Phantasmagoria Part 17

"But I, um...I can't."

"Why not? The recipe is in here..." Bess flipped through the pages of her book. "I saw it earlier..." She flipped through the pages, hoping against hope, that the release spell wouldn't have to be powered by anything s.e.xual.

"She can't, 'cause she don't know my name," interrupted the ghost. Bess looked over at him in surprise and he smiled rather smugly. "And I can't tell her 'cause she can't hear me; she's not a true witch. However, you can hear me just fine, 'cause you are."

"I, um, I don't know his name..." confirmed Alex between sniffs.

"How the h.e.l.l did you conjure him in the first place?" Bess swept errant curls behind her ear. Nervously she made an effort to comb her fingers through the black hair tumbling about her hips in a riot of sooty curls. Sighing, she gave it up as hopeless. Her mane was a forlorn tangle from being wrapped in a towel and slept on. She'd taken a cool shower right before bed, because it had been sweltering all day and this Bed and Breakfast didn't have air-conditioning. "Well, I uh, found this... and the spell in the book said I could use it instead." She held out a sc.r.a.p of tattered fabric with a nasty stain on it.

Bess took it and examined it closely. It could have been brown velvet, a very long time ago. "You mean you were in my books yesterday? Never mind. Let me guess, you got this fabric from when we were visiting the town cemetery yesterday." Bess sighed. She'd only gone across the street to get a sandwich and a drink. She must have taken all of fifteen minutes. "No wonder you conjured a ghost." "Actually no, not in the cemetery," she said. "There was this dug-up area around the outside of the cemetery fence, way in the back. I found this caught in a bush." "Which comes round-about to my story," interjected the ghost. He was admiring the way Bess's hair swung below the hem of her s.h.i.+rt. "Somebody dug up my body and moved it. I'd really like to have it put back."

"You were buried outside the fence?" Bess asked the ghost. She crossed her arms under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, unconsciously pus.h.i.+ng them and her hemline higher.

"Um, yes." he said, guiltily looking up from her cleavage. "Was being the operative word here. My body

has been drug off." He openly ogled the view of Bess's rounded thighs, hoping the hem would inch up

just a bit more.

"Terrific," Bess said, rounding on her cousin in exasperation. "They only bury criminals outside of hallowed ground. Congratulation! Your Love Spell just succeeded in conjuring an axe murderer!"

"Hey!" The ghost called out in a thoroughly offended tone. "I was not an axe murderer! I was a

Highwayman! And I certainly didn't use an axe. I used a pistol or a sword."

"Oh, you were a highwayman?" Bess snapped, rounding on the ghost. "You killed people with a gun or a big knife instead of an axe? That makes me feel so much better!" she cracked at the exasperated ghost.

"Now there's no call for all that, it was a good profession," he called back, shaking a finger her way.

"And I didn't kill anybody who wasn't trying to kill me first."

"What's a highwayman?" Alex wanted to know.

"It's like a car-jacker, only on a horse."

"Hey, you!" the ghost shouted at Bess's back, "they buried witches on the outside of cemeteries too, you know!"

Bess whipped around to face the ghost. "Are you trying to p.i.s.s me off?" Eyes narrowed, she raised a hand wreathed in blue foxfire.

Alex crooned in awe. This was the most magick she'd been able get Bess to demonstrate in four days.

"Actually, no..." Wide-eyed, he raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine,," Bess, said to the ghost. Being careful not to smudge the chalk, she stalked to the center of the four burning candles. Setting the old book on the trunk she opened it, the parchment rustling as she flipped through pages.Hmm, the return spell didn't take any actual s.e.x, just a low level of excitement. After the wet dream she had plenty of energy to fuel the spell, and she needed to burn it anyway.

"So, what's your name, and I'll send you back?"

"I'll give you my name if you give me yours," he countered.

"Do you want to go back or not?"

"What I want is the b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d who took my body. You did hear me say that somebody took off with it?"

Bess rolled her eyes and tapped her bare foot. "I don't know who took off with your body, and I really could care less, if you really want to know."

"I will settle for your name." The ghost crossed his arms in frustration. "Since you are not going to be of any b.l.o.o.d.y help," he continued in a mutter.

"All right, already," Bess growled. Names had power and giving him her name meant that he would have a part of her. She wasn't about to give out her magical name, which might give him command of her person and a key to her power. "My name is Bess, and I don't want to hear a single joke about being named after a cow."

"I wouldn't dream of insinuating that you have large brown eyes..." he returned with an innocent look. Her eyes were black actually, as black as her curling mane.

"Your name, Highwayman?" Bess gestured impatiently and the chalked circle surrounding him began to glow with a warning s.h.i.+mmer of blue foxfire.

"Hey! Watch it with that stuff!" he flinched. "Now, come off it, witch, no cheating. Do you think you're the first witch to conjure me? Out with the rest of it," he said with a come-hither hand gesture. "I have to give you my first, middle and last name to get me out of this mess. It's only fair that I should have yours too."

"You know," Bess ground her teeth in anger, "you really are a royal pr..." She glanced at the avidly listening teen-ager behind her. "Pest," she finished. "My name is Elizabeth Victorianna Merryweather, called Bess. There, are you happy now?"

"I'd be happier buried eight inches deep between your thighs..." the s.h.i.+mmer of blue climbed up to his knees. "Ow! s.h.i.+t!" he yelped. "All right! All right! My name is...Wait a moment, Merryweather? As in, this is the Merryweather Inn we're at?"

Bess rolled her eyes at his stalling. "It's a Bed and Breakfast these days, but yes. I'm a distant cousin from America, so what?"

"I thought you looked familiar," he muttered. "Oh, so you're a Yank?" he said loudly. "Well, that explains everything," he said, throwing up his hands and shaking his head. "Anyway, I asked 'cause I used to have a...Well, I was going to marry the innkeeper's daughter as soon as I had enough blunt put aside. Her father's name was Merryweather."

"I can pretty much guess what happened to you. High-speed lead poisoning?"

"Yeah, well, she had an accident first." A look of stark pain and longing came over his face that was quickly shuttered.

"An accident?" asked Bess, curious in spite of herself.

"Yeah, an accident involving a Thief-taker General and a musket," he said bitterly. "I had the same accident later that day. Enough already, can we get on with it?"

"Anytime you're ready. Your name, Highwayman?"

"I'm Aimory Stanton Plunkett." He crossed arms again, in extreme annoyance.

"Alright-y, here we go." Carefully s.h.i.+elding what she was doing from the teen-ager, Bess dipped her fingers into her damp cleft, gathering her feminine dew on the tips. "Say goodbye to Mr. Plunkett." Bess raised her arms, which lifted the hem of her T-s.h.i.+rt and gave the highwayman a view of her completely shaven mons.

"Hey you haven't got any hair on your..." he called out.

With a brazen smile, Bess cut him off with a spate of Latin words involving his full name. With a sharp gesture she drew a sigil in mid-air with her damp fingers, which blazed with blue light. Mr. Plunkett disappeared from the chalked circle with an audible pop.

"Good-bye, Mr. Plunkett," Alex called out.

"Now clean up this mess and get back to bed. Your Mom is going to be picking you up first thing after breakfast," Bess sighed tiredly. "Which is not soon enough for me," she whispered under her breath.

"I'm really sorry," Alex said, sniffing. The girl bustled about wiping up chalk and dousing candles.

"It's okay, I took care of it. Let's just forget about it and get back to bed." Bess hefted the heavy book and opened the room door. "Please, no more excitement tonight?"

"Don't worry! I'll be good!" Alex a.s.sured her. "That was so cool," she whispered to herself.

Yeah, sure, but as soon as my back is turned.Bess really could not wait 'til after breakfast when she could resume her vacation. She stepped out into the hall and headed toward her own room.

"Is everything all right?" Bess about jumped out of her skin. The innkeeper's elderly mother stood at the top of the stairs in her pink night-wrapper.

"My cousin just thought she saw a ghost, Mrs. Merryweather," Bess said, telling the absolute truth. "She's going back to sleep right now. Sorry about all the noise."

"Oh," the elderly Mrs. Merryweather nodded to herself. "Well, in my day, there really was a ghost. He was a Highwayman from King George's time." She sighed, then turned and began her journey back down the stairs, her hand trailing on the wall. "He'd come riding up on a big black horse to the Inn looking for his lost love. She used to live here, you know..." the old woman's voice faded away.

Bess went back to her own room and stashed the Grimoire under the mattress. Picking up her pillow from the floor, she straightened her blankets, then fell onto the bed with a groan. Breathing a heavy sigh, she pulled the light covers over her head.

* Incantation *

The moon had fallen and the sky was dark with only stars when very slowly and very gently, the shutters over Bess's bed unlatched themselves and swung silently open. In the corner of the room, close by the open window, leaned a shadow deeper than the rest. The tiniest glimmer of starlight brushed a shoulder, outlining the ghostly form of Aimory Plunkett. He peeled the gloves from his fingers and put them in his coat pocket.

"Well, well, my Bess, it seems that you have fallen into my hands just when I need a witch..." he whispered very softly. He unbuckled his heavy leather belt and pulled the sash from his waist, draping them on a chair. "This time I'll find a way to keep you and your magicks." With a shrug, his tattered velvet coat slid silently from his broad shoulders to the floor. The waistcoat followed. "One way or another..." The bedroom latch fell and locked all by itself.

Hovering by her bed, Aimory gestured with his fingers. Slowly, so as not to disturb the sleeping woman, the sheet and light blanket slid down, revealing Bess's coal-black curls falling in a cascade over the side of the bed to pool on the floor. The bow of her lips parted slightly.

"Mmm, mmm, the advantages of being a ghost," he whispered softly.

With a faint sigh, Bess stretched, both her arms extending under her pillow and over her head as though they were tied to the headboard. She moaned, then rolled onto her back. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s lifted to high relief, sharply defined by the tautness of her s.h.i.+rt, rising and falling in time to her breathing.

"Oh, Lord, Bess my girl, I don't remember you being built quite like that," the ghost whispered. Without a sound, he drifted to the edge of her bed. Biting his lip, he gestured again with two fingers. The wayward blanket drifted lower. The hem of Bess's s.h.i.+rt came into view, caught just under her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. As her covers inched lower the strong line of her stomach and her belly b.u.t.ton were revealed.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," he muttered to himself. The blanked slithered lower. There, unveiled to his avid and admiring gaze, was Bess's shaven mound.

"You really don't have any..." He swallowed hard. In his day, Aimory had heard that some high-priced Cyprians shaved themselves, but in all his living days, he'd never actually seen a completely hairless p.u.s.s.y. The soft pink of her inner lips pouted, slightly open and moist, peeking from between her parted plump thighs. She looked so naked. He licked his lips. She looked so...succulent.

"Bess, my lovely, do you have a kiss for me?" he breathed near her ear. "I want to taste those cherry lips," he sighed.

Bess moaned lightly in her sleep and licked her full lips. Aimory licked his own in antic.i.p.ation.

"Let me touch you, my bold la.s.s. Let me feel you," he whispered very softly. "Let me hold you..."

Bess moaned softly, then rolled her head to the side, facing Aimory, her eyes closed in sleep.

He took this to be a yes. Aimory moved to the side of the bed and knelt. Softly he moved his hand to touch the twisting curls of her blue-black mane. A spark of blue fire touched his outstretched fingers. He hissed and pulled back sharply, tucking his fingers into his mouth as though to salve them from a burn.

"d.a.m.n b.l.o.o.d.y witch," he muttered very softly. "Going to play hard to get, the coquette, are you?"

"What can I use? What can I use to stroke my Bess with?" Aimory looked sharply around the room. His eyes fell on a feather quill stuck in its holder on the antique writing desk. "That ought to do nicely," he sighed softly. Raising his hand and focusing, the feather quill lifted from its holder and floated lightly across the room to his hand.

Inching as close to her bed as he could get without getting zapped by her unconscious protections, he softly gestured, and the sheets fell obediently to the floor.

Signaling with both hands, the hem of Bess's tee s.h.i.+rt slid up to reveal her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s crowned with pink nipples. Aimory whistled softly in appreciation.

Gesturing again, he levitated the feather to a rosy nipple. The feather brushed, flicking against her, back and forth. Aimory smiled as he noticed her nipple growing prominent. He increased the pressure with the stiff feather quill, and Bess moaned softly, her back arching upward into the feather's touch. The feather lifted, drifting lightly to her other breast, where it stroked her other nipple until it also came to attention.

"Well, this is fun, but I'm not getting any closer to actually touching her." Aimory tapped his lip with a long finger. The s.h.i.+mmer of aroused magick rolled from Bess's sleeping body, tingling along his phantom form. It gave him an idea.

"Hang on a minute, let's see if that old spell I got from the Alchemist will do anything. Perhaps I can magick you into letting me in past your witchly protections. The old spell is supposed to make a man a ghost. Let's see what that spell does for a man whois a ghost. My Bess's kisses used to be enough to trigger it. You certainly look stoked enough to power it." Aimory moved as close to the head of the bed as he could.

"Now how did that incantation go?" Muttering a Latin phrase under his breath, he felt a drift of answering power move through the room in a sparkling breeze. "Whoa, oh yeah, she's got enough juice to power it," he muttered, glancing at her wet, glistening p.u.s.s.y. "Plenty of juice," he muttered.

"I call on you, Elizabeth Victorianna Merryweather," he intoned, using the birth name he had bargained out of her. "My sweet Bess," he added at the very end.

Aimory felt power surge in a tide appearing as a glittering fog. Concentrating on Bess's sleeping form, the spell fueled itself on the residual s.e.xual energy. There was a brief flare of crackling blue and a slight smell of ozone.

"Hmm, that ought to do it,," he whispered, rubbing his hands together. Using caution, he leaned forward. With tentative fingers, he reached out to touch the undefended silk of her sable mane. He smiled in satisfaction as the curls wrapped themselves around his fingers without a trace of her witch fire, then he leaned closer. His mouth hovered over Bess's, then he closed the distance and delicately touched his lips to hers.

His tongue stroked the softness of Bess's lips. Unconsciously she opened her mouth to his. Hesitantly, his tongue touched hers. He felt the lightest crackling of energy, then felt her power surge into his mouth. The tingling became a current, and his mouth was filled with sensations he hadn't felt in far too long a time. Her mouth opened wider, and he was sinking into the exhilaration of her taste and the sweet smell of warm, willing woman. His arms gained weight and substance, pressing into the bed. His body gained flesh at an alarming speed, and suddenly he felt the urgency of an erection pressing tightly against the leather of his breeches. He inhaled, and his breath stole hers.

Bess jerked awake in total darkness as she felt her breath taken. She was being skillfully and thoroughly kissed. She stiffened as she felt hands s.h.i.+ft on the bed to capture her shoulders, pinning her. Still muzzy from a thoroughly erotic dream, her body shook with pa.s.sion and need. Sharply she pulled her mouth away. She couldn't see a thing in the room's complete darkness.

"Hot d.a.m.n! I'm a man again!" said a far-too-familiar British voice. In a swift move, her a.s.sailant surged onto the bed.

"What the h.e.l.l?" she squeaked breathlessly. Bess stared up into the darkness and found she couldn't sit up. Knees were braced on either side of her hips; long muscular thighs trapping hers. He was heavy. His somewhat cool flesh smelled vaguely of unwashed male, leather and horse.

"h.e.l.lo, my lovely," he whispered in her ear with a low chuckle. A skillful tongue swept the whirls of her ear and she couldn't help the resulting shudders.

"Get off me!" She snarled, raising an arm to throw him off. After a brief struggle he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.

"What? Aren't you happy to see me?" he breathed in her ear. A hand slid up her waist to cup her naked breast and discovered her hard nipples. "Oh, I see that you are." He raised himself enough to slide partially to one side, pinning her legs under one of his.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you? " she hissed.

"Hmm." said the familiar voice on top of her, "let's see if I'm still able to do my tricks." Several candles flared to life by themselves, bathing the room in soft golden light. Bess found herself staring up into the laughing, emerald eyes of a far too corporeal Highwayman.

"Better?" he asked with a satisfied smirk.

"You!" she hissed, then blinked as she realized that she was sharing her bed with a ghost. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream.