Chapter 28
Crane
The clock in the library strikes midnight, but it feels like I’m just getting started.
I have a stack of books at my side, a bottle of red wine with a metal goblet, and a row of candles lighting my desk like a beacon in the dark.
It’s taken me most of the night perusing the stacks, trying to find the right books that can help me figure out Brom, and after rummaging through a few duds, it finally seems I have the most promising ones.
I lay them out in front of me on the desk and have a sip of wine.
There’s an old tome called Blood Magic and Other Rituals, one called How to Communicate with the Dead, another called Personal Exorcisms, and finally a worn one called the Book of Verimagiaa.
I pick up the one on blood magic first, since that’s been on my mind all week.
This particular book has an English title but inside is written in Greek. I don’t know Greek.
I sigh and bring out my anointing oil from my pocket, rubbing it on my wrists while I close my eyes and repeat the polyglot spell, which gives the magic wielder the ability to speak and read any language, a godsend when you’re a teacher. Then I open my eyes and turn the page.
A cold breeze comes at my back, making the candles around my desk flicker, threatening to go out.
I whip around in my seat. Beyond the glow of my candles, the library is completely empty and dark, the moon hiding somewhere behind the trees.
Generally, the library is closed to students after 9:00 p.m., but exceptions are made for teachers.
The librarian, Ms. Albarez, who is from Mexico City, said that I could stay here all night if I wanted to, and it might end up being that way.
I don’t plan on leaving until I get what I came here for.
All my lesson plans for this week have taken up too much of my time as it is.
Being a professor at this godforsaken school might be my job, but Kat and Brom have become my obsession.
My eyes scan the library’s crevices and shadows, and I hold my breath, my ears straining to pick up on any errant sounds, any source of the icy wind. There’s nothing. Just the tick of the clock.
I turn back to my books and have another sip of wine. I can’t help but feel there’s something else in the library with me, a presence, but that could be my imagination running wild. It’s been doing a lot of that lately.
My thoughts drift to Kat. My beautiful, sweet witch.
As much as my natural curiosity and my ties to Brom have me fixated on getting to the bottom of things, I’m doing this for her more than anything.
I want her to have her Brom back, even if it might cost me her heart in the end.
I am still jealous of their past; I’m possessive over her mind, body, and soul, but because it’s Brom, because I’ve been inside that man, I am willing to share her with him and only him.
And if he’s not open to sharing, I’m taking her for myself.
An image enters my mind. One of the three of us together, naked and worshipping Kat in all her ethereal beauty.
My stiff cock in her wet, soft mouth, full lips enveloping me with gusto, my fists in her messy hair, driving her head forward until I’m crammed down her throat.
Behind her is Brom, pumping his hips like an animal, driving into her hard from behind, her breasts swaying with each hit.
She moans around my cock, the vibrations making my balls feel heavy, and I lean forward slightly, reaching out for Brom’s neck, placing my hand around it and holding tight.
I demand for him to kiss me. He snarls in response, but his eyes tell me that I’m his.
The image fades, and I’m hard as stone. In all my sexual conquests and affairs over the years, I’ve never come close to being in that situation, a ménage à trois.
But there is no use fantasizing about something that might not be. What if we can’t get Brom back to his old self and restore his memories? There is no doubt in my mind that he is connected to the Hessian soldier, but in what way?
My body doesn’t care for questions at the moment.
I reach down into my trousers, making a fist over my length, hot and already twitching for release.
With a groan that seems to fill the library, I lean back in my chair and bring my cock out.
I know the tight, hot feel of Kat’s gorgeous pink cunt as I squeeze inside her.
I know the velvety glove of Brom’s ass, plied with slick oil.
I hear the sound of her breathy moans and the guttural tremors of his deep grunts as I fuck them both with abandon.
I want both of them, everywhere. I want to fuck them in every way.
I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
I want to lick her tiny cunt until she’s screaming while Brom sucks me off with his pretty mouth until I’m shooting my seed down his throat, until he’s so filled with it that it’s spilling out of his lips.
He swallows while staring up at me with those deep black eyes.
My orgasm slams into me, taking me by surprise. I cry out hoarsely, my ejaculation spurting out in hot waves onto the books, leaving a sticky white mess.
I chuckle at the results of my fantasy, watching how my seed drips off the volumes and onto the desk. That certainly took me by surprise.
Then I get an idea…blood magic is one way to form a bond through individuals.
The act of sex itself, the exchanging of bodily fluids, is another.
What if we were to combine the two? What if we created a ritual where we would mix our blood and seed together, the three of us moving in unison, creating literal magic?
I grab my handkerchief and wipe away my mess from the books before flipping through the pages.
Hopefully, the librarian won’t notice the stains.
I’m sure I’m not the first witch that’s gotten carried away while reading the books in here—there’s a surprising amount of magic tied to the act of sex itself.
I’m not sure how much time I spend going through the books, but eventually, I find a few promising suggestions.
There’s a binding ritual that involves blood and sex magic between the participants who wish to be bound.
It seems relatively easy enough with some incantations, certain oils, smudging, and a protective salt circle so that we aren’t inviting any other lurking spirits inside, which could become bound to us in the process.
And then there’s a more intense ritual that must take place at night during the full moon.
That one has to be by a body of water, which permits easier passage to the veils, and given what Kat and I did by the lake, that won’t be a problem to access.
This ritual isn’t so much about binding as it is about an exorcism.
If the horseman is possessing Brom, he will need to be expelled for him to finally become free. Even better if it happens on Samhain.
Of course, they say it’s possible the first binding ritual will be enough. If it’s strong, then it might force the horseman to leave anyway. Our connection to each other might sever him, especially if Kat and I are able to manipulate our energy through Brom.
The only problem is everyone involved has to be willing.
Which means Brom has to be willing. If he doesn’t remember our relationship before, then I’m not sure if he’ll want to open up to me in that way, so to speak, and he doesn’t even know he’s the horseman.
I suppose that will have to be Kat’s job, unless I see an opportunity for persuasion.
I take out my quill pen and ink and start jotting down notes in my book, including as many details as possible.
I finish the rest of the bottle of wine, then go through the book on types of spirits.
By now, the moon has risen above the trees, casting a faint glow into the library, not enough to light it but enough to deepen those shadows.
Eventually, I come across an interesting passage about retrieval spirits.
They aren’t always easy to conjure—you often have to have one that wants to be used in some way.
Sometimes, these spirits are angry or have done terrible things since that malevolent energy is what keeps them bound to the earthly realm, unwilling to move on through the rest of the veils.
A witch can summon these spirits to retrieve people who have gone missing or have run away, with the spirit finding and possessing the person and physically bringing them back.
Could that have happened to Brom? His parents, or Sarah, or the coven, did they conjure the Hessian and send him on a mission to find Brom and bring him back? And if so, was it because they were worried about him or for some nefarious purpose?
I keep reading, my heart thudding in my head as I’m filled with that enigmatic feeling I’m always chasing, that high that’s greater than any opium, that sense of being on the edge of discovering something.
The text goes on to say that in rare cases, the spirit might refuse to leave the person.
In even rarer cases, the spirit can hold a tether to both the corporeal body and their ethereal body, possessing the former at will but only after dark.
The spirit can influence the host, or the host can influence the spirit.
That has to be it, I think. That has to be what’s happened to Brom. And if it’s not, I can at least use that as a starting point for this diagnosis.
Eager to learn more, I continue reading, turning the pages until I feel that cold wind buffet my back again.
The candles flicker indignantly.
“No, no, no,” I cry out softly, pleading for them to stay lit, even as the wind snuffs them out for good. I’m plunged into a mix of smoke and darkness.