1. Elowen
ELOWEN
M agda narrows her crinkled eyes at me from where she sits on the other side of a wood crate draped in a grubby patchwork quilt, cluttered with crystals, incense, and oracle cards. I’ve known Magda since I was a child. Though we’ve never been close, we have a shared history of living on the streets of London—until my now-deceased mother managed to get a job as a house servant for a wealthy widow when I was an adolescent.
“You’ve been havin’ reoccurrin’ dreams about what now?”
Though we sit alone in Magda’s gypsy tent, I glance around nervously, embarrassment flaming my cheeks. On an exhale, I lower my voice to a whisper.
“You know… like a man with horns and bat-like wings. ”
Her bushy brows leap towards her silvery hairline, though her reply sounds as casual as someone inquiring about a loaf of bread.
“So, a daemon?”
My fingers twist anxiously in the fabric of my plain dress. “He doesn’t feel like a daemon. Certainly not a malevolent one. He’s… tender and loving.”
Magda gives me a knowing look. With lips carved through with smoker’s lines, a saucy grin curls at one corner. Her thick Irish accent further emphasizes the implication of her reply. “Tender, eh?”
I purse my lips, trying to hide my grin. “Quite.”
She waggles her fluffy brows at me.
“Well, then. I’ll need every last detail... for science. ”
My jaw pops open wide enough to tempt a priest, but it only makes Magda grin all the wider.
“That good, eh?”
My jaw slams shut before I manage to splutter a response. “Well, I—I wouldn’t wish to offend you, Lady Magda?—”
Magda gives a hoarse bark of laughter.
“Girl, I can guarantee that whatever offensive acts yer committin’ with bat boy in yer dreams aren’t even half as bad— or as good —as the ones I’ve done in real life.”
I clear my throat, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “I suppose it can’t hurt to give a few?—”
“Every last one.”
“— details if you think it’ll help discern the root cause of… what’s going on.”
She somehow manages to swiftly roll her own cigarette without even breaking my stare as I gather my thoughts.
“Well, usually, the dreams start out in a palace?—”
Magda chuckles, lighting her cigarette. “Ooooh, fancy pants, are we?”
“—but sometimes end in another, more modest but still beautiful home.”
“Well, well, well. You’ve really moved up in the world, haven’t yeh?”
My throat works around a lump of guilt. Even though I’d only been twelve or thirteen, when my mother and I had managed to escape the streets thanks to becoming a housemaid, I’d always felt mildly ashamed at leaving everyone I’d grown up with behind to continue living in squalor. Magda smirks at me as if the sentiment is tattooed on my face though there’s no resentment in it, and I’m relieved when she changes the subject.
“Any particular aspects that catch your eye about these places?”
“Just that the decor seems… odd.”
She quirks a brow. “Odd in what way?”
“Nothing like I’ve ever seen here. It doesn’t seem entirely earthly. ”
Blowing out a plume of smoke, she waits for me to continue.
“Go on.”
“And we just talk and get to know one another for a while, though I can never quite remember about what, but I do recall he is very tactile.”
Magda’s brow arches. “Define tactile.”
“There’s lots of kissing, nipping, grazing, holding, petting, caressing—all the things. As a preface to our love-making.”
Magda rolls her eyes as if she’s thoroughly disappointed.
“Jaysus, don’t tell me he’s like that polished turd, Mr Darcy, from Whatsherface’s novel.”
My gasp is slightly more dramatic than I’d intended as I clutch my non-existent pearls. “I loved Pride and Prejudice.”
Magda scoffs. “ ‘Course ya did. You’ve yet to have a proper man fuck yew til yer seein’ stars. Then you’ll be sayin’ Darcy fuckin’ who?! Anyway, back to yer man with the horns. He gotta big cock on ‘im?”
My head tips back with laughter. “Nearly the size of my forearm and has a…”
I gesture a little helplessly unsure of how to describe it.
“It has a bulge at the end of it.”
Magda gives me a confused look. “Which end? The cockhead end or the base end?”
More laughter bubbles out of me at the ridiculous image.
“At the base end… And it has these glowing markings on it.”
Magda’s brows shoot skyward. “Glowing markings?! Like a magical tattoo er sumthin?”
I nod, chewing my cheek with giddiness. I’ve never gotten a chance to speak with anyone about this before and it’s thoroughly exhilarating.
Lady Magda shakes her head as if in awe. “I’d pay good money to see a magical cock like that.”
My cackle would make any witch proud. “Maybe I’ll paint you a picture of it one day.”
Her face lights up so bright you’d think I’d have handed her a brick of gold as she barks another raspy laugh. “Girl, I’ll love ya ferever if ya do.”
Magda laughs her delight as her feet stomp a little excited jig from where she sits. “And the rest?”
I lean forward, speaking in a hushed tone. “Well, there’s always lots of foreplay, and he makes me achieve orgasm at least a few times before he finally joins me. And then there’s… well… lots of fluid.”
“Fluid as in his semen or d’yamean like some kinda magical potion?”
My laughter renews. “His semen!”
Magda grows thoughtful, taking a long drag of her cigarette. “Hmmmm. But what’s his disposition like? Is he quite passionate and intense? Or soft and gentle like the polished turd?”
Chuckling again, I heave a fool’s sigh as my heart flutters just thinking of him. “Both? He can be rough and demanding but also tender and loving. He’s the best of both worlds.”
Magda’s brows pinch with emotion as a softer smile than I’ve ever seen her wear dances across her face.
“Awe… that’s beautiful. So yer sayin’ he fucks yeh and makes love to yeh.”
Tears well in my eyes. “Yes.”
She gives a wistful sigh as she picks up a deck of oracle cards and begins to shuffle. “Well, let’s see what the future has in store fer ya, love.”
I swipe at my eyes, smiling. “You don’t think I’m insane?”
Magda’s eyes lift from her cards to mine, donning an admonishing look.
“Girl, I can tell ya right now, I’ve seen far more far-fetched things than a man wit’ horns and wings. Yew’d be surprised to discover the creatures hauntin’ these streets—many of them not nearly as human as yew might think.”
My mind wanders to Forsythe, the Master I’ve worked for the last decade, and her words aren’t at all that hard to believe.