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  Her back was still to him, for which he was grateful. It slowed him down, forced him to plan and think about where he’d place each kiss and how he’d suckle each drop to the surface. If she’d been facing him, he’d have bitten her already, the easy access too much to overcome. He didn’t believe he’d hurt her, but he was rusty at the mechanics of The Drink and had never done it without direct sex involved. That was more of a floor show than he wanted to give if he could help it.

  He just wasn’t sure he could help it.

  “Joel, a little help here,” he thought frantically as his hand slipped inside of the halter dress to cup Gaelle’s breast. It would take just a tiny movement to have the dress on the floor and he wanted her open to him more than anything.

  And so it was. Just as thinking about her blood had brought the sensation and taste of drinking, Evan was now taken in by the feeling of her naked in his arms, pressed against his own nude body. He knew it wasn’t true. At least, he hoped it wasn’t. But he decided if they really were stitch-less in the elevator for all of security to see, there was no reason not to make the most of it.

  He kissed the slope of her neck and down along her shoulder, his teeth capturing the dark skin in delicate, sensual bites that ended as soon as they began. His hands learned the curves of her body in a way their friendship had never given opportunity, but imagination had given ample exploration. His body fed on the sounds coming from her as much as the tiny beads of blood he nursed through skin.

  She gripped the handrails and arched her pelvis to his touch as he reached for her slick sex. His fingers slipped between her folds and played the hard bud of flesh at the top expertly, teasing the mini-erection out of its clitoral hood to meet more of his gentle attentions.

  Phantom lips brushed over his fingers and then heartbeats later became solid, warm, seeking. Evan’s hand was nuzzled aside as the new mouth claimed its prize.

  “Joel,” Gaelle moaned and moved against him.

  Evan caressed the face he’d missed over the last year, he brushed the thick sable curls he’d wanted to see spilled on his pillow, and he listened to the sighing moans caught in Joel’s throat as his friend feasted upon Gaelle. For a moment the ache of the last year was so acute that Evan was nearly thrown out of the psychic weave of fantasy. The ache quickly melted under the press of Joel’s naked body against his back. It was impossible, as Evan still had his fingers entwined in Joel’s curls where his head was buried between Gaelle’s thighs.

  “There are benefits to life on this side of death,” Joel whispered.

  There was no time for response as the twin images maneuvered the bodies between them. Evan groaned as he was stroked along the length of his shaft in a sweet, torturous grip. The tight, straining head was brought to Gaelle’s flooded opening and a tilt of his hips, and steady pressure from Joel at his back, sent Evan sinking into her.

  Evan’s mouth clamped to her neck and he held them both still, adapting to the tight wetness spasming around his length. His body tried to relax and tense at once as Joel pressed into him, sinking slowly into his body with the same ease Evan had joined himself to Gaelle. There was no pain, no discomfort, no sense of intrusion, merely the blessed, erotic fullness of being penetrated. Apparently there were indeed benefits to the other side of death when it came to the perfect seduction.

  Joel’s hands held Evan in place by the hips as his twin image did the same to Gaelle. The two of them stood locked between the languid push of Joel’s pelvis and the lazy explorations of his tongue as his manifested will did double duty. The dedicated administrations caused Evan to move in shallow thrusts inside Gaelle’s bent and braced body, moving him over the hardening, quarter-sized nerve bundle again and again in time to Joel’s tongue on her clit. She spasmed around his length in a continuous wave, the contractions growing stronger as the mini-quakes of pleasure stacked up toward an earth-shaking release.

  Evan clenched his jaw as he tried to hold back against the pleasure onslaught. Then all at once Gaelle became a velvet fist around him, milking conscious thought away, and he let go. His jaw sprung open, his mouth latched onto her throat and his teeth slipped free, bringing a ejaculatory rush of blood that matched the shuddering flush throughout his body as he spilled into her.

  Joel’s mirror images increased their efforts, tearing another orgasm from Gaelle before his own manifested form cried out. The release swept through the three of them in a continuous wave and they came to the floor of the elevator in a tangle of bodies.

  Three bodies.

  Three, flesh and blood, fully clothed bodies.

  It took Evan a moment to process it all and then to cap the overwhelming encounter with the fact that Joel was truly there sans mental projection. He reached out with trembling fingers and touched the all-to-solid arm. An arm clad in the exact dove gray silk shirt Evan himself wore. In fact, Joel’s attire was identical to Evan’s in every way save the small skull and crossbones pin in place of the throat closer on the rounded collar. Assured the arm was real, Evan gave it a solid punch.

  “We. Have. A. Room.”

  Joel’s only response was a laugh as he rose with the grace of the bodily-challenged and pulled his friends with him. Immediately engulfed in their embrace he managed to kiss them both before replying.

  “I thought I’d cross off two things at once. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for here. Besides, it’s not like they saw what actually happened. Another one of those perks on this side of things.”

  The elevator chimed and they began to ascend again.

  Joel looked up at the changing numbers. “Hmm, must be harder to hold the mechanism while holding form,” he whispered. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.”

  The doors glided apart as Evan and Gaelle slipped back into their respective jackets and smoothed themselves back to presentable parameters. There was so much that Evan wanted to say, but he’d engaged in all the public intimacy he could take for the night, meta or otherwise. Still, as they followed Joel down the short hall to the double doors of their suite, Evan couldn’t help but ask the thought bouncing around his mind.

  “What happens now?”

  Joel grinned over his shoulder and turned to face them, walking backwards towards the doors. “A great many things happen now. This,” he said, placing his hands on his chest, “Is not just a vague shape formed out of memory. I needed your energy the way a ghost would to manifest, but I’m truly here now that I’ve crossed the veil-line. My Daemon half is paying off in spades finally. I can manifest as one of them instead of your average ghost.

  “You know what this means, right?”

  Evan looked to Gaelle as her entire being lit up.

  “The possibilities are endless.” She smiled.

  Joel took their hands and pulled them along with him. “They are indeed, and I know just where to start.” He laughed. “I made a list and everything.”

  ~*~

  Curtis Ladd sat back from the security console and reset the elevator’s surveillance feed. He pulled out the memory card containing the incident and turned it between his fingers, its contents the only record of the unauthorized manifestation. There was no threat of losing his job over the reset. No one cared about monitoring the general Psi Sensors enough to double check behind him. They couldn’t even spare a second set of eyes for the night and Curtis spent his entire shift in the security cubical alone.

  Most of the expensive Psi equipment, and eyes to watch it all, were tucked in the casino security cage, set up to catch cheaters trying to read the dealers’ cards or nudge the roulette wheel in their favor. The hotel owner simply didn’t feel threatened by Psi ability enough to make it a priority beyond protecting his money. Of course Mr. Fritz might change his mind on Psi in general if he knew of a couple that could feed a manifestation and pull it right past the hotel’s shields to create a fully fleshed form, complete with clothing.

  The hotel had Psi boosters to aid their ghostly employees and guests alike but there were
alarms for unauthorized use. Not a single one of which went off during the entire elevator episode. That was a rare talent that could be deeply useful, and usefulness would definitely pique Fritz’ interest. Curtis couldn’t let that happen.

  He knew Fritz through reputation only. All of it bad. So bad that Curtis had no intention of letting the pair—the trio now—come anywhere near the wizard’s radar. It was selfish, in part. Curtis had his own uses for what he’d seen on the camera feed. But at least his uses were on the up and up. Mostly.

  He sat back and closed his eyes, fondling the memory card between his fingers. The images began to replay through his mind in perfect detail. Not that they could do any less as his Cyber-Psi ability uploaded the recording directly to his optic nerves. He was aroused all over again, clearly seeing the third participant and the dual efforts of the phantom lover.

  Curtis could almost feel what they were feeling, and then suddenly he got a load of feelings all his own. The sensation of a warm mouth forming around his straining erection popped his eyes open. He looked down to see the head of dark red curls becoming clearer, tangible, along with the rest of the curvaceous body. It took him a breath to collect himself before he stopped her wonderful intentions.

  “I appreciate the thought, love, but I’ve got something to tell you. I think I found another component.” He pulled her up and into his lap, ignoring the lack of proper weight. If he had his way, soon enough she’d be as solid as she once was. “It won’t be long now. I think by next year this time, we’ll be ready. Next year and it all changes.”

  He held up the memory card for her to see.

  “But for now, I have some new friends I want you to meet.”

  (Return to Table of Contents)

  Things Are Popping Up In Dunvegas, Part 2

  By S.J. Willing

  (Return to Part 1)

  Archibald Horatio Fritz recognized he wasn't particularly a man of patience. Maybe living for a mere seven-and-a-half thousand years had done that to him. But dammit, couldn’t that clown Igor get this single task done in time? All he had to do was deliver Roger Ing as soon as the tradesman entered Dunvegas, before another woman could soil the magic Fritz had planted on the mortal.

  What on Earth could be keeping them?

  This was going to be one of those weeks, he could tell. It started when he'd arrived at his office this morning and noticed the Marfeld Granite had been stolen, again, from his fireplace. The pitch black hole in the hearth's stone surrounding stood out as a sullen marker to its absence.

  Fritz wasn't too worried about it. The problem with owning a sentient magical stone was that, when it had the mind to, it vanished at regular intervals by persuading someone to steal it. It invariably found its way back eventually, probably a year or two down the road, having caused much havoc while it traveled. After the first time, when he'd spent six months chasing the damn thing on horseback across medieval Europe, he just let it do its own thing. It was a lot simpler.

  Impatiently he glanced up at the door.

  Where the Hell are they?

  Irritated, Fritz shuffled the papers on his desk, then settled back to reading the report he'd ordered on Roger. The fool was perfect for the job, unfortunately. Fritz just hoped Roger was man enough to do it.

  Finally, there was a knock on the door. Quickly checking the local aura, Fritz recognized Igor's cold blue chill and the fuzzy puce of Roger, along with the ghostly aura of Roger’s parents.

  Good! Now to get down to details.

  ***

  The concierge carefully stepped back to usher me, first, into the room of gloom and doom. My initial observation, other than the tall, silver haired man who was sitting behind a huge redwood desk staring angrily at me, were the two aquariums embedded into the wall behind him. Or, to be more precise, the dozen or so toads that croaked miserably inside the aquariums, and the brass plaque engraved with a dozen names.

  “Sit down, Mr. Ing. We need to talk.”

  Fritz, I assumed, pointed to a high-backed leather lounge chair in front of the desk.

  “You're late,” he snapped at the concierge. To give him his due the concierge paled only a little at the reprimand.

  “Well, talk about rude,” Mom huffed.

  “My apologies, sir, but something happened—” the concierge began.

  I blushed as the sour faced employee readied himself to expose the most embarrassing moment of my life.

  “I haven't got time to listen to your flimsy apologies,” Fritz cut the man short.

  “Now there's a man who knows how to lead.” Dad gave a knowing nod. I groaned inwardly. Why did they have to follow me here?

  “Yes, sir.” The concierge said.

  “Good, you may go.”

  “Very well, sir, but I should ment—”

  “Now!”

  “Sir.”

  “Now, why couldn't you be more like Mr. Fritz, son?”

  “Hush, Dad, Chuppypoo always tries his best.”

  Was I ever so glad no one could see my parents except me. Still, I sat there gritting my teeth as the concierge walked out of that room with more dignity than I felt. I tried sinking back far enough into the seat that Fritz couldn't see me. Sadly, it didn’t work.

  “My apologies for Igor's behavior, Mr. Ing. I'm afraid his previous employer only had a bits and pieces job for him—and some very shocking habits. He almost took Igor apart.”

  Fritz took a twenty dollar cigar from the humidor on his desk and then offered me one.

  “Don't you dare touch it!” Mom snapped

  “A limited edition Hoyo de Monterrey, very nice,” Dad said. “You should try one, son, maybe three or four.”

  “I don't smoke,” I said, gently tapping my chest. “Not good for the lungs.”

  Fritz shrugged and put the humidor back on his desk. I relaxed a little. The interview seemed to be going well, all things considered—if you didn't include Mom and Dad, that is.

  “Well, Mr. Ing,” Fritz continued. He cut the end off the cigar and lit it. “I'm afraid I have to kill you.”

  “What!” Mom screamed.

  “What!” I assumed the thing squeaking was me. “Why? What have I done?”

  “Let me at him, Mother.” Dad started taking swipes at Fritz. It was rather comical watching Dad’s wildly swinging fists pass through the wizard. “No son of a bitch is going to kill my son without my permission.”

  I looked around the room, wondering if there was some way to escape. All I could see were the mahogany paneled walls and the heavy wooden door I'd come in. Not even a window I could crash myself through. Somehow I didn’t think I'd have enough time to run for freedom anyway.

  “Oh, do calm down. All of you.” Fritz flicked a hand towards me and a glittering ball of yellow webbing flashed out, separated into three. Each tiny ball headed towards one of us. The tiny ball-thing smacked into my chest and burst around me, the strands and threads literally sticking me to the chair. Had I been thinking about escape?

  Mom and Dad, amazingly, hadn't fared any better. I was stunned.

  “What? You think I haven't encountered ghosts before?” Fritz looked at Mom and Dad. “I was exorcising your kind when I was still in diapers.”

  “Changed your own diapers, too, sweetling?” Mom added sarcastically.

  “Of course,” Fritz agreed. “And to clear things up, Roger, it's not about what you have or haven't done. It's about what you have to do.”

  “I'm gonna kill him, Mother, when I get out of this.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Fritz waved his hand again and suddenly we couldn't hear Dad at all, in spite of the fact he was obviously shouting. Damn, I wish I knew that trick. Somehow, though, this didn't seem the right time to ask.

  “If I haven't done it,” I hedged, “then all I have to do is not do it and you don't have to kill me, right?”

  “That's so true, Chuppypoo.”

  Fritz sighed. Standing up, he began to walk around the room, his cigar ash gently wafting over to th
e nearest ash tray as he moved.

  “I have a problem, Mr. Ing,” he explained, sounding more like a chastising mother than a huge casino owner and evil wizard. “I am getting old, and my only heir is my daughter, who is extremely young and, so far, unbirthed in her magic. Do you follow me?”

  “A daughter?” Uh-oh, I could almost see my mom's mind working. She'd somehow gotten past the “I Must Kill You!” bit.

  “How old is she?” Mom asked.

  “Uhm, yes, daughter, birthed, magic. Very clear, yes.” My mind went blank. I was about to die and my mom was trying to get me a date with my killer's daughter.

  Fritz gave me a pained look before continuing. Mom hmmed to herself.

  “This situation is unacceptable, as it would make her easy prey for anyone who wanted to take over my empire. Even dead, I cannot allow that to happen. So, I need her to come into her magic now so that I have time to train her before I die. Do you understand?”

  “Unacceptable, prey, die.” I nodded, my mind even blanker.

  Fritz shook his head like a man in despair. Mom smiled.

  “And in order to bring her magic out, she has to undergo an ancient ritual in which one specific man, which turns out to be you, makes the ultimate sacrifice and gifts her his 'vital fluid'. Then, and only then, will she be able to use the magic she was born to. Does that make sense?”

  “Ritual, me, sacrifice. Yup, yup, all clear. May I go now? I have a plane to catch, somewhere in Antarctica, I think, yep, my aunt lives there, you know. Very sick, very, very sick. I’m her favorite nephew, you know.”

  “Liar, you don't have an aunt,” Mom said.

  “Gee, thanks, Mom.” Which part of sacrifice, die and ritual didn't she hear? None of them sounded good on an empty stomach.