43. Conjures

forty-three

The passage from Lust to Gluttony was swift, which seemed appropriate. Once a sinner, as Alghieri would argue, always a sinner. The slide was easy once you’d begun the fall.

Food trucks and beer tents lined the passage, tempting the senses with kebab carts and taco trucks, sno-cone vendors, and cotton candy twirlers. Any food a witch could want, any beverage they could wish to slake their thirst, was available in Gluttony. The ring was a carnival of scent—garlic, onion, and herbs, sweet and savory spiced meats spinning slowly on sticks. Tropical sweetness and the sugarcane burn of rum. Milla laughed in surprise as her stomach rumbled and her tongue dried within a few steps into the ring.

Darkly smacked his lips, eyeing the offerings. “A witch could get well fat in here.”

“Moderation is key.” Her eyes snagged on a stone-fired pizza vendor, her fingers slipping from Darkly’s as she drifted closer. “Not sure how I can play this one.”

“Grab a bite first.” Darkly pointed to a slice of Margherita, already pulling up the wallet app on his phone. “Use the crust; no need to ruin everyone else’s appetite.”

They found Tobias lounging in a beer garden near the throughway into the Fourth Ring. With his back against the narrow table, his long legs extended and crossed at the ankles, he eyed the passing witches and sipped from a massive beer stein. His phone was held loosely in one hand, the E.R.I.E. lens displaying a sinuous warble of magickal signatures.

“Working hard, I see,” Darkly said as they approached. Tobias’s brows lifted, and he sat up. The front of his coat fell open, revealing a cut physique that rivaled the Darkly’s, save for faint, wave-like bands of paler, puckered flesh licking his ribcage and crawling up from his hip.

Burns, Milla realized with a start.

“Worked my list through the Second Ring,” he answered. “All witches accounted for, but I drew some attention. I thought it best to blend in.”

Darkly snorted. “Of course, she sent you through Lust.”

Tobias smirked and waved his full beer at Darkly. “One of us needed to have eyes on the covens in there without getting distracted.”

Darkly looked down and flushed a lovely shade of pink that almost matched the lipstick marks Milla had left on his torso and nipple. She cackled as he tugged on the scarf, trying in vain to hide her handy work, then scowled at her. “You’re a menace.”

Milla curtsied, wavering slightly off balance. Grumbling under his breath, Darkly headed to the bar and returned with a beer for Milla and a cocktail for himself. His eyes were a little hazy, and he had a sloppy smile on his face. “Witches at the bar bought me shots,” he said.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” said Milla.

“No one could prove it.” He grinned at her, and maybe she grinned back a little too knowingly because Tobias cleared his throat and knocked the base of his stein against the table to get their attention.

“Something I should know?”

Darkly broke away first, allowing Milla a chance to exhale. It wasn’t that she did not want to trust Tobias—Darkly certainly did, and that was enough for her—but he had been in those cells with Milla, held by the same witch who held her, and denied it.

“Bought me a drink, too.” He swirled his drink before taking a sip, and Milla caught a whiff of rum and ginger.

“Is that a Dark and Stormy?” she asked. Darkly nodded, his lips pursed around the straw. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

He hit her with a disarming, not-at-all sober grin so cheerful and innocent that it pulled a matching smile from her.

“Idioten,” Tobias muttered into his beer, shooing them along with his still running E.R.I.E. Milla glanced at the screen, noting the low chronomantic thrum, and smiled.

The deeper they wandered into the Fourth Ring, where the Coven Tents and artisan booths popped up, the more witches noticed them. By them and by design, it meant Darkly, not Milla hiding in his shadow. This ring would be the trickiest; they would be passing by the most experienced and sober witches at the festival. If one of the ritualists were here, they would clock Milla’s intent immediately, so she kept behind Darkly and let him take the lead.

Showboat of a witch as he was, Darkly drank up the attention like a flower starved for the sun. Every coven wanted to claim that C.R.O.W.’s Dark Witch had stopped by their tents and met their ?arodějnicez , and none of them were prepared for the grand reveal.

It was cheesy and downright embarrassing, but it was what Lou had wanted, and Goddess forbid they let her down.

A bevy of Whaler’s Wives in mourning gowns asked to take pictures with him, and Darkly gladly obliged, hauling Milla into the frame at the last second. They were stopped by two couples from the Cahokia territory with feathers tied in their hair and swathes of brown smudged on their cheekbones and across their eyes, who asked if Darkly wanted a drink.

He hit them with his most disarming smile, thickening the brogue to illegal lengths. “Aye, something tropical if ye’ve got it. Though I wonder …” He stepped aside to reveal Milla. Shades stretching unseen from his feet and winding around the ankles of his targets. “Have ye a tait o’ whiskey or the Lady Death?”

The sun was nearing the tops of the trees as they came upon the Elder Witch of the Pine Curtain Coven in East Texas. Tall and robust, he wore a ten-gallon hat, fringed brown leather ass-less chaps, a red speedo, and cowboy boots with golden spurs and a five-pointed star in the center. He introduced himself as Cal, a shepherd witch with a Way with animals, reaching to shake Milla’s hand with thick, tanned fingers decorated in all manner of sigil-warded rings. Resting over the burst of golden curls on his chest was a gold pentagram crowned in a pair of miniature longhorns dangling from a thick, braided gold chain.

“So this is our li’l Lady Death.” A bear paw of a hand clamped around hers, and he winked as he pulled the hat from his head, revealing a thick mess of golden blonde hair pulled into a bun. “All the witches have been atwitter ‘bout y’all.”

“Aye, and a wicked thing she is too.” Darkly rolled his brogue, meeting the Texan’s drawl as if he couldn’t help it.

“It’s always the sugar-sweet ones that’ll knock you on yer ass, ain’t it?”

Milla liked him immediately.

He led them through the last of the Fourth Ring into the Fifth, Wrath, where more invasive and dangerous rituals were performed under a careful eye.

“Consent or Crossing?” A security witch at the barrier scanned their wristbands, gesturing to the ritual path to his right and the warded through-way that would allow quick passage to the Sixth Ring, Heresy, to his left, where another Consent check posed the same question to the witches gathered there.

“Consent,” Cal stated with a lusty wink, holding out a swarthy wrist. The security witch swept a willow wand along the inside of his arm, and a golden arrow appeared in the wake.

“Welcome to the Order, sir.”

Cal sauntered into the Fifth Ring, thumbs hooked in his belt and a shit-eating grin on his face.

Darkly turned Milla to face him when the security witch posed their question. “It’s getting late. Do we have the time?”

“We need at least two of the consent circles.” She gestured to the throughway. “I’d rather skip the Vamp Camp in the Seventh Ring.” Darkly nodded, accepting her answer, and she faced the security witch. “Consent.”

“Welcome to the Order, ma’am.” He swept the wand against her wrist, a tingle following the lazy swipe, and a golden arrow appeared, granting Milla passage.

The might of Wrath hit Milla like a wet blanket slap to the face the moment she crossed the barrier. Where in the preceding rings, the air was crisp and clean as fresh cut grass, the Fifth Ring breathed a heady miasma. Milla’s belly swooped, and Darkly’s fingers slipped between the belt at the base of her spine and her skin, tugging her closer. Even Cal wasn’t immune, taking off his cowboy hat to fan himself. The motion sent a cloud of leather, musk, and a sweet, floral scent to envelop Milla, pooling heat in her belly.

“Shall we find a tent?” Cal glanced at them, wearing a slick smile full of wicked promise. “Or sidle up somewhere private?”

Darkly tightened his grip on her belt, jerking Milla flush against him. “Dinnae share.”

The pooling heat in her belly rose to a simmer, leaking into her limbs. She fisted her hands, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths to calm her Way. But each breath meant inhaling more of the candlesmoke and ritual intent. Her core throbbed, and she licked her lips, fighting the urge to wrap herself around Darkly and bring him to the ground.

Cal gave them a wary look, and Milla dug her nails into Darkly’s thigh instead. He bit his lower lip, black eyes drifting over Cal, and unleashed a wicked, sensual smile. “Though if the lady obliges, I’m down to take you for a ride.”

Milla choked in surprise, while Cal was quicker to recover. He bellowed out a laugh, slapped Darkly on the back, and pulled him in for a side hug that jostled them both. “Boy, you couldn’t handle this bull.”

“I’d be willing to take that bet.”

The deeper they walked along the Fifth Ring, the headier the intoxicating magick in the air became. Every lurid glance from Cal traced her body with dark promise, and each touch from Darkly intensified. Magick sizzled over her skin, coiling deep in her belly and between her hips, tighter and tighter and tighter until she had to pause.

Darkly pulled her out of the main flow on the path, and from the smoke-stained look he gave her as he adjusted his pants, the feeling was mutual.

A ragged cry exploded from the tent to their right, and they whipped their attention toward the sound. A manifestation ceremony was just visible over the heads, or rather, bodies of the crowd. On a raised altar in the center of the tent, a coven worked each other, channeling their telos—the focus of the ritual, the intent they sought to bring to fruition—for all to see and participate as they would.

The female witch in a harness rode her partner, head thrown back as she rocked her hips. She took the finger of another witch into her mouth, who was in turn being pleasured by a witch on his knees. Yet another sucked at the ritual leader’s breasts while her partner in the ceremony adjusted their grip on iron rungs, chanting as their mistress cried her pleasure.

The charged energy of the ritual crashed against Milla at the same moment Darkly’s hand cupped her ass. The simmering heat pooled in her belly rose with frightening intensity, stoking an ache she’d all too willingly ignored.

The witches around them were just as affected. Moans rose as heads dropped back against chests, tops were pulled aside, and legs spread. Cal disappeared into the throng, his broad shoulders and ludicrous hat led away by a man and a woman illusioned to appear as centaurs.

Milla whirled to face Darkly, slapping her palm against the center of the sigil and marching him away from the tent until his back hit a tree. “Now, Darkly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. The smoke in his eyes deepened, and his hands clamped down on her hips, pulling Milla against him and holding her there. His erection dug into her belly, and he ground against her, capturing her mouth to drink her moan.

He slid a hand up her spine, pressing her into him, and wrapped lean fingers around her neck, hauling her deeper into his mouth. It was that reckless crashing of teeth and tongue in Tallahassee all over again, just as furious and impassioned and ill-timed, but they needed this. Needed to lay their trap in this circle, and Goddess , did they want it.

It was evident in the drag of his teeth along Milla’s lower lip and the frantic path of his hand as he grasped the hem of her gauzy skirt, setting the gold coins jangling against one another in search of her thigh.

His fingers finally dug into her flesh, hoisting Milla’s leg, and he thrust, teasing her until she moaned, “Oh, Horned God.”

Darkly pulled away to look at Milla with eyes as clear and jade green as she had ever seen. “Me or you?” he panted, clinging to a desperate edge.

“Both.”

“Thank the Goddess.” Black flooded his eyes, but before he could act, Milla dropped to her knees, frantically tearing at the Celtic knot and undoing his pants. “Milla—”

“Shut up.” She freed his erection, taking one selfish moment to marvel at the sight, and then swallowed him down as much as she could manage.

Darkly’s head hit the back of the tree, his fingers knotted in her hair, but it was the desperate whisper of “Fuck” that did her in.

She rolled her tongue, hollowing her cheeks and rearing back, flitting her eyes up his long, lovely body. The lower whorls of the triskelion danced and shimmered in svítilna cast light, and Shades bled from his shoulders, slithering down his arms in search of her.

A dangerous heat built in her at the sight of this witch, undone by her lips, her tongue, her touch—hers. She tongued the slit on his head, groaning at the salty taste, and swallowed him down again, fisting his cock and spinning her wrist, slamming forward and relishing the tears that bloomed in her eyes until Darkly was trembling from her touch. His hands alternated from grabbing her hair to guiding her head to caressing her cheek.

And when the heat became too much to bear, when she thought she might lose control and ruin them both, Milla stretched her arm up his body, just barely managing to tweak one of those gloriously sensitive nipples.

Darkly damn near flew off the tree as he came, shouting loud enough to call any witch who cared over. Hot spurts coated her tongue and throat, doing nothing to quell the need churning inside of her.

And he knew or suspected because the moment his cock ceased its eruption, Darkly hauled Milla to her feet, spun her around, and blanketed her back with his body.

“Heinous witch,” he snarled in her ear, spent but no less exhausted for it. He cupped her pussy, dragging his middle finger along the seam of her shorts before working the hem to the side and doing the same against bald flesh. Milla whimpered, held in place by his weight, his heat. “Grab the bark,” he demanded, and she did, digging her fingers into the coarse ridges of the green oak. “Dante.”

“What?” she panted, wriggling her hips as his finger trailed her lips.

“Too much or too far,” he sang in a low, sinister voice. Cold bloomed in the wake of his fingers, and he cupped her breast with his free hand, teasing her nipple. “Say ‘Dante.’ Understood?”

“Yes.” She said it fast, too fast, but Holy Horned God, the teasing alone was going to drive her to lose control. Bark crumpled beneath her hands, the heat in her veins on the verge of boiling.

“Good witch.” Darkly dipped his finger into her pussy, sweeping through her folds to gather arousal before tracing her clit. Milla arched against him, teeth ground together to keep from screaming. He did it again, driving her to the same trembling state she had brought him. A hand of shadow bloomed at her throat, gently easing Milla’s head back. Wisps of cool air caressed her exposed midriff and pulsed against her pussy, wrapping around Milla until the chill seeped into her bones, tempering her Way and lessening the burn while at the same time every other sensation coursing through her body intensified.

Darkly gasped, and though she could not turn her face to see, she knew it was in surprise. His cock twitched against her backside, and he dropped his head against her shoulder, moaning as he thrust between her thighs. “Goddess, leannán .”

She did not know what he had just done or how. How could she when there were no thoughts or questions in her head? She was nothing but bliss, reverberating along a taut wire. Ecstasy shot from one end to the other until all she knew was the feel of Darkly’s fingers sliding deep inside of her in their wicked summons. The grind of his cock against her skin. The pinch of his fingers and roll of his Shade. Yet through it all, faint on the other end of that wire, was the sensation of cool sweat and soft flesh. Of need and wonder, and slick heat clenching down.

“Too much?” he asked, yanking Milla back to earth, if only for a moment.

“More,” she demanded, and he gave. His fingers slid from her pussy, and he jerked her shorts down, fumbling her skirt out of the way before sliding into her in one delicious thrust. Her palms sank into the tree, bark falling as ash to her feet. Darkly relinquished her breast to grab her hips, hitching Milla to a better angle before driving into her again. Shades cushioned her cheek against the tree bark, teasing her nipples, her clit, and Darkly fucked her in her favorite Way.

Hard, like she was unbreakable. Impervious.

Like she was a Death Witch.

She cried out, not caring if anyone heard. Pleasure swelled in her core, heating her skin. She gripped the tree, moaning as her Way built higher, fed by Darkly and his Shades, and when release was within reach, she pressed her hips back, and he pounded forward.

Stars burst behind her eyes, and pleasure overrode sense. Searing heat left her hands, pouring from Milla into the oak, along with a ragged, wild cry from her throat. Darkly pulled out on a curse, dancing away from Milla and leaving her to collapse against the tree. The trunk juddered from the dead weight of her body, branches quaking and dropping brittle, autumn dry leaves all around them.

It took a moment to regain herself. To realize where she was and what they’d done. When her vision cleared, she saw Darkly mere inches away with a worried look on his face.

“Dante?” he asked.

Milla grinned, panting as she replied, “Fuck no.”