Chapter 20
Timothy
The glow beneath my bed didn’t disappear even after two days. Yesterday, I’d found my childhood money box in the back of my wardrobe, still full of money. I’d already put the two hundred that had been there in my wallet.
More cash.
I now expected to find it everywhere I looked.
Babysitting Taya last night had been weird.
I wanted to ask her if she still believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the tooth fairy.
I’d researched them, and every article talked about the magic of childhood and extending it for as long as possible.
Only one had mentioned how sorcerers, who worked for kings and queens, emperors and pharaohs, had once used that magic to create the seven wonders of the world and other magnificent things.
I’d fallen into a bit of a research wormhole after that, even though it was all historical.
It was also my history. Today, I’d gone to the library and searched for news articles related to my mother and her disappearance.
There was no mention of foul play, only that she’d vanished.
Everyone assumed she’d run off with a boyfriend, abandoning her husband and son.
However, a year later, after she hadn’t touched any of her bank accounts, there’d been another investigation.
I remembered the cops talking to me and asking if my parents fought.
I’d lied and said no because I didn’t want Dad to be in trouble.
I stared at a box with my name on it, but no address, from a store I’d never heard of. It had been in my room when I’d gotten home from having a few drinks with workmates at the end of our shift. If Dad had put it there, I’m surprised he hadn’t seen the glow under the bed…maybe he couldn’t.
Could Taya?
I was too scared to ask. What if she went through and damaged Farrow’s world by accident? Could I use her to make bigger wishes? I didn’t know how to do that, and I didn’t know where to start, as I didn’t remember what my mother had done to me.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember.
I knew enough that the mind locked away traumatic memories. Or at least it was supposed to. My mind was not locking away anything to do with Farrow. Instead, I was counting the days until he returned and anticipating what he’d make me do next.
I was half-hard imagining the possibilities, and I didn’t want to count the number of times I’d enjoyed the memories. It was kind of embarrassing how a monster was giving me the best orgasms of my life.
The lack of address bothered me as it meant the box must have been hand-delivered by someone who knew where I lived.
I used my key to slice open the tape on the box and paused before opening the flaps.
A tingle ran through my fingers, nothing as sharp as electricity, but it gave me the same buzz.
I frowned, almost afraid to open it and discover what was inside.
What if it was from friends of my mother, and they’d found me because I’d been looking up Santa, aka sorcerer Nicholas, and other magic-related things?
Was that magic I was sensing?
Or was I just weirded out, a little tipsy, and imagining things?
I couldn’t leave the box sitting unopened in my room because Dad would ask about it—I had no doubt he searched my room whenever I wasn’t home, which tempted me to leave a butt plug in the bathroom for him to find—and my curiosity was too strong for me to go to bed and assess it in the morning.
Fuck it.
My life had already skidded so far off the road it was supposed to be on, that what did a few more meters, or a couple of spins matter?
I flipped the flaps open and jumped back as though expecting something to leap out at me. Nothing moved, which was rather anticlimactic. I grabbed a ruler from my desk and gave the contents a jab. Packing paper rustled, and I flicked the top layers onto my bed and peered in.
The thing on top was made of pale blue cloth and sealed inside a clear plastic pouch.
Was it clothing? I flexed my fingers, drew in a breath, and pulled it out, expecting another tingle of static or magic or something.
Nothing. There were no clues on the bag, so I ripped it open.
A lightweight top fell out. I picked it up and shook it out.
It was long-sleeved but cropped. Very cropped.
It might keep my nipples warm if I kept my arms by my side.
Okay, weird.
There were another couple of bags also containing clothing, which I ripped open. A matching blue jockstrap. Long black gloves and matching black male lingerie. This was a very specific kind of gear. A little kinky, or at least it was for me, and the clothing hid the ink on my arm.
Farrow.
He was planning and preparing for future videos.
A burst of warmth bloomed in my chest. He was thinking of me, even if it was only in regard to what he wanted.
He was planning on dressing me up and ordering me around, and if he were here right now, I’d show him exactly how much I appreciated his gift.
I pulled out the rest of the paper and stared at the remaining three items.
Red, blue, and green.
Three dildos, each weirder and bigger than the last. By weirder, I meant knobblier and twistier. The green one was a curvy tentacle, including suckers, which started off as thick as a finger and, far too many inches later, became as thick as a fist.
The blue one wasn’t as long, but it had a thick, rippling swelling in the midsection that would be both fun and challenging to ride. Clearly, Farrow enjoyed watching me struggle as much as I enjoyed the attempt…and eventual success.
The red dildo’s shaft was the same reasonable thickness all the way along, but it was long and savagely ridged. I suspected he liked me stretched out and squirming. My heart beat a little too fast with excitement at the idea of him making me take every inch.
He must have spent quite a bit on this collection, which included a bottle of lube that promised it looked just like cum. My stomach dropped and flipped as I remembered that I’d wished for a new toy, believing it to be impossible.
Farrow couldn’t have known.
And yet here was the evidence of my wish.
I swallowed. My use of magic.
Money and toys…and I’d gotten both.
Shit.
My pulse was heavy, as if it wanted to rattle my body and shake some sense into me.
I wanted to flee, but there was nowhere for me to go.
I was playing with magic I didn’t understand and hadn’t meant to use.
He’d warned me that magic access and use were two different things and that trying to do both was dangerous.
But wishing didn’t feel like magic. I wasn’t touching it or manipulating it. No, I was tossing a wish into the golden doorway to monster-land beneath my bed, and it was so tempting to keep going. What else would land at my feet if I asked?
If I asked, did that make me a sorcerer?
I rubbed the ink on my arm, wanting to scrub it away, while at the same time needing to find out what else I was capable of.