Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Fierdon
Samhain is the perfect evening to perform the spell for Horace and his new body. I take charge of collecting the ingredients. My faithful horse trusts me. He’ll not be ending up with a pumpkin head and vines for limbs.
Emeline stares up at me, a cross look on her angelic face. “I wasn’t going to let him turn into a pumpkin.”
“Well, we can’t be too careful.”
Horace whinnies, stomping twice. Emeline’s scowl deepens. “I can’t believe you two don’t trust me.”
“We trust you with our lives. Just not with the spells to manifest us ideal physical forms.” I give her a quick kiss. The gesture cools a bit of her rage. Her arched eyebrow drops.
“You turn someone into a pumpkin one time…” Emeline mutters under her breath.
We continue prepping the summoning circle. It has to be much larger to accommodate Horace. Emeline sings as she works. Even now, she underestimates the power of her voice.
After careful scrutiny and some practicing, I relent to Emeline and her spell.
Fire and light illuminate the forest. The ground shakes. Is this what it was like for Emeline to watch my spell?
We’re both holding our breath when the smoke clears.
A massive black draft horse stands in the center of the circle.
No more skeleton, no more see-through ribs.
A powerful Friesian tosses its mane. When I saw this breed, I knew it was the perfect fit for Horace.
This way he’ll still be able to accommodate me as his rider despite my now- massive size.
I don’t want to reminisce on how I achieved this transformation.
He owes me, eternally, for my willingness to collect the ingredients, mainly the seed of life, for this spell.
Emeline beams . “He’s beautiful!”
Horace glances around, taking stock of his new body. He stomps all four hooves, shakes his head again, then gallops away, whinnying the entire time.
“Wait, where is he going?” Emeline rushes after him.
“Leave it. He’s headed toward the pasture.”
“The pasture?”
“Horace has been alone all these years, too.”
A laugh bubbles out of her. “He’s gone to find a girlfriend?”
I nod. “We shan’t expect him back anytime soon. Ungrateful thing. It looks like we’ll be walking to the Samhain festival.”
Emeline
Sleepy Hollow has never felt more like home. The population may have dwindled between the witch trials and Fierdon’s executions, but our town feels fuller than ever.
We stroll toward the festivities, hand in hand. There was talk amongst the townsfolk about canceling the festival. Many are in mourning. In the end, it was agreed that after all that’s been endured, we need a reason to celebrate and let loose.
Fierdon tenses as many eyes begin to shift our way. He’s still not fully comfortable around the others. Despite his past actions and good intentions, many still fear him. It will take a while for them to get used to his spooky appearance.
Holding my chin high, I purchase two meads and walk us to a nearby bench. Judgmental stares flick our way. I swallow my mead in three gulps. Fierdon downs his in one. We’re both anxious.
We sit quietly, enjoying the glow of the bonfire and watching the others enjoy themselves. A couple kissing passionately catches my eye. Fierdon is watching them too.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to try the spell again? We could get human seed. I wouldn’t wing it this time.”
Fierdon turns to me, smirking. “And lose the ability to do this?”
The vine that pushes between my thighs and massages against my clit is so unexpected I yelp and stand up. When I try to pick up my feet to walk away, they’re stuck. Lifting my skirts, I find vines wrapped around each ankle, securing me to the bench.
“Fier,” I warn.
“Sit,” is his only command before more vines shackle my waist and drop me back into my seat.
“There are people walking around.” My whisper is harsh.
“Hmm.” Fierdon cocks his head. The vine returns to my clit.
Brushing against it in a tantalizing serpentine pattern.
“Maybe they need a lesson in anatomy. If their sex lives are anything like yours was before, we’d be doing them a favor letting them watch.
Should I lift your skirts so they can see just where to touch? ”
Heat blooms up my neck, but the fire pooling between my hips burns far hotter. When I speak, it’s overly breathy. “You would want the others to see such intimate parts of me?”
“Oh, nightingale. I’d strip you bare and fuck you in the center of town if you would allow it. Display every inch of you while I teased your holes and stuffed your cunt. Let the townsfolk gawk like a circus act.”
“Fierdon! Don’t talk like that!”
He speaks low, the words rumbling into my ear. “I bet they’d get off watching you ride my stem while I ate your cunt. The men may be so aroused, they’d take their women on the spot. We could have a mass fucking right here in the town square.”
My pussy clenches. Fierdon’s deep chuckle hinges on bestial.
“Do you like that idea? Your cunt certainly does. It’s fluttering like a witch’s moth.”
The clearing of a throat has my spine snapping straight. Deanna approaches, her hands behind her back.
Fierdon instantly removes his vines and straightens up beside me.
“You guys made it.” Deanna smiles. The bruises on her face have shifted from deep purple to a pale green and yellow. Her injuries will heal. Hopefully her emotional scars, too. “I was hoping to see you tonight.”
Her gaze is fixed on Fierdon.
“Me?” he asks.
She nods. “I made this for you. It’s not much, but I wanted to thank you for saving me.” From behind her back she reveals a long woven necklace. Straw has been braided with sunflowers, goldenrods, and orange mums to create a wildflower chain. She holds it out.
Fierdon blinks at it. “For me?” he repeats.
Deanna nods again. “May I?”
She raises it above his massive pumpkin head. Fierdon leans forward. The flower chain falls across his shoulders, draping along his chest.
In a surprising turn of events, a line forms before us. Dozens of women and men line up to pay tribute and thank Fierdon. He squeezes my hand tightly. I can feel the overwhelming emotion radiating from him.
After much encouragement, and about fifteen more meads, I convince him to address the crowd.
“Thank you for the gifts. It’s been my honor to protect the people of Sleepy Hollow. I promise you all that I will continue to watch over this town and those within it.” Even with the mead, the words are stiff.
He’s not used to being the good guy. Soon enough, he’ll see what I see. A spooky, monstrous, twisted, terrifying…hero. Albeit a devious sex-fiend and all-around demon, but a good guy and hero nonetheless.
My Headless Horseman. Not so headless anymore.
The small, simple headstones that mark each of the freshly dug graves are more than those men deserve.
Still, I find a hint of sadness spilling through my chest when I come across Leed’s.
His grave is still open. The plain wooden coffin rests in the bottom of the unfilled hole.
I was notified they found his body this morning. Another headless victim in the woods.
Jonathan was kind to dig these. Even after they locked him away and took the life of his sister, he still believes in granting them a final act of mercy. I guess not everyone lost their faith.
“Missing your dearest love?” Fier’s voice sends chills across my skin.
I toss him an eye roll. “You know well that he was not my dearest love.”
“True. Just a simple man with a simple cock.”
“Fier!” I whirl, smacking him on the chest.
“Don’t lie and tell me it was anything more than basic. The things you let me do to you and the ways you reacted told me everything I needed to know about your flaccid fiancé.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead.” I try to keep some firmness in my tone but he’s right. Sex with Leed was so far from the experiences I have with Fier. So different that I still struggle to grasp they’re both the same physical act. “It’s disrespectful.”
“Disrespectful? Oh, nightingale. I can show you disrespect.”
Fier grips my hips, lifting me off the ground and pulling me closer.
I wrap my legs around him.
“You would claim my body right in front of his grave?”
He frowns, his carved mouth jutting downward. “Hmm. You’re right. Not disrespectful enough.”
“That’s not what I was say—” I shriek as Fierdon drops us into the grave.
His grin turns wicked. The orange glow within his skull shifts to that familiar vibrant green. “How about on top of him?”
“On top?!”
Fierdon spins us so that we’re straddling the head of the grave.
“Hands and knees.”
The heat from his face intensifies. I don’t need to look to know his cock has grown to its massive size. The press of it against my hips already has my knees widening.
“If he’s staring up from that coffin, I want him to see every wet, overly stuffed inch of the pussy he lost as it weeps my seed onto his worthless tomb.”
“Fucking hell, Fierdon.” What a horribly twisted thing to say. Twisted, but some part must resonate within me. Dampness collects between my thighs, and that familiar pull has me dropping lower onto my hands and knees in invitation.
Fierdon plants his knees behind me, but the next time he shifts his weight, there’s a crack from somewhere below.
Panic fights past my lust. “The coffin is going to break.”
“So what?” Fierdon coasts a vine up my inner thigh.
“So, it’s not a turn-on for me to see a dead, rotting body!”
“How do you know? Have you been in this position before?”
Another crack. “Fierdon!”
“Fine, fine. I’ll just have to put my creativity to good use again.”
I’m lifted off the coffin by a series of vines that wrap around me and slip inside. I glance behind at Fierdon still kneeling on the coffin.
“It can handle the weight of one of us,” he assures me, though the hint of a depraved grin has me questioning his sincerity. A vine slides over my eyes. “But just in case.”
“I can’t see.”