Lyse

Lyse opened her eyes, the absolute darkness gradually receding from view until she could make out the tenor of her new surroundings. Above her, the honeyed glow of the full moon held the night at bay, and she was able to look around, surprised to find she was standing in the middle of a newly shorn wheat field. She raised her hands, and the feeling of dissociation from her body was gone—

“This way,” a voice said from behind her, its cadence warm and feminine, and she was dragged out of her thoughts.

The idea that this place was real became unimpeachable when she felt a hand on her back, fingers pressing against bare flesh, and she looked down to find she was still naked, though the body she saw didn’t belong to her. The breasts were too large, the waist and hips too small, and there was a dark mound of curling pubic hair where her own body had been waxed into a thin strip. The air, fragrant with wood smoke, was pleasantly warm, and so despite her nudity, she didn’t feel cold.

Fingers were at her waist again, gently urging her forward, and she turned to find a handsome woman in a flowing purple robe standing behind her. The woman wore her hair pulled back away from her face, a garland of intricately woven lavender and heather encircling her head like a crown, and though her long hair was still thick and blond, her face was crosshatched with delicate lines.

Youth was no longer hers.

“It’s time,” the woman said, and smiled warmly.

Lyse felt her feet begin to move of their own volition, heard the crunch of freshly scythed wheat stalks as she trod upon them.

The old woman chose not to accompany Lyse as she crossed the field, but she didn’t feel alone—nor was she scared. Instead, her body was filled with a sense of anticipation, her breasts softly bouncing as she walked, the nipples hard with excitement. The body she inhabited was looking forward to the experience that lay ahead.

At the edge of the field, where the human-cultivated wheat crop ended, there stood a raised wooden platform shrouded in fog. She approached cautiously, stepping up onto it, her bare feet pressing against the smoothness of the wooden boards, excitement rippling through her flesh like tiny shock waves. She stood there for a moment, uncertain as to what was supposed to happen next, but then the fog lifted like a velvet curtain parting, and she saw that the platform was actually the beginning of a long boardwalk—one that switched back through a shallow marshland swarming with cattails and bulrushes before disappearing into darkness.

She took a tentative step, and as if her footfall had conjured them, two floating orbs sparked to life farther down the path. Like streetlights on a bridge, they illuminated just the next section of walkway, so she wouldn’t miss a step. She moved quickly, wanting to discover the light’s source, but her curiosity only grew when she found no magic at work: just two flickering tallow candles, each one placed upon a tall metal spike set into the marshy water on either side of the boardwalk.

More candles winked to life ahead of her, and she wondered if someone was using the cover of darkness to obscure their movements, to stop her from discovering their identity as they lit the candles. Continuing down the boardwalk, she heard the crack of wooden boards shifting under her weight, and more lights flared into being, the candles guiding her way.

She walked for a long time—until the excitement finally gave way to exhaustion—and then she abruptly ran out of walkway. To her surprise, she found a wooden sailboat waiting for her at the end of the boardwalk, its mainsail tied in place as it bobbed up and down like a cork on the surface of the water.

The ship was made of golden timber, its rigging shimmering in the moonlight, and at first it appeared to be unoccupied—but then a man emerged from belowdecks, coming to stand on the bow, his head and shoulders hidden within the long shadows cast by the tall wooden mast. Even in the darkness, she felt his eyes on her, devouring her breasts and belly as his gaze raked across her naked body.

The man on the boat knelt, turning away so she couldn’t see what he was doing, and when he stood again, he was holding a hurricane lamp in his hand, the smoky, glass-shrouded light bestowing angles and planes to a face previously obscured by shadow.

She gasped, not because she was frightened, but because the man was not fully a man. He was a giant stag—or, at least, the mask he wore made him look like one. Curving, majestic antlers sprung from the sides of his head like small trees, bulging brown eyes as clear as glass stared back at her; only the lower half of his face was visible below the mask, framing a full, sensuous mouth and a strong, square jaw.

She began to tremble as her body instinctively reacted to what it knew was coming: This man/beast was about to mount her like an animal.

She took a step back, and the man sensed the time was ripe to pluck her. He jumped from the ship, shortening the distance between them in a few strides, and then he was holding her, trapping her body within the confines of his solid, muscular arms. He crushed her nakedness against him, and she could feel the hardness of his manhood pressing into her belly through the thin cotton of his pants. He found her lips with his own—and she thought he was going to crush them, too—but instead he brushed his mouth across hers in a gentle caress.

Trailing soft kisses down to the hollow of her throat, he followed the curve of her collarbone in one direction, then the other, tongue flicking snakelike across her skin as he tasted her. He reached down with both hands and cupped her ass, squeezing it as he pulled her up onto her tippy-toes, positioning her pubic bone in line with his cock. He moaned as he squeezed her against him, and she jumped up, her legs sliding around his waist as the tip of him pulsed against her through his pants, his erection rock hard.

She yielded to him, her body relaxing as she opened her mouth, letting him slip his warm tongue inside. He tasted sweet and salty, and she loved it. Her own tongue began to chase his, and as she ground herself against him, he moaned against her mouth. She could feel the wetness between her legs soaking the cotton of his pants, and she wanted him inside her, fucking her.

He swung her around, her body cradled against him, and she nuzzled her face into the warmth of his neck, smelling the cinnamon spice of his bare skin as he carried her over the threshold of his ship and belowdecks.

The ship’s galley was neat as a pin, but he carried her right past it and into his bedroom. Gently, he placed her down on the bed, then stepped back so he could admire his prize. The room was small and unadorned, but the glow of a dozen flickering candles bathed the room in golden light.

Now she knew who’d been leaving the candles for her to follow.

She leaned back, her head and neck cushioned by a mound of feather pillows, and smiled, slowly spreading her legs wide, beckoning him to her without words. She wondered if he would take her with the mask on? She hoped he would—there was something erotic about not knowing the identity of one’s lover.

She was used to worrying about protection, but this wasn’t a real encounter—it wasn’t even her own body, for God’s sake—so she decided she didn’t need to ask the mystery man if he had a condom.

He watched her writhe on the bed, her hips moving in small, sensual circles, letting him know how badly she wanted him inside her. She ran her fingers across her nipples and they grew swollen and hard beneath her fingertips. She arched her back and moaned, hating him for making her wait so long, for making her silently beg him to touch her.

He did not smile as he stepped out of his pants, but she moaned again when she saw how big and hard he was. He was as eager to be inside her as she was to be filled by him. He unbuttoned his shirt but did not remove it, the solid muscle of his chest gleaming in the candlelight. He was gorgeous, all lean muscle and sculpted six-pack, his chest covered in tufts of golden fur that encircled his nipples before trailing down his abdomen. He was glorious and solid and oh so male, and she was dying with need. She arched her hips and bit her lip, feeling so wanton she could hardly stand it.

He knelt down in front of the bed, placing a large hand on each of her thighs, then pressing them into the mattress. He put his lips to the wetness between her legs, and she began to tremble as he ran his tongue across her clit. She thrashed against him—every flick of his tongue driving her insane—but he held her in place, pinned to the bed, so he could have his way with her. He raised his head, the mask making him look garish and almost frightening in the candlelight, but she didn’t care. She just wanted him to stop teasing her with his tongue and put an end to the ache between her legs.

He pulled his mouth away and sat back on his heels, admiring her. He seemed to enjoy her little cries of frustration.

“Please, please don’t stop,” she moaned, but the voice wasn’t hers—and it startled her.

Before she could start overthinking things, he was on top of her, easily slipping his swollen cock into the wet cleft between her legs. He was so hard she could feel every inch of him as he thrust into her, and she cried out, digging her nails into his back as the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her brought her to the edge.

He grunted and pulled out, the loss of him so exquisite it was like a slap in the face. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, surprised by the grin on his lips. Grabbing her around the waist, he flipped her onto her stomach, and she squealed as he lifted her onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind.

Her body was slick with sweat as he pumped into her, her large breasts swinging like pendulums. Not pausing once in his thrusting, he licked his fingers and reached around to rub her clit. She gritted her teeth as his movements grew frantic, and she ground herself against him, urging him to go faster. He began to fuck her harder, sliding in and out of her, her pussy opening to him like a flower. He thrust deeply into the center of her, and she came, giving a strangled cry at the sheer agony of her orgasm.

It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before—it went on and on, waves of pleasure flooding through her—and all the while, he was still moving inside her, still rubbing her clit to increase the intensity of her climax.

The way she was writhing and moaning beneath him proved too much, and he bit into her shoulder to stop himself from crying out. He shuddered as he spilled his seed, the intensity of his orgasm matching her own. Spent, he finally pulled out of her.

She lay there panting until he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her onto his lap, holding her tight against him. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, and she opened her eyes, a smile curling her lips. She was warm and satiated. She never wanted this night to end.

“Who are you?” she asked.

In answer, her mystery lover reached up and undid the ties at the back of his mask. As the antlers fell away, the smell of sex turned sour in her nostrils.

Weir.

*   *   *

“What the—” Lyse said as she sat bolt upright in the grass, five worried faces encircling her.

Then she threw up.

The retching didn’t last long—there was barely anything in her stomach—and when she was done, she felt as though she’d swum up from the depths of the sea and was seeing land for the first time. Reality felt heightened, but there was clarity, too. She’d touched something unreal, and somehow it made her more real.

Dev handed her a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” Lyse said, dabbing at her mouth.

She gazed at the five—now clothed—women surrounding her, studying their faces for some sign of recognition, some idea that they possessed insight into the surreal, dreamlike reality she’d just experienced—and what she found in their combined expressions was enough to tell her they knew exactly what’d happened to her. Or some version of it.

“What did you do to me?” Lyse asked, as she climbed to her knees and then unsteadily to her feet. “What did I just drink?”

Eleanora nervously clasped and unclasped her hands, and Lyse could tell her great-aunt was trying to find the right words. Lizbeth had fetched her clothes, and Lyse began to slip her underwear on, her hands shaking. She felt woozy, like everything was coming at her through a fog.

“Ayahuasca.” This was Arrabelle.

“You drugged me?” Lyse asked as she buttoned her jeans.

“If you drink this, it will settle your mind, calm you down,” Arrabelle said, holding out a plastic cup for Lyse to take.

“No way,” Lyse said, backing away from her. “I don’t want my mind settled and I don’t want anything you’ve touched. I want to know why I was in somebody else’s body.”

“Induction ceremony,” Daniela said. “It’s a metaphorical mating with the Horned God, and your initiation into our coven.”

“Uh, not so metaphorical,” Lyse said, blushing.

“Looks like it was pretty hot stuff,” Dev said, giggling. “Did you see his face?”

Now Lyse’s cheeks were on fire.

“I think she did,” Arrabelle said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s beside the point,” Lyse said. “What I want to know is whose body I was in.”

Eleanora patted her arm.

“It’s just a representation of the Mother. You embody her when you mate with the Horned God. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about? How can you say that? This whole thing is insane,” Lyse said, shaking her head.

“Why don’t we make a fire, and then we can discuss what needs discussing,” Eleanora said—and at her words, Lizbeth, who’d been sitting in the grass watching their exchange with a worried face, got up and took off into the woods.

“Where’s she going?” Lyse asked, thinking about the stray dog she’d encountered out there.

Daniela must’ve had the same thought, because she said, “I’ll go with her,” and disappeared through a gap in the trees.

“Please take this,” Arrabelle said, offering the plastic cup again. “After what you’ve just been through, I suggest you drink it.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Lyse sighed and took it, placing its edge to her lips. It smelled of lemon, ginger, and a touch of something loamy—as if some of the ingredients had been freshly dug from the dirt.

Lizbeth and Daniela each returned with an armful of twigs and dead branches, and Lizbeth went to work starting the fire.

“Isn’t it illegal to burn stuff outdoors?” Lyse asked.

“We have special dispensation from the fire department,” Eleanora said. “Religious grounds.”

Lyse wasn’t sure she believed her great-aunt but decided not to argue.

“I need a cigarette,” Daniela said, patting the pockets of her pants.

“Why can’t you just smoke normal cigarettes?” Arrabelle asked, frowning.

“You love the smell of my cloves,” Daniela said to Arrabelle, grinning as she lit up and took a drag.

She caught Lyse watching her intently.

“I see you looking. Want one?” she asked, offering Lyse the pack.

Lyse started to shake her head no, then changed her mind.

Like the embrace of a longtime lover you enjoyed hooking up with but hated making chitchat with after the deed, clove cigarettes were both familiar to Lyse and hard to turn down—even though she knew she’d pay for it later.

“Yes, I do.”

Lyse took the pack and fished out one of the long brown cigarettes.

“That was my last match,” Daniela said, “but you can light yours off mine.”

“Works for me,” Lyse said, taking Daniela’s proffered cigarette and using it to light her own.

“Just don’t let Eleanora say I’m corrupting you,” Daniela joked.

“Oh, I won’t,” Lyse murmured, lighting up.

The cloves were stronger than she remembered and burned her throat. She coughed, the smoke searing her lungs.

“I don’t really smoke anymore. Just when I’m super-stressed . . .”

She trailed off as she took another drag, feeling lightheaded.

Lizbeth had the fire going now, and the warmth from the flames licked at the backs of Lyse’s legs, shooing away the cold.

“Let’s sit,” Daniela said, pinching off the end of her cigarette and returning what hadn’t been smoked to the pack.

Lyse, who’d only gotten down a few puffs, did the same. She handed the butt to Daniela.

“Sorry,” Lyse said. “I just needed like two puffs.”

“Totally got it,” Daniela replied, giving Lyse a wink. “Waste not, want not.”

Lyse’s butt went back into the pack, too.

She followed Daniela over to the fire and sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest. Eleanora came and sat down on the grass beside her, so close Lyse could feel her great-aunt’s body trembling. She reached out a hand and laid it on Eleanora’s forearm, her fingers pale white against her great-aunt’s poncho.

“I know this is a lot to process,” Eleanora said. “And I appreciate you bearing with me.”

“’S’okay,” Lyse said. “I just want you to explain this to me. Because as much as I don’t want to believe the stuff you’re saying . . . well, I’m starting to believe it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyse saw Lizbeth get up from her spot next to Arrabelle and crawl around the edge of the fire. She plopped down beside Lyse and curled up into a little ball, resting her head on Lyse’s arm. It was like being cuddled by a giant child.

“I showed you the Dream Journals for a reason,” Eleanora said. “You know where they are and how to access them.”

“Yes, the books with no writing in them,” Lyse said, tapping her temple with a finger. “I remember.”

“Oh, there’s writing in them,” Arrabelle said, the firelight casting deep shadows across her face. “Only you can’t see it except when you’re in a dream state.”

Dev nodded.

“It’s true. Only a Dream Keeper can read them in the waking reality, and since there aren’t many of those left, well . . .”

“Why? What happened to the Dream Keepers?” Lyse asked, confused.

“No one knows,” Daniela said. “But one hasn’t been born in over fifty years. My mother was one of the last.”

“And who was your mother?”

“The great and powerful Marie-Faith Altonelli,” Eleanora said, speaking for Daniela. “I say great and powerful because she held the Dream Keeper’s seat on the Greater Council for almost a quarter of a century—”

Across from them, Daniela was staring into the flames, her eyes a million miles away.

“—and until her death six months ago, she was also one of my greatest friends.”

It blew Lyse’s mind that there was so much about Eleanora she didn’t know.

“Are they ever going to fill her seat?” Arrabelle asked.

“I don’t know,” Eleanora said thoughtfully.

This turn in the conversation caught Daniela’s attention, and she looked up to glare at Arrabelle.

“And who would you have take her place?” Daniela asked, her voice a low growl. “Of the Dream Keepers left, most are senile old bats who can’t even remember their own name. You want one of them dictating how the covens are managed?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—” Arrabelle snapped back.

“There’s already been a huge battle over who should take the seat, and it’s created a lot of bad blood between the different factions of our world,” Dev said to Lyse, to clarify.

“And I thought human politics were bad,” Lyse replied.

“Tell me about it.” Dev grinned before continuing. “Every coven used to have a Dream Keeper. They see the future in their dreams—though I don’t mean that literally. Their dreams only imply what will be, and even then the interpretation is up to the Dreamer.”

“But their dreams have always influenced how the covens operated, and it gives them a lot of power,” Arrabelle added. “There’s been a lot of resentment toward them, and then when the old Dream Keepers started dying off, and no new ones were born to take their place—”

“It’s why a lot of people want my mother’s seat abolished altogether,” Daniela said. “Because the reign of the Dream Keepers is dead.”

Lyse wasn’t sure how all of this pertained to her, other than she was now a member of this strange coven and the others wanted her to understand its inner workings. Right now she was tired and was just enjoying the heat of the firelight and the lulling murmur of conversation.

Beside her, Eleanora sighed, shifting on her hip bones.

“You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted,” Lyse said. “Maybe we should call it a night—”

“I think Lyse is right,” Dev said, looking at Eleanora. “You’re worn-out, and it’s not like we don’t have time for the rest of the stuff now that the ritual’s been performed—”

“Wait, what other stuff?” Lyse asked—it’d already been a full evening, and she couldn’t imagine what else there was left to discuss.

“Oh lord, you didn’t tell her, did you?” Arrabelle said with a sigh.

“No, I didn’t,” Eleanora snapped. “I didn’t want to overwhelm her.”

“Too late for that,” Daniela said, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth. “I think Lyse has officially reached her saturation point.”

Eleanora looked over at Daniela gratefully.

“Yes, you’re all correct. I am tired, and we can talk again tomorrow.” She turned to Arrabelle. “I think home is the only place I’m going right now. Shall we take a rain check on dinner? We left some wine at your place. Drink up in my honor.”

Arrabelle nodded.

“I just might.”

“Lizbeth?” Lyse said, nudging the sleeping teenager awake. “Time to get up.”

The girl rubbed her eyes and grinned dreamily at Lyse, a secret smile playing on her lips.

“We should close the circle,” Eleanora said, picking up a white candle and lighting it from the flames of the fire.

The others did the same, including Lyse, who figured: Why the hell not?

“This is a pretty simple one,” Dev whispered. She’d come to stand beside Lyse when they’d each lit their candle. “You won’t have any trouble with this stuff when you do it. It’s easy peasy.”

Lyse gave her an uncertain smile and nodded.

“Close the circle and put to sleep all that was created by our work here tonight,” Eleanora intoned, and blew out her candle.

“Close the circle,” the others repeated before blowing out their own candles.

The small campfire had burned down to embers, but they didn’t have to worry about putting it out. The heavens chose that moment to open, letting forth a torrent of rain. They left the clearing at a run, trying not to get soaked—and for the entire walk home, Lyse couldn’t help but wonder what Lizbeth had been dreaming about.