric grinned at me. “I don’t think you got to finish, though, Jay. Maybe I can help with that…”

We took a shower together and made love once more. Then it was time for me to take Ric home.

On to Part Three!