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Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 01

By: jdnunyer



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Author's note

Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight. Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.

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Cahill sat in the great oak tree at the center of town, his bare back against the trunk and his legs crossed in front of him. Though he was perched atop one of the lowest boughs, the ground nonetheless lay two hundred feet below him. From that high vantage point, he could feel all the glamours they had placed over the city once known as Savannah. He had but to spin out a few filaments, letting the resulting reverberations inform him that the protective web was still perfectly intact. As it had been yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. As he'd known it would be.

Still, he raised his flute to his lips. And as he began to play, his music pulled energy from his Libido. Shaped it. Forged it into something light and strong and resilient. Gave greater strength than was strictly necessary to the web he, his mother, and Aeife had first crafted so many years ago. A polychromatic lattice filled the sky, casting beautiful light onto the city below. It hummed softly, harmonizing with the sounds birthed by his instrument.

Shortly after he began playing, however, Niall wandered into the park. The teen shielded his eyes from the bright display his father had created with a hand pressed to his brow as he looked up into the tree.

With a sigh, Cahill tucked the flute into his belt. There might be no need to reinforce the glamours, but doing so temporarily alleviated the crackling of his nerves. Tamped down the flow of electricity that kept his body on edge from dusk til dawn.

He tried his best not to let his kids see that though. They worried more than they should as it was. They couldn't know that he did too.

Forcing a smile he didn't quite feel, Cahill dropped out of the tree. He fell no faster than a leaf would have, landing softly on the hard asphalt despite a great drop.

"Sorry to interrupt," his son said.

Cahill waved the comment away. "They're strong enough as it is. I just do it for the peace of mind." As his son well knew. "What's up?"

The boy looked like he suddenly wished he was somewhere else. Of course, Niall almost always looked like he wished he was somewhere else. Shy as he'd been as a boy, he'd gotten even worse after entering his teens. Puberty was never easy on their kind, and Niall wasn't coping as well Ty had at that age. It was bad enough that they had to undergo all those physical changes so quickly, the way mortals did. Add the sudden possession of an ability to sense and shape glamour and it was a wonder any of them made it to adulthood without going mad. Though it had to help that his sons knew who and what they were, that they were spared the worst of what he'd gone through, they were both much stronger than he'd been at that age. Their powers were developing fast and he couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like to cope with that. Worst of all, while Niall wasn't necessarily any stronger than Ty, he had an incredible gift for reading Libidos. That made him especially sensitive to people's reactions. Uniquely prone to being overwhelmed by them.

"You weren't interrupting," Cahill said, deliberately infusing his voice with warmth and patience. "Really." He clapped his son on the shoulder for emphasis.

Niall smiled awkwardly, one side of his face remaining still. "I had that dream again." He scratched the back of his head. "Worse than usual."

He hadn't quite grown into his body yet either. Over the course of the past year, his son had added two inches in height, leaving him nearly as tall as his father. His shoulders were every bit as broad as Cahill's, but his frame was as yet wiry and lacking in muscle. He'd fill out in time, to be sure, but for now he was a bit ungainly.

"Doesn't mean anything," Cahill said. The boy should try having the dreams his father had suffered with for so many years. The sort that had made him question his sanity, his parentage, and his very nature. Dreams that sabotaged every attempt he'd made at forming meaningful bonds with other living things. What were a few nightmares about the Wild Hunt beside that? "We're safe as can be here."

"I know," his son said. "I know," he repeated, more softly.

They were as loosely connected to the Dreaming here as the Dreaming itself was to Faerie. True, in a sense, all three were of a whole. But one had to travel far, along paths no mortal could walk, to reach their fair city. And time flowed as differently here as it did in the Dreaming relative to Faerie. Perhaps more so. He wasn't even sure anymore, since he'd not left the place in a long time. Nor had anyone from Faerie or the Dreaming entered.

The only Dreamsmyth who'd set foot in Savannah was Oberon. And he hardly even counted as one of them anymore, now that he'd fathered two children by Aeife. His mother and her Wild Hunt had not reached this place, and that wasn't about to change any time soon. Not if he had anything to say about it.

"What did your mother say?" he asked.

"Not to worry about it," Niall confessed. "But that I should tell you all the same." He looked up at Cahill with his mother's eyes. Big, brown, and arresting. In a few years, his sisters would be in serious trouble. "If they ever find a way through...."

"They won't," Cahill said.

Niall stared at him incredulously.

He pulled his flute back out and held it up for his son to see. Though the great oak cast an even greater shadow, the silver acorn charm Liadan had given him gleamed brightly. It endowed the flute with even greater power than it would have otherwise had, and it was his finest yet. The silver beauty he'd given his father so many years ago paled in comparison. Any glamour Cahill crafted through the instrument would be twice as strong as it otherwise would be. Even more so if that glamour was protective in nature. "Trust me."

"I'd feel safer if you hadn't told me who gave you that charm."

Niall had never met Liadan, but the boy's mother had filled his head with tales about the Puck. None of which were flattering, of course. Granted, Caronwyn didn't need to distort the truth to cast his aunt in a bad light. The Lady of Mischief did that all herself. But his mother conveniently failed to mention any of Liadan's redeeming qualities.

He'd tried to fill that gap himself. But, like Caronwyn, Niall considered him an untrustworthy source on all matters Liadan.

"Grandma says my dreams don't do the Hunt justice," Niall said.

Cahill frowned.

Aeife sure had a way of spooking her grandchildren. Sometimes, Cahill suspected she did it for that very reason, though he knew that she'd say she was just trying to prepare them for a world they'd likely face one day. If he had his way, that day would never come, but he couldn't deny the wisdom of preparing them for it just in case.

"Have you ever witnessed it?" his son asked.

Cahill snorted. "Ever been told you're rather precocious?" Though every account of the Hunt differed, none painted a pretty picture. If he was less alarmed than his son, it certainly wasn't because he was under any illusions about what would happen if their glamours failed. And though Niall didn't realize it, his father wasn't feeling all too sanguine about that either. Still, before his son could get another word in, Cahill asked, "Would you feel better if I let you help me reinforce the glamours?"

That got a smile out of him. "A little, yeah."

So he took Niall by the hand and flew them back up into the tree. Together, they surveyed the city. Cahill hardly recognized it as the place where he'd first awakened. The population had more than tripled since that time. Yet, even as the mortal population swelled, the city had grown more and more fey. Everywhere Cahill looked, he saw majestic oak, ash, and thorn trees. Here and there, carriages were drawn by unicorns. At night, will o' the wisps guided people home safely. Streets constantly shifted, subtly altering the layout of the city.

"Dad?"

"Sorry," Cahill said, shaking himself out of his reverie.

He produced a fine fiddle from nowhere and handed it to his son, who nodded gratefully. Without further ado, the two them began to play.

#

When he returned home, Cahill found his mother out back, overseeing a scavenger hunt. There was something deeply incongruous, in the best possible way, about the image of her in her druidess robes, casually tossing glamour about here and there, surrounded by children. She looked as powerful and fearsome as ever, and the sheer presence of her vast Libido had his knees trembling, but the smile on her face was one of pure delight.

He'd never been more in love with her than he was at that moment. Except that was couldn't be true, because he felt that way a dozen times a day.

As he ran past at breakneck speed, little Regan loudly informed his father that the girls were winning again. Even before Cahill caught Caronwyn adding a fourth leaf to a clover Cori was about to inspect, he surmised what the boys' problem was.

"You're gonna get caught one of these days," he informed her.

"At what?" the gorgeous redhead asked, giving him a look so innocent it screamed of guilt. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Mmm-hmm. None whatsoever," he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

At least his mother didn't seem to be favoring her own children. Cori was his daughter by Fiona, and he sometimes feared that Caronwyn wouldn't treat her the same as the other Walkers because of it. Nevermind that she'd approved it beforehand, or that she'd had Seamus plant a child in her the very night Cahill had impregnated his sister. His mother still leveraged Cori's existence to win arguments whenever it suited her, Aengus notwithstanding. Of course, not once in the eight years since the girl had been born had Caronwyn let anyone but him see the least sign of any disapproval. For all he knew, she didn't even hold anything against the girl, or him for that matter. She might just have liked having another arrow in her quiver. But he just couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive whenever Cori was with her, or deriving greater pleasure than made any sense from seeing her treat the girl kindly. Which, in truth, was all she ever really did.

He might not even have worried so much if his daughter didn't already have reason to feel like the black sheep of the family.

Just as Liadan had somehow been born with a different ethnicity than her mother, so had little Cori. Her red hair could almost have been seen as a Walker trait, but it was closer to copper than auburn. Granted, Maeve was a strawberry blonde, and that was pretty unusual in its own right. But it wasn't just that Cori's locks were the wrong shade of red. Her skin had heavy olive undertones and her facial features were distinctly East Asian, especially her monolidded eyes. To Cahill's eye, she was every bit as pretty as his other daughters. She'd grow up to be a total knockout, he was sure. But the other kids sometimes teased her just because she was different. The last thing the girl needed was for Clan Walker's Matriarch to treat her like an outcast.

"Where are the others?" he asked Caronwyn.

"My mother's giving Ty a glamour lesson," she said as her eyes found Aeife's eldest.

Morgan was so quiet one could almost believe him mute, but the boy had a sharp mind. And he was developing an impressive ability to wield glamours despite being a few years shy of puberty and thus entirely too young to possess any talent. He reached under a rock and produced a silver triquetra pendant that hadn't existed a moment ago. Caronwyn frowned, but didn't call him on it. That was good, because he'd have been quick to point out that, at best, the boy had leveled the playing field.

"Wynne and Uaid went fishing with Kegan and Aileen," she continued, her little cousin's cheat already forgotten. With a scowl, she added, "Who knows what Padraig and Blaire are up to. Probably burning something down."

Cahill snickered. Brittany's children were a bit wild. At just twelve years old, Blaire already had her nose and lip pierced, and Padraig never tired of picking fights with his older cousins, no matter how often he lost them. But the two were hardly arsonists. And his mother knew that full well.

Before Cahill could say anything, Aeife's youngest let out a squeal. It seemed that, without any help from Caronwyn or powers she ought not yet possess, Maisie had discovered a golden unicorn horn. She ran right over to Maeve to show her.

As quiet and introverted as Morgan was, his younger sister couldn't have been more boisterous. Or bossy. Though they both had jet black hair, ivory skin, striking violet eyes, bushy eyebrows, and scrawny builds, they couldn't have been more different. Heck, if not for the fact that they looked so much alike as to occasionally be mistaken for twins, Cahill might almost have doubted that they'd come from the same womb. Or even the same clan.

Of course, he and his brothers were all quite different. And Fiona and Brittany were hardly interchangeable with one another. Why did he continually find himself struck by the stark differences in the next generation?

"Did Niall find you?" his mother asked.

"He did," Cahill replied. "And he told me about his dream. But I let him help reinforce the glamours, and he didn't seem so worried after that."

His mother gave an approving nod. "Didn't see him come in with you. He's taking a nap right now, isn't he?" she asked with a knowing grin.

"Might have worn him out a little," Cahill confirmed. "That boy can play."

His mother slipped a hand around his waist and leaned her head against him. His heartbeat accelerated. "Somehow I don't think the music's responsible."

Right. He sometimes forgot that his children had limits. Sometimes, it almost seemed like they didn't. Niall and Ty, anyway. At their age, he certainly wouldn't have been capable of the half things they did without even realizing it. But they were still young an inexperienced. And he'd done nothing but grow stronger and stronger since he'd awakened.

"Probably not, no," he allowed, before planting a kiss atop his mother's head. He lingered a moment to smell her hair. The slight scent of strawberries made his eyelids flutter. If it was possible for a woman to be more desirable than his mother, he had no idea how. "He's going to put me to shame in a few years."

"In what sense?"

"I think just about every."

"Well, hopefully Fiona won't forget about you."

He gave her ass a playful smack before asking, "And where is my darling sister?"

"On top of Seamus somewhere, I imagine."

"You shouldn't talk like that with the kids around," Cahill admonished her.

She looked up at him, eyes glowing. The hand on his waist reached up to stroke his antlers. "You know, they can probably finish up on their own. Don't really need me anymore."

"Stop it, you," he said, though he knew she was only toying with him anyway. How long had it been since they'd done it in the middle of the day? "Don't need you to supervise, or don't need you to interfere?"

"Speaking of things one shouldn't talk about with the kids around," she chided.

"Maybe I should give you a time out."

She kissed his cheek softly, sending shivers down his spine. Those luscious lips were deadly weapons, as capable of paralyzing a man as any toxin. And that was when she didn't even bother putting anything extra into the effort. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she asked. "Bend me over you knee and show me what a bad girl I've been."

His poor dick was so engorged it ached. "I...think I'm gonna go take a cold shower."

Caronwyn laughed. "You do that. We'll pick this back up tonight."

"Are we not on duty?" he asked.

Each night, two of them would remain available in case any of the children woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep while another two would patrol the city. As the children got older, fewer glasses of water needed fetching, and fewer bedtime stories needed telling, but they still stood watch. The rest of them, however, would be free to do what their kind did best. And apparently, they'd fall into the latter group that night. He probably should have known that, but he could never remember when Caronwyn scheduled them for what.

"No fair, no fair!" Regan yelled out suddenly. "I saw it first!"

"Did not!" Maeve countered.

"That's my cue," Caronwyn said. "Enjoy your shower."

#

After a long shower, which hadn't been cold but had taken care of his problem in a different way, he went to fetch some whiskey from his liquor cabinet. Along the way, he ran into Aeife and Oberon. His grandmother was lying on his bed, the one he shared with Caronwyn, flipping through the pages of a magazine. Her lover sat quietly beside her, staring admiringly at his buxom beauty while running fingers through her black hair. Until Cahill walked in wearing nothing at all, that is. Then the former prince of Faerie turned to stare at his nephew, amusement written plainly across his pale face.

"You run out of towels or something?" Aeife asked, her green eyes trying, and failing, to focus on his face. That was no fair. He was soft at the moment. Not small, of course. Even limp, his cock was quite big. But still. "What if one of your children had snuck into your room instead of your grandmother?"

"The door was locked," Cahill said.

"Was it?" she asked, green eyes twinkling. Literally.

Oberon gave her a shrug. If Cahill was looking for an eyewitness to testify against her, he'd have to look elsewhere.

For the most part, Cahill loved having the whole clan, all twenty four of them, living together under one roof. It gave him a powerful sense of security. Of belonging. But sometimes, he wondered what it might be like to have some privacy. He almost remembered what that was like. How thoroughly he'd taken it for granted in his days as a bachelor.

"How'd the lesson go?" Cahill asked, deciding to pretend that he wasn't the least bit bothered by the invasion. He walked over to the liquor cabinet, recovered a bottle of the Dew, and poured himself a few fingers' worth before turning to face his grandmother again. Bare ass propped against the hard wood, he asked, "Ty listening to you any better?"

They'd nearly discontinued his lessons a while back. In the end, Ty convinced them that he was trying his best. That he was having trouble focusing, but wasn't deliberately trying to irritate her. Cahill still had his doubts though.

Of course, he wasn't sure she didn't deserve it.

"That boy is mighty willful," Aeife replied. "He's got serious potential, but getting him to realize it won't be easy." A wicked grin spread across her face. "At least, not until he's old enough for me to motivate him properly."

Her white-haired prince gave her a flat look, his pale gray eyes very nearly expressing something akin to an actual emotion. But not quite.

With a huff, she closed the magazine and sat up. Too-slender legs folded beneath a top-heavy body. His grandmother was a beautiful woman. Gorgeous, even. Every bit as pretty as Brittany, if not his mother, who was utterly without peer. But her body didn't do much for him. Aside from her huge breasts, anyway. Those swollen melons were absolutely amazing, and the ultra-tight tank top that barely contained them made sure everyone would notice. The rest of her left something to be desired though. It probably should have excited him to see her wearing shorts so skimpy they could almost pass for underwear, but from the waist down, she really didn't have much to reveal. And whenever she went out of her way to get under his skin, which she did with some regularity, he reminded himself of that. And allowed himself to feel okay about thinking such thoughts.


Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 01



"We have something more serious to discuss anyway," she said in an uncharacteristically serious voice. As she did, she slipped into her fey form, that of the archetypal fairy godmother. Diaphanous wings sprouted from her back and her body began to glow. 

Hardly anyone wore their fey forms as often as Cahill did, especially around the house where no one but other Walkers would see them. Yet even compared to others, his grandmother wore hers infrequently.

Cahill regarded her quietly for a moment, almost unsure if she was joking with him. But of course she wasn't. Annoying as she could be when the urge struck her, she never went too long without reminding him why she'd once been matriarch.

As abruptly as her appearance had changed, so too had his feelings towards her. He felt the tension go out of his back. The eagerness to counter any jab with a hook melted away. This Aeife was welcome to let herself into his room whenever she wanted.

He took a sip of whiskey, savoring its clean taste, and said not a word.

"It's about my mother," Oberon said in that rumbling voice of his. With his fair skin, delicate features, and long hair, he didn't seem like he should have such a deep baritone. That his waist was the same size as Aeife's didn't help either. No one was ever going to mistake him for a woman, not with those big muscles and broad shoulders, but he was still entirely too effeminate to sound so much like James Earl Jones. But then, if he actually spoke more than a few words here and there to anyone other than Aeife, Cahill might have gotten over that by now. "Queen Titania."

"He knows who your mother is, dear," Aeife said, placing a hand on her prince's shoulder. Tender as the touch was, she followed that up by saying, "We all do."

The poor guy looked like he'd been stabbed in the gut. He recovered from the wound quickly enough, to be sure, but Cahill could only imagine how his uncle must have felt hearing that. After everything he'd given up for her, she threw that in his face?

"She hasn't found a way to get through?" Cahill asked.

"We don't think so," his grandmother replied. "Not yet."

"Not yet," Cahill repeated.

"I think someone's trying to help her," Aeife continued. Strictly by coincidence, her hand fell away from Oberon's shoulder as she added, "Someone on this side."

"What makes you say that?" Cahill asked, feeling numb.

"We checked the glamours on our way back. Some of the fabric was seriously frayed. The separation between this world and the Dreaming is as strong as ever, technically, but someone would really like to see that change. If they'd been a little stronger, or maybe just had a better idea what they were doing, they'd have succeeded in opening a hole."

As she said all of this, she kept her eyes firmly on her grandson. But Cahill could feel her Libido cooling, almost as if her energy was trying to retreat as far away as possible from the man sitting beside her. It was more or less the exact opposite of what happened inside a fey's Libido when they got aroused.

She couldn't really suspect him, could she?

If there was a traitor in their midst, it had to be someone else. His uncle was as devoted to his grandmother as any man had ever been to any woman. There were days when Cahill looked at how good his uncle was to the woman he loved and felt guilty about how rarely he went the extra mile for Caronwyn. How often he hurt her feelings, inadvertently or otherwise.

Besides, Oberon was just too powerful.

By his grandmother's own admission, if whoever had sought to sabotage their glamours had been stronger, they'd have succeeded. But fey didn't come much stronger than Oberon. If he'd tried to break through the web, they'd be dealing with his mother at that very moment. As far overboard as Cahill had gone in reinforcing the glamours, he'd have liked to believe that it would take someone of Oberon's strength to even come that close to unraveling them. But they were meant to keep people out, not to resist tampering from the inside.

It made no sense to think that Oberon had attempted to betray them yet failed in the endeavor. For lots of reasons. His grandmother must have recognized that on some level, because if she'd really thought he'd tried serving them up to Titania, she'd have done a lot more than taken her hand off his shoulder. Lost some of her desire for him.

One of the two would no longer be drawing breath.

He wasn't sure which one, but an epic battle there would be. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere nearby when it happened. Not even in the same world.

"Well?" Aeife said, as if expecting an answer to a question. Only she hadn't asked one.

"Well what?"

Her eyes went wide with disbelief. "Do you think maybe that's something we should be concerned about? Just a little?"

"Absolutely," he said. "This is my concerned face."

The stone of Oberon's mask cracked, allowing the tiniest smirk to appear.

"What do you suggest we do about it, then?" his grandmother asked.

Couldn't she give him a moment to think?

Cahill sipped his whiskey slowly for a time before saying, "For starters, we need to change up the nightly rotation." She didn't laugh at that. That was a good start. "You or I will be part of every patrol from now on. And no more splitting up. We work in pairs."

"Okay," his grandmother said. "What else?"

What, did she want him to propose interrogating everyone?

"There's got to be some ritual my mother can perform. A divination of some sort."

"I'm sure there is," his grandmother said. "And that might even help. Assuming whoever nearly succeeded in undoing the most powerful glamour I've ever crafted hasn't figured out how to mask themselves from such scrutiny."

Assuming fire didn't burn, in other words.

"Double patrol duty? You and I will both serve every night, pairing up with different people each time. And we'll set aside more time each day to bolster the glamours."

Aeife frowned at him. "That second part's a good idea."

"But?" he asked, tipping back his glass in a show of calm he didn't feel.

"No one's going to try anything while on patrol. Not with you or me standing right beside them the entire time," his grandmother said. "Besides, if we try to go without sex for too long, we'll soon cease to be of any use to anyone."

She was right. The main reason they all looked forward to their nights off was that they got really horny. Because it felt so damn good to share their bodies with one another. But the coupling served a purpose too. Working glamours took a lot of energy. In a sense, they had an obligation to fuck each other's brains out from time to time, if only to keep their Libidos full enough to allow them to reinforce the web each and every day.

He wasn't sure what else to suggest though.

"Okay, well, we've got something to start with," his grandmother said, rising from the bed. "We should probably let you get dressed now."

Only then did Cahill remember he was still naked.

#

"Is all that really necessary?" his mother asked while she diced up a mountain if vegetables for the evening's keg of soup. A small smile graced her lovely lips. "Sounds to me like an excuse for you to drink from some other fountains."

Cahill kissed the side of her head again. If Ty wasn't standing at the counter beside them, peeling potatoes, he'd have gotten a bit more affectionate. It wasn't easy, resisting the temptation. Queen Titania could surely think up greater forms of torture than forcing Cahill to stand near his mother while requiring him to keep his hands to himself, but it would take someone of her creativity to do so.

It didn't help that her soft cotton dress was about as thick as tissue paper. It covered everything up tastefully, as was only appropriate around their children, but thin as it was, it still revealed a lot. Anyone interested in such matters would have little trouble determining that she wore boy shorts and a full-cup bra beneath.

Bad as it was not being able to touch her, the pain of knowing he'd made his mother jealous was even worse. Especially since he knew that she was not only jealous, but resentful that he knew it. That, for once, he was right to suspect as much.

She'd not gotten mad at him for thinking her jealous when she wasn't in some time, but the memories of fights best forgotten remained present in both their minds. Convinced as Caronwyn that her son saw her as more possessive than was true, anytime she actually did get jealous, she got angry at both herself---for reinforcing his perception of her---and at him---for holding that perception in the first place. As ever, she was hiding her irritation quite well. Almost perfectly. But he didn't need any change in her Libido to tell him that she was upset. The feigned smile would not deceive him. He knew her too well.

Why didn't the same go for her? Why didn't she know, through and through, that he didn't feel the same way about his sisters as he did her? Or that he didn't care if she couldn't help but fall victim to occasional bout of jealousy? He might not believe that she was as comfortable with sharing him as she let on, but he didn't love her any less for it. Why couldn't they just set all of that nonsense aside?

"It'll give me a chance to interrogate everyone without it looking like that's what I'm doing," he whispered. It was a safe bet that their eldest was well aware of most everything they thought they kept secret from him. He was nearly seventeen years old, after all. The ways of the fey were no great mystery to him anymore, even if he had yet to experience some of them himself. Besides, Ty never been as easy to deceive as their other children. Not even as a toddler. The boy had to have a pretty good idea what his parents did at night, and who they did it with. Who they were hiding from behind the web of glamours and why they were hiding. He probably even knew by now that someone had nearly undone them. Probably. In case he didn't, though, Cahill intended to keep him in the dark. "Your mother's going to do more or less the same tomorrow night."

Cahill's attempt at explaining himself earned him nothing more than a a curt "Mmm-hmm." Which was probably all he deserved.

"You don't think there's any reason to question Fi and Brit?" he asked.

No reply came.

That was reasonable enough, though. He really, really doubted that he'd find out that either of his sisters was responsible for sabotaging the glamours. The problem, however, was that if they gave everyone who seemed trustworthy a pass, they'd have no suspects left. They had no choice but to explore every possibility, however remote it seemed.

"That's not the point," he said, pleadingly. Perhaps hopelessly.

"No one seems like they'd be capable of this," she said, as if reading his mind. "We have to suspect everyone." He couldn't tell from her tone whether she was mocking him or not.

"Of what?" Ty asked without looking up from the potatoes.

Cahill shot him a disapproving look.

"Sorry," their son said, over-enunciating. "Forgot I can't hear you."

"So when's my mother going to question you?" Caronwyn asked, not bothering to keep her voice down. For all the good it would have done anyway. "Or you her?"

Cahill sighed. "Fine. We'll do that."

She grunted by way of response.

"Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah, blah," Ty said, head bouncing from side to side. "Good thing there are no kids around to hear something they shouldn't. You guys might have to lower your voices or something."

"How many Dreamsmyths have we got this side of the glamours?" Caronwyn asked. "Why cast any wider a net than that?"

Because it wasn't Oberon.

It just couldn't be.

He didn't have any particular affection for his uncle. Nor anything against him. It was just obvious where his loyalties lay and where they didn't. Sure, it was uncomfortable to think that one of them, a Walker, had attempted to throw the gates open for Queen Titania. But the very last person Cahill suspected was her son, former lover or not.

"So, uh, is twenty enough?" Ty asked, pointing to a third big bowl of peeled spuds. "Some of these are pretty small."

"Few more wouldn't hurt," Caronwyn told their son, sounding sincerely interested in the topic. The heat she'd accidentally allowed to bubble up to the surface was receding already. "We can always save the leftovers. You'll eat it for lunch tomorrow, won't you?"

"Are you kidding?" Cahill asked, eagerly following her lead. "He'll eat anything, as long as it's not still breathing."

That earned him a dirty look from his mother. For his part, though, Ty seemed to think his father's comment somewhere between amusing and flattering.

The kid couldn't have much more growing to do. He was an inch taller than his father, and had been for about a year. His heavy musculature hadn't changed much of late either. But their son still ate enough for an army.

"I'll peel a few more," Ty said.

"Look, if it really bothers you," Cahill said, though he realized the stupidity of it before he even finished the sentence. Reluctantly, he completed the thought. "We won't do it."

"Don't," his mother said. "You're making me out to be a-"

"I didn't mean that," he said, exasperated. "Didn't...mean that," he repeated, though this time his ears heard the sound of a man who was exhausted.

Fuck, he wished he could find a way to end their suffering. Break the cycle.

He loved her so much. She had to know that, didn't she?

"Yeah," his mother said, turning around. She placed her hands on his bare chest and his Libido soared, blissfully---or perhaps willfully---unaware of the tension that had filled the room a moment ago. "Here's the deal. We'll go through with this silly little escapade, and afterwards you make it up to me."

"And how should I do that?" he asked, excited by the possibilities.

"Eww, gross," Ty said, no longer amused. "Can't you guys talk about this later?"

"Teach your daughter how to play the flute," Caronwyn said promptly.

Maeve had been asking for more music lessons for weeks. Cahill had agreed enthusiastically enough when she'd first asked, a year or so ago, but it hadn't taken long to see that whatever other gifts she might have inherited from her parents, that wasn't one of them. Or, rather, hadn't taken long for him to see that. His daughter had yet to accept that music might not be her thing. And though Caronwyn didn't doubt his assessment of the girl's abilities, she'd been insisting for a while that he continue to humor her. Until recently, when she'd gradually begun bringing it up less and less often, leading him to think---to hope---that she'd finally thrown in the towel.

No such luck.

Part of him knew that he should be proud of his daughter's determination. So many parents had the opposite problem, forced to bribe and cajole their children just to keep them from giving up too quickly. But it was different for their kind. Some fey had a true gift for music, unlike anything a mortal could comprehend. Cahill was one of them, as were Niall and Regan. Others, however, were not. And there was no shame in that.

Besides, the only reason Maeve wanted more lessons was because of Regan.

There was no deep, abiding love of music in her heart. He knew that. Just a desperate need to prove that anything her brother could do, she could do better. To be involved in whatever he had going on in his life at the moment. The two of them bickered incessantly, yet made never made any attempt to put any distance between themselves. They found each other insufferable yet they remained inseparable.

He and Caronwyn were sure they'd fall hopelessly in love when they were older. Which would eventually be sweet. But the fact that they were only nine and ten years old, and therefore had many more years of pointless antagonism to go, almost made him want to cry.

Still, if rewarding his daughter's antics was the price of peace with his mother, he'd gladly pay it. Anything to make her happy.

"That's quite a bargain you know," his mother said, as though he'd expressed more reluctance than he had. Thankfully, her smile was more bemused than annoyed. She caressed his cheek, causing his knees to tremble. "I probably ought to up the price."

"Probably," he said, kissing her on the nose.

Ty made various gagging sounds, then said, "Scuse me. Must've swallowed some peel." After a pause, he added, "Never knew how sweet they were. Almost cloying. Go figure."

"Nonetheless," Cahill said, pointedly ignoring the not-so-little smartass, "I should make you listen. That way you won't hold it against me when I give up again."

His mother pushed a fist against his abs so lightly that it couldn't quite be called a punch. "She could be a slow learner. You don't know."

"I know," he said. She started to protest. Before she could, he asked, "Have you seen her watercolors?" The girl's attempts at music gave him a headache, but she'd shown some signs of artistic talent. "Why don't we get her an easel and some painting supplies?"

"Good idea," Caronwyn said. "After you get her permission, we'll move on to that."

"If you want my opinion, we've got too many people thinking that making noise and playing music are the same thing as it is," Ty said. "Dad."

#

Convincing the others to don costumes was easy. They did so less and less often with each passing year, but every few months or so someone would suggest they honor Oona's memory, and there was obviously but one way to do so. The tricky part would be getting everyone on board with the idea that to truly get into character, it was necessary for them to let Cahill mess around with their minds a bit. Put them under glamours to convince them that they really were the villains they portrayed. So Cahill decided to wait until after everyone was dressed up to propose the idea.

He kicked things off, claiming the lead role of the Caped Crusader for himself. He didn't get too elaborate with his costume, though. No breastplate or bodysuit or anything like that. Just a pair of gray tights and a tight long-sleeved T with a black bat emblazoned on the chest, supplemented by a snug pair of black silk boxers, black leather boots and long matching gloves, a gold utility belt, a flowing black cape, and a rubber mask. A full latex suit would have looked better, but he didn't want to wear anything that heavy.

His brother went all out as the Joker, though. Seamus wore a purple suit with gold pinstripes, a gold vest with big green buttons, purple gloves, a green bowtie, black shoes with purple and gold trim, and a big pocket watch. White makeup covered his face, with Circles of thick black kohl rimming his eyes. His mouth was contorted into an unnatural grin, made all the more garish by his fire engine red lipstick. His chin was elongated, stretching several inches further down than it should have and culminating in a sharp point. His brown hair and eyebrows had turned green. Not the dark green Fiona often sported either, but a bright, neon green. Eyesore green. His hairline had receded too, leaving a distinct widow's peak. With what remained standing straight up like that, the top of his head had acquired as sharp a look as that of his knifelike chin. As if that wasn't enough, he'd radically altered his physique as well. Seamus now stood a few inches taller than Cahill rather than three inches shorter. The temporary growth spurt hadn't remotely preserved his proportions either. A lean body had grown even leaner. His torso was long and thin, while his arms and legs, though still muscular, looked absolutely cartoonish. Or perhaps nightmarish.

Even more dramatic, though, was Finnegan's transformation into Two-Face. He wore a perfectly bisected three piece suit, silver on one side and black on the other. The shirt he wore underneath was black where his suit was silver and red underneath the black half. His tie was red on one side, checkered black and silver on the other. Nothing too radical there, though the stark contrasts made for a rather striking visual. But what really impressed Cahill was what his cousin did to his face. The right side looked exactly as it always did. Cold and hard, yet relatively handsome. Incredibly so, by mortal standards. The left side, however, was downright hard to look at. Burned down to blackened bone in places, with raw muscle and charred skin elsewhere. What little hair remained on that side of his face was pure white, and a disheveled mess. The thick waves of soft brown on the other side of his head looked all the more perfect by comparison.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 01



Naturally, while he waited for Cahill to explain the scenario they'd be acting out, Finnegan occupied himself by flipping a gold coin. And muttering to himself, occasionally letting out a chirp of maniacal laughter.

After seeing the two of them embody their iconic roles so hauntingly, Cahill felt a bit embarrassed about his effort. Or lack thereof. So, with some difficulty, he packed on an additional twenty pounds of muscle. That probably left him looking a bit too much like Gallech, bulkier than his mother liked, but at least he felt more like Batman.

The women made more modest changes, as was only fitting. None of their assumed identities were known for their burned faces or unnatural smiles, or terrifying physiques. For them, nothing more was called for than a change of outfit and perhaps different color hair.

His disappointment with the outfit his mother had changed into, then, had nothing to do with how well it channeled the comic book character. No, it was her choice of character that put a frown on his face. Presumably to give him what she thought was a taste of his own medicine, Caronwyn had chosen to play the part of Harley Quinn. Poison Ivy would have been a more natural fit in many ways, not least because of that character's iconic red hair, but no. She just had to go and pick the Joker's girlfriend. 

As if Seamus could ever deserve her.

Not that he had anything against his brother. He'd never been anything but decent to Cahill, and more than decent to Fiona. He could get a bit jealous, from time to time, of the attention she gave Cahill, but otherwise he was as good to their sister as could be. Amazing as Fi was, though, she wasn't Caronwyn. If any man was good enough for the matriarch of Clan Walker, and the jury was still out on that, it was Cahill.

As much as he wished his mother had left Harley Quinn for the woman who most belonged at Seamus' side, he couldn't deny that Fiona fit the part of Poison Ivy quite well. Her dark green hair, which currently had ivy leaves growing out of it, seemed to fit the character better than the red locks for which she was so well known anyway. Plus, she had always been more in tune with plant life than their mother was, so it made more sense for her assume the role of a villain whose crimes were committed in defense thereof. Truthfully, Seamus playing the Joker was the only reason Fiona would have fit the role of Harley Quinn at all. That was a pretty good reason, perhaps, but his sister's personality couldn't have been much more different from that of the manic, sadistic, and psychotic jester.

Not that his mother was any of those things, either.

Thinking too much about it made his head hurt. All he knew for sure was that the wrong one would be behaving sycophantically towards his brother. And that both of them looked so fucking amazing that he couldn't wait to start "interrogating" them.

Cahill probably shouldn't have been surprised to find that Fiona looked just as good with pale green skin as she did with her usual complexion, but he was. A little, anyway. Her green lipstick and nail polish also did more for him than he'd have expected. As did the vines curling about her arms, legs, and throat. There was a strange appeal, something unsettling yet downright enchanting, about the green on green on green thing she had going. On the other hand, there was nothing mysterious or surprising about the reaction he had to her makeshift teddy. Fashioned wholly from ivy leaves, it barely covered anything. The teddy did almost nothing to shape her figure, besides giving some support to her girls. In her position, most other women would have opted for a pair of stockings, perhaps, heels or boots almost certainly, and definitely a corset to emphasize her generous breasts while pulling in her waist. Cahill respected the hell out of that choice, though. Sure, even by mortal standards, his sister's proportions weren't quite ideal, and for a woman of the fey she was uncommonly thick. But so far as he was concerned, Fiona had a truly glorious figure. Her large breasts, huge ass, and full thighs more than made up for her waist not being as impossibly thin as that of her fellow fey women. That his sister was as comfortable with her figure as she was only made her that much more attractive.

But she couldn't begin to compare to their mother.

If his sister made the most of an idea that probably shouldn't have worked too well, a character whose sex appeal had as much to do with her use of pheromones as it did her appearance, Caronwyn took everything that was sexy about an already sexy character and kicked it up a notch. Or three. Her interpretation of Harley Quinn, like many recent ones, hewed a bit less closely to the traditional harlequin jester. Instead, her outfit consisted of a frilly white skirt, a black and red leather corset, a white blouse that basically only covered her shoulders, leather gloves, knee high boots, fishnet stockings, and a leather choker. Her left boot was red, the right one black. Accordingly, her left stocking and glove were black, red on the right. She wore her hair in pigtails, one on each side. Though the character was usually portrayed as a blonde, his mother's hair was black as pitch on one side and red as blood on the other. Not her usual red-brown, but red. Like Seamus, she'd painted her face bone white, but unlike her son, her face retained its usual shape and size. She wore so much black makeup around her eyes that it took him a moment to realize that she wasn't wearing a mask. Her upper lip was coated with black lipstick, her lower one red.

His mind was simply not equipped to handle that much sex appeal.

It wasn't like he'd ever been unaware of how extreme his mother's proportions were. How could he have been? Her usual outfit might have been the flowing brown robes of a druidess, but even so, no man could fail to notice her divine shape. The tight corset she wore now, however, made her tiny waist seem smaller still, while giving extra prominence to a pair of breasts that demanded attention as it was. That the hem of her blouse didn't reach any lower than her ribcage only seemed to further emphasize the generosity of her bosom and the sharp contrast between her bust and her waist. The stockings and boots flattered her long, shapely legs and the heels on her boots were so tall that most mortal women would have had difficulty walking in them. That should have presented a challenge to a woman accustomed to going barefoot, but of course it didn't.

Allowing the whole affair to move forward took a great deal of willpower. Only the smallest part of Cahill had any interest in anything other than ravaging his mother right then and there, on the rec room floor. Or on top of a table. Or up against the wall.

Eventually, he took note of Brittany's getup. After his breathing returned to something approximating normal. Which took a while.

When he'd first met his sister, he remembered, he'd thought her every bit as attractive as Fiona. Had in fact felt some guilt over thinking as much. But that assessment had been influenced by the excitement of meeting a new family member. Over time, he'd come to realize that while his younger sister was indeed a very attractive woman, who'd grown even more beautiful after having purebred children, she didn't compare to Fiona. A man with different tastes might think her the hotter of the two, but the clear winner in his mind would always be Fi. Brit just didn't have the right physique. She had an impressive amount of T and A for how thin she was, he supposed, but Cahill wasn't inclined to grade on a curve.

That wasn't to say his little sister didn't look damn good, though. Her Catwoman outfit couldn't have clung more tightly to her body. The black latex emphasized her round little ass, slender waist, and firm breasts, forcing Cahill to acknowledge that her figure was far from featureless. Her hips were entirely too narrow, but there was no denying that she had a woman's body. Though the only skin showing was around her mouth and eyes, that itself turned him on more than he expected it to. He was no fetishist, but there was something incredibly kinky about seeing his sister buried beneath all that shiny latex.

"So," Fiona asked while Cahill was still busy undressing their younger sister with his eyes. "What's the plan, Batman?"

"Look at you. You're a poet and you don't know it," he said.

Seamus gave Cahill a dirty look that he'd have readily ignored had his brother looked like himself. Coming from the Joker, though, that glower felt different. Unsettling.

"We're good to go now, right?" Brit asked.

"Not quite," Cahill said. "One last preparation."

"Awww, Bats, you're no fun!" his mother said, affecting a high pitch. When everyone looked at her, she said, "What? Have none of you seen the cartoon?"

"That was pretty good, actually," Seamus said, his comment directed at Brittany as much as anyone. "Besides, we are supposed to get in character."

"If you didn't sound so much like Seamus when you said that, I might have taken you seriously," their sister replied. "Course, then you'd have to ask 'Why...so...serious?"'

Cahill cleared his throat. "I realize that some of us might find it hard not to laugh at ourselves. So I thought maybe we'd take an extra step this time."

"I don't know," Finnegan said, after Cahill explained exactly what that extra step would entail. "I'm not sure I want you inside my head."

"Oh, relax, Finnie," Brit said. "He's not gonna read your thoughts or anything." Turning to Cahill, she added, "Like he said, it'll wear off before we're done anyway. Right, Kay?"

He nodded. Though their cousin still looked skeptical, he voiced no further protest.

"I guess it doesn't sound too bad," Seamus said.

"Not at all," Fi agreed. "I think it sounds rather fun, in fact." She blushed a little, her cheeks turning a darker shade of green. "Can be fun to let yourself go every now and then, don't you think? Give up control for a little while."

"Here's a cliche. There's a cliche. Everywhere a cliche! Yaay!" Caronwyn said with a little dance that was probably supposed to be goofy but instead came across as painfully arousing. "What?" she demanded of those who gave her a funny look.

That seemed to be the end of the discussion. Of course, it helped that Cahill didn't tell anyone that Aeife believed there was a traitor among them, and that while they were all convinced that they were comic book villains, he was going to play detective in more ways than one. Lies of omission were the fey's kind of lies.

"Wait, wait, wait. One last question," Fi said. "If you make us believe we're our characters, does that mean my subconscious might use glamour to produce pheromones that'll let me control your minds? My kisses going to be poison?"

Cahill stopped to consider that. It was a good question.

"I thought that was only with certain lipstick," Finnegan said. "In issue-"

"Really?" Brit asked, giving him her best, "Did you think you were ever going to sleep with me again? Ever?" look.

"Well, we know she can kiss Harley," Caronwyn said. "Guess Fi will just have to stay away from Cahill and focus her attention on me."

Cahill gave his mother a flat look. Then, turning to his older sister, he said, "I'll make sure to leave a strong impression in your mind about what Poison Ivy can and can't do."

"You sure?" she asked. "What about when the glamour starts to unravel?"

"Don't worry," he said.

Once upon a time, her concerns would have been most justified. But no one realized just how strong he'd become. Except maybe his mother. Maybe.

The others appeared ready to agree when his mother took him by the wrist and pulled him aside. "It's not too late to forget about the glamours. Have ourselves a regular costume party. So what if we end up laughing at ourselves a bit? Won't hurt anyone."

"And how will that help us figure out who's tampering with the glamours?"

She frowned. He could almost feel the effort it took her to keep from insisting that whoever was responsible, it wasn't any of them.

"Just trust me." Before she could respond, he covered her mouth with his.

#

The last rooftop leap put him just across the street from his kid sister. Cahill crouched low behind the balustrade and focused his vision. Though he enhanced it with glamour, for the sake of verisimilitude, he forced his field of vision to turn green. Random bits of information, expressed in the sort of font one might find on an old typewriter, filled his peripheral vision. All nonsense, of course. He had no idea what the rapidly changing numbers measured. But they seemed like they belonged. Batman would have use for something like that, no doubt. All he paid any attention to was the bursts of light emitted by the homing device he was pretending to have planted on Brittany. Once those confirmed for him that he'd found Catwoman, he let his vision return to normal. Only greatly magnified.

A quick little glamour amplified his hearing as well, allowing him to eavesdrop on the conversation she was having with Finnegan. With Two-Face.

"I told you," his sister was saying, "he doesn't trust you."

"But he trusts you?" their cousin asked.

Brittany threw up a hand in exasperation. "No. He doesn't trust anyone but Harley." Then, lowering her voice to a purr, she said, "It's that Harley likes to use her mmmmm-outh." It took forever to get that last word out, her throat rumbling over the "m" endlessly. The sound might have tightened Cahill's boxers a little, but he couldn't be blamed for that. His cousin's back was to him, but he suspected Two-Face had reacted the same way.

Nonetheless, Finnegan responded by saying, "You mean run her mouth."

"That too, I suppose," Brittany said with a lazy shrug.

"How can you be sure he'll let either of us work with him, then?" Finnegan asked. "That he won't just kill us rather than split the money, the way he did the last time he robbed a bank?" He pulled his coin out of his pocket. "Nevermind. Heads, we stick to the plan. Tails, we tip Batman off to his whereabouts and do the job ourselves."

Brittany laid a hand on her cousin's wrist. He shook his hand free and flipped the coin. It must have come up heads, though, because then he said, "Fine. But if he tries to screw us over, you're gonna make it up to me."

"Am I?" she asked. After trailing her tongue slowly across her full upper lip, she asked, "And how am I going to do that?"

"Heads, you give me head," Finnegan said. "Tails, you-"

Brittany snickered. "Keep dreaming."

Cahill decided he'd heard enough. Part of him wanted to see where things would go if he left them to it, his sister's one eighty notwithstanding, but he wanted to stay in character for now. Batman would have had heard all he needed to. It was time to bust these two, find out the Joker's location, and prevent a bank from being robbed. The good people of Gotham and their federally insured bank deposits deserved no less.

He fired a grappling gun at the roof of their building and then jumped. The rope he held in his hands was mostly just for show. In truth, he was flying. Ever since he'd developed the ability to do so, he did that as often as he could. But he made sure it wouldn't look to an outside observer like he was doing anything Batman couldn't do.

A second later, Cahill's feet smashed into the window, sending shards of glass flying across the office. They were slower than Catwoman, however. Before any broken glass hit the ground, his sister slipped out the door.

Two-Face, on the other hand, didn't have catlike reflexes. He was still coming to grips with what had happened, eyes wide with shock that would last another moment or two. Plenty of time for a martial arts master like Batman. Cahill took his cousin down quickly with a few calculated blows. Nothing that would hurt Finnegan too much, he didn't think. Just incapacitate him quickly and efficiently. Of course, Cahill hadn't slipped into his role as fully as the others, so he wasn't sure. But Finnegan hardly made a sound as he went down.

He probably could have stopped Brittany from getting away, but he didn't bother trying. If he let her warn the others, the showdown with the Joker might be less anticlimactic than the one with Two-Face. And the mere thought of Seamus treating Caronwyn the least bit like the Joker did Harley Quinn was enough to make him relish the idea of that.

#

He caught back up to his sister just as she arrived at a greenhouse that presumably belonged to Poison Ivy. Or that Fiona thought belonged to her, now that she believed herself to be the comic book villain. Heck, for all he knew, Cahill might have created it for her just an hour or so ago. He hadn't messed with his own mind nearly as much as he had the others', but he knew he'd hid some things from himself.

Cheating just a little, Cahill made himself incorporeal and slipped through a pane of glass while Fiona let Brittany in through the only door. It wouldn't have been too hard to listen in on their conversation from outside, but he didn't want to give anyone a chance to slip away as quickly and easily as his sister had before.

Once inside, he took physical form again. After finding something suitable to hide behind, of course. Which didn't take long, as the greenhouse was filled with incredibly lush vegetation. He didn't recognize any of the exotic specimens, but they all grew tall, thick, and strong. The bush he chose for his concealment was half again his size, dense, and fragrant.

"He's onto us already," Brittany said as she swept past their older sister. If anyone wearing that much latex could be said to sweep past anything.

There was nothing arousing about the gentle squeaks of her movements. No sir. And he wasn't wondering what it would be like to cut a few holes in that suit so he could fuck her while she still had it on. No sir.

"Who is?" their mother asked, looking up from a bed of flowers.

Whatever appeal there might be to his little sister's getup, though, it was nothing compared to their mother's outfit. There was something creepy about it, to be sure. She looked quite capable of the extreme violence for which her character was known, and every bit as far from sanity. The strange smile on her paper white face and the unfocused look in her mismatched eyes sent chills down his spine. He hadn't noticed that before. Where a breathtaking pair of brown irises should have been, there was now one red pupil and one pitch black. But there was denying that she was smoking hot either. The boots, the stockings, and the corset. The heels. Fuck, those heels. Even her gloves turned him on a little.

Most importantly, though his mother might have done a frighteningly good job of adopting another personality, those curves were all hers. And no one had a body quite like his mother. She was the very embodiment of female sexuality.

He could barely think straight. It was as though he'd breathed in a good measure of the pheromones for which Poison Ivy was so well known. But it wasn't she who had him hypnotized. And that wasn't an uncommon reaction for him, when looking at his mother.

"The man in the moon," Fi said with a smirk.

Brittany flashed a look over her shoulder at their older sister.

"No kiddin'?" Caronwyn asked, almost squeaking. Neither her late sister nor her mother spoke like that, and their voices were very highly pitched. Her unnatural eyes went wide, taking Cahill's breath away in the process.

"Of course she's kidding, Harley," Brittany explained, as if speaking to a child. "The man in the moon? She's making fun of you."

"Not at all," Fi said, going over to stand beside their mother. One green hand went around an impossibly narrow waist, the other lovingly stroked a lock red hair. "Having fun with, not making fun of. Right, Harl?"




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 02



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Author's note

Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight. Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.

########################

A few hours before dawn, the six of them returned home, smiling giddily and walking on air. They'd kept at for several hours after the last bit of Cahill's glamours faded away, and Caronwyn wasn't the only one who slipped back into her costume time and time again. For her part, Brittany hadn't even taken hers off. Just formed holes in it to allow her brother and sister access to her breasts, ass, and snatch. Good times had by all.

But the moment he set foot on Clan Walker's grounds, their five story home towering above him, Cahill came down from his high. He remembered the reason for their little costume party. The interrogations he'd stopped carrying out after the first and his mother's divination. He'd have been just as skeptical of that as she herself was, if not for the flute.

"Time for sleep!" Brittany declared. She looped an arm through Finnegan's, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said, "I'm the best kind of tired."

That Cahill was more responsible for that than he was didn't seem to bother their cousin. He gave her a smile and kissed the top of her head.

"What she said," Cahill's mother said to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think I'll be asleep before my head even hits the pillow."

"I've got to take care of something," he said. "But if you're that tired, don't wait."

She frowned. "Should I come with?"

"No, no," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. "It's a one man job. I'll be up soon. But your head will definitely have had time to hit the pillow by then."

His mother smiled. "Okay. Maybe I'll still be up...but I make no promises."

"They were that good to you, huh?"

A flicker of light emanated from her brown eyes. "Someone was."

Cahill gave her ass a pinch.

"I'm going to look in on Kegan, Aengus, and Aileen," Fi told Seamus.

She always did that. It didn't matter who watched over the kids that night or how confidently they vouched for the children's wellbeing, his sister always checked on hers before turning in. It didn't matter that Aileen was nearly twelve and Kegan just a few months younger. Cahill wondered how old they'd be before she stopped. Assuming she ever did.

For his part, he was starting to get anxious about the flute. Did it make sense for him to be so impatient that he couldn't bother with doors and stairs after he'd spent so much time fooling around with his mother and sisters? Of course not. But all the same, he called it to mind, located its presence, and jumped right to it.

His brother's room was so well kept that it hardly looked lived in. The bed was neatly made, covers drawn tight enough to bounce quarters off them. Nary a speck of dust was to be found. Not on the TV screen, under the bed, or anywhere. The DVDs on his shelves were neatly ordered and the weights were all hanging from appropriate positions on racks. Nothing was out of place. Nothing left out in the open that could be stowed away in drawers, on shelves, or in the closet. Not so much as a shirt draped across the back of a chair.

How had they not realized before that the poor guy wasn't really in control? No one lived like that. His brother hadn't simply matured. He'd turned into an automaton.

He found the flute in a box inside another box on the floor of the closet. It was cool to the touch and strangely lifeless. Of course, he hadn't held it since he'd given it to his aunt. It had ceased to be his then, and no longer responded to his touch as it once had.

"Not for me, nor for thee," he muttered to himself.

It took more energy to unmake the flute than he'd expected. He'd either done a better job crafting it than he remembered, or it had grown stronger with use. When he finished, though, nothing remained. Not even a speck of silvery light.

Leaving the closet exactly the way it was, minus the flute, Cahill departed. He was only so surprised to find his mother fast asleep when he reached their room.

#

As ever, the first thing Cahill did after waking was reinforce the protective glamours. He took his time with it, too. Even more so than usual. That he didn't find any real weak spots came as something of a relief, and he hadn't forgotten that he'd undermined Titania's plan the night before. But knowing that she'd come as close as she had to reaching Savanna inspired him to remain up in that great oak tree, playing his flute, for a good long while.

The city couldn't be too safe from her and her Wild Hunt.

When he returned home, he found Fiona standing by a rectangular pit in the backyard. At first, he thought she was doing some unconventional gardening or constructing a pond. But then he saw the truth of the matter. Had her hedge maze been formed to scale, it would have been more fit for kittens or bunny rabbits than people. But it looked like she'd squeezed a good ten acres or so into the hole.

The distortion of her glamour made it feel like he was looking out the window of an airplane. He could see little dots moving around, but not much more.

"Who's down there?" he asked.

"Oh, hey Cahill," she said, finally noticing him. She glanced at him quickly out of the corner of her eye, then returned her attention to the maze. Like an orchestra conductor, she flicked her index fingers this way and that. As she did, she reshaped the maze, frustrating attempts to navigate it. "A few of the kids. Brittany, Gallech, and Finnegan too, as giant wolves. Y'know, to give 'em a little extra motivation to get to the center."

Cahill raised an eyebrow. His sister and their cousin wouldn't hurt any of the children, but simply being pursued by oversized wolves would be enough to give Maeve nightmares.

"None of the little ones," Fi explained. "Besides, they're not pursuing them too seriously. Only Niall's gotten caught so far." A look of pride spread across her face as she added, "You should see Aileen move. I'm not sure they could catch her if they tried."

He frowned at the news about Niall. But the boy had other talents, particularly when it came to music. And Aeife would say it was good that he was only blessed in the one area. Not that he thought there was anything to that.

Probably.

"Padraig keeps walking through the walls like they aren't even there," Fiona said with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Crazy how quick their abilities are developing, huh?"

It was indeed.

But his mind had already turned from the children to the beautiful woman standing before him. In that green dress that barely covered her ass, exercising greater control over plant life than the rest of them could, she reminded him of the nature goddess who'd greeted him in his dreams all those times. Sometimes, that felt like it had been a lifetime ago. But just then, he keenly remembered the impression his sister had made on him back when he'd thought her nothing but a figment of his imagination.

She'd grown stronger since then. Not like their mother, who'd given birth to seven purebred children, but she had. And it showed. Mostly in her ass, which had grown bigger and more amazing. But in other ways as well. Her Libido didn't thrum quite the way Caronwyn's did, giving a pulsating resonance to any room she entered, but it was formidable.

"What?" she asked, blushing.

Cahill planted a hand on a mostly bare buttock and leaned in to kiss her neck. "You enjoy last night as much as I did?" he asked.

She shrugged him away. "Stop, Kay. I'm busy." Pulling the hem of her dress down as best she could, she added, "Besides, the kids might see us."

"So?"

Fiona huffed. "Sometimes you can be such an adolescent."

Despite her words, though, he felt a flicker of something in her Libido. Something that told him his attention wasn't entirely unwelcome after all.

"Sorry," he said, stepping away from her. "It was fun though, right?" He swept a lock of hair away from his sister's face. That, she didn't seem to mind. "Been too long since we got together. I've missed you."

"Almost as much as you missed Brittany?" she asked, swiping a finger through the air.

"What do you mean?"

She snorted. "You seemed pretty focused on her. Maybe it was just the latex?"

"I...guess," he said. Had he paid more attention to her than Fi?

That Catwoman outfit had been pretty hot. He'd enjoyed the way it felt under his hands. Against his body. The squeaking sound she made as she writhed beneath him. But that was mostly just because he'd never experienced anything like it before, he thought.

"Didn't take you for one of those," she said. "Maybe I should wear a catsuit next time."

"Can't say I'd object to that," Cahill said. "But the idea of you in just about any kinda outfit gets me a little excited."

He caught a glimmer in one of her green eyes. "Yeah?" A mischievous grin appeared. "How bout a burlap sack? That doing anything for you?"

"You know what I mean."

Another finger flick. "Sure. I admit, I didn't realize how much I missed playing those games. We should do it again soon. Maybe cycle back to some classics like Alice."

"Sounds good to me."

She eyed him askance for a moment, her Libido starting to swell. Then, abruptly, she said, "Oh, go away." With more than a little consternation.

"What?" he asked, laughing.

"I see that look on your face," Fiona replied. "You're getting ready to undress me right here, where anyone who looks up for a second or two will see."

"Right. I'm the one who's about to lose control," he said, giving her butt a good pinch. "It's okay, Fi. Better women than you have had more trouble resisting my charm."

A thick vine sprouted up from the ground and smacked him in the thigh. It would have hit his cock if he hadn't twitched to the side at the last moment.

Despite the reproach, she said, blushing, "Think you can sneak away for a bit later on? Sometime before dinner, maybe?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

Daytime trysts were an indulgence they rarely allowed themselves. It pained him to say, "Perhaps," when what he really wanted to say was "You better fucking believe it." But he honestly wasn't sure he could get away with. Or that he'd let himself if he could.

"Yeah?" 

"Perhaps," he repeated.

"Okay," Fiona said. "Well, if not today, soon?"

Cahill hesitated. Then caved. He felt guilty about giving serious thought to breaking rules for her he so seldom broke for his mother, but the nature goddess rarely propositioned him so directly. And seeing his older sister look downright nervous, because of him, was more than a little flattering. It was actually quite intoxicating. He might not be able to find the time right away, but as soon as he could, he would.

"Good," she said.

And, for the time being, that was the end of that. She shooed him away without looking him in the eyes, her full attention devoted once more to the children and their game. Cahill almost laughed at his sister's failed attempt to play it cool. To pretend that his answer hadn't set her Libido to boiling.

When he went inside, entering what ordinarily would have been the rec room, he walked into an upscale cafe. Most days, several sofas were arranged on tiers so as to combine the best of stadium seating with home comfort, facing a 120" flat screen TV. But now, there was a fully stocked coffee bar, and hand-carved wooden tables with matching chairs. Seated at the tables were the six youngest children, Seamus, Reilly, and Oberon. His mother was behind the coffee bar, working the espresso machine.

And looking damn good doing it. But, then, his mother looked damn good doing anything.

"A caramel macchiatto, please," Cahill said as he walked up to the coffee bar.

"Get it yourself, you bum," she said, albeit with a playful grin.

"Thought you were playing barista."

Not that she was dressed for it. Rather than black slacks, a white shirt, and a green apron, or some other unflattering outfit, his mother wore a red crop top and hip-huggers that emphasized her incredible figure. And damn, was her figure incredible. Her waist had always been thin, but it had shrunk even further as she'd grown stronger. Her hips had filled out a little, and as had her breasts, which had never been small. Between all of that and her face going from unbelievably gorgeous to whatever was even more beautiful than that, his mother redefined Cahill's very understanding of sexy. All it took was a quick glance at her and his circulatory system started working a lot harder.

"Just fixing myself a cup while I wait for the next round," she said as she watched the espresso drip steadily out of the machine.

He looked over his shoulder and saw what he'd missed in his haste to get a better look at his mother. Each table had a miniature faery chess set arranged atop it. A proper set would have nearly filled the room, but the children mostly didn't even know the difference. They'd made do with tabletop versions most of their lives. It just always surprised him, even after all these years, to see anyone playing chess while sitting down. 

Strange. Not so long ago, he'd found faery chess completely alien. He still wasn't very good at it, but he'd grown so used to the real thing that the sight of chessboards small enough to play mortal chess on now struck him as odd.

"A tournament?" he asked, though he didn't need her nod to know the answer. "And Oberon's taking part? Did someone cut his umbilical cord?"

It was probably ironic for him to use that metaphor for his uncle's connection to Aeife, particularly when speaking to his mother, but Cahill could think of no better way to put it. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen his uncle amongst Clan Walker without her at his side.

His mother shrugged. "Think he's trying to make a point."

But, then, he also couldn't remember the last time his grandmother had so visibly questioned her lover's loyalty. Whatever might go on between them in private, all the rest of them saw was a perfect happy couple.

Cahill wished he could tell his mother that they could trust Oberon. But in order to do that, he'd have to tell her about the silver flute. And that meant he'd have to tell her about Liadan. Which he wasn't ready to do.

He should have years ago, he knew, but the more he chose not to, the harder it became to reverse a long string of bad decisions. He didn't think she'd care too too much about his involvement with the woman at this point, though she wouldn't love hearing it either. But she'd certainly want to know why he'd kept it a secret for so long. And the fact that he lacked a good answer would make the conversation painful.

"Regan's got no patience, I'm afraid," Caronwyn observed. "Maisie's not much better. But Morgan? Give that boy a few years, and he might be better than Seamus."

"Really?"

Not even Oberon was better than Seamus. No one was. Cahill's game had improved a lot, but if he won one game out of ten against his brother, he considered himself lucky. Except it wasn't luck, and that was pretty much the problem. Games of chance, he did well at. Unreasonably so. But his gift was of no help when it came to chess.

His mother nodded.

"I think Cori's got potential, but it's hard to tell. She seems to be throwing her matches." She gave the drink a good stir before adding some milk. "Can't say I blame her, either."

"Meaning?"

"Thanks to a strong opening, she had a significant materiel advantage over Aengus for most of the early part of their game. He didn't say anything too mean, but he sure gave her some nasty looks." A frown settled across her face. "You wouldn't understand, Kay. Being a girl means you just can't win. Either you're not as good at anything because your a girl, or you're punished for making the boys feel insecure."

"So she let him win," Cahill said with a sigh.

His mother placed a caramel macchiato in front of him. "Like so many before her."

Cahill looked at the drink then back at her. "Thanks. I would've got it."

She smiled before setting about cleaning the espresso machine for another use. "So happens I kinda like you." After a pause, she added, "But don't let that go to your head. When we go sit over there in just a moment, I'm not going to let you win."

"Ha," he said. "Like I need the help."

Truthfully, she was the better player, if not by much. But Cahill tried not to let little things like objective reality get in the way of his confidence.

A twinkle appeared in his mother's brown eyes. "Care to place a bet?"

"Well, I need to talk to Aeife," Cahill said. He'd like nothing better than to sit and chat with his mother while winning something fun and exciting from her. But they needed to deal with the security of the city first. "Is she around?"

"Yeah," his mother said. "She should be right back. What's this about?"

"No lesson for Ty today?" he asked, pointedly dodging her question.

With a frown that let him know the evasive maneuver hadn't gone unnoticed, she said, "I don't think she wants to let Oberon out of her sight for too long." She didn't say, "With good reason, if you ask me," but the look on her face said it for her.

"I'll explain later," he said. 

She took a sip of her espresso, decided it was acceptable, and came around from behind the bar. "She went upstairs," his mother said, before gracing him with a small kiss. "If I'm not in the middle of a game when you come back, care to settle that wager?"

"Did we actually agree on one?"

"I believe I did," she said. He noticed her choice of pronoun, but let it slide. "You already owe Maeve music lessons," his mother continued. "So you can count on me picking something good in case you lose. Might want to get creative with your end."

"I'll do that," he said, laughing. Then, raising his cup, "Thanks for the coffee."

She waved dismissively while walking over to the one empty table.

Cori, seeing this, abandoned her post by Aengus' side. Cahill smiled to himself as he saw his daughter hurry over to his mother, who was already setting up the pieces. The one would have someone to keep her entertained until he came back, and the other would get to try out her A-game without fear of being punished if she did too well.

Cahill stopped on the third floor, which his three eldest children shared with Gallech and Reilly. He expected to find Aeife up on the fourth floor, but he thought he heard his grandmother's squeaky voice coming from Wynne's room.

With the help of a little glamour, he crept silently across the common area, past the kitchenette and one of the floor's bathrooms. He stopped just outside his daughter's room. A little more glamour amplified the sounds coming from within.

"Yeah, right," his daughter said most emphatically.

"It's true!" Aeife insisted. "They didn't."

"But you're so pretty," Wynne said in a whining voice. "And...boys love boobs."

His grandmother laughed. "Most of them, yeah."

"All of them," came the reply. Followed by a sob so saturated with despair that Cahill's heart broke in to a million pieces.

"I don't know about that. But that's besides the point. I developed late, believe it or not. Through most of high school, I was just a chubby girl with surprisingly small breasts." Lest that fail to make an impression on the girl, Aeife added, "Who was so pale they called me Casper. Or Lobster-face, when I tried, and failed, to do something about that."




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 02



"What's wrong with pale?" Wynne asked. "I thought fey are supposed to be-"

"Fey are, yes. But I didn't know I was. Neither did anyone else. Remember, Faerie and the Dreaming were completely separate worlds when I was growing up."

"Oh, right," his daughter said, almost chiding herself. Was that a chuckle? "I forgot." After a moment, she added, "That must have been so weird."

Aeife laughed. "I suppose it all depends on what you're used to."

"You think maybe mine'll grow some more?"

His daughter's question was met with a brief silence, followed by, "Honey. You're so young! You're not even close to done growing. Come on now."

"Some girls I know-"

"You're not them. And you don't need to be."

Wynne drew a deep breath, exhaled, and expelled greater world-weariness than should have been possible for a girl her age. As was only possible for a girl her age.

"It'll be different when I'm older, I guess," she said at last.

"It will," Aeife assured her.

Cahill heard what sounded like a hand slapping a pillow. "It's no fair! By the time that happens, he'll have fallen for somebody already. He's practically an adult already."

"You shouldn't even be thinking these thoughts yet," his grandmother told her, sounding as though she felt obligated to say. "You know that."

"Well, I'm not supposed to watch any good movies either. Just stupid cartoons made for kids. But just the other night, you let me watch-"

Aeife laughed. "Okay, okay." From the sound of it, she gave her granddaughter a kiss at that point. He could just see her, smoothing back Wynne's hair and pressing her lips to the girl's forehead. The way Caronwyn would. "Let's not tell your father about that, hmm?"

"I know."

"Anyway, don't you worry about that ship sailing without you," Aeife continued, sounding like the fairy godmother she sometimes was. "When the time comes, he'll be there."

"You don't know that," Wynne said. It sounded more defeatist than argumentative.

Cahill wanted more than anything to gather his little girl up in his arms and hug her. But he knew this wasn't a job for him. 

"No, I don't. Not for a certainty," his grandmother replied. "But don't forget, I've spent a lot of time with your brother. And boys aren't that hard to read." That got a snicker from Wynne. "He doesn't always see the truth of things at first, and he'll resist mightily if you try too hard to get him to do so, but everything's basically working right upstairs."

"I didn't say I thought he was dumb," Wynne said, in a tone that almost suggested she thought her grandmother was. "Just that-"

"Well, he'd have to be," Aeife cut in.

Cahill smiled to himself as he sipped his coffee.

"You take after me more than your mother," she continued. "I bet you're going to go through the same thing I did. Unpopular when you're young, beating them off with a stick when you're older." She quickly added, "Or just enjoying all that attention."

"Grandma!" Wynne said. "Modest, aren't we?"

"Honey, if you've got it, flaunt it."

The two broke into a fit of giggling.

"But seriously," Aeife said. "Let me tell you a story. There was a Queen of Faerie, who many said was the most desirable woman alive. And, much as I hate the b-i-never-you-mind, I'll admit that she had a certain...traditional...something going for her." His grandmother paused, perhaps deciding whether that description was sufficient. She apparently decided it was, for when she continued, she said no more about Titania's appearance. "Every one of her sons was impressive, if in different ways. But one of them really put the rest to shame. I mean, he was something, girl, let me tell you." Wynne giggled at her grandmother's choice of language. "Naturally, he was the queen's favorite. And his heart belonged to her in turn." Cahill could practically see the self-satisfied smile on Aeife's face at this point. "Until one day, this prince met a woman who made him forget all about his mother."

If only she believed Oberon's change of heart was as sincere as it was. Hopefully after Cahill talked to her, she'd realize she never should have doubted him.

"Lemme guess," Wynne said. "Do I know this woman?"

"You might," Aeife confirmed. "And you might look a little something like she did at your age. Only less awkward. And not as pudgy."

It sounded like they hugged at that point. "Thanks, Grams," his daughter said.

"Any time, dear," she replied before kissing the girl's forehead again. At least, Cahill assumed that's what that sound was. "Besides, if he doesn't come round, I'll turn him into a donkey for you, as punishment being a jackass."

Wynne giggled to herself and the mattress squeaked as Aeife presumably rose up off the bed. Upon hearing that, Cahill popped down to the common area.

A few steps out of the bedroom, his grandmother saw him. A sly smile spread across her lips. Before she could say anything, Cahill pressed a finger to his lips. He then pointed first to the stairs then up at the ceiling. Aeife nodded and followed him up to the fourth floor.

The moment she stepped off the last stair, he rounded on her, took her in his arms, and kissed her good. A powerful orgasm erupted within her. Her back turned to jelly and her legs wavered. The flood of energy from her Libido nearly knocked him over.

"Heard most of that, did you," she asked, gasping for air, once he released her.

Cahill nodded, running a hand through her jet black hair. "I know we don't always-"

She shook a hand in front of his face, cutting him off. "No need to explain."

"I'm just trying to say-"

A smile spread across his grandmother's lips. "I know, sweetie. And it's appreciated. But there's no need." She placed a hand against his chest, sending a jolt of ecstasy through his torso. "Honestly, I like the give and take. If you start treating me differently, I'm gonna have to go and do something to piss you off just to get things back to normal. Got it?"

He snickered, then nodded.

The other hand joined the first and she leaned in a little closer. "That was some kiss, though. Feel free to do that whenever you want."

Cahill laughed the kissed the top of her head. She sighed in mock disappointment that he hadn't placed it a little lower or put a little more juice behind it.

"We need to talk," he said.

"It was only an action flick," she protested. "And there was no nudity. Just some cursing, and a bit of violence. Really wasn't that b-"

He snorted. "Not that. Grandmothers are supposed to spoil their grandchildren. Though, for the record, I never condoned such behavior." He almost forgot the rest of what he was going to say, so enchanted was he by her beauty. At times, she really got under his skin, and he convinced himself that she wasn't so attractive. But she really was. Especially when she went around cheering his daughters up. "It's about Titania and our sabotaged glamours."

"Oh," she said. "That. Yeah, we should talk about that."

"I know," Cahill said, chuckling.

"Wait," she said, scurrying over to the couch. Once she sat on her feet and placed a pillow in her lap, she nodded for him to continue. Then, before he could, smacked the leather cushion beside her, beckoning him to her side. "Okay, now tell me."

He went and sat beside her, propping his bare feet up on the oak coffee table. When his grandmother leaned against his shoulder, Cahill put an arm around her and kissed her hair.

Why couldn't she be like this more often? She might like the fact that theirs was often an antagonistic relationship, but that didn't mean he did.

That was hardly the most important thing to worry about just then, though.

"Oberon's not responsible," he said.

Aeife stared at him flatly for a time. "You sure?" Before he could answer, she said, "Of course you're sure. You wouldn't say it if you weren't." With that, she leaned up and kissed him into orgasm the way he had her just a moment ago.

The world fell away beneath him. He floated off into a sea of euphoria, high above all his worries. Wild Hunt? What Wild Hunt? Titan-who?

When he returned to his senses, his grandmother said, "Thank you."

The only reply he could give was a goofy grin.

"I really didn't want it to be him," she said, as if that was anything but obvious. "I just thought it had to be." A look of disgust came over her. "Ugh! What was I thinking?" Disgust turned to panic. "You think he'll forgive me?"

"I think you'd have to do much worse than doubt him before he'd give up on you."

Aeife smiled. "You're right. He's a keeper, isn't he?"

The temptation to laugh wasn't easily resisted, but Cahill somehow managed.

"So. Who is it?" his grandmother asked.

He explained everything, including the flute and its origins. Much as he'd resisted telling his mother that, there didn't seem to be any reason to hide it from Aeife. Unsurprisingly, she didn't question how he might be taken in by someone he shouldn't have trusted, the way he feared his mother would. Nor did she read any betrayal into his actions. And why should she? He hadn't known anything about the Puck or Clan Dreamsmyth then.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He'd known less than he did now, but he'd known enough.

Still. His grandmother hardly batted an eye at any of that. All she wanted to hear about was his mother's divination and where the flute was now. When he told her that he'd unmade it, she breathed a sigh of relief and patted his thigh approvingly.

"You think you can figure out a way to protect their dreams? Or, better yet, all of ours?"

Aeife frowned. "Maybe." Presumably sensing his disappointment, she rushed to add, "The two of them won't be hard. I'm just not sure I can cover the whole clan."

"Well, that's something, at least," Cahill said.

"I don't think a web will do for this," she continued. "It's got to be internal. And that sort of glamour is easier to do through physical contact. Particularly intimate contact."

Of course.

"I'll do my best, but Titania ain't weak. I'm afraid I might only be able to keep her away from those who I can give, hmmm, special treatment."

"If you think you can teach me, I'll cover my mother and sisters," Cahill said. "The kids will have to make do with the watered down version." He frowned as he said it. That didn't sit well with him at all. If anything, the children should get extra protection. But there was nothing to be done about that. "We'll just have to hope she wouldn't use-"

Aeife stared at him like he was a child.

"Right," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'll have to keep an eye on them. Especially the older ones."

Ty. She would start with Ty.

Fuck.

Maybe that acorn charm didn't need to be on his flute anymore. He had no knack for making jewelry, but Brittany did. Not the way he did with musical instruments, but she'd worked glamours into necklaces and bracelets before, back in the days of Walk the Ways. She could make his son a ring. Her natural talent, supplemented by the acorn charm, might not be enough to keep Titania out of Ty's dreams, but it might.

"What about what she's already done to them?" he asked. "Anything you can fix?"

Aeife fretted at her lower lip. "Depends. If she's just got them under a glamour, then yeah. Might take some time, since she's been working on them forever, but whatever that bitch can do, I can undo." She drew a deep breath. "The problem is that it might not be supernatural. If she's messed with their psyches badly enough, turned them against us in their heart of hearts...." She shrugged. "Might not be anything any of us can do."

Good thing that was hard to imagine. She'd only had sixteen years to fill their heads with sweet lies and tempting promises, after all. No big deal.

"I'll do what I can tonight," she said. With a mischievous grin, she added, "I mean, I do so hate being pinned between two strong young men, surrendering my body to their every need. But if it must be done, it must be done."

Cahill was not amused.

"Relax," his grandmother said, pressing a hand to his cheek. "I'm kidding."

"I know," he said. "But-"

"This is serious?" she finished. "So will I be, when it comes time for that."

He hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"Now, why don't you let me show you what you're going to need to do for the others," she said, reaching between his legs.

Cahill grabbed her wrist. "Later," he said. "I've gotta go win a bet."

She stared at him in disbelief, but said nothing as he stood from the couch. Cahill gave his grandmother a quick kiss then headed back down to the first floor.

#

He waited for Caronwyn to finish her game in the third round of the tournament, which happened to be against Maeve. Despite the occasional pointer Cahill gave his daughter, or perhaps because of that, she lost to her mother. She didn't make much of a showing, either.

"I don't like chess," she said afterwards, knocking her king over then crossing her little arms over her chest. "When'm I going to play concertina again, Daddy?"

His mother gave him a sly smile. "Yes, dear, when is that going to happen?"

Cahill mussed his daughter's strawberry blonde hair. "After your tournament."

Maeve sulked. "Chess is dumb. It's for dummy dumb dummies."

"Like your mother?" Cahill asked, prompting Caronwyn to shoot him a glare.

"Noooo," their daughter said. "Not her. Just in general."

Cahill kissed the top of her head before asking, "Would you like to see Daddy get revenge for you? Put Mommy in her place?"

"I guess," she said, freeing the chair for him. She leaned against his back after he sat down, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But don't do it too quickly, or I'll feel even stupider."

"That's not a word, sweetie," Caronwyn said, trying to hide a grin.

"Is now," Maeve replied.

Just then, Regan ran over to them. "Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Seamus cheats."

"Why do you say that?" Cahill asked.

"Put me in checkmate on the fourth move. That's gotta be 'gainst the rules!"

Maeve went over to him and punched him on the arm. "Took Mommy hundreds and hundreds of moves to beat me. So there! You stink!"

"Do not!"

She punched him again and then promptly ran away.

Her brother took off after her so fast, he slipped and fell right away. He got his hands out in front of him in time to avoid kissing the ground, but only just. Then he picked himself back up and returned to top speed immediately. Because that was, of course, the only sensible thing to do after nearly knocking your own teeth out.

"Should I stop them?" Cahill asked.

Caronwyn twisted around in her seat to watch them. What looked like it was going to be a fight rapidly evolved into a game of tag. Though the two continued to call each other names, they did so as good-naturedly as children can. "They're fine," she said, turning her attention to setting her pieces up for a fresh game. "Just keep an eye on them."

"You're eager for a spanking, aren't ya?" Cahill asked as he put Maeve's side back in order. "Alright. It's your doom. Just remember, I offered you the chance to escape it."

"Big talk," his mother said. "What are we playing for?"

He lowered his voice. "A threesome with you and your mother."

She didn't react to that in any way. Not at first. Then her lips tightened just a little before she said, "Fine. If that's what you want."

"I need to hookup with her at some point soon," he began.

"Wow," she said. "Guess you better win then."

"Because she needs to teach me how to protect a person's dreams from being invaded," he continued, a bit more forcefully than might have been strictly necessary. "Which I'll then do to you. It works better if you have a strong physical connection at the time."

Brow furrowed, she regarded him in silence. "Hmmm."

"Just two birds with one stone."

"Naturally," his mother said.

"And if you win?" he asked.

She studied the board for a few moments. Two lovely, delicate fingers gripped a pixie pawn, picked it up, then put it back down. "A threesome with Gallech and Reilly that you have to watch without participating."

He was tempted to ask if that's what she would have said if he hadn't gone first, but he didn't. He knew the answer. Didn't really matter anyway.

"Would you like to throw Seamus in while you're at it?"

His mother shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Cahill snickered. "Good thing you're gonna lose."

She slid her hands together, fingers interwoven, and pushed the hand tapestry outward. Her knuckles cracked with soft pops. "We'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

His heart started beating a little faster. "I'm sorry."

"Too late now," she said.

"No, not for that," he said. "For the whooping I'm about to lay down."

In spite of herself, his mother smiled. "It's a good thing you're handsome."

"Very handsome."

"Let's not go too far," she replied as she moved the same pawn she'd flirted with earlier. It advanced two spaces towards his end of the board. After she released it, the pixie yawned, covering its mouth as it did, gave its wings a few flaps, then became a lifeless statuette once more. "You're like a five or six. Maybe a seven, if we're being generous."

"Mmm-hmm," he said as he flicked one of his knights with a fingernail. The centaur leapt over the row of pixies, reared back on its hind legs and thrashed at the sky with its forelegs, then trotted calmly to its new position and went still. "Being generous."

"That's right," Caronwyn said, staring intensely at his knight.

She took her time deciding to move another pawn, as if his standard opening had somehow taken her by surprise. Or as though she hadn't thought as far ahead as her second move.

"So how did Cori do?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, looking up from the board. "Oh, fine. Good, actually. I won, but she lasted quite a while. Not 'hundreds and hundreds' of moves, of course, but still. She's got good instincts. Hardly made any blunders."

"Good," Cahill said.

"You gonna move?" she asked. "Or are we gonna talk about your daughter?"

He laughed. "Nervous already?"

"Anxious," she said. "There's a difference."

"You know something?"

She gave him a forced smile. "What's that, dear?"

"I love you." He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Though it was he who'd touched her, a jolt of pure ecstasy shot up his arm. "More and more each day."

Her Libido warmed and her cheeks darkened. Under the table, a bare foot teased his, snuck up to caress his ankle, then back over the arch of his foot. "I love you too," she said at last. After her foot retreated, she added, "But you're still going down."

Cahill snickered at that then deployed his other knight.

While contemplating her next move, she asked, "So the divination meant something?"

His skin went cold. He still had no idea how to explain that without telling her about the flute. "Yeah." Lowering his voice, he added, "Turns out, Titania's been controlling Gallech and Reilly through their dreams."

"Hence the threesome," she said, deadpan.

"Right." Cahill cleared his throat. "Aeife's going to tend to them first. Then Seamus and Finnegan, I guess. Meanwhile, I'm responsible for you, Fi, and Brit."

"How'd you figure that out?" she asked, bringing one of her own knights forward.

Cahill stared at the ranks of chess pieces. He knew what his next move was, but pretending he didn't gave him a reason not to look his mother in the eye. "The flute you saw," he said at last, unsure what else he could say without telling an outright lie.

"How so?"

He moved a pixie forward. "He didn't get it from me," he said. True enough. "Seemed like it had to be a gift from her." Also true, so far as it went. "Could've just been symbolic, I guess, but I checked his room when we got back this morning, and sure enough, there was one just like you described in his closet."




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 02



His heart started pounding so fast he thought it would fracture his ribcage. He hoped against hope that she'd leave it at that.

"Did you ask him about it?"

"Should I?" he asked.

She considered that for a time. "I guess not."

End of discussion.

End of discussion.

Please, please, please, be the end of the discussion.

"Maaaaaaaa!" Maeve cried. "Regan pulled my hair!"

Cahill practically jumped out of his chair. "I got it," he said, starting towards them. He certainly wasn't happy that his son had pulled her hair, after being told so many times never to do that again, but there couldn't have been a better time for such an interruption.

"Thank you, dear," Caronwyn said, stroking his arm as he walked past.

He first made Regan apologize then sent him to his room. Maeve stuck her tongue out at her brother as he moped off, though he suspected she hadn't meant for her father to see. He asked her what she'd done to provoke Regan. A mortal child would have said, "Nothing." But her fey nature prevented her from doing so.

After he finally got a confession out of her, she asked, "Do I have to go to my room too?"

"No, baby," he said. "You can stay and finish the tournament." She rolled her eyes at that. "But your music lesson is going to have to wait until tomorrow."

"Mmmph!" Maeve grunted, stomping her foot and slicing a fist through the air.

"Maybe you should try getting along with your brother," he said. "How many times do we have to ask you two not to fight?"

Turning on a heel, the little girl stormed off. Headed, no doubt, for her room.

"What was that about?" his mother asked when he came back.

He wrapped his arms around her, kissed the top of her head, and told her. "I didn't want to take her lesson away from her," he said. "But I really had no choice."

"You stinker," she said, adding a few extra syllables to each word. The beginnings of a chuckle lurked under those words. "I'm really going to beat you now."

"Uh huh." He gave her another kiss then returned to his seat. "My turn or yours?"

#

Cahill was standing behind the bar, drinking coffee and talking to Brittany about the ring he wanted her to make, when he saw his mother knock her king over with a flick of her finger. He tried not to smile at that. Or to let her defeat at his uncle's hands diverst his attention too much from the question his sister had asked.

"What?" he asked. Inside his mind, he skipped back a few seconds, then gave her words another listen. "Yeah. That'd be fine. I don't think it matters much which metal you use."

"I've just always thought white gold looks better than silver or platinum," she said. "But I've never tried endowing alloys with glamour."

"Oh. Right," he said. "Actually, it might be better to stick with something pure."

She gave him a flat look. Then, having apparently noticed his wandering eyes, she looked over her shoulder at their approaching mother. "You two are too cute, you know that?"

"You think so?"

"Sometimes I think Finnie loves me as much as a guy can, but it's so hard to tell. The cold metals I work with are better at expressing their emotions than he is."

Pointing his cup toward her for emphasis, Cahill said, "You know, just the other day, I saw him grin. Not smile, mind you, but still. His lips definitely curved upward." He paused a moment. "Or twitched maybe. At least a twitch, I'm sure about that." 

Brittany smacked his bicep with a grin of her own. A genuine one, not the faint sort sometimes sort of almost detected on Finnegan.

"Speaking of which, I'm gonna go see what he's up to," she said, just as Caronwyn joined them. "Hi ma. Bye ma," she added, giving their mother a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks in advance," Cahill said. "I'll drop the acorn off later."

"Sounds good," his sister said, waving at him as she headed for the stairs.

"If it makes you feel any better," his mother said. "I lost to Oberon."

"I saw," he said with a grin. "And it does."

She tried to glower at him, but it didn't work. Her face stayed still for a second or two before her mouth twitched and she snickered. "You know what I love most about you?"

"My incredible good looks?" he asked. "My easygoing nature?"

"That you're such a gracious loser," she said. Leaning forward and lowering her voice, she added, "I'm going to enjoy the look on your face while they're fucking my brains out."

Cahill gave her a quick kiss on the lips and decided that was retort enough.

His mother ran her fingers through his hair. As her hand made its way back, it snatched up his cup. After stealing a sip of his coffee, she asked him to fix her one of her own.

"Fine, but only cause I like you," he said.

"I was getting tired of playing anyway," she explained as he turned to fix her drink. Explained, rationalized, whatever. "These tournaments take forever."

"Uh huh," he said.

"Where'd everyone get to?" his mother asked. "I see they're done with the maze run."

"Around, I guess."

"Aren't you helpful," she replied.

He placed her coffee in front of her and gave her a quick kiss before she could taste it. "I'm gonna go see if Niall's had enough sulking to play some music."

"What's he sulking about?" she asked.

"Getting caught so many times, ostensibly," he said. "But Uaid told me he saw Aileen kissing Kegan. He thinks that's what Niall's really upset about."

"Oh dear," Caronwyn said.

"A lot of trouble for a redhead."

That earned him a slap on the knuckles. He laughed, kissed her soft lips again, then again just for good measure, and took his leave of her.

He found Niall in his room, playing cards with Uaid. If his son was still down in the dumps, he hid it well. Funny how winning a bunch or chips could lift a guy's spirits, even when there was no monetary value attached to them.

"Hey boys," Cahill said as he approached the bed. "Whachya doing?"

Uaid tossed his cards at Niall with a frown. "Playing poker. Want in?"

"How bout you and I play as a team?" he asked, pulling a chair up to the bed.

That made it Niall's turn to frown. "No fair."

"You can start with twice as many chips," he said. He was less interested in giving Uaid an unfair advantage than helping his son learn to play better. "That even things out?"

Niall shrugged. "Suppose so."

"You shouldn't have punished Regan," Uaid said while his brother shuffled the cards.

"Oh, are you an expert on parenting now?" Cahill asked.

The boy frowned. "No. Just sayin'. Wasn't his fault."

"Cut?" Niall asked, extending the deck to Cahill.

Afraid that if he touched the cards, the two of them might get dealt pocket aces on the first hand, he waved away the offer.

"Maeve's always pushing his buttons," Uaid continued. "Trying to get him in trouble."

"I punished her too," Cahill said, though he wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to explain himself to a twelve year old. "Doesn't matter if she provoked him. Boys don't hurt girls. Ever. For any reason. Got that?"

Niall gave an approving nod, but Uaid looked unconvinced. He didn't argue, but it was clear that he thought it unfair this gave Maeve inordinate power over her brothers.

Give the girl a few years. She might not be as interested in getting under their skin, but she'd wield a different sort of power over them. Regan especially, but probably Uaid too.

"Girls can be stronger than boys," Uaid muttered, almost inaudibly. "Aileen's got more muscle than any of us. Cept maybe Ty."

The mention of their cousin caught Niall's attention, but he didn't say anything. To judge by the look on his face, though, Uaid might have found out what a broken nose felt like if he'd gone and suggested that it would be okay for a guy to hit her.

"That's not the point," Cahill said.

"Yeah, I know." Uaid picked up the cards Niall dealt them. "It's just that Maeve's so annoying. I guess that's my only real point."

Silently, Niall tossed a chip into the pot, matching the big blind.

Cahill mussed up Uaid's hair. Then he leaned in to see their cards. His luck apparently hadn't kicked in yet. All they had was 6-3, offsuit.

"What are we going to do with that?" he asked.

Uaid rapped his knuckles against the quilt covering Niall's bed. That didn't have quite the same effect as it would have with a proper poker table, but his brother understood the gesture well enough. He tossed a burner aside and dealt out the flop.

Two face cards and a nine. No help for them.

His son reached for their chips.

"You sure about that?" Cahill asked.

Uaid gave him a disappointed look. "Not now, I'm not." He looked at Niall, who was smirking. "Thanks for ruining the bluff, Dad."

Niall casually tossed a couple of chips at the pot.

"Be better off with Mom on my team," Uaid said as he folded.

"You think so?" Cahill asked.

"She whooped you at chess earlier, didn't she?"

The little smartass. "Chess is different," Cahill replied.

"You mean harder?" Uaid asked as he took the cards from Niall.

At least they were giving Niall some amusement. Keeping his mind off Aileen.

Cahill looked at their cards. More crap. "We're up, buddy."

Uaid called the big blind. Cahill said nothing.

"Ty said Grandma told him there was something wrong with them yesterday," Niall said as he rained a few chips, not all of which were white, into the pot. "After you and I worked on them. That mean I did something wrong?"

"No," Cahill said, watching the younger one to see how he'd react to the raise. "It's...it's complicated. But it wasn't you. Just leave it at that."

"Are we safe?"

Uaid slid their cards across the bed with disgust. At least he had sense enough to know when he'd gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"You don't need to worry about that."

"That's...not a no," Uaid observed.

Cahill sighed. They knew the rules as well as he did. When one of the fey dodged a direct question, you pushed them on it. If they dodged again, you had your answer.

"We're doing what we can."

Niall dealt them a king and a queen.

"I need you boys to tell me right away if you start having nightmares," he said. "Especially if a blonde woman with bright colors in her hair appears in them."

"The queen?" Uaid asked, staring at their cards. The one depicted Titania quite well. The streaks in her hair even shifted from time to time, as did the color of her eyes, lips, and fingernails. "Why would she haunt our dreams?"

"Why do you think?" Niall asked. "Because she's the queen, and she can."

"That's about right," Cahill said.

"She can't hurt us though, right?" Uaid asked.

"No more than any other dream," he confirmed. That hardly meant she posed no threat, but his sons didn't need to know that. Cahill wouldn't let it get that far. He wasn't sure what he'd do to stop her, but he'd figure something out. "But I still need you to tell me."

That seemed to satisfy his youngest son. Niall, however, could not have looked less relieved. Face white, he finally remembered to check his cards. Then promptly folded.

"Jerkface," Uaid said, showing their hand. "You were supposed to play that one."

Niall smiled, but it was hollow.

"She's pretty," he said, studying the queen. "Wouldn't think she's so terrible."

"Looks can be deceiving," Cahill said.

"Take you for example," Uaid told his brother. "You don't look as dumb as a box."

#

That night, Fiona and Seamus patrolled the city while Brittany and Finnegan were designated as the only adults who could be disturbed by children. With Seamus unavailable for the evening, Aeife, who'd learned about the bet Cahill had lost to Caronwyn during dinner, suggested a different prize for her daughter. She had plans for Gallech and Reilly, but she wouldn't need to keep them all to herself. And Oberon could substitute for Seamus. Though it would mean allowing her mother to share the guys' attention, Caronwyn happily agreed. She was less interested in having three men tend to her every need than putting Cahill in his place, anyway. And she guessed, correctly, that he'd not find that any easier to watch than what she'd originally proposed.

Pretty much the moment Oberon began to undress, Cahill knew it would in fact be worse.

He'd never seen the former prince naked. Had never much wanted to, either, though it did strike him as odd once he thought about it that he'd never shared a woman with his uncle before. Not even Aeife, who was a big fan of getting double-teamed.

It wasn't just his physique, or his mother's evident appreciation of it. He'd have liked to think that Oberon's pale skin, short height, and excessively narrow waist would more than offset his superior musculature. But no. He felt his mother's Libido swell even before she looked between his legs. While Oberon fumbled with his jeans, Caronwyn stared at his ridiculously perfect abs, her eyes wide and her jaw slack. Once his pants joined his shirt on the floor, she actually gasped aloud before covering her mouth.

And, much as that stung, he couldn't even blame her.

Never small, Cahill had grown larger as he'd grown stronger. Part of him thought he might have become too big, though rare were the complaints he received from the women of his family. Teagan, the half-sister he hadn't seen in forever, had sometimes failed to hide that he was more than she could handle. And he'd added an inch or two since then.

Yet Oberon made him look tiny.

Well, no, that wasn't fair. No one could make him look tiny. But his uncle had a good inch or two on him, despite being four inches shorter.

Cahill had never really considered the possibility that a man could be bigger than he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been anything but the largest guy in the room.

"Oh, my," his mother said, forgetting the shame she'd rightly felt when the pale monster had first appeared. Like Cahill wasn't even there. "That's...wow."

"Now you know why your the first woman I've let near him," Aeife said. "I've been afraid that if any of you got one look at him, you'd never let him out of your beds."

No reaction of any sort showed on Oberon's face. The fucker.

Gallech and Reilly were unfazed. They finished undressing and started pulling at Aeife's clothes. But Cahill just couldn't get over the size of it. Or how it hypnotized his mother.

She stepped forward and placed a hand on it. The feel of it was apparently enough to make her giggle like a teenager touching one for the first time. Even worse, when Oberon brushed a lock of red hair back from her face, she slipped into orgasm.

He hadn't so much as kissed her. Just touched her hair.

Or maybe it was that magic dick of his that did it. The feel of it throbbing in her hand.

Cahill could hardly breathe. He'd seen his mother with other men plenty of times. Gallech and Reilly, Seamus, Finnegan, even his uncle Kearney. It was impossible not to feel some jealousy, but he'd never felt like this. Slightly uncomfortable, perhaps, but nothing more. Now, though, he felt nauseous. Light-headed. And completely powerless.

"You're beautiful," Oberon said softly.

Caronwyn swooned. He hadn't exactly shown a great deal of creativity there, but one might think it was the greatest compliment she'd ever received.

When the former prince pressed his lips gently to hers, she climaxed a second time. And, judging by the alacrity with which her Libido emptied itself, and how long it continued to bleed energy, she'd not soon forget the experience. Her fucking clothes were still on, and the guy had already made a lasting impression on her.

Cahill was vaguely aware that Aeife was taking turns sucking on two cocks, but that might as well have been in another world. All he could process was his mother and Oberon.

He wished he'd insisted she wait for Seamus.

With patience Cahill doubted he'd ever be able to muster, even if his mother would have tolerate it, Oberon slowly undressed Caronwyn. With her shirt still on, Oberon held her waist in his hands and made love to the hips her jeans left partly bare. There was no urgency whatsoever to his movements, which didn't seem to bore Caronwyn, who often begged Cahill not to torture her so, in the least.

After removing her top, he focused on her arms. Silvery tongues of fairy fire danced all along them, reaching up to her shoulders. The flames didn't seem to burn so much as tantalize. And when Oberon began sucking on her fingertips the way Cahill sometimes did her toes, her eyes rolled back in her head and her body started to shake.

Another fucking orgasm. Not particularly intense, but still.

Her bra turned to rose petals which fell to the ground as slowly as leaves on a breeze in autumn. How nice and poetic. Sam Mendes would be proud.

"Slow down," Caronwyn murmured as he began fondling them, tweaking her nipples lightly with delicate fingers. She rarely told Cahill to slow down. "I can't...oh, fuck."

Again, the climax seemed modest enough. But he'd already lost track of how many times she'd gotten off, and they'd barely started. Her freaking pants were still on.

Somewhere nearby, in a universe far far away, Gallech was fucking Aeife's face while Reilly slammed into her snatch from behind. The sounds of their lovemaking were loud, yet heard only distantly, as if from underwater.

A chaise lounge appeared out of nowhere and Oberon guided Caronwyn down to it. He took his sweet time caressing his way down her legs. The sounds Caronwyn made as he did seemed entirely out of accordance with the fact that thick denim separated her skin from his hands. Eventually, Oberon arrived at her ankles. He undid the straps of her red pumps with a single finger then set about worshipping her gorgeous feet.

"Ooh, yeeeaaah," Caronwyn moaned, throat rumbling, as she stretch her leg out and ran a hand sensually over her body. "That feels gooooood."

Why did it look like he was savoring a rare treat any man would have killed to enjoy? When Cahill made love to his mother's feet, he always felt like he was debasing himself just a little. He didn't mind that. In fact, it added to the excitement. But Oberon managed to look dignified while doing it. The same way he always did. Whether losing in chess to Seamus, sucking on Caronwyn's toes, or setting a throng of mortal women to screaming and crying simply by walking past them, he always looked so distinguished.

If he got out of his chair and went to join his uncle, tending to the other foot, how would she react? Would she go with the flow? Lose herself in the ecstasy?

No. She might have forgotten about him and the joy she'd intended to take in his suffering, but if he reminded her of his presence, that would all come back to her.

Cahill covered his face with his hand, but that didn't really help. Especially since he kept tilting it away so he could see better. Some small part of him wanted to put an end to the suffering, but the temptation was too great.

The room shrank. His eyes saw white where there was floral wallpaper, antique furniture, and light blue carpeting. The intense threesome taking place on the emperor-sized bed no longer registered at all, not even dimly. The entirety of his existence consisted of his half-naked mother and the ghostly former prince.

He never should have been called the Prince of Valor. Amor was more like it. Or seduction. It was not in battle that this man distinguished himself from all others.

"Mmm, yeah, right there," she panted as Oberon...did something. With his tongue, perhaps. Or who knows, maybe just his fucking grey eyes. "Keep going."

Cahill realized he'd gotten hard. He wasn't enjoying this. At all. Yet part of him was, in spite of himself. And it wasn't just because the most erotic sound in all worlds of all existence was that of his mother in ecstasy.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 03



######################

Author's note

Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight.  Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot.  Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.

########################




"We already have three stars," Cahill heard his sister say as he descended the stairs, reaching the second floor.  "Wouldn't be good to add any more."

Brittany stood at the counter separating the kitchenette from the common area.  She had her tools spread out before her and a silver ring in her hand.  Across from her, Maisie knelt on a high-backed stool, elbows on the marble countertop, and her chin propped up on her little fists.  "Why not?" she asked.  "They're pretty.  And that smooth spot looks funny."

"There's power in threes," Brit said.  Her eyes found Cahill and she gave him a quick smile and a little wave before turning her attention back to Aeife's daughter.  "Besides, I've left it like that for a reason."

"What's that?" the girl asked.  With something pretty being created before her very eyes, she couldn't be bothered to turn around and acknowledge his presence.

Cahill walked over to them, ran a hand through Maisie's black hair by way of hello, and leaned in to inspect the ring.  Just the ring, though.  His eyes definitely did not flit down to his sister's incredibly tight shirt, taking note of the way it made her modest breasts look bigger than they were.  Not even a little.  "How's it coming?" he asked.

She pinched her collar with thumb and forefinger and gave it a little tug before answering.  Despite the gesture, her Libido informed him that she didn't mind the attention.  At all.

For someone who was working with cold, lifeless metal, teaching a little girl how their kind used their powers to make enchanted jewelry, she was awfully aroused.  Was his mere arrival, and the quick glimpse she'd caught him stealing, that exciting?

Of course.  Why shouldn't it be?  He was about as impressive as a guy could be, after all.

Still, his sister didn't always react thus to his presence.  Something had gotten into her.

"Almost done," she said.  "Got that acorn for me?"

He nodded, reached into his pocket, and retrieved the charm.  Brittany held out her hand and he dropped it into her cupped palm.  

A sense of vulnerability fell upon him the moment it left his possession.  Putting the flute down had never done that to him before.  It was as though the charm knew it would soon find a new owner.  He felt a little reassured by that.  His son needed the protection more than he did, and if the charm was even more powerful than he'd realized, so much the better.  But he couldn't help also feeling as though he now had a hole in him.

"That?" Maisie asked.  "It's silver."

"So's the ring," Brittany said.

"Exactly!" The girl said.  "Why not something sparkly?"

"Such as?" 

"A jewel," she said, as though speaking to someone who'd asked what color the sky was.  What was jewelry for, after all, if not to put jewels in things?  "A big, fat amethyst."

Brittany laughed.  "Not a diamond?  Or maybe an emerald?"

"I like amethysts," the girl mumbled, sulking.  Then, drawing herself up a little straighter, she said, "Mom says that's what my eyes look like."  She finally turned to Cahill, batting her eyelashes at him, just in case he might have missed the invitation to look confirm that her deep purple irises did indeed resemble the semi-precious stone.  Before he could do so, she added, a bit begrudgingly,  "Morgan's too.  But he doesn't count."

"Course not," Cahill said, smiling.  "He's a boy."

Maisie stared flatly at him.  "Don't blame me," she might as well have said.  "I don't make the rules."  Or maybe, "Not my fault you lost that coin toss."

"It's not just for decoration," Brittany said, setting the acorn down on the counter.  

"It'll strengthen the glamour," Cahill added.

It took Maisie a moment to decide she was willing to believe that he might know something about the matter, even though it involved jewelry.  Those little amethysts were quite good at conveying skepticism.  "How's it gonna do that?"

"It's a charm," he told her.  "It's got glamour already.  Lots and lots."

"Hmmph."

Brittany smiled as she plucked a tiny chunk of unworked silver from a box.  She rested it against the single smooth patch of the ring, devoid of the elaborate engravings she'd worked into the rest of the band, and tapped it with a single blue fingernail.  The metal melted, melded itself to the ring, and formed an inset for the acorn.  But when his sister placed the little charm against the ring, what he'd taken for an inset melted again.  Liquified metal poured in an unnatural direction, joining ring and charm, then cooled instantly.  A moment later, it was impossible to tell that the acorn had ever not been part of the ring.

"Still think it'd be better with an amethyst," Maisie said, clearly having difficulty containing her frustration with their inability to see the obvious.  

"Tell you what," Brittany said, tapping the tip of the girl's nose with her index finger, "we'll make you one next.  With as many amethysts as you want."

"You can't fit that many," she said. 

To Cahill's ears, it almost sounded like a taunt.  But then he realized she'd meant it matter-of-factly, and he smiled to himself.

"As many as we can, then." 

"I'd rather a necklace."

Brittany favored the child with a small grin.  "Alright then.  A necklace." 

Maisie gave an emphatic nod of approval.

But his sister had already moved on.  She was staring at Cahill so hard that he almost felt a physical pressure.  Or maybe it was the way her energy was reaching out to him, straining against the walls of her Libido.  Aching to join itself to his.  "Maisie, honey," she said without looking at the girl, "would you go find your Aunt Fiona and tell her I'd like to see her?"

The girl was, in fact, their aunt.  But they all felt more comfortable pretending Maisie was their niece, no matter that Aeife was their grandmother.  Doing so made her feel like she fit better with the other children, whom she considered cousins.

The nine-year-old looked from the aunt who was actually her niece to the uncle who was really her nephew, clearly bewildered by the intensity with which they were staring into each other's eyes.  Cahill couldn't entirely blame her.  He was a bit confused by it himself.  

Not that it was unwelcome, of course.  He could feel the limits of his own Libido being tested by its contents.  Blood rushed between his legs, making his pants fit a little worse.

"Grown-ups are weird," Maisie declared as she climbed down from her stool.

"I hear you're going to protect my dreams," Brittany said after the girl left, handing him the ring that would hopefully keep Titania out of Ty's head.  

There were lots of ways to protect dreams, several of which his sister could have performed by herself.  She'd endowed the ring with the appropriate glamour, after all.  But the one his grandmother had showed him the night before was, she insisted, the most reliable.  Even Titania would find it impossible to get past such protections, whereas the ring might simply make it more difficult for her to harass Ty than others.  

"That's the rumor going round," he said.

"Just a rumor, is it?" she asked, coming around from behind the counter.

He glanced quickly down at jeans that were every bit as tight as her shirt and the curves to which they clung.  She wasn't built like the other women of Clan Walker, but she didn't seem to know it.  Or care.  Those hips didn't seem quite so narrow when she moved like that.

Without warning, her shirt disappeared.  It didn't turn to smoke or drip off her like sweat or do any of the other things their clothes did when they were feeling creative.  It just vanished altogether, revealing a shiny black vinyl bra.

"You like?" she asked, cupping one of her breasts as she pressed the other hand against his chest.  "Feels weird, but I'm getting used to it.  My nipples have been hard all day, but I'm not sure if that's because of the bra or the thoughts I've been having since I put it on."

Cahill's throat constricted.  "Why is everyone so convinced I'm into that now?"

His sister smiled.  As her hand slid over the bra, skin barely in contact with the latex, it made a soft skidding sound that sent shivers down his spine.

"Stop," he said, grabbing both her wrists.

"Why?  You gonna spank me if I don't?"

"No," he said, drawing a deep breath.  "I'm really not-"

"It's okay," Brittany cut in.  "I don't mind."

"It's the middle of the day," he said, as some semblance of rational thought returned to him.  "One of the kids is liable to walk in on us."

"Good point," she said, stepping closer to him but making no effort to free her hands from his.  "We should move to the bedroom."

"What about Fi?"

A voice, deep for a woman yet undeniably feminine, asked, "What about me?"

Cahill turned and found his other sister entering the room.  He caught a momentary glimpse of her favorite green dress before it changed.  The next thing he knew, she was wearing a camisole, garter, and thigh highs.  All shiny black latex.

"For fuck's sake," he said.

"You bitch," Brittany said, laughing.  "Just had to top me, didn't you?"

"Excuse me, Catwoman catsuit?" she asked.  "I knew this why you sent for me."

Cahill stepped away from Brittany and held his hands in the air, as if surrendering to the police.  "Seriously, I don't have a fetish."

"You mean this one?" Fi, who was well acquainted with his love of feet, asked.

Brittany traced rings around her nipple with the tip of her finger, producing soft squeaking sounds.  "That why you can't stop staring?"

"Brit, if you touched yourself like that while wearing dung, I'd stare."

"Please tell me you're not into that," Fi said in a tone that wasn't the least bit concerned.  "I try to keep an open mind and all, but scat?"

Cahill covered his face.  She might be teasing about that, but the two really did seem to have convinced themselves that he was into fetish clothing.  And perhaps the kink so often associated therewith.  And both seemed to be okay with that, which was particularly surprising coming from Fiona.  "One, we're not doing this now," he said.  "Two, if we were, I'd rather you wear regular clothes.  Or nothing."

"We believe him?" Fi asked Brit, encircling her sister's narrow waist with her arms.

"Suppose he didn't leave himself much wiggle room, did he?" Brit responded, wiggling her bottom against her sister for emphasis.

"It was hot that one time," Cahill said.  "But this is unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?  Or unappealing?" his younger sister asked.

He didn't answer.  Couldn't.  Not the way he wanted to.  But that didn't mean what they were making it sound like it did.  

"Please," he said.

"Fine, fine," Brittany said, suddenly wearing a blue lacy bra rather than a black shiny one.  Her jeans melted away, leaving nothing but panties that matched her bra and blue platform pumps.  "Spoil all the fun why donchya."

He seemed to recall saying something about spoiling even more fun.  Middle of the day.  Kids could walk in on them.  All that jazz.  But that seemed so irrelevant all of a sudden.  Especially since he'd meant to find the time for Fiona the day before, and hadn't.

"I think maybe he wants Titania to invade our dreams," Fiona said.

"Sounds like it," Brittany replied.

Without another word, Cahill turned and went into the bedroom his sister shared with Finnegan.  No more arguing.  No more teasing.  He'd give them what they want, and give it to them good.  But on his terms.

As he waited on the bed for his sisters to join him, his mind almost processed the spartan decor for which Finnegan was no doubt responsible.  The cream color to the bare walls, the absence of paintings, flowers, and shelves.  The single brown rug in the center of the hardwood floor.  But there was less room than usual in his mind for marveling at how his sister, whose tastes weren't all too different from Maisie's, put up with that.  He was more focused on thinking about what he wanted to do to his two sisters.

And how wrong that was.

The children were one reason.  Closed doors and silence glamours could protect the young ones from being traumatized by discovering something they weren't prepared to grapple with and the old ones from something they'd prefer not to think about, but they had greater obligations to their kids than that.  They needed to spend time with them.  Play games with them.  Help them cultivate their interests and learn new things.  True, they weren't as young as they used to be, and were growing more and more independent, and true he could use a different glamour to make sure they weren't gone nearly as long as they'd be in the room together, but there was still something selfish about indulging their sexual appetites during the day.  The very thought of it made him feel like a bad parent.

Worse, it made him feel like he was betraying his mother.  If he was going to violate a rule they were all relatively fastidious about observing, it should only be with her.

But Fi.  Fi, Fi, Fi.

He got chills just remembering the look on her face, and the feel of her Libido, when she'd asked him yesterday if he could sneak away before dinner.  His sister had never been cold or unaffectionate towards him, but neither did she behave quite like that too often.  That wasn't to say it was entirely without precedent.  Every now and then, for no particular reason, his sister would get a hankering for him that would cause her to behave like a woman half her age.  It would go away shortly after a good sexual encounter, only to reemerge a few weeks, or if he wasn't too lucky, a few months, later.  There was no telling when she'd get like this again.  How could he not make the best of it while it was here?

When his sisters came through the door, wearing their nice, normal, non-shiny lingerie, lust finished muscling guilt aside.  The latter would return in time, but for now, he could think about nothing but the two of them.  And the looks they were giving him.

Cahill closed his eyes and worked glamours quickly.  Sealed the room off.  Trapped all sounds they'd make within, and pulled them farther away from Faerie so that time would pass more slowly on the other side of the bedroom door than in here.

Then he opened his eyes again and drank in his two sexy sisters.

Fiona again one-upped Brittany.  Where the younger sister wore naught but bra and panties, aside that was from a cute pair of shoes, Fi had replaced her latex with an emerald satin corset, nicely ornamented with a black lace and a satin sash around the waist, a black thong, and sheer black stockings with tiny green bows.  Her emerald Mary Janes glittered in the light of the midmorning sun streaming through the bay window.  The corset made a considerable chest all the more impressive, the stockings flattered her shapely legs, and the heels brought everything together beautifully.

It was borderline sacrilegious for the fey to wear anything on their feet.  The sin was forgivable while indoors, but it still wasn't feylike.  Yet he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Having decided to raise their children among mortals had changed many things about them.  Though their kids knew what they were, as none of the previous generation of Walkers had before coming of age, Clan Walker didn't observe more than a few of the fey customs these days.  And in some ways, that bothered Cahill.  He worried that things wouldn't be the same when their children came of age and the clan returned to Faerie.  That his kids would never experience quite the same sense of wonder, of otherworldliness, that he had, if their parents brought too much of the Dreaming back with them.

But of all the mortal customs they'd too comfortably adopted as their own, wearing shoes was definitely the least offensive.  That one, he wouldn't mind seeing remain with them.

Cahill felt like he took every inch of his sisters' bodies, Fiona's especially, and analyzed it thoroughly in his mind.  Committed each detail to memory for the thousandth time, though he'd be no more successful in the endeavor than ever before.  Any less likely to stare as if for the first time when next he found himself in such a situation.  How could he not?  To do otherwise would have been an insult to their considerable beauty.  That was an exaggeration, of course.  He didn't have time for that.  It would only take them a few moments to reach the bed, even moving as slow and seductively as they were.  But it felt like that was what he did.  Like time had compressed purely to allow him to admire them properly.

He liked what he saw.  A lot.  And he liked how they contrasted with each other.  Brittany was a bit skinny for his tastes, if not entirely without feminine curves, but that seemed more pro than con in situations like this.  What was the point of a threesome, after all, if the two women had the same sort of appeal?  Better that they have different shapes, and preferably different styles of lovemaking as well.

Which, of course, his sisters did.

"Did we tease you too much?" Brittany asked as she climbed onto the bed beside him.  Wasting no time, her hands went straight to his belt buckle.

"We only sort of meant to," Fiona added from his other side.  She started playfully flicking buttons off his shirt with her green nails, as though cleaning off some crumbs.  "Whatever you do, don't spank us repeatedly with your strong hands until we cum hard."

His dick suddenly got so hard it ached.  Not that it had been soft before.

She didn't mean it, of course.  While his older sister occasionally flirted with a darker side, she did so only very occasionally.  By and large, she liked things slow and sensual, tender and soft.  Brittany might actually enjoy some erotic spanking.  Though his younger sister's tastes weren't too extreme, neither were they as tame as Fiona's.  But Fi?  No, if she was even open to being spanked, he very much doubted she'd get off on it.  The thing was, what sounded like an invitation was actually mockery.  Plain and simple.  Not only weren't his sisters sorry for suggesting that he'd been nurturing a secret interest in BDSM for some time, they weren't done with that game.

He was, though.

Cahill reached behind his older sister and gave her big ass a slap.  A rather hard one, at that.  She let out a sound that was equal parts whimper and laughter before reaching back to touch her stinging bottom.  He brushed her hand away, though.  And as soon as it made way, he smacked her most glorious asset again, nearly as hard as the first time.  There wasn't too much laughter in her reaction the second time.

"None for me?" Brittany asked, pulling his belt out through the loops of his jeans.

An unseen hand delivered a sharp blow to her backside.  Her whimper made his cock twitch.  Yeah, Brittany might well enjoy it if he took her over his knee and spanked her properly.  And he might as well, if only because she would.

"Okay, okay," Fi said, opening his shirt.  She didn't sound particularly amused anymore, but neither was she upset.  Just very ready to move on.  "You called our bluff."




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 03



"Who was bluffing?" their younger sister asked.

Cahill and Fiona both ignored her, pressing their lips together.  A jolt of ecstasy ran down his spine and his head grew light.  Fiona's lips weren't as full as some, but that didn't matter. They weren't thin, either, and she knew how to use them.

While they kissed, his sister caressed his chest.  Her delicate fingers slid through the thin layer of dark hair on his pecs as though it wasn't there, and her soft palm sent waves of pleasure radiating through his upper body.  Meanwhile, his hand returned to her ass, though not forcefully.  This time, he fondled affectionately, enjoying the size and feel of it.

In truth, it had become a bit too big.  Their mother's ass was perfect, the same way their mother's Fill in the Blank was perfect.  Big, but not too big.  Fi's, on the other hand, was downright huge.  But he was still fascinated by it.  And, in a way, it suited her.  She wasn't as thin as their mother.  Her oversized ass was almost an endearing quirk, even if it would have been a bit unbecoming on a woman Caronwyn's size.

To his right, Brittany cleared her throat.  Loudly.

Cahill considered splitting himself off into a second body, but decided to make her wait.  In time, she'd get a Cahill or perhaps two all to herself.  But not yet.  First, he wanted to make sure Fiona knew that the other night was a fluke.  That it wasn't worth reading anything into whatever special attention Brittany had gotten, if indeed she had.

Brittany was only so interested in being left out, though.  She wasn't about to twiddle her thumbs.  Or any other parts.  Perhaps only to remind him that she was there, then, she disintegrated his clothes and dove down between his legs.  Even before her slim hands took hold of his thick shaft, her mouth enveloped his head.  And not slowly.  

In spite of himself, he shuddered and sighed into Fiona's mouth.  Her efforts were not subtle, but they were effective.  And she wasn't even using any glamour.

"Doesn't waste any time, does she?" his older sister asked, pulling away.

"Guess...not," Cahill said through labored breathing.  When it came to sucking dick, Brittany was too aggressive.  She hardly gave him a chance to enjoy what was happening.  But he couldn't deny that she was likely to achieve her goal.  As she always did.  "But you...mmmph...can't really blame her, can you?  I mean...fuck!"  He stopped, letting a few breaths pass before trying to speak again.  "This thing's hard to resist," he said at last.

Fiona gave him the disapproving yet amused smile that motherhood had led her to perfect.  "You really think that's cute, don't you?"

"So do you," he replied.  He might have looked at her as he said it, if his other sister didn't have his eyes rolling back in his head.

She snickered, shook her head, then planted a kiss on his cheek.  When that failed to get any reaction from him, she apparently decided that she had to follow Brittany's lead.  The next thing Cahill knew, he had two huge dicks, each being sucked by one of his sisters.

Fiona hadn't done that for him.  He doubted such was even possible.  But he was so lost in a sea of euphoria that he hadn't even realized he'd accommodated his older sister.

In some sense, he supposed, they were equally talented.  But their approaches were very different.  On an intellectual level, he preferred Fiona's, but it was Brittany who was having the greater effect on him just at the moment.  In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware of the loving, tender, slow-motion treatment his left cock was receiving, but the full-scale assault on his right made it impossible to think about anything else.  Especially since she wasn't playing fair anymore.  She'd heightened his sensitivity so much a light breeze, as from a fan on its lowest setting, might have made him shudder.  If a mortal man had been dialed up that far and was then subjected to her merciless mouthwork, he'd suffer a heart attack.

He wasn't entirely sure his own aorta wasn't about to burst.  Tears filled his eyes and his lungs forgot how to do their job.  Or his throat prevented them from doing so.

Cahill leaned back, hands splayed out on the quilt behind him, and just tried to survive.  

In that, he somehow succeeded.  But not much else.  The orgasm he'd been fighting off in hopes of making the pleasure last a bit longer claimed him shortly after he braced himself.

His body fall away.  All physical sensations, good and bad, departed.  All that remained was a pristine state of calm.  No joy, no ecstasy, just infinite contentment.  

The world was at peace.  There was no Wild Hunt.  His children didn't bicker and fight, nor hurt each other's feelings unintentionally.  During the brief respite granted by his sisters, induced by orgasm, all his concerns went away.

But not for long.

Eventually, he returned to his senses.  He pushed away the thoughts about all the sources of stress in his life, but they didn't go far.  They'd leave him alone for a while, but he wasn't free of them entirely the way he had been a moment ago.  And the crippling pleasure he'd escaped returned.  In force.  He gasped for air and recoiled as best he could while in a seated position, hips trying to blaze a escape path for his sensitive bulb.  His balls were hopping up and down, pumping jizz into his sisters' mouths.

Was he still cumming?  Or cumming again?  He wasn't even sure.  All he knew was that it was suddenly more than he could bear.  And not in a good way.

"Easy, easy, easy," he told Brittany, who he feared might suck his insides right out of him, intestines and all.  He gave her shoulder an urgent squeeze.  "Race is over.  You won."

She slowed down.  But only little.  

A short agony later, he finally stopped cumming.  His cockhead lost some of its ultra-sensitivity.  Relief flooded him just as the energy from his Libido had no doubt been flooding his sisters until a moment ago.  He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, lips curling up in a smile even as he exhaled.

Their mouths departed.  He mourned the passing of Fi's soft lips while rejoicing at his release from Brittany's high-powered vacuum cleaner.  

While he recovered, they pushed his two dicks flat against his stomach and leaned in to share a kiss over his lap.  From the looks of it, they might have snowballed a little, swapping loads before swallowing.  After they broke off, Fi gave Brittany another quick peck on the lips. Then she turned to Cahill, green eyes glowing, smiled, and went for a second helping.

"Cumslut," Brittany said with a good-natured laugh.  Then she gave Cahill's right member a few good pumps and lowered her head back down too.

"You girls are cruel," he said, though he made no attempt to stop them.

This time, his younger sister followed the older one's pace.  Or maybe just adjusted course on her own in a way that ended up mirroring the only approach Fiona ever really took.  Either way, he found himself able to really enjoy their ministrations, rather than merely enduring them.  His blood didn't get deprived of oxygen, his glans didn't feel tortured, and neither his abs nor glutes involuntarily seized up.  The sensations they visited upon him were intense, without a doubt, but in the best possible way.

With one hand, Cahill held Fiona's shoulder-length green-brown locks out of her face.  With the other, he pulled on Brittany's long black ponytail, putting moderate pressure on her scalp.  Just the way she liked.  Meanwhile, unseen hands started to gently tease and caress various parts of Fiona's body, avoiding, for the time being, her most sensitive parts.  Brittany, patient girl that she was, got less subtle treatment.  Spectral mouths performed both cunnilingus and analingus on her while an invisible hand slipped a few fingers inside her tight hole and stimulated her G-spot.  Relentlessly.

The first time Brittany's teeth made what he hoped was accidental contact with his cock, he decided he'd had enough double-barrel fellatio.  He stopped stimulating them with his glamours and pulled his little sister's mouth off his cock.  The extra vanished before he split off a second Cahill altogether.  And then a third, just for good measure.  

Suddenly, Fiona took her mouth off him and asked, "Should I stop?"

"You?  No."  He ran his fingers through her silky hair, sending a bit of energy out as he did.  Not to excite or arouse her.  Just a pleasant little sensation.  A token of affection. "Unless you want to, of course."

She smiled then resumed.

Meanwhile, the other two Cahills took Brittany by the hand, stripped her of her bra and panties, and laid her down on the bed.  One then got on his side next to her and nibbled her ear while working a breast and nipple with his hand.  The other got to his knees before her, propped her slender thighs up on his shoulders, and buried his face between her legs.  

Ordinarily, he started slow.  He'd admire his sister's beauty for a while, staring at her slim labia, shiny clitoris, and dark landing strip.  Then he'd kiss her mons and all around the outside of her vulva before favoring her with a few long, sloooow licks.  Her stiff little lady would go untouched for a long time.  But he took a different approach this time.  Gave her a taste of her own medicine.  She was soon reminded that her brother could also give head so good it was very nearly unbearable.

By the time Cahill nutted in his older sister's mouth for a second time, his younger one was starting to melt in his mouth for a third time.  She then made it clear that her hunger for good, hard dick could no longer be ignored.  So the two other Cahills began spit-roasting Brittany while the first one set about doing for Fiona what she'd done for him.

He worked slowly, starting with her feet.  Her shoes hadn't even come off yet by the time he delivered her first orgasm.  Even after sensitizing her considerably, that took some effort, but it was damn hot to watch her climax with everything still on.  To know that he'd brought her to a state of bliss by licking and kissing her ankles.  After that, he very, very slowly removed her shoes and made love to her stockinged feet.  The fabric temporarily disappeared whenever and wherever his mouth or tongue made contact with her skin, but otherwise, they stayed on through her next two footgasms.  Only when he was ready to start making love to her luscious legs did he remove the thigh highs.  And he took his sweet time doing it when he did, pausing to kiss or lick her legs every inch or so.

So it went.  As Brittany demanded more, more, more, Fiona patiently savored every little delight he doled out.  He enjoyed satisfying their very different needs, all the more so because of the bewildering contrast between what he was doing with one body compared to the others.  It was a bit like playing chess and poker at the same time.

By time he finished with his older sister's legs, hips, navel, and large breasts, Brittany had mounted one Cahill reverse cowgirl, taking him in the ass, and had the other kneel above them to claim her pussy.  He was almost sad to see Fi's corset go, but the treasures lurking beneath helped him move on.  His younger sister burned holes in his head, staring so hard at him with her glowing blue eyes, and her tight holes squeezed like vice grips as they sought to milk every drop of cum from his two bodies.  

Next, he had his older sister lie on her stomach so he could make his way down her back and legs to give her feet another quick go-round.  Meanwhile, his younger sister switched to cowgirl and rode his two big dicks to Happy Town again and again.  Every movement of her hips pushed one of his shafts deeper into her while a few inches of the other slid out.  Back and forth, back and forth, moving faster than humanly possible, she impaled herself again and again on his two rods.  And loved every second of it. 

He then worked his way up to Fiona's incredible ass, which received ample attention.  His hands worked her buttocks, squeezing and slapping them lightly, while his tongue tended to her smooth anus.  Except, of course, when the urge to gently bite one of her overripe cheeks grew unbearable, as it frequently did.  At the other end of the bed, he slipped his consciousness into a fourth body and took Brittany airtight, moving that much closer to fulfilling her endless appetite for cock.  It was a futile quest.  There was no such thing as enough for her.  But he very much enjoyed trying.

Eventually Cahill made his way to Fi's lovely vag.  While paying it proper homage, going as slow with her as he had fast with Brittany, he pulled a fifth Cahill into being.  That gave his little sister something to do with her hands while sucking and fucking his three other cocks, for which she was duly grateful.  Something, that was, other than slapping the chest of the Cahill beneath her as she shuddered her way through a violent orgasm, or holding the hips of the Cahill standing before her while she deep-throated his cock.  Now, with two Cahills inside her and two standing beside her, she alternated between sucking off the one to her left and the one to her right while her fists pumped furiously at both all the while.  He wasn't sure who enjoyed that more, him or Brittany.  

Nor was he sure whether it was more fun to have his little sister pleasure four of him at once than it was to pleasure his older sister.  Only one of those had him cumming every few minutes, but there was pleasure in giving too, if not of the same sort.   

Fiona had a beautiful pussy, and the thick bush sitting above it made for nice decoration.  He loved her taste and smell nearly as much as he did watching her try to restrain herself when she was deep in the throes of ecstasy.  She responded fully to every little thing he did, no matter how small, which was not something he could say of Brittany.  The latter preferred, needed, everything taken to the max.  But even before he added his fingers into the mix, tending to her G-spot, Fiona moaned and writhed, sighed and whispered praise, in a way that made him feel like a god.  And, more importantly, made him feel closer to her than he ever would their younger sister.  That wasn't the only reason, or even the most important, but it was part of it.  He knew Seamus got the same sorts of reactions out of her, and bigger ones as well, but he chose to ignore that.  To believe that her enthusiasm for his ministrations was a sign that they were almost uniquely compatible.

That said, making use of every one of Brittany's holes, as well as her hands, felt damn good.  There was no great intimacy there.  It was almost degrading.  He felt like a pile of sex toys more than her brother and lover.  But plain old physical gratification hadn't lost its charm.  Nor did the rush that came from making his sister cum every ten seconds or so.

As much energy as his sisters were feeding him, though, and they were feeding him a lot, he couldn't keep all of  that up for long.  When he reached the point of feeling he could go no further without shattering into a million pieces that all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put back together again, he took each woman to climax one last time and then collapsed.  The one Cahill remaining rose up from between Fi's legs, gave one of her luscious thighs a love tap, and announced that he needed a break.

To his surprise, his sisters didn't.  

"Seriously?" he asked neither one in particular as Brittany quickly took up the post he'd just abandoned.  "You two are ridiculous."

Granted, he'd moved slowly with Fiona.  She'd experienced a good many orgasms, but most hadn't been too intense, and they'd been spaced well apart from one another.  It was more Brittany who should have been totally wiped out.

Only then did he realize just how much energy had passed back and forth between them, growing larger with each exchange.  And how much of it had initially come from him.  Sex between the fey could be warlike, with one partner trying to conquer the other's territory and claim the spoils.  But, done right, there was no need for that.  Both could come out with more energy than they'd gone in with.  The surplus was usually modest, though, unless they went at it for a long time and didn't burn too much up in the process.  Didn't, say, wear five bodies at once.  And yet, even after such excessive behavior, he felt almost full.  He'd not collapsed back down to one body because his Libido was approaching E, but because he'd started to feel his grip on reality slipping away.  Because the strain of being in too many bodies at once was starting to make him question whether he was more than a disembodied consciousness.  Whether he had a personal identity and whether it was in any way tethered to a corporeal vessel.  Now that he was starting to remember who Cahill was, though, he was fine.  Whatever his limits were, he hadn't even come close to bumping up against them.

It wasn't like he'd been training every day or anything.  Not for a long time.  If he'd grown stronger since his children were born, it must been because he spent so much time with his mother.  Fed off her most nights of the week without ever realizing that his standard meal had become a great feast.

How powerful must she be now?

Not for the first time, he felt a tinge of jealousy that purebred children empowered their mothers simply by existing.  Most of the time, he thought that beautiful and natural and right.  But every now and then, when he thought about how incredible a gift her seven purebred children were, he couldn't help but wish the same went for him.

"Hmm, Brit, ease up a little," Fi said, pushing against her sister's shoulders with the tips of a few fingers.  "Some of us don't like that much direct stimulation."

"Sorry," the younger sibling said.

Cahill smiled to himself.  It was stupid and vain, but he liked knowing that he ate pussy better than she did.  Some women claimed that only another woman could know exactly what worked.  But it seemed to him that it was better to say that only a woman knew exactly what worked for her---which might or might not be the same as what worked for other women.  Cahill brought no prior expectations to the table.  His sense of what worked was entirely derived from the feedback, verbal and otherwise, he'd received from his partners.

Or maybe women were better at cunnilingus, on average.  It didn't really matter.  He just liked knowing that he was better than his sister, who loved to rub it in his face whenever she was better at something than him.

He waited until it was clear that Brittany was going to take forever to get Fiona off before returning to bed.  Forever, another ten minutes, same difference.  Either way, he didn't feel as though he was interrupting anything much by joining in.

Kneeling behind his little sister, he lubed her up with some glamour then slowly pushed two cocks into her two holes.  Or perhaps not so slowly.  Meanwhile, he conjured up fairy fire, spectral mouths, and invisible hands to tend to various parts of both women.

After his sisters reached simultaneously climax, one screaming loudly enough to make him glad he'd remembered to seal the sound in and the other keeping her ecstasy to herself as best she could, he pulled out of Brittany.  The room spun for just a moment while he digested the energy he'd taken from them.

"What was that?" Fi asked, breasts heaving.  "Those flames?"

"Yeah, that's new," Brit said.  Her hands were pressed into the mattress, keeping her from falling over.  Eventually, she gave up and crawled into bed beside her sister.  As she rolled onto her back, she said, "How long have you been holding that one back?"

"Just learned it last night.  Saw Oberon do it to Mom."




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 03



"Mom hooked up with Oberon!?" they both demanded to know.

It was almost freaky.  They didn't look too much alike.  One was short and voluptuous, the other tall and slender.  One had green hair, the other black.  Even their voices were different.  Fi's was deep, Brit's in the middle range of what was typical for women.  But when they spoke in unison like that, wearing identical facial expressions, and then blushed in unison upon realizing what they'd done, it was easy to see that they were sisters.

Cahill snorted.  "Didn't realize he was Mount Everest."

"Are you kidding?" Brittany asked.  "How could he not be?"

Well, she had a point.  His likeness was found in every faery chess set, every pack of playing cards.  He was a living legend.  The man favored by the Queen of Faerie.  Sure, he was a little short and a bit too pretty, but if Cahill were a woman, wouldn't he at least wonder what a man like Oberon was capable of?  

"Grandma doesn't let anyone near him," Fiona said.  

Cahill shrugged.

"That's your answer?" they asked, together.  One put slightly more emphasis on the last word than the other had, but otherwise they could almost have spoken with one mouth.  This time they giggled instead of blushing.

"I lost a bet," he replied.

"I've gotta start making more bets with you," Brittany said.

"Obviously.  I mean, if you had to make do with your brothers and cousins, well, that would just be a travesty.  Of epic proportions."

"Awww," Fiona said.  "I think we hurt his wittle feewings."

"He'll get over it," the younger woman replied.

"So what I'm hearing is you've no more use for me?" he asked.

The sisters looked at each other, giggling.  "Come here, you," Fiona said even as Brittany climbed out of bed and grabbed him by the hand.  

He resisted at first, but mostly just for the amusement value.  Then he gave in.

"So how's about you show us what else you learned last night?" Brittany asked.

"Yeah.  I for one wouldn't mind knowing that it's safe to sleep," Fiona said.

This time, the two of them did not seem to be on the same page.  The younger sister looked at the older one, rolled her eyes, and snickered to herself.  Apparently, she'd hoped he'd picked up a few more tricks from Oberon.

"Hmm, I don't know," he said.  "I'm not sure I'm done with the two of you." 

One in particular.  

"That so?" Brittany asked, sitting up.  She took his dick in her hand and gave it a few good pumps.  "You hoping someone might suck on this big thing again?"

"Perhaps," he said, though what was really missing was some time alone with Fiona. 

That one word was encouragement enough for Brittany, though.  She wasted little time bringing tears to his eyes again.  Whatever else he might say about his little sister, the girl knew how to suck a dick.  Not the way he'd like her to, but it wasn't skill she was missing.

For her part, Fiona apparently thought her sister needed attention more than her brother did.  More was the pity.  Rather than making the blowjob a tag-team effort, she crawled behind the two of them, planted both hands on Brittany's round little ass, and bent down to eat some pussy.  Seeing this, Cahill adjusted his position until he could reach Fi's own snatch.  They soon formed a daisy chain, all three giving and receiving at the same time.

Hard as his little sister was trying to overwhelm him the way she always did, he almost wasn't even aware of the physical pleasures being visited upon him.  He felt his consciousness drift away from his body, bleeding into the other two.  For a moment, he almost believed he was both Brittany and Fiona, in addition to Cahill.  The three siblings became one being.

Their trimultaneous orgasm left them all breathless.

"Wow," they said in unison.  Then broke into collective laughter.

For a while, they just laid there, staring at each other and smiling goofily.  Not saying a word.  There was no need.  They were all feeling the same thing, and they all knew it.

It was a perfect moment. But he still hadn't drank his fill.  

And Brittany needed to take herself a little nap at some point, leaving him and Fi to themselves for a while.  He sensed that her itch hadn't quite been scratched yet either.

"Oh, yeah?" Fiona asked, laughing, when he started kissing her neck and fondling her breasts.  "You see this, Brit?  He can't get enough of me."

"A guy who nurses his beers all night might still have one in his hand come three in the morning.  Not sure I'd say that means he's a heavy drinker."

"Bitch," Fi said, without animus.

Cahill rolled his big sister onto her stomach, encountering no resistance from her.  Then he grabbed her hips and pulled them up just a bit to get her into the doggy position.  She purred while waiting for him to enter her.  He made a few throaty sounds of his own as he slid into her hole.  Her muscles resisted a bit at first, forcing him to go slow, then relaxed and started to welcome him in.  Once he buried as much of his giant cock in her as she could take, her walls tightened again, giving him a warm hug.

Brittany came and straddled her sister's hips.  One hand caressed Cahill's chest, the other fondled her big sister's ass, delivering the occasional slap.  Cahill cupped one of his little sister's perky breasts in one hand and fingered her tight snatch with the other, all while slowly pumping his hips back and forth to Fiona's evident delight.

The three of them didn't cum together this time.  But they did all cum before peeling themselves apart.  Several times, in Fi's case.

"Hmm.  I'd say you're starting to get the hang of this," Fiona mused.

"Eh, he's okay," Brit said from the other side, dragging her nails lightly down his back.

As if they weren't both glowing the way Aeife did when she played fairy godmother.

"I think it's time," Cahill said at last.  "Let's seal those heads up."  Well, one of them anyway.  The other could wait a bit longer.  Or maybe a lot longer, if she was hungry enough.  "Keep all the stupid from getting ou---I mean, keep Titania from getting in."

Slaps came at him from either side.

#

Both sisters were fast asleep, facing one another with arms stretched above their heads and fingers lightly intertwined, when a freshly showered and fully dressed Cahill crept towards the bedroom door.  He paused for a moment to look back at them and smiled to himself.  They were so beautiful.  So peaceful.  So different, yet so alike.  With a contented sigh, he willed the quilt to slip out from under them and float back up to cover them to their chins.  He then brought the door to behind him with a soft creak.

He was relieved to find the common area empty.  Part of him had feared that, in spite of his glamours, one of the children had sat there aghast as they listened to it all, unable to pull themselves away the way onlookers couldn't resist staring at a train wreck.

As he headed upstairs to see what his mother was up to, he ran into Tynan.

"Oh, hey, Dad," the boy said.  "I'm looking for Grandma.  You seen her?"

"No.  Why?" Cahill asked.

"Supposed to go train for a while after she got back from town."

"It's early still," he said.  That part of his glamour had worked too.  Though the three of them had spent a couple hours rocking each other's world, it was still mid-afternoon.  "She's usually not back-"

"Well, sometimes she is," he said, a bit defensively.

Cahill smiled and clapped his son on one broad shoulder.  "You enjoy those sessions more than your grandmother realizes, don't you?" 

And perhaps for reasons she didn't realize.

No, on second thought, she was undoubtedly aware of that.  And probably played on it constantly.  Cahill suddenly had a better idea of why the two of them always looked so frustrated when they came back, and why Aeife said his son gave her so much trouble.  How would any teenager, willful or not, react to all that teasing?  Of course he fought back the only way he could, making her life needlessly difficult by resisting simple instructions.

"What?  No," he said entirely too quickly.

"Uh huh," Cahill said with a knowing smile.  "So why don't you ask Oberon?"

Ty looked taken aback at first.  Why would he want to train with Oberon?  But then he must have remembered that the official reason he was hoping Aeife was back already concerned something the former prince really could do as just as well as her.

"Good idea," Ty said, with little conviction.  "I'll do that," he added, with more. 

As his son started back down the stairs again, Cahill pushed the ring Brittany had made towards him.  "Here," he said.  "This is for you."

"What is it?" the boy asked, eyeing it quizzically. 

"What's it look like?"

"My precccciousss?"

Cahill snickered.  "Something like that."

"But not as cool?" his son asked.

He shrugged.  "It'll keep the queen out of your dreams.  That's about to become a serious issue for a lot of people.  Not worth a trip to Mount Doom, perhaps, but I think you'll be grateful for it in a few nights."

Ty shoved it back towards him.  

"What?" Cahill asked.

"Have you got more?" 

"No.  Just the one."

"Can you make more?" Ty asked.

He considered that.  And felt like a fool for not thinking of it earlier.  Without the acorn charm, any replicas would be considerably weaker.  But they'd still be better than nothing.  It would take time to put one on every kid's finger, but that was no reason not to do so.

The boy must have taken his father's hesitation for an answer because he didn't wait any longer for a response. "Give it to Wynne," he said confidently.

Cahill didn't think Titania's first target would be his shy daughter.  Her second or third either.  But he was so impressed with his son's concern for her that he didn't gainsay the idea.  Except, that was, to tell Ty, "You give it to her."

Ty shook his head.  "Then she'll know I had something to do with it."

"And we can't have that?"

"She's insufferable as it is.  Always following me around, asking if she can hang out with me.  Put it in her head that I actually give a shit about her and she'll never leave me alone."

"How sweet," Cahill replied.

"You have a younger sister growing up?"

"No.  I thought I was an only child until I woke from the Dreaming."

"Okay then," Ty answered, with an air of finality.

Strange.  For a boy of sixteen, he sure looked like a man.  Neither awkward and unsure of himself, like Niall, nor even overconfident, as he'd been for most of his life.  As still was, at times.  At least in that moment, though, Ty was utterly certain of his rightness, and actually had his father convinced that he had every right to be.

Of course, it helped that Cahill knew his son was right to think Wynne obsessed with him.  But that was besides the point.  And unlikely to bother him in just a few years.

It also helped that Brittany could be as annoying as she was, even now.  Though she still looked like a teenager, she was in some sense well into her thirties.  He could only imagine what she'd have been like at thirteen.  Perhaps not as obsequious as Wynne apparently was towards Ty, but he still doubted he'd have wanted to hang out with her.

"Fine," he said, stuffing the ring back in his pocket.  "Go find Oberon," he added, probably sounding more exasperated than he was.

Ty eyed him for a bit with a hint of defiance on his handsome young face.  A face, he knew, that bore an uncanny resemblance to his own, but for eyes that were brown like his mother's rather than blue like his father's.  

"You won't say anything, will you?"

Cahill laughed.  "You really that worried about it?"  When his son answered with a flat stare, he said, "My lips are sealed."

#

He found his mother in the master kitchen, working on dinner by herself.  Well, without the help of any of the other members of the clan.  She had enough glamours going, Sorcerer's Apprentice style, that it wasn't quite right to say that she was working by herself.

With knives and vegetables, spices and utensils, zipping all through the air, he probably ought to have allowed his eyes to leave her figure for a moment or two.  But they refused.  With Caronwyn in the room, nothing else was worthy of his attention.  No, the plain brown dress she wore wasn't all that special.  The V-neck was relatively modest, and though the bodice clung tightly to her ample breasts, from the empire waist down to mid thigh, the fabric of it hung loose.  Her wedge sandals weren't too racy either, though they afforded him a halfway decent look at her feet was bound to titillate a little.  It wasn't that she wore anything provocative, or that she looked any better than usual with her hair slightly disheveled and bits of shredded cheese clinging to her hands.  It was just that she was who she was.  She didn't need to do anything else but be Caronwyn in order to mesmerize him.

"Hey, you," Cahill said, dodging at the last second a pot of water that was carrying itself from the sink to the stove.  "Where's everyone else?"

She looked up from the cutting board, wiping a stray lock of hair from her face with the back of her hand.  With a shrug, she said, "I don't know."

He laughed.  "Ah, whoever said kids need adult supervision anyway."

His mother rolled her eyes at him.  "Seamus took the little ones on a hike.  Gave them checklists to see who can identify the most trees, flowers, and berries.  That's all I know."

That was good enough.  It was only the youngest children he was worried about anyway.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek.  Then a shoulder left partly bare by the straps of her dress.  "So what you're saying is we've got the place to ourselves?"

"Is no one else home?" she asked, with some surprise but no particular excitement.  

Why, were there better things to do with a rare bit of privacy than preparing a casserole?

"Brittany and Fiona are taking a nap," he replied.  "I think Niall and Uaid might be playing cards.  But other than that, no.  Not that I can tell."

"A nap?"

"Well, someone may have worn them out."  He cleared his throat. "The glamours protecting their dreams.  Knocked them out same as it did me last night."

"Ah, I see," she said.

"I know, I know." He kissed her hair a few times.  "But I had to."

"For the good of the clan, of course," she replied.  The cheese she'd forgotten she was shredding resumed its rhythmic journey up and down the metal grater.  He was pleased to note that there was no anger or jealousy in his mother's Libido.   "Big sacrifice."

"A bit, yeah," he said.  "But we all do our part."

"Guess who I spoke to earlier?  While you were busy 'doing your part' and whatnot?"

"Your mother?"

"Not back yet.  Guess again."

He was more interested in kissing her.  Her beautiful auburn hair and soft alabaster skin begged to be honored by his lips.  But, eventually, he took another shot. Sort of. "Titania?"

"What?" Caronwyn asked, laughing.  "Why would I talk to her?"

A few more kisses.  "I don't know.  I give up."

She dug an elbow into his ribs.  "Maeve."

"Glad the two of you are on speaking terms again."

"I don't know what I see in you," his mother replied.

"Now that, I've got some ideas about," Cahill said between kisses.  "How many guesses do I get?  And what do I win if they're all right?"

She leaned her head back against his chest.  "Oh, Cahill.  What'm going to do with you?"  Before he could get smart with her again, she said, "Seems she's lost interest in music.  Can you imagine how that might have happened?"

It sounded like she was in a good mood, and there were no warning signs in her Libido.  But he nonetheless let his foot off the gas and tapped on the breaks.  "I didn't-" he began.

His mother didn't let him finish.  "Whatever happened, I've never seen her so happy."

Cahill breathed a sigh of relief.  

"And that makes me happy," she said, voice thick with promise.  "I assume you put Regan up to giving her a flower?  And a kiss?"

"Maybe," he allowed.

"You've had worse ideas, I'd say."

He pulled her a little tighter against his chest.  Her body was soft in all the right places, and the hint of strawberry in her hair was utterly intoxicating.  

"For that, and being such a good sport last night, we're going to pretend you didn't have sex with your sisters during the day," she said.  

Enough emphasis was put on the last three words as they came out slowly that he gathered the only reason he'd have been in any trouble without the brownie points to save him was that he hadn't waited until the kids went to bed.  That was reassuring yet also slightly puzzling.  Had he waited for nighttime, he'd have had to cut into time the two of them would otherwise have spent together.

But, then, he wouldn't have cut into time that might otherwise be spent bonding with their children.  And it shouldn't have surprised him in the least that his mother put that above her own needs.  Once he thought about it that way, it didn't seem puzzling at all.

"Think dinner can handle itself for a little while?"

"You're all about breaking the rules all of a sudden, aren't ya?"

He reached inside her Libido with a thin tendril and stimulated her energy.  Not too aggressively.  Just enough to make her swoon a little as the breath caught in her throat.  "Well, I just figure there's nothing Fi and Brit have got that you ain't got."

"Mmm.  Well played," she replied.

His hands finally left her midsection, albeit reluctantly.  He took the block of cheese and the grater from her hands and set them on auto-pilot like everything else.

"Okay?" he asked.

She tilted her head around and kissed him softly.  

That was answer enough for him.

An instant later, they were in their bedroom on the fifth floor.  As he had earlier with his sisters, Cahill silenced the room and pushed it out into a bubble where time would flow differently than in the rest of the house.  He put a lot more energy into the effort this time around though, buying them all the time they could possibly need.  Odds were, the pasta wouldn't even have finished boiling by the time they were finished.

Everything around them began to shimmer.  The floor rolled and undulated like the waves of the sea, flowing gently away from them as the room expanded.  When the waves stopped, the soft dirt and vegetative matter of the forest lay beneath their feet rather than plush carpeting.  The bed remained, but the rest of their furnishings had either faded away or changed into trees, moss-covered stones, or shrubs.

Finally, Cahill transformed himself.  Where there had stood a tall, handsome man, dressed in jeans and a blue dress shirt, there was now a black-haired centaur.  Incorporating the fey form he'd not worn in a little while as well, Cahill gave his centaur self an imposing rack of antlers that drifted in and out of a spectral state.  His chest hair grew substantially thicker, wilder, as it did whenever he went as the horned god.

"Oh, are we playing this game?" his mother asked.

By way of response, he reared back and pawed the open air with his forelegs.  Poised to leap towards her, but very conspicuously giving her a chance to get a head start.

She took the hint.  Her dress and undergarments dispersed into the air like fog in the morning sun, allowing her magnificent breasts to hang freely.  Long legs and broad hips became the body of a bay mare.  Before the change had entirely finished taking place, she took off.  A slender, pretty foot rose up, and a dark hoof came down.

Cahill waited just a few seconds before pursuing.  He wasn't looking to see this become one of their longer chases.  Time wasn't too much of an issue, after how far he'd flung their room, but his blood was running hot already.  He didn't need to get too much more worked up before he claimed her.  Wasn't sure he could have if he'd wanted to, either.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 04



######################

Author's note

Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight.  Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot.  Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.

########################





"Think you burned something while we were gone," Cahill told his mother, wrinkling his nose up at the stench.  "You smell that?"

She gave him a playful smack.  "Maybe if you hadn't kept coming back for more."

"No, seriously," he said.  "Something's burning."  Then, with a more lascivious tone, he added, "Besides, you should know by now that you can't count on me to know when enough's enough."  He gave his mother's perfect ass a good squeeze through her soft dress.  "If the whole house was burning down around us, I might not stop."

She batted his hand away, but there was a grin on her face.  And her Libido gave a nice little pulse.  But then her back stiffened and her Libido went still.  Sniffing the air, she said, "I think something is burning."

"Told you!"

She waved him silent.  They both looked all around the kitchen.  With all the pots, pans, food, and cooking implements floating about, it was hard to tell what was going on.

Caronwyn snapped her fingers and everything found a temporary home.

Nothing was on any heat yet besides the pasta and a pan full of diced onions.  While the water had come to a pretty vigorous boil, that obviously wasn't the issue.  And the onions weren't even clear yet, let alone burned.

"It's not coming from the kitchen," his mother said.

Any number of superheroes would have been shamed by how fast Caronwyn moved at that point.  The words had hardly left her mouth when she reached the stairs.  He followed after her, but he hadn't been as quick out the gate.

The anguished scream his mother let out would haunt his dreams for years to come.

#

So many things happened so fast after that.  

Cahill almost didn't believe any of it was real.  He started flashing back to the days when he visited a world very much like Faerie in his dreams each night, believing that world to be both more real than anything he experienced during the day yet also no more than a figment of his imagination.  The days when he walked the Dreaming during the day and pondered the difference between "real" and "true" at night.  When he took everything and nothing for granted, questioned his own sanity, and couldn't have felt more alone.

And the hits kept coming.

Losing Gallech felt a little something like a sudden rain after having his guts ripped out and draped in a bloody pile atop him.  His brother's death probably deserved more of a reaction from him than it got, as did Reilly's betrayal and presumptive return to Faerie, but he just couldn't.  Not while he was still trying to process what had happened to Fi.  And the new life she'd carried within her.

He'd just stood there, propping his mother up, lending her what strength he had to give, while she healed Brittany.  While she tried, and failed, to do the same for his other sister.  He'd watched with unfocused eyes as Seamus restrained Finnegan, who'd seemed intent on beating his own son within an inch of his life.  As Brittany rose unsteadily to her feet, laid an instantly calming hand on her cousin's chest, and told him that it wasn't their boy's fault.

Then he'd blinked, and hours had passed.

Oberon and Tynan returned from their lesson.  The moment the prince learned of the fire, his eyes went white.  His mother would later tell him that he was seeking Aeife out.  Reaching across the city to touch her Libido.  Or maybe she told him that while it was happening.  He wasn't even sure.  All he remembered now was the way his uncle looked when his gray irises and black pupils melted away, leaving solid white orbs.  And the way the entire world had shook, air and ground alike, when he returned with a badly wounded Aeife in his arms.

"I don't know I'd have gotten through these past few hours without you," his mother said at one point.  "You've been so strong.  I don't know how you do it."

The thing was, he didn't either.  

Some part of him understood why she'd said that.  Recognized that he hadn't gone catatonic at all, however much it felt like his brain had completely checked out.  That he'd been flying on autopilot.  But still another part of him had no idea how he'd managed to keep from shutting down.  And scarcely even remembered that he hadn't.

If anyone should be commended for the way they'd reacted, it was Seamus.  How his brother could have cautioned restraint, resisted the temptation to lash out at a convenient and relatively defenseless scapegoat, he didn't know.  But Fiona would be proud that he hadn't.  She hadn't saved the boy's life just to have his father or his uncle snuff it out.

They had only one person to blame for all of it.  For the head parted from Gallech's shoulders, the smouldering heap that had once been Fiona, and the child who'd now never be born. Adn that was Titania Dreamsmyth, Queen of Faerie and Lady of the Shadows. 

No one knew how she'd gotten to Padraig during the day or why Gallech had died protecting Aeife instead of joining Reilly in submitting to her will.  For all they knew, the queen still had other cards to play.  Other sleeper cells to activate.

But one thing was for sure.  They weren't going to sit around and wait for her next move.

Aeife and Caronwyn would inspect the children's minds, searching for any sign of glamour they could undo.  It was all too likely that she'd corrupted them in more mundane ways.  That her influence would linger for years, having touched a deep part of their delicate young psyches.  But they had to try.  

Meanwhile, Cahill and Oberon would pay the queen a visit.  And Seamus.  They tried to talk him out of it, but he was adamant about accompanying them.  Were Fi there, she'd have been able to talk sense to him.  Make him see that he wasn't as strong as his brother or their uncle.  Was more likely than them to die in that grove, or take Gallech's place as her knight and champion.  But she wasn't.  That was the whole point.  And Cahill couldn't deny his brother a chance to avenge her death.

#

For all that his mind had felt detached from reality up until that point, as though he'd been observing events from a distance, almost with disinterest, it reengaged fully as they prepared their assault.  Cahill became hyperaware.  The breeze blowing softly across the yard stirred the hair on his chest and arms.  Teased his antlers.  Their flowers in their garden were, as ever, in full bloom.  The smell of ash and death was gone, their house repaired as their hearts never would be.  And he was all too keenly aware of it all.

He felt strangely calm.  Not apprehensive, as he should have been.  Nor vengeful and bloodthirsty, as would have been equally appropriate.  Not even sickened by the senselessness of their suffering, or disgusted by the natural beauty that so wrongly surrounded him while he stood waiting for the others.  He was a still pond.  A resilient oak.

But perhaps that wasn't surprising at all.  He might be ready to live in his body again.  To inhabit the world, and to interact with it.  To do his best to visit some serious consequences upon Titania.  But he wasn't yet prepared to face his emotions.  

"She's likely to have an honor guard with her," Oberon said, appearing out of nowhere.  "Reilly, for one.  Your half-brother, Duncan.  Probably even your father."

It sounded strange, hearing Duncan referred to as his brother.  For some reason, he'd never thought of him that way, though it was technically true even if fey custom put more emphasis on the mother's lineage than the father's.  Teagan, he had no trouble seeing as a sister.  But her cold, often mean-spirited brother?  No.  That one was Dreamsmyth through and through, he was sure, and in all the wrong ways.   But he understood what Oberon was trying to do.  And his uncle wasn't wrong to do so.

"Can you bring yourself to do what must be done?" he might as well have asked.  "To shed familial blood on a day where such has flown all too freely already?"

Cahill could and would.  

He nodded.

The former prince eyed him up and down, gray eyes unblinking.  Clearing his throat, he asked, "You plan to face them in the form of a virility god?"

Only then did Cahill take note of Oberon's attire.

The man once known as the Sword of Dusk and the Lord of Valor wore a suit of armor, all silver and white enamel.  It looked at once ethereal, beautiful, and yet intimidating and impenetrable.  The silver glittered in the afternoon sun, while the white parts made it just barely possible to look at him without going blind.  The massive pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves seemed to accentuate his uncommon proportions, as did the way his chest plate tapered down to his narrow waist.  Encumbered by armor that would have weighted sixty or seventy pounds if made of conventional material he might be, but Cahill reckoned that anyone who doubted that Oberon could still move fast as lightning would soon regret it.

In one hand, he held a great helm with huge white wings sweeping back from the corners of the eye slits.  In the other, he clutched a silver scabbard containing a sword nearly as long as he was tall.  The curved blade couldn't have been any wider than two of Oberon's slim fingers.  Yet Cahill wouldn't have been surprised to see him slice through diamonds with it.

For a moment, he almost felt bad for whomever Titania might have talked into protecting her.  But only for a moment.  Then his fleeting sense of sympathy turned to excitement.  He refused to consider the possibility that they'd been compelled to act on her behalf.  That they were not truly culpable for her deeds.  When Oberon cut the queen's possibly reluctant champions to ribbons, as he no doubt would, Cahill would smile.

Had he gone his whole life without ever seeing this side of the former prince, that would have been just fine by him.  Artistic representations, with their curious mix of truth and inaccuracy, would have more than sufficed.  He had no need to know that Oberon favored a slender blade rather than the obnoxiously thick one featured in all their chess sets, nor that midnight blue was no more his color than was red or gold.  Beauty and grace emanated from him in equal measure, but so too did the quiet potential for extreme lethality.  Simply standing so close to him made Cahill a little uneasy.  

Under the circumstances, though, he could think of no one else he'd rather have at his side.  His uncle might unnerve him a bit, but he'd do far worse to their enemies.

"Good point," Cahill said at last.

He patterned his armor after Oberon's, but in honor of Fiona he went with green on green instead of white on silver.  He also kept the accoutrements more modest.  No oversized pauldrons for him.  He kept everything functional, save for the rack of sometimes-solid-sometimes-spectral antlers on his helm.  Because he wouldn't feel like himself without those.

In his hands, he held a spear twice as long as he was tall.  The leaf-shaped tip alone was nearly a foot in length.  A battle axe hung from his belt.

"That's more like it," his uncle said with an approving nod.

It didn't feel quite right to Cahill, who'd never fancied himself a knight.  In all the dreams where he'd played the hero, rescuing his aunt or mother or sister from some false danger, he'd not once worn a full suit of armor.  Often as not, he'd appeared as a centaur, but even when he'd been a man from head to toe, his body hadn't been sheathed in so much metal.  Still, there was a certain symbolism to it.  If not because of the righteousness of their quest, then because the queen's champions would be outfitted thusly.

A soft pop announced the arrival of Seamus.  

"You've gotta be kidding me," his brother said, looking Cahill over.

He too had chosen to honor Fiona by wearing her favorite color.  His armor wasn't identical to Cahill's.  It was sleeker, with lighter plate atop the chain mail, and sharper.  His articulated poleyns and cowters had pronounced spikes, shaped a bit like thorns, as did his right pauldron.  And they carried different weapons.  As ever, Seamus favored a spiked morning star and a kite shield.  But the two brothers still looked overly similar.  Particularly since they'd chosen the exact same shades of green.  A base of dark green, reminiscent of their late sister's eyes, or the deep forest of Faerie, with a brighter hue for the highlights.

"You should wear blue," Seamus said.  "It'll match your eyes."

"Fuck you," Cahill said.  "You weren't the only one who loved her."

That was ill-considered.  Now was not the time to remind his brother that Fiona had never felt quite the same way about him as he always had her.  

But Cahill was in no mood to be told what would match his eyes.

"No," Seamus said, "just the one who-"

"Do either of you think she'd be pleased, hearing you argue over who gets to wear her color?" Oberon asked.  "Or do you think maybe that energy could be put to better use?"

They fell silent, glowering at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

"He's right," Cahill mumbled.

"Probably."

"Now," said the wise old man who was still young and beautiful, his deep voice rumbling.  His delicate features were like stone.  The wind played with his silvery white hair, but everything else about him was unmoving.  "Are we ready?"

"As we'll ever be," Seamus said.

They donned their helms almost as one.  And then they were off.  Oberon didn't gesture for them to join hands or anything.  Didn't need to.  Seemingly without effort, he pulled the three of them out of Savannah, past the rest of the Dreaming, and into the heart of Faerie.  The next thing Cahill knew, they stood outside Titania's grove, just as he and his mother had when he'd rescued his grandmother from an eternity of torment.

A low stone wall he'd have been perfectly content to never again lay eyes upon separated them from a grassy field filled with oak, ash, and thorn.  His eyes found the flowerbed beside the giant oak and the rage he'd thus far suppressed momentarily slipped its bonds.  How could he have believed Liadan when she'd said that her mother realized her grudge had lost her Oberon? That she no longer desired any conflict with Clan Walker?

A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe Fiona would still live if Oberon had forgiven his mother.  If he'd returned to her while making it clear that she'd lose him again if she went back to her old ways.  But that put the onus of repairing the irreparable on a good man.  The only one who had to answer for Titania's crimes was Titania.  

And any who made the mistake of standing for her.

As five poor souls now did.

The only one he recognized for sure was Reilly.  As expected, his cousin wore that wicked black armor with its blood-red trim.  In his gauntleted hands, he held the vicious double-bladed axe that had reportedly severed Gallech's neck.

He couldn't be certain the one with the great bow in his hand and twin kukris on his back was Duncan.  But that seemed likely.  His cousin was a skilled archer, and whoever it was under that purple armor had the right height and build.

The one with every color of the rainbow worked into his armor might have been his father.  Somehow, it seemed like Arawn to think he could impress Titania by mimicking her ostentation.  His hubris was not without limit, though, for the various hues stayed put.  No matter how long Cahill looked at the prismatic knight, his helmet was red, his left pauldron orange, and his right one yellow.  Were he truly mirroring his queen, the colors would shift about constantly, bedazzling and distracting onlookers.  That was true of the two swords he held, one short and one long.  But not his armor or helm.

The short one could only be Kearney.  And if the pink highlights on his brown armor were anything but a tribute to Teagan, Cahill was a monkey's uncle.  He hoped the man kept those throwing axes in his hands.  It would be a shame to have to cut him down.

The fifth, whose armor was orange, might have been anyone.  Perhaps a member of some lesser Clan, hoping to curry favor with the Queen of Faerie.  Or compelled into her service against his will.  Or maybe he was the last Dreamsmyth brother, Uillym, about whom Cahill had heard so little.  So long as he didn't swing that great war hammer the wrong way, Cahill would be content to spare him.  But he'd not hesitate to spill the man's blood, whomever he might be, if he got in the way.

"Expecting us?" Seamus asked.

"Go back to your little city-world," his father said.  "I don't want to hurt you."

"Funny," Cahill said, "I was about to make you the same offer.  But it occurs to me that I don't have to ask."  Beneath his helm, he smiled, forgetting that no one would see him do so.  "You still owe me a major boon, after all.  I'm invoking it now.  Step aside."

He did so.  Not happily, Cahill imagined, but he did.  The tip of his long sword kissed the grass as he stepped back against the stone wall.  And there he remained, still as a statue.

"The rest of you would be wise to do the same," Oberon said.

"I'd love to," Kearney said, voice filled with regret.  "I really would.  But I'm much more afraid of our mother than I am of you."

Oberon nodded.

And that settled it, really.  Some of their antagonists might wish they were free to let them pass, others might wish they could join the imminent melee, but regardless, there was only one way for this to end.  And, ultimately, it wouldn't matter who was forced to fight and who chose to do so.  The only path to Titania lay through the three of them.

It ended nearly as quickly as it began.

Reilly split his cousin's shield in two, spun around, and sank the other blade of his axe in the man's skull.  All before Seamus could get finish swinging his morning star.

Cahill screamed and changed course abruptly.  The war hammer that had been headed straight for him sliced harmlessly through the air.  The orange knight stumbled, carried forth by his own inertia, and nearly fell flat on his face.  Meanwhile, Cahill impaled his cousin on his long spear.  The far end burst out the back of Reilly's black armor.  

Just in case that didn't seal the deal, he released the grip, grabbed his axe, and quickly  made a bloody mess of his cousin's face.  Blood sprayed up at him as the axe rose and fell, but he paid it no mind.  Beneath him, black limbs twitched aimlessly a few times, but he kept right on swinging after his cousin's death throes ended.

He should have been concerned about the possibility of a hammer crushing his skull or cracking his spine.  But he wasn't.  All he had room for in his mind was the overwhelming need to make Reilly pay for everything.  For what had happened to Oona and Gallech, what had nearly happened to Aeife and Brittany, and, most of all, for Fiona.

"It's done," Oberon said, planting a hand on his shoulder.

Cahill nearly took the prince's head off.

Or, rather, nearly took an ineffectual swing at the man.  The odds that he'd have connected were probably slimmer than that of lightning striking the same exact place five times.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 04



Kearney, Duncan, and the man who might have been Uillym were all suspended in midair, the weapons lying harmlessly on the ground.  Oberon hadn't harmed a single one of them.  Because of course he hadn't.  He was too noble for that.

Bile rose in Cahill's throat.

"He was your cousin," the onetime prince said, his deep voice filled not with judgement but sadness.  "And deep in my mother's thrall."

"He...killed two of my brothers."

"No," Oberon said.  "My mother did, through him.  It would be no more meaningful to say that his axe was guilty of those sins."

"Gallech resisted.  He must have wanted-"

"Your brother was stronger.  That's all."

He said it with such confidence.  But how could he know?  Reilly might have known exactly what he was doing.  Might have loved his family less.  Might have....  

Cahill fell to his knees.  It was just too much.

And now Seamus was gone too.  How many would be taken from him?

He remembered what Aeife had said about his three gifts.  But he'd lost more than three people he'd loved.  And it wasn't the fates who'd taken them.  It was the Queen of Faerie.  The Lady of Shadows.  And not for any particular reason.  Just because she could.

"Oh, don't worry.  He's not broken," a voice said.

With that, Reilly rose up, discarded his ruined helm, gave his good-as-new head a little shake, and went to stand before the queen.  One could almost think he'd been playing dead.

Titania looked as radiant and comely as ever.  She didn't appeal much to Cahill, but he wasn't nearly as repulsed by her as he wanted to be.  Even as he wished a thousand painful deaths upon her, he couldn't help noting that she was one of the most beautiful women who'd ever lived.  His mother rivaled her, but did not eclipse her, as he wished she did.

As he recovered from the shock of the queen's incredible beauty, Cahill fell prey to an entirely different source of disbelief.  His cousin had lain dead before him a moment ago, now he looked as hearty and hale as ever.  As if nothing had happened.

He knew their powers were vast, and that the Queen of Faerie had greater command over them than any other fey, but that still stunned him.  The possibilities it opened up were almost too wonderful to contemplate.  After all, how could he be hopeful about anything so long as he lived in a world with her in it?

And yet....

Raking pink, green, blue, and purple nails through her mostly blonde hair, the queen said, "I'm flattered you went to all this trouble just to see me again."

"Choke on eighty-seven pounds of elephant shit," Cahill said.

Oberon shot him a reproachful look.  

For her part, though, the queen looked slightly amused.  "I've heard better," she said with a shrug.  "Though you get some points for originality."

Cahill decided he'd heard enough.  He didn't come here to trade insults.  He'd come for vengeance.  And he'd sooner die trying to claim it than have her mock him.

It probably shouldn't have surprised him when that ended poorly, though.

His axe turned into a bunch of flower petals that drifted away lazily, carried by a soft breeze.  His legs turned into tree trunks, their roots sinking deep into the earth.

Though he'd made no move to harm her, Oberon fared no better.  He was transformed into a Maltese puppy with unruly white fur.  Aside from his nose and eyes, which were black as pitch, he'd become a little fluffy cloud of cute.

Titania bent down, picked her son up, and cradled him in her arms.  He yipped at her, even trying to bite her fingers, but she paid no heed to his bad behavior.  And shortly after she began petting him, he turned quiescent.

Cahill hated her with every fiber of his being.

But he also wanted her.  Desperately.

That was her doing, of course.  Without so much as laying a finger on him, she'd dialed him up to eight.  Nine.  Ten.  His cock throbbed, aching to be free of its restraints.  To be inside her.  His fingers burned with the need to touch her.  His lips stung.  All he could do was grit his teeth and grunt in protest against the urges he had no way of acting upon.

"Time for you to go home, boys," she said.

At first, Cahill thought she meant him and Oberon.  But then he remembered the men Oberon had left dangling in the air.  They fell to the grass with thuds of varying intensity.  One by one, they picked themselves up, scraped their bows, and took their leave.  Arawn, who'd stood silently against the wall until that point, followed their lead.  

Duncan lingered longer than the others, blue light shining from under his helm as he gazed longingly upon his queen, but eventually he too left.  Before departing, though, he gave Cahill a look of pure loathing.  

He wished he'd slain a different cousin that day.  Or both.  Not that it would have mattered.  Titania would have just raised him back up the way she had Reilly.

Speaking of which.  "You too, Black," she told Oona's son.  "I'm in no danger."

The little queen, who he now realized stood all of five feet tall, stepped up to him and ran a few of her colorful nails down his cheek.  Cahill ejaculated immediately.  "Isn't that right?" she asked.  "You won't hurt me, will you?"

He would if he could.  But no part of his body was interested in the signals his brain was sending.  It was only from the mid-thigh down that he'd turned dendrous, but his entire body was immobile.  Or as close to it as made no difference, since it was the Queen of Faerie who appeared to be in control of his body functions now.

"What's that?" she asked.  "I don't think I heard you."

"No, my queen," he heard himself say.

It was his voice that spoke.  His lips that moved.  But he'd not chosen the words.  Wouldn't have, no matter how intoxicating her perfume was.  How beautiful those eyes, blue one moment then pink then green the next.  Those lips, purple then red then orange.

Reilly bowed stiffly then departed without a word.  Just as the others had.

Panic filled Cahill.  For the first time, it dawned him that none of them exerted any greater control over themselves than the Queen of Faerie allowed them.  That they were all, each and every one of them, her puppets.  There was no resisting her.  No defying her.

Had he sought to kill her?  What a joke.

"Ruff!  Ruff-ruff!" Oberon barked suddenly.

"Shh, shh," Titania purred, running a slender finger from between his eyes to his neck and back again.  "I'm not going to hurt you either."

"What do you want?" Cahill asked.  Or she did through him.  He wasn't even sure.

"Funny you should ask."  She gave him a dazzling smile, beautiful blue-green lips parting to reveal a perfect set of pearly whites.  Damn, she was gorgeous.  "I could almost think you a loyal subject, eager to please his queen.  But that's not you, is it?"

"I'd like it to be," came the reply from his mouth.

That one, he certainly wasn't responsible for.  The bitch.

He wanted to cry.  It was one thing to be restrained.  To be denied freedom of movement.  But it was quite another to lose control over one's own words.  He'd never realized how much that mattered until she'd taken it away from him.

"Good," she said.  "Good."

If he could have jabbed hot pokers into those beautiful gold eyes, he would have.  The sizzling sound made by her vitreous humor cooling the hot metal would have been delightful.

Such vivid, violent, vicious thoughts were as new to him as the inability to control his own speech.  But unlike the other things Titania had done to him without his consent, inspiring a little creativity in that department wasn't so objectionable.

Oberon started barking again.

"What's that?" she asked, holding the small dog up to her pointed ear.  "You want to say hello to Cahill?  Of course you can!"  She stretched her arms out and let Oberon lick Cahill's face.  "Isn't he just adorable?" she asked.

If he could, he'd tell her that he got the point.

"It's really very simple," the queen said in a pleasant tone.  Or one that was meant to be pleasant.  Might have been pleasant, if used by someone less deplorable.  "You're going to take part in the Hunt.  Every time it's called.  From now until I lose interest."

Oberon gave him another lick before Titania pulled him back to her chest.

"You can do as you please the rest of the time," she continued.  "Return to your little safe haven, where you're so far beyond my reach.  Play with your children.  Poke your mother.  You know, whatever pickles your tickle."  A leering smile mocked his inability to point out that she'd mixed up the saying.  "I don't even care if you pleasure the Fat Slug, though she certainly doesn't deserve anything but misery."

This set off another round of high-pitched yips.

"Oh, you don't like when I talk about her like that?" Titania asked.  "You should be thankful none of her children have murdered her in her sleep." 

Cahill's blood began to boil.

"Not that I'd ever rid myself of her so easily," the queen added, offhandedly.

It took a moment for that to sink in, busy as he was raging over the reference to Fiona's demise.  Did she think his grandmother unkillable?  And consider that fact so obvious that she could complain about Aeife's inability to die in front of Cahill?

"I'm not asking for much," she continued, speaking both to him and Oberon.  "You two join the Hunt, and no one else gets hurt.  I promise."

The sky darkened for a moment as she said this.  

"You see?" she asked, orange eyes glowing.  "Faerie as my witness, no harm shall befall Clan Walker.  Provided you do your part.  Could I be more gracious?"

Just a little.

"Still," the queen said, "just because I'm so nice, here's a little good faith gesture."  With that, she flicked her wrist towards where his brother had fallen.

Seamus coughed and sat up.  

"What happened?" Seamus asked.

"Oh, don't worry dear.  You just died a little," Titania said.  

Cahill wanted to shout with joy.  Or ask his brother if he was okay.  But his tongue wasn't cooperating.  Nothing was.  He could barely even turn his head enough to see Seamus rise to his feet, his morning star still in hand.

"I wouldn't do that," the queen said.  "Just stay put for now."

And just like that, Seamus froze.

Then Titania put Oberon on the ground.  He flopped onto his back, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, and thrust his paws in the air as he begged for a belly rub.  The poor guy.  Cahill could scarcely imagine how Titania could better rob him of his dignity.

"Aren't you just the cutest wittle guy," Titania said in a faux growl as she bent down to honor his request.  "Yes you are!  Yes you are!"

"Okay," Cahill said, of his own volition.

"What's that?" the queen asked, tilting her head back.

The pink eyes staring up at him had to be the most odious things he'd ever seen.  Or the most beautiful.  Until they turned green, which was even more beautiful.  The effect she had on him, despite everything, filled him with shame and self-loathing.  His mouth tasted like ashes and his stomach churned.

"Whatever My Queen asks of me, I'm glad to provide."

Cahill wished he could bite his tongue off, even if it meant drowning in his own warm blood.  Better that than speak to her this way.

"Wonderful!" Titania said with an offensively beautiful smile.  Meanwhile, she continued rubbing Oberon's belly, much to his evident delight.  And probably inward lament.  "I'm so happy to hear it!  You've just made my day!"

She rose to her full height, such as it was, and gave Cahill a kiss on the cheek.

His body and his mind went to war with another.  At stake was his reaction to her vile, violet lips pressing against his skin so sweetly.  

Unfortunately, his body won.

It wouldn't quite be correct to say that he'd never had an orgasm so intense.  But the precedents were few and far between.  His body convulsed as wave after wave of unbearable ecstasy crashed into him.  Then his consciousness left his body, granting him a brief escape from, the grief and despair his sister's death had inflicted upon him, the suffering and anger and humiliation to which Titania had subjected him, and even the unwanted pleasure she had brought him.  When he eventually returned to his body, he felt nothing but bliss.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that he hated her.  Despised her as he had no other living being.  Yet all he could think about was how badly he wanted her to kiss him again.  That, and whether she looked as good under that diaphanous robe as he suspected.  Whether her nipples were closer to pink or brown.  How prominent her labia might be, and whether she had any pubic hair.  If so, did it change colors constantly, or was it just blonde like most of her hair?  

With a blue smile, the Queen of Faerie said, "You've a few hours in the Dreaming yet before the next Hunt.  That's a couple days in your little world."  She rose to her feet, went up on her tiptoes, and patted his cheek.  That sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body.  "Make the best of it.  I expect you to give it your all when I summon you."

The pleasure that had still been coursing through his body suddenly turned to pain, the likes of which he'd never imagined.  Every nerve was on fire.  His eyes watered and he opened his mouth to scream, but all he could do was gag.  If his body would have allowed him, he'd have flopped to the ground and writhed about madly.  But he couldn't manage much more than a few feeble spasms.  And yearn for death.

Through it all, he thought he heard the Queen of Faerie say, "Don't disappoint me, or this will seem like a pleasant massage."

When the pain finally passed, he found his legs had become once more.  Oberon had returned to his natural form and Seamus was moving again.  Of Titania, there was no sign.

#

It was late morning on Friday when they returned, though they'd departed early Wednesday evening.  The whole exchange outside the grove had lasted but a few minutes, yet such was the nature of these things.  Especially since he'd located Savannah so far away from Faerie.  This was what he got for trying to give his children the space to grow up away from Titania's influence.  To ensure that when Clan Walker returned to Faerie stronger than ever, a mere matter of weeks would have elapsed there.

How many hours, or days, would he lose each time the Wild Hunt was called?  How long would his children be without him?  His mother?

And what would he be forced to do?  

What would he become?

"Are you sure I was dead?" Seamus asked as they approached their backyard.

"Yes," Oberon said simply.

"Because I didn't feel-"

"You know what being dead feel like?" Cahill asked.

His brother sighed and shrugged.  "It's weird.  I felt a sense of panic, a brief flash of pain, and then I was fine.  No light at the end of the tunnel.  No empty train station, filled with a soft white glow.  My life didn't flash before my eyes."  Seamus scratched the back of his head.  "I think I knew there was a brief gap there.  That I didn't sit right back up.  But I can't say what happened in between."

"Because nothing did," Oberon said as he opened the gate.

"Have you died?" Seamus asked, the words coming out slowly.

Oberon gave him a flat look.  "No."  For a moment, it seemed he would say no more, but then he added, "She has though.  My mother.  We used to talk about it."

Cahill shuddered.

He was more than grateful to have his brother back.  After losing his other brother and a sister he loved dearly, he wasn't sure he could have handled another loss.  But even after living a life filled with glamour for many years, he almost didn't believe it possible.

That Titania had come back from the dead, and that his grandmother had sent her there, was something he'd known for a long time.  But it had always had the ring of a fairy tale to it.  The old stories were mostly true, but not entirely.  And sometimes they were true only in a symbolic sense.  He took them seriously and yet didn't at the same time.

It was not right for a woman to have that much power.  Especially one like Titania.  She was cruel and capricious, self-absorbed almost to the point of solipsism, and, perhaps worst of all, bored out of her mind.  At least, that was the conclusion Cahill had come to after staring into her kaleidoscopic eyes.  She wasn't lashing out at them because she'd given up hope of winning Oberon back, or because she'd sworn some vendetta against their clan.  Nor was this some elaborate scheme to bring the last few pieces of a master plan together.  It was all just for her personal entertainment.  To help her battle the malaise that came from being too damn powerful and having no one else to play with.

And there was nothing any of them could do about it.

"You don't...miss her?" his brother asked.

As Cahill himself might have, if he was playing closer attention.  There had been a faintly nostalgic tone to the man's voice.  A voice which was typically dispassionate in the extreme. 

Oberon didn't answer.

Before they could press him on it, his daughter came running across the yard and launched herself at him.  "Daddy's home!" she yelled as she soared through the air like a flying squirrel.

Oberon stumbled back a half step as he caught the girl.  "Maisie, dear, you're getting a bit big for this, don't you think?"

"Are you calling me fat?" she asked, purple eyes wide and a wounded look on her face.

Not too old to launch herself at her father like a stone from a catapult, Cahill noted, but old enough for that.  Before long, she'd be asking if her dress made her look fat.

The former prince laughed, kissed his daughter's forehead, and told her, "Of course not.  You're beautiful, sweetie."  He gave her another kiss then put her down gently.  She was a little reluctant to let go, but eventually did.  "Where's your mother?"

Maisie spun on a heel and pointed to the gazebo at the far end of the yard.  Sitting in the shade it provided were Aeife, Wynne, and Caronwyn.  They looked to be nominally keeping an eye on the children, who were playing a game of tag, but were mostly engrossed in their conversation.  They hadn't even noticed the arrival of Cahill, Seamus, and Oberon yet.

"Say 'hi' to Mom for me.  Don't tell her I died, though.  You know how she gets," Seamus said, clapping him on the back.  And, somehow, that sounded perfectly reasonable to Cahill.  He could almost believe that was something brothers said to one another all the time.  "I'm gonna go find Aileen and Kegan." Then, lowering his voice, he added, "Talk more later?"

Cahill nodded.

His own children greeted him on his way over to the gazebo, but they did so rather less ballistically than Maisie had Oberon.  That gave rise to a small tinge of jealousy.  But, then, Morgan gave Oberon the faintest smile and smallest wave, balancing his sister's enthusiasm out.  And if Cahill was being objective, he'd admit that the differences in the children's reactions had more to do with their personalities than how much they loved their fathers.

When they reached the gazebo, Cahill saw that his grandmother looked as though nothing had ever happened to her.  The same as Seamus.  And of course she did.  What was the loss of a pair of legs to a woman such as his grandmother?  That had been days ago.

His head spun.  Every now and then, he forgot that he too was guilty of violating all sorts of natural laws.  That most days, he not only believed, but accomplished, six impossible things before breakfast.  For just a moment or two, he expected to wake up to an empty bed in the suburbs.  Or to a bed he shared with a woman who'd not be returning to it that night.

Aeife smiled up at him and Oberon.  "Well look who it is," 




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 04



"I'll be damned," Caronwyn said, pretending not to even look at him.  He caught those beautiful brown irises creeping towards the corner of her eyes though.  "I don't see any flowers, but I guess we can forgive that, can't we?"

Aeife shrugged.

"Hmm, good point," his mother continued.  "Not off the hook that easy."

"Ha.  Ha.  Ha," Cahill said, endowing each syllable with as much sarcasm as he could.  He felt the response of her Libido, of course.  The way it soared.  And that warmed him through and through.  But they were playing a different game on the surface, and he'd not be the one to spoil it.  "Nice to see you again too, dear."

Wynne inched forward, then stopped.  Blushed, then apparently decided she wasn't too old after all.  She rushed over to give him a hug.  "We were so worried about you!" she said from somewhere between his waist and his chest.

"Some of you, anyway," he said, stroking his daughter's hair.

Oberon took a seat beside Aeife and planted a kiss on her cheek.  And that was apparently all he needed to say.  Small wonder Morgan was so laconic.

"I...guess I should go," Wynne said.

"What's the hurry?" he asked, leaning back to look in her green eyes.

His daughter gave him a little shrug.  "You're gonna talk about stuff I'm not supposed to hear, right?"  Her face masked the emotion, but he felt hope spring in her young Libido.  "Unless you think I'm old enough now?"

Cahill started to break the news to her gently, then remembered the conversation he'd overheard between her and Aeife.  Nothing they had to discuss would be easy for her to hear, but she was no longer a child.  And it would mean a lot to her if someone other than her grandmother acknowledged as much.  So he gave her a nod.

A huge smile spread across her face.  She looked like she might have clapped her hands, if not for the fear that this would make her seem childish and immature.  Instead, she gave his hand a warm squeeze before sitting back down between her mother and grandmother.

That earned him a grin from Aeife and a raised eyebrow from Caronwyn, who probably didn't question the wisdom of his decision but apparently didn't think him sensitive enough to make it.  He was tempted to stick his tongue out at her, but that, Wynne definitely didn't need to see.  She still held him in the highest esteem.  It would be years yet before she started thinking him both over the hill and yet no more emotionally developed than an adolescent.

Well, no, probably not years.  Maybe more like months.  It had been right around her age that Ty had started wondering whether his father knew anything.  And though Niall hadn't yet become half as disillusioned with their father as his older brother was, and hopefully never would, he'd begun to recognize that Cahill was far from infallible. 

They grew up too fast.

"So," his mother said, folding one hand atop the other in her lap.  Her voice was solemn, as was only appropriate, considering.  The abrupt end to her feigned indifference took him by surprise, though.  "What happened?"

Cahill drew a deep breath.  And then told her everything.

Well, not everything.  He left out his brother's brief death, as requested.  But everything else.  Reilly's death and resurrection, Titania's demand, and everything she did to get them to agree to it.  Oberon, being Oberon, showed no reaction when Cahill described the way his mother had humiliated him.  Not even when Aeife made cutesy faces and, in an even higher pitch than her usual one, told him that she'd love to see him as a puppy.  For her part, his mother was similarly unfazed by the news that Titania had brought him to climax.

Wynne, however, was a different story.  

As he told his tale, his daughter went from concerned to dismayed to saddened to shocked and disgusted.  She looked tempted to pretend she hadn't heard a few of the details, but the ones she hadn't immediately blacked out were bad enough.  By the end, she was angry enough for Aeife and Caronwyn both over the indignities their lovers had endured.

"She can't just do that!" the girl said.  "You're not really going to, are you?"

"It's not that simple, sweetie," their mother said, running her fingers lightly through the girl's black hair.  "Is it, dear?" she asked, turning to Cahill.

"Really?" she asked, green eyes pleading.

Cahill finally sat down.  "She really didn't leave us much choice."

"But...but...there's just one of her!  Can't the four of you defeat her?"  She looked from her father to her mother.  Then Aeife.  "You just can't leave them home next time."

Oberon gave Cahill a silent look.

But it was Aeife who came to his rescue.  "I've beat her before," their grandmother said.  "Killed her, in fact," she corrected herself.  "That woman doesn't know how to stay dead."

Wynne looked as incredulous at this as she had the news that Titania had brought Reilly back to life.  She heard the words, he was sure, and knew their meaning.  But they still went in one ear and out the other, leaving no sign of their passing.

Cahill couldn't really blame her.  It was a lot to take in.

"So don't kill her," his daughter said at last.  "Lock her up somewhere she can't reach us.  Somewhere dark and cold and lifeless.  Then throw away the key."

His eyes drifted to Oberon.  And he wasn't alone.

"If it was that easy, I would," he told the lot of them.

Aeife looked less than reassured.

"Really," he said, putting a hand on her knee.  "I would."  He turned his attention to Wynne.  "But I can't.  She's too powerful.  And...there's too much of me that remembers how I used to feel about her."

That drew a pall of silence over the gazebo.

"Don't read too much into that," he said at last.  "I don't mean I'm on her side.  Or that any part of me thinks I made the wrong decision leaving her.  Just that I can't be in her presence without feeling something stir.  Something I'm strong enough to quell, but not right away.  And all she needs is for me to hesitate a single moment."

No one had anything to say to that.

"She promised she won't hurt anyone else if we join the Hunt," Cahill eventually said.  "And you know how promises work with our kind, right?" he asked Wynne.

She simply frowned at him.  Whether that was because she found the question patronizing or the queen's promise less than reassuring, he couldn't have said.

"I promise," he told her, before kissing her hair.

"How's this going to work?" his mother asked, sounding numb.

He wanted so badly to hug her.  But she probably wouldn't want their daughter to know how much she'd welcome that.  How devastated she was by news they'd soon try to convince Wynne, and the others, wasn't as bad as it sounded.

Aeife gave Oberon the, "Should you or should I?" look.  He gestured for her to proceed.

"It's never the same," she said.  "In some forms, though there's a dark edge, it's mostly all in good fun."  A wistful smile appeared and disappeared in the span of a second.  

Though Cahill had no reason to doubt her words, this was a rather different song than the one she'd sung for Niall when he had nightmares about the Wild Hunt.  

"Unfortunately," she continued, all sign of whimsy gone, "I don't think we can expect Titania to have any interest in those versions."

Oberon's lips tightened a little.  Cahill wished he knew what, if anything, that meant.  And whether the former prince could have done more to oppose Titania outside her grove.

He'd been his uncle's strongest defender for a while.  But the man's confession had been a bit disturbing.  No man could withstand Titania's charm entirely, as he'd learned.  But did her son and onetime favored lover find it that much harder?  Did that mean he was more liability than asset, whatever loyalties might lie in his heart when she wasn't around?

"It could be that she's going to make them hunt down mortals," Aeife said in a tone that left no doubt as to how little credence she was giving this possibility.  "Or other fey."  A slight possible, almost unnoticeable.  "Or they may be the ones who are hunted."

That sent a shiver down his spine.

For whatever reason, he hadn't considered that possibility.  The old tales never dealt with fey hunting fey.  Many weren't even tied to the fey at all.  Those that were almost universally dealt with fey hunting mortals.  Sometimes, the Wild Hunt was called by the Unseelie Court, and if any stray members of the Seelie Court crossed its path, they might be forced to join against their will.  But they still weren't prey.  Of course, the versions he knew were all stories told by mortals to scare one another.  So it shouldn't surprise him that they focused on supernatural forces terrorizing innocent mortals.

What would Titania find most amusing though?

"I don't suppose she promised not to hunt you?" Wynne asked.

Indeed not.  What he said to Wynne, though, was, "We suddenly believe her promises?"

His daughter gave him an exaggerated frown.

"The Hunt's not always violent," Oberon cut in.  "Often as not, it's sexual."

He left unsaid the very real possibility of combining the two.  Rape didn't necessarily play an integral part in the old tales about the Wild Hunt, but it was often implied to be at least an incidental byproduct.  And it wasn't hard to imagine Titania making it the focus.

"So...Dad's gonna have to sleep with other women?" Wynne asked.  She looked disgusted.  Then her green eyes turned to him, piercing into him.  Did she think that he'd secretly wanted to join the Hunt all along, just to get a little more action?  "Is that all?"

"That would be torture enough for some," Aeife said with a sly grin. 

Cahill wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Oberon blush.  Wynne too.

Caronwyn, however, was not amused.  She shot her mother a disapproving glance before turning back to her daughter.  "Sweetie, whatever happens, your father will be fine.  He's not going to get hurt, nor is he going to enjoy whatever it is the queen makes him do."  Her brown eyes regarded Cahill.  "Right, dear?"

"Right," he said.

"We'll get through this," his mother continued.  "Nothing for you to worry about."

Wynne was unmollified.  She folded her arms beneath her breasts, tilted her head down, and stared at Cahill through her thick lashes.  "I don't like it," she said, each word sharp and defined.  "You should've found another way."

"When did we go from concern to accusing?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and giving her a gentle shake.  "Huh, missy?"

"Stop, Dad," Wynne said, giggling as he began to tickle.

If only his own concerns could be so easily dispelled.

#

Two Cahills emerged from two bedrooms on two different floors at the same time.  He'd decided that both Regan and Niall had practiced their respective instruments enough for the day, and was proud to say that his decision hadn't been influenced by the strain of listening intently to the both of them at once.  His older son could and would keep going on his own, but Regan would have complained before long if they hadn't stopped.  He let the soundproofing glamours go and collapsed into the body on the fourth floor.

"Daddy, look at my painting!" Maeve cried from the kitchen counter.

"Just a moment, sweetie," he said, pressing his fingers to his temples.

He hadn't called an end to the joint session because of his fatigue, but he was fatigued.  It didn't help that he'd yet to rest from his encounter with Titania either.

"It's quite good," Seamus said.

Cahill hadn't even noticed his brother was there.  He stood on the other side of the counter from Maeve, drinking tea.  Looking awfully calm and content for a dead man. 

Was the queen really that powerful?  Could it be so simple?

Why was she the only one with such power?  It was beyond unfair.

"You didn't even know that was a unicorn," Maeve said, as though reminding him that he was an idiot.  Just in case he'd forgotten.  "You thought it was a horse."

His daughter was still at the age where she thought failures to appreciate her work reflected poorly on the observer.  In just a few years, that would change.  She'd start to think that if her uncle couldn't tell that her horses from her unicorns, it would mean there was something deeply wrong with her as not only an artist, but a person.  A sign that she was no good at anything and no one would ever love her.

He hoped he'd still be around then.  That he'd get to see her through that stage.

"An honest mistake," Seamus said, tipping his mug back conveniently.  The bemused grin Cahill felt sure was there would be hidden from his daughter's view. 

The girl gave her uncle roughly the same look she would have if he'd told her that fire was wet and dogs meowed.  Then she turned and held the painting up for Cahill to inspect.

Lest he incur her wrath, he took the time to study it closely before commenting.  "It's beautiful, honey," he said.  "The detail on these trees is amazing."

She beamed, her ear-to-ear smile lighting up the room.  "I did those outside."

"Thought this one here looked familiar."

"I know I'm 'sposed to paint in my room, not the kitchen," she said, turning back around.  "But we don't need to tell Mommy, right?"

Cahill ruffled her hair by way of response.  "Just make sure you clean up."

"I haven't made any mess to clean!"

So she hadn't.  He bent down and kissed the top of her head.  "Good girl."

Seamus eyed him quietly, hiding a grin.  Apparently sensing that Cahill's parental duties were, for the time being, fulfilled, he said, "I'm gonna take Aileen and Kegan into town.  Pick up a few things.  Wanna come with us?"

Cahill started to decline, but caught the look in his brother's eye.  And remembered the tone he'd used earlier when mentioning that they'd talk later.

"Sure," he said.  "Let's invite Niall too."

"Yeah, of course," Seamus said with a sad grin. 

Ordinarily, he might have chuckled at the suggestion.  But not today.

They hadn't acknowledged that the budding love triangle between Aileen and their sons looked a bit like a repeat of their rivalry over Fiona, only fought through proxy.  But neither did they need to.  They knew each other too well.

They gathered the three kids up and went on their way.  Niall had blushed like an idiot at the mere mention that Aileen would be part of the expedition.  Poor kid.

For once, Cahill and Seamus eschewed their fey forms.  They rarely went out among the mortals as their true selves, but neither of them was in the mood to bestow blessings.  

In fact, Seamus went so far as to wrap a glamour around them that would subtly deflect attention.  People would see and hear them, but they'd take no notice.  Not unless Cahill or Seamus made themselves hard to ignore.

He'd even endowed the glamour with enough strength to affect their children.  The three walked just a little ahead, well within earshot, but they would only hear incoherent mumbling over their shoulders when their fathers spoke.

"So," Seamus began.  "About Oberon."

"You don't trust him," Cahill said.

"I don't know.  Do you?"

They came to a stop and waited for the unicorn-drawn carriage to pass by.  Their three teens, already on the other side, kept going.  Apparently, they'd all but forgotten about their chaperons already.  Not that it mattered, so long as they remained in sight.

"Probably," Cahill said.  "Mostly."

"Meaning?"

He sighed.  "I don't think he's playing us, if that's what you're worried about.  My concern's that he'll end up doing more to hurt us than help us whether he means to or not."

"Hmm," Seamus said.

"Besides," he continued, "I'm beginning to think that any one of us can turn into her puppet at a moment's notice."  He hesitated a moment, almost afraid that simply by saying the next part, he might make it true.  "I'm not sure autonomy even means anything so long as Titania Dreamsmyth draws breath."

"That's a little dramatic," Seamus said.

"How can you say that, after what happened to Fiona?"

His brother didn't reply.

"I'm sorry," Cahill said.  "That was-"

"No, you're right."  Seamus stared intently at the carriage as it finally rolled past.  More softly, he repeated, "You're right."  As he started across the street, he said, "But don't you think we need to worry just a little bit more about those who'd need less convincing?"

"Such as Oberon?"

His brother shrugged.  "Some guys get real attached to their mothers."

"Jackass," Cahill said, smacking him in the arm.

"Suppose you're right about him," Seamus said when he caught up.  "And I'm not saying you're not," he added, holding up a finger.  "How are you going to feel with him and a bunch of Dreamsmyths at your back during the Hunt?"

"Don't."

"I just think-"

"Suppose you're right," Cahill said, keeping his pace brisk so as to close the distance between them and the kids.  "Are we going to leave the clan without any fathers?"

"Well, there's always Finnegan."

"Don't be a smartass," Cahill said.

Seamus didn't reply.

"I appreciate the thought," Cahill continued, "but if I've been given a death sentence, better that I be the only one who serves it."

"He says casually," Seamus remarked.

Cahill was tempted to say, "I'm not the one who died just a little while ago and is now eager to give the whole thing a second shot."  But he didn't.

"Look, I'm sorry," his brother said.  

"It's fine.  I guess I could've sounded a little more morbid."

"Not that."  

Aileen, Kegan, and Niall were just a few feet ahead of them again.  Not that he'd been worried.  Why would he be?  It wasn't like Walkers were dropping like flies all of a sudden.

"About...earlier.  Fi.  Stupid fucking armor."

"Forget it," Cahill said.  She'd died with his child inside her.  How wrong was that?  "You were right, anyway.  Should've let you be the one to wear her color.  By yourself."

"I don't know," Seamus said.  "You loved her too.  And she loved you."

Up ahead, they heard Aileen burst out, "You guys are so gross!"  As she said this, she hugged her arms around her torso, as if shielding herself from their filth. 

All teenage boys were prone to that sort of thing, Cahill supposed.  But he'd have thought Niall and perhaps even Kegan among the least likely offenders.  Ty might not have made it past his first year if he'd had a female cousin, or a sister, around the same age.  But Niall was different.  Always well-behaved.

Cahill wished he'd heard the inciting comment.

Actually, on second thought, he was glad he hadn't.

Out of nowhere, his brother said, "She brought the wrong person back.  Don't think I don't know that."

"It's not like that," Cahill replied immediately.

"But it is."  The knots of muscle at the corners of his jaw bulged.  "Fi should still be here.  Not for you.  For our kids.  For the whole clan."

Of course not for him.  Why would he even say that?

"You can't let yourself think that way," Cahill said.  "We should all be here.  All of us.  You, Fi, Gallech, and Oona.  None of us are fucking disposable."  He let that hang in the air for a moment.  "And somehow, someday, the queen's going to pay for it."

"Yeah," Seamus said with a wry chuckle.  "Sure she is."

"Now who's all fatalistic?"

"You should really think about shaving," Seamus said, regarding him out of the corner of his eye. "That, or grow a real beard.  You look stupid this way."

"I love you too, buddy," Cahill said.

The moment was almost surreal.  There he was, worrying about whether his son was being crude in a misguided attempt to get his cousin's attention, while his fully grown brother exhibited roughly the same level of maturity.  Almost as if neither one of them had died that day, to say nothing of the sister they'd both loved so much.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 05



######################

Author's note

Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight.  Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot.  Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.

########################




The streets of Savannah were empty.  Not metaphorically, not compared to their usual bustle, but completely and utterly abandoned.  Free of cars, carriages, and pedestrians.  Free of will o' the wisps, unicorns, and even cats.  Cats!  The feline population always came out in force when the mortals were abed.  Seeing them walk into this shadow and out of that one was as reliable a fixture of the nightly patrols as Cahill could name.

When one finally appeared, then, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Until he noticed how large the black molly was.  And saw the characteristic white spot on her chest.  By the time her eyes changed from yellow to green, then green to purple, he knew he was looking at Cat Sith, one of Titania's darker incarnations.  Or one of her familiars?  As ever, the old tales offered no consensus.  Either way, the cat's arrival was most unwelcome.

"You are surprised to see me," the queen said.  Her voice didn't come from the cat, but everywhere at once.  Cahill had no doubt that Titania's ability to speak to him was tied to the fey feline, but at present, its tongue was busy licking the back of an oversized paw.  "That's cute.  You think the Hippo's glamour bars my entry to your dreams.  You know nothing of what I can and can't do, child.  Nothing."  The way she said that last part, it almost sounded like she'd broken it up into two words.  Noth.  Ing.

Cahill shuddered in spite of himself.  

"I go where I please," Titania continued.  "When I please.  You might as well tell your children which molecules of air to breathe as attempt to deny me access to your dreams."

He didn't doubt it.  And suddenly felt childish for ever having believed otherwise.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"For you and Oberon to join the Hunt."  The cat put its paw down and its orange eyes regarded him intently.  "We discussed this," the queen's voice said from all around him.

"And we agreed to do so."

"It's time to make good on that agreement."

Right.  Of course it was.  He'd had nearly two full days with his family, free from her influence.  Relatively speaking, anyway.  Time to mourn his sister and the child she'd have born him.  Meanwhile, the Dreaming would have steadily marched towards dusk.  Towards a time of betweenness.  A time ripe for fey shenanigans. 

And, supposing he survived it, the Queen of Faerie would call on him again in two weeks.  As the Dreaming approached dawn, the other time of betweenness.

On and on, it would continue, til he went mad.  Or Titania lost interest in the diversion.

"Come, child," the Lady of Shadows said.  "I'll not ask again."

So Cahill followed Cat Sith down an alleyway, and out of Savannah.  Out of his dreams and into the Dreaming.  In a parking garage, of all places.

None of Titania's champions were dressed as knights now.  They fey could move about as silently and stealthily in full armor as they could without it, but the symbolism wouldn't be right.  So they'd each taken on some new, dark visage.  Yet they largely favored the same colors and weapons as when he'd last seen them.

Duncan the dark elf wore purple and black.  He melded with the shadows around them as naturally as Titania herself did.  Twin kukris were strapped to his back.

His father was in satyr form, but was looking a lot more demonic than he usually did.  His horns, ordinarily so modest as to almost be cute, were long, sharp, and wicked.  His fur was black rather than its usual brown.  Where small, unassuming hooves should have been, there were thick, sharp, menacing knives.  A long and serpentine tail lashed behind him.  His body had grown leaner, more wiry, his muscles smaller yet more pronounced.  His hands had been replaced with long, black claws that gleamed in the fading sunlight.  His short chin beard had grown long enough to reach his waist.  His bushy eyebrows swept back from his forehead, reaching fine points.  His ears did the same.  The eyes lurking beneath his fearsome brow changed colors the same way his mother's always did.

Reilly was wreathed in ethereal green flames.  But beneath the familiar fairy fire lurked a caricature of his former self.  Where blue eyes should have been, there were two particularly bright tongues of green fire.  His skin, always pale, looked absolutely ghostly.  His tattoos were gone, his muscles were bigger, and his face was contorted into a frozen howl of rage.  Jaw elongated, the tip of his chin nearly reached his abdomen.  In his oversized fists, he carried the axe with which he'd beheaded Gallech.

Typically, Kearney's fey form bore considerable resemblance to that of Sneezy.  But the dwarf Cahill saw before him now was not the least bit adorable.  He had skin like onyx, a bald head, and a long braided white beard.  The look on his face was as cruel and frightening as Cahill had ever seen.  He wore a hooded black cloak over equally dark clothes and wielded twin axes that looked as sharp as razors.  His shoulders were as broad as he was tall, and he'd acquired an additional couple hundred pounds' worth of muscle.

Standing a ways back from the others, almost lost in the dark, was a creature the likes of which he'd never seen.  It stood a good six feet tall and had a vaguely humanoid torso, but its legs, wings, and head were those of a long-eared owl with black plumage.  Its huge eyes blazed orange.  Its talons looked like butcher's knives.  Cahill was suddenly reminded that while most Western cultures associated owls with wisdom, in Native American, African, and Arab myths, owls were often seen as harbingers of death.

Not a moment after he arrived, Oberon did as well.  And the former prince followed the others' lead, assuming a more horrific version of his fey form.  That of a ghost.  He'd turned pale and immaterial, his hair and limbs trailing off into mist.  The sword he wielded looked solid enough, but nothing else about him did.

Briefly, Cahill considered rebeling.  But he apparently lacked the guts, because almost without thinking about it, he turned himself into a more menacing version of the horned god.  One with clawed fingers, excessive muscle, and pitch black circles covering his eyes, most of his cheeks, and part of his forehead.  The lower half of his face belonged more to a goat than a man.  He carried with him the spear with which he'd recently run Reilly through.

"Thank you once again, my children, for joining the Hunt," Titania said from all over.  Cahill even thought he heard her voice echoing up from the level below them.  "We have a few newcomers with us, so please bear with me while I explain the rules again."

Cahill wasn't sure whether he was more uncomfortable with what was about to happen and the visages they'd all adopted to prepare for it or the fact that he was hearing Titania speak so politely.  The Queen of Faerie always spoke with a honeyed tongue in old fairy tales, the better to lure young men into following her.  Or old, for that matter.  Thus, it should not have surprised him in the least to be reminded that she was eminently capable of pleasantries.  But the ball of hate dwelling inside him only saw the other side of her.  The one that had earned a woman who strove to display every hue of every color known to man the moniker Lady of Shadows.  The one that bent men to her will without bothering to deceive or seduce them.  The one that gave many commands but made few requests.

"Take careful note of the big yellow numeral by the elevator nearest you," she continued.  "That tells you which tier of the Hunt you'll be participating in.  I ask that you kindly not pursue targets from tiers above or below yours."

All the times Cahill had imagined this moment since agreeing to take part in the Wild Hunt, not once had he envisioned anything like this.  He could almost believe that it wasn't being organized by Titania Dreamsmyth, first among the fey, but some corporation with an army of lawyers and nearly as many human resource specialists.

The black cat nudged a cardboard box towards them using its forehead.  

Cahill took a step forward and peered in.  Dividers separated the interior four ways.  The far left corner contained a pile of pink hemp bracelets.  To right of that lay a bunch of deep blue ones.  Nearer him, there were piles of black bracelets and multicolored ones.

"Be sure to take one of each," Titania said.  "They will let you know when one of your approved targets is nearby by tightening about your wrist."

Oberon looked a question at Cahill.  If he was supposed to know what question, though, he let his uncle down.  He simply shook his head in disbelief.

"Remember that you are not to harm any mortals," the unreasonably sweet voice informed them.  "That's their job.  Your task is only to hunt the hunters."

Cahill's blood cooled, his throat constricted.  He wasn't sure he liked the alternatives any better, but no part of him wanted to carry out the task before him.  Not unless Titania herself would be among his approved targets.

Which, come to think of it, she probably was.  The bracelets with dark green, royal purple, pastel orange, and bright red couldn't be linked to anyone else.

And the others?  Who might constitute a fifth and highest tier of targets?

Why, the rest of Clan Dreamsmyth, of course.  The pink bracelets he had to assume were for Teagan and the black Liadan.  Leaving deep blue for Macha.

"You're of course free to do as you wish with any prey you catch," Titania continued.  "But those who show mercy will have my eternal gratitude."

Some small bit of tension went out of Cahill's body as he realized what her words implied.  They were being given permission to use the women for their sexual gratification, regardless of whether she resisted or not.  The thought of royally sanctioned rape did not sit well with him, by any stretch of the imagination, but at least no one was to die.

Of course, if he thought Titania would stay dead, he'd give serious thought to hunting her down and telling her she could take her gratitude and shove it up her ass.  

"Any questions?" the disembodied voice asked.  Hearing none, it then said, "You have three hours.  Happy hunting, my children."

With that, Cat Sith walked into the shadows and disappeared.  Or, more likely, five identical cats on five different levels of the parking garage did so at once.

Cahill regarded his fellow hunters silently.  Who would be bold enough to hunt the queen?  Reilly, without a doubt.  Probably his father and Oberon as well.  But Duncan and Uillym, assuming that was even who the owlman was, were wild cards.

Before he could consider it any further, they all gathered up their bracelets and left.  All save Oberon, that was.

"You okay?" his uncle eventually asked.

Cahill almost laughed at that.  What exactly did the man intend to do about it if he said he wasn't?  The queen hadn't left any forms for them to sign if they wished to opt out.  

"I hope you're not thinking about staying here the whole time," Oberon said.  

What did it say about him that he'd not even considered that?

That he cared too much about the mortals he might save from the Hunt?  No.  He wished that was the answer, even if their deaths wouldn't be much more than one-way tickets to some other, likely happier, world.  Any pain or fear he might spare them would be real enough.  But in truth, his primary motivation for taking part was that he knew Titania would punish Clan Walker if he did not.

"Good," the former prince.

"What about you?" Cahill asked.

"I'll do my best to keep her body count down."

If that meant fucking his mother's brains out, the way he'd once lived and breathed for, well, that was a sacrifice he was apparently prepared to make.  Cahill almost snickered.  Only, it wasn't so hard to believe that the man once known as the Lord of Valor truly was interested in keeping a sadistic monster preoccupied.  He might have a hard time convincing Aeife that his intentions had been so noble, but Cahill was willing to take him at his word.

Those colorless eyes, so unlike his mother's, did not blink.  Eventually, Oberon nodded and turned to the cardboard box.  He gathered up the remaining bracelets, slipped one of each onto his wrist, and handed the rest to Cahill.

"Uillym has always had a thing for Macha, if that means anything to you."

He supposed it did.  But he'd already decided to go after Liadan.  Because she was nearly as dangerous as her mother and no one else was likely to stop her.  No other reason.

Oberon clapped him on the shoulder.  In his currently insubstantial form, that didn't feel like much.  Then the former prince faded away.

#

For all the thought he'd given to the matter of who to pursue, it turned out to be surprisingly hard to find any of the other hunters.  Once, after visiting three different cities that the news was reporting had been terrorized by the fey, he caught a glimpse of a woman he didn't recognize.  A member of some minor clan, who'd been placed into a lower tier of the Hunt.  But it had only been a glimpse.  She'd slipped away before he'd have had the chance to talk to her anyway, even if he'd been so inclined.

An hour later, he had a couple more brief sightings of unapproved targets to boast about.  Nothing more.  The bracelets on his wrist hadn't tightened once.

He started to worry about what would happen if he failed.  Somehow, he didn't quite think Titania would be satisfied with a good faith effort.  

A few more unproductive trips to the sites of recent fairy sightings and his concern gave way to genuine panic.  No matter how hard he tried, his gifts proved worthless.  Titania must have placed glamours over each of her hunters, masking their Libidos.  Mortal media outlets were a bit more helpful, but not much.  By the time their people arrived on scene, it was already too late.  Cahill himself would show up not long after the reporters did and find little more than a bunch first responders and panicked onlookers.  Flames no mortal means could extinguish, a crumpled car or damaged building silently attesting to a brief rampage, but no sign of his fellow immortals.  He'd do what he could to repair the damage and help the wounded, assuming any had survived the attack, and then he'd be off.

With little more than an hour left, the pink bracelet pinched his wrist.

And before Teagan even came into view, he caught movement in the shadows down below.  Or thought he had.  His mind could be playing tricks on him.  But it had definitely seemed like something had disturbed the air in front of that dumpster.  

Something purple.

What, if any, significance Detroit had to his half-sister, he didn't know.  No more than it might have for Liadan, who he'd hoped to find here, he supposed.  But for whatever reason, fortune had favored him, as it so often had during his days as a professional gambler.

Cahill jumped off the building whose rooftop garden he'd been using as a vantage point.  A split second later, he was in the alleyway, having skipped right past the space in between.

The sound Duncan made upon impact was beautiful.

"Geroffame," his cousin grunted, though Cahill wasn't on him.

One hand reached up to grab a kukri, the other made as if to grab the shaft of Cahill's spear.  But the guy was too slow.  Before he could get one of the curved blades free, Cahill drove the leafy tip of his own weapon through Duncan's wrist.  A few inches of the steel sank into the exterior of the building behind, as little sense as that made.  The wall might as well have been made of soft wood instead of brick and mortar.

"The fuck are you doing?" he asked.  "We're not hunting each other!"

"I know," Cahill said.  "But I can't let you be the one to catch Teagan."

Duncan tried to pull his hand free.  Cahill pushed the spear in deeper, eliciting a howl of pain so loud he almost regretted causing it.  

"You think she wants you any more than she does me?" his cousin asked through gritted teeth, his eyes glowing with hatred.  "Only time her cheeks are dry at the end of the Hunt are when Kearney catches her."  His lips spread into a cruel smile.  "When I decide to go after our mother, in other words."

The sick pleasure Duncan took in bragging about raping his sister, repeatedly, was more than Cahill could handle.  He dare not kill him, lest Titania take it out on his children, but neither could he turn a blind eye.  

Common as it was for people to be placed under a geis in old Irish myths, Cahill had never seen it done.  But there was no reason for that to stop him.  Summoning all the energy he dared part with, he wrapped a collar of dense glamour about his cousin's throat.  From that moment forth, the longer Duncan went without pleasuring his mother, the tighter the geis would constrict.  Only a little, at first, but eventually it would leave him no room to breathe.  There was no need for that to ever bring him harm, though, because every moment of true happiness he brought Macha would loosen his bond.

Over time time, those twin features would have a decidedly non-magical effect on his cousin.  Through classical conditioning, Duncan would lose all interest in everything but satisfying his mother.  There were certainly worse things for men to obsess over.

His cousin looked confused.  Maybe even surprised that Cahill didn't hurt him further.  But he'd understand well enough before long.  And, someday, he might even thank Cahill.  Or perhaps Macha would.

Cahill stepped out into the street and saw his sister staring at him, face expressionless.  Then, abruptly, Teagan let go the leash she'd been holding and threw herself at him.  

Small as she was in her fey form, she still knocked the breath out of him.

Laughing and wheezing at the same time, Cahill pressed a hand against the small of her back.  Then he kissed her golden hair.  "Good to see you too, kiddo."

"I-know-this-is-terrible-but-I've-asked-Daddy-to-hurt-him-a-hundred-times," she said so fast it all came out as more or less one word.  Then his sister drew a deep breath.  When she spoke again, she did so slowly enough for him to understand her.  "He's too afraid of her."

"Probably should be," Cahill said.

Teagan's face broke out into a nervous smile.  Her hands suddenly left his neck, balling up into tiny fists held beneath her pointy chin.  Were it not for those diaphanous wings, she'd have fallen.  "But you did something else to him?  And now he won't hurt me?"

"Ever again."  Bending down to rub the cartoon pup's back, he asked, "And who's this?'

"Sniffer.  He's my huntin' buddy."

Cahill smiled.  That was just so Teagan.  "Why do I find it hard to believe you've done any hunting?" he asked her, looking up.

She gave him a sad smile.  "A bit easier to buck the system when you're a Dreamsmyth."

He didn't doubt that.  And it seemed she'd been paying a pretty hefty price for going against the queen's wishes anyway, if not at the hands of Titania herself.

Teagan grew to her usual height, though the pixie wings and outfit remained.  Then she planted a kiss on his cheek and he felt a slim ribbon of energy touch his Libido.  




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 05



"That's okay," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.  

"You...don't want to?"

"That's not why I stopped him," Cahill said.

"I know."

"Wouldn't feel right," he said, running fingers through blonde hair.

She frowned.  Then, after a fashion, said, "Thanks."  

Their kind weren't known for refusing sex.  But Cahill figured that running all around the continent trying to escape your own brother, knowing what he planned to do to you if he found you, could suppress even the most voracious appetite.  That she'd been rescued from Duncan at the last moment might come as a vast relief, but an aphrodisiac?

"C'mon," Teagan said, taking Cahill by the hand.  The other conjured Sniffer's leash off the pavement, making it flip up into her palm.  She then closed her blue eyes and gave her pointy nose a wiggle as she teleported them away.

Cahill looked around.  They'd arrived at a picnic table in the middle of a park somewhere.  A poorly maintained trail snaked off into the woods in either direction away from them.  Otherwise, there was no sign that any mortal had ever set foot within a mile of the place.

Teagan hung Sniffer's leash on a knobby branch nearby then sat atop the picnic table.  She patted the warped and knotted wood beside her, beckoning him to join her.

"Wasn't sure when I'd see you again," she said after he did so, resting her head against his shoulder.  "I wish there was a better reason for that changing now."

"Me too," Cahill said as he wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders.

"What'd she do to finally get you to take part?"

Cahill hesitated.  Did she even want to know?  "Nothing good," he said at last.

"Course not."

She asked for no further explanation, and he gladly provided none.

"How're your kids?" he asked, changing the subject.  Seeing her again was his silver lining, and, for now, all he intended to focus on.  "How many do you guys have now?"

"They're good," she said.  "Just the two.  I'd like more, but it was hard enough talking Daddy into it the second time that we might just be done."  Her thin, pink lips formed a faint smile.  "Alasdair's just started talking.  Immogen's coming up on five months."

"Beautiful names," Cahill said.

"Yours must be so big now.  Before you know it, Ty'll be hitting puberty."

She had no way of knowing just how far away Savannah was.  How much faster time flowed there than in the Dreaming.  "He's nearly seventeen, actually."

Teagan slapped his thigh.  "No way!"

Cahill laughed.  "My youngest turns nine in...well, shortly after midnight, I guess.  So far as this world's concerned."  He gave the top of her head a lingering kiss.  "You've a lot to look forward to.  Like sleeping again."

She laughed.  "Tell me about it."

He wondered what they did with the kids during the Hunt, but didn't ask.  That would only remind her that which they were both trying so hard not to think about.

"How's the rest of your family?" Teagan asked.  "Your mother?  Brothers, sisters?"

"They're good," he said.  

His head immediately began to hurt.  In time, that would stop happening.  It had to.  But he was still having trouble convincing himself that the fey didn't really exist.

"As good as can be, all things considered," he appended.

His sister sighed.  "This is weird.  Feels like it should be a happy moment."

"Yeah."

"Watch out for Duncan.  He's a lot stronger than he used to be."

"So am I."

"Meaner too," Teagan added.

"That came across."

They didn't speak much after that.  Just sat in the dark, waiting for the Hunt to end.

#

It probably shouldn't have surprised him when his mother got upset after he finished telling her about his experience with the Wild Hunt.  But it did.

"Well I'm glad the two of you got to catch up," she said, her eyes on their children rather than him.  She'd erected an elaborate stone structure in the back yard for them to play in, equal parts temple ruins and M.C. Escher creation, complete with stairs that couldn't have led where they did and nonsense gravity.  "Regan, slow down!  You're going to fall!"

Cahill gave her a flat stare.

"Well, he could.  I don't know if he'd fall down-"

"Would you be happier if I'd spent the whole time cowering in fear?" he asked.  "Or maybe slaughtering innocent mortals?"

Her brown eyes flashed.  "That's so not the point and you know it."

He sighed.  By way of apology, he tried to stroke her beautiful red hair.  But when he reached to do so, she pulled away and shot him another angry look.

"I'm sorry," he said.  Sometimes words worked too, he supposed.

"Hmmph."

"I wish I could have been here with you.  That I didn't have to go back."

Above them, Morgan unhurriedly sought to escape his sister, who was closing in on him and would soon tag him It.  The boy reached the end of his path and, with little hesitation, pressed on.  As though attached to the stone, he wrapped around the underside and continued speedwalking away.  Maisie reached the point where her brother had gone over the edge and stopped.  She bent her head down, spied her upside down brother retreating farther away from her, and growled something at him.  But she apparently lacked his faith in the structure's ability to warp the laws of physics, for she stood up, stomped her foot in disappointment, and ran back up the incline in search of more promising targets.

Caronwyn watched this with apparent fascination, and Cahill watched her as much as he did the events unfolding above them.  Only after Maisie disappeared around a corner did his mother acknowledge his existence once more.

"How's that wishing working out?  Likely to bear fruit anytime soon?"

Cahill gritted his teeth.  "Look, I'm not the one who-"

Her head whipped to the side so fast it startled him.  "So do you regret not taking advantage of Teagan?  Now that you know I had so much fun without you?  Is that it?"

"Of course not," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, both Seamus and Finnegan warmed my bed the last two nights.  Our bed.  Not because this mouse did play while the cat was away, but because I needed the distraction."  She inched closer to him, and for once, his instinct was to slink away.  "I may not have loved Fiona the same you did, but I lost her too, you know.  Her, and Gallech, who no one seems to be too worked up about.  Do you know what it's like to lose two children?"

Cahill didn't reply.  How could he?

And neither did a tiny piece of him get suddenly aroused at the thought of his mother squeezed between two men, one her son and one her nephew.  It wasn't like any reminder of his mother's sexuality, no matter the context, no matter how depraved the act, was incredibly exciting to him.  No, he wasn't that fixated, bordering on obsessed.  

"And when I haven't been sick with grief over them," she continued, "it's mostly been because I was worried about whether I was going to lose you too.  Except when they were with me.  Inside me.  The only time I've been able to escape the need to gouge my eyes out so as to stop the tears from flowing was when I was deep in the throes of ecstasy.  Would you have me apologize for that?  Do you dare suggest I should feel guilty?"

He wanted to retreat from her, a feeling to which he was not at all accustomed.  The intense heat emanating from her Libido felt like it might scour the flesh from his bones.  But he held his ground.  And took one of his mother's hands in hers.

To his surprise and relief, she allowed this.

"No," he said.  Heart thumping with fear, he dared a quick kiss.  She didn't pucker up to receive it, but neither did she turn and give him the cheek.  "I'm glad they were here to grant you some relief.  I really am."

She eyed him warily for a time, but she must have sensed his sincerity, because she gave the barest of nods.  Inside her, the raging inferno dampened a bit, becoming a mere wildfire.

"I don't know what to say, Mom.  I don't want to fight."  He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it.  "Tell me what I can do to make it up to you, and I'll do it."

"Doesn't work that way," Caronwyn said at last.

"You're IT!" Maisie yelled, as her fingertips brushed a retreating Aengus' back.

For some reason, Cahill found this very amusing, and he started to chuckle.  His mother looked at first like she might get even angrier at him for this, but then she did too.

He took the opportunity to kiss her again.  She sort of almost reciprocated this time.

In what might have been a failed attempt to convince the world she wasn't still grieving, his mother wore a white vest covered with pretty floral embroidery.  And nothing beneath it, he couldn't help but note.  Plus she had on those hip-hugger jeans he liked so much.

He tried to remember what was wrong with the daytime rendezvous.  Something, surely.

Well, if nothing else, there was the fact that she was ferociously mad at him.  The lull in intensity didn't mean it was over.  It might be enough to get him thinking randy thoughts, but that didn't mean the same went for her.

"I love you so much," he said.  "I hate the thought of causing you pain.  It makes me want to rip my intestines out and set them on fire."

"Get some good ideas from the Hunt, did you?" she asked with a faint grin.

Come to think of it, that particular image had come to mind for a reason.  Teagan left no death and destruction in her wake, but the same could not be said for the rest of the fey women.  The burning evisceration had been Liadan's work, he thought.

And to think, he'd hoped to find her instead.

Though that was probably a strong argument for making sure to find his aunt next time.  Spending a few hours clutching his sister tight had been the least unpleasant way to get through the Hunt, but that only removed the least threatening piece from the board.  He should have done like Oberon and spared the mortals of the Dreaming some suffering.

"I don't know how much longer I can feel like this," his mother said.  The fire suddenly collapsed in on itself.  A few smoldering embers remained, but there was more sadness than anger inside her now.  "It's not fair that I should have to endure it without you."

He was tempted to point out that he'd not be called to the Hunt again for two weeks.  But he knew that wouldn't help.  No more than the fact that he hadn't had sex with Teagan.

"I know," he said.

She looked like she wasn't sure whether she wanted to kiss him, throw him on the ground and ride him, or stab him in the chest with a dull and rusty knife.  He'd not have objected to any of those, though he liked some just a little more than others.

Anything to ease her pain.

In the end, she went with none of the above.  "Brittany's not coping very well either," she said at last.  "And Finnegan's not helping."

But presumably not because he was too busy fucking her mother.  Lucky bastard.

"She needs someone to talk to," Caronwyn continued.  "And you know how good your cousin is at that."  She frowned.  "I think a couple of good orgasms would do her a world of good, but she doesn't seem to be interested right now.  Which tells you how bad it is."

It did indeed.

"Stop!" Aengus yelled suddenly, interrupting their private moment.  

Cahill looked up to see the boy his mother had given Seamus yelling at Cori. "No Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon stuff!  It's not fair!"

From atop a spire her cousin couldn't reach, Cori shot him a stunned look.  It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like his daughter was fighting back tears as she said, "I don't wanna play anymore," and vanished the way a child her age shouldn't be able to. 

"Oh dear," Caronwyn said.

He gave his mother's forehead a quick kiss.  "I'll go find Brit after."

His personal goddess shooed him away with both hands.  Which was one of the many, many reasons he loved her.  Without another thought, he went looking for his daughter.

"Go away!" Cori yelled when Cahill knocked on her door shortly thereafter.

"Sweetie, it's your father."

No response came at first.  Then, after a while, she repeated, "Go away!"

"No."

"Fine.  Suit yourself.  But I'm not opening the door."

He smiled at that.  "That's okay.  You don't have to.  I'll just sit here and wait until you're ready to talk to me.  However long that takes."

The bedsprings squeaked, but he heard no footsteps approach the door.  When she spoke again, her voice sounded fainter, as though she was speaking to the far wall rather than the door.  "And if I never want to?  Ever again?"

"Then I'll cut my ears off."

Was that a snicker?  "Cause if you can't hear my voice, you won't want to hear anyone's?"

"Exactly."

A pause.  "You can be so silly sometimes, Dad."  Then, with a voice at strained from his daughter's effort to hide her mirth, she added, "It's not working."

"You sure?"

The white door swung open, as if of its own accord.  Beyond, a room not accustomed to receiving visitors quickly tidied itself up, though it hadn't been all that messy to begin with.  The chessboard on the floor picked itself up, floated over to the tea table, and set itself down.  The pieces arranged themselves neatly.  A few stray articles of clothing put themselves away, and a pair of shoes slid into the closet.  A plate of brownies someone who surely wasn't his daughter had snuck up from the kitchen disappeared altogether.

"I've kept my promise," his daughter said, swinging her little legs over the side of the bed.  She slumped down onto the floor, making a great thud for someone her size.  Without looking him in the eye, she went and sat at the table, by her chess set.  "I beat Morgan twice in a row yesterday, and Aengus just this morning."

"Maybe that's why he said what he did," Cahill observed, taking the seat opposite her. 

"I don't think so, Daddy."  She wore the very archetype of a frown.  "He doesn't even think stuff like that will upset me.  To him, it's just so obvious that I'm different that it doesn't even count as mean to throw it in my face."

No girl her age should have that level of insight into such things.  What had her young life been like to that point, and how had he not noticed?  How could any child of his mother's, least of all by Seamus, be so callous towards her?

That wasn't fair.  They were just kids.  His daughter might be exceptionally precocious, but that didn't make Aengus insensitive.  Boys his age said things they shouldn't, things they wouldn't say if they knew the impact, all the time.  He might well grow up to be a charming little prince.  It was hard to take the long view sometimes, when he saw his children hurting, but he knew that was the way to look at things.

It had to be for her to do so, though.

"You know what Morgan did when I beat him the first time?" Cori asked.

Cahill braced himself for the worst.  "What's that?"

"Shook my hand."  Her bronze cheeks darkened.  "The second time, he kissed me."

"There you go," Cahill said.  "I told you not all boys are the same."

"But he still doesn't think I'm pretty," Cori said, her puffy cheeks sliding into upraised palms.  Without asking if he was interested in playing, she made one of her pawns advance itself a single space.  "You should see the way he looks at Maisie."

He reached over and ran a few fingers through her coppery hair.  "She's his sister."  

How was he supposed to explain it to girl her age?  That, sooner or later, most every one of them would form an especially strong bond with some other member of the clan, and more often than not those bonds would be between siblings or a parent and a child.  That cousins were just not drawn to each other as strongly in most cases.

"And white," Cori said.  "It's your turn."

Cahill frowned as he unthinkingly advanced a knight.  Then winced when she countered his favorite attack straight away.  How had he forgotten that she'd do that?

"And so very, very girly."  Cori sighed.  "She never wins at chess.  Hates all that boy stuff.  Only likes flowers and jewelry and pretty things."

"Do you like Morgan?" he asked.

"That's not the point," his daughter said, exasperated.  "Your turn."

"I know," he said with a mixture of sadness and patience.  At least, he hoped both of those came across.  "The point is, we had a deal, and you kept your end."

His other knight leapt over the row of pixies.  

Cori gave a nod.  Then eviscerated his offense.

Cahill rubbed his forehead as he studied the board.  He had nothing but bad options available.  One of these days, he was going to have to devote all his attention to the game.  That might not allow him to win, but he might at least retain some dignity.

"Okay.  Ready?"

"You giving up already?" his daughter asked, smiling.

"I just thought-"

"Course I'm ready!" she said, pushing her chair back.  "But we're keeping the board set up the way it is, and we're gonna finish later."

Cahill kissed the top of her head.  "Deal."

With that, he walked her over to the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, closed his eyes, and did his best to picture his daughter as a good Irish lass. Not because that would make her any prettier, but because it was what she wanted.

"Oh," she said.  "Oh."

He opened his eyes.

It had worked like a charm.  He hardly recognized her.  She wore the same checkered shirt and the same black tights.  Stood the same height and had essentially the same build.  But she still looked very different.  Her hair, still red in a sense, had gone from copper to the light orange so rare among the Walkers but common among the Celts.  Her skin had turned white as milk and she'd acquired a thousand freckles.

"Not like that," she said.  "I don't want to be ugly."

Cahill kissed the top of her head, watching his lips sink into the pile of carrot peel in the mirror.  "Cori, dear, you could never be ugly.  And this doesn't even bring you close."  He reached down and touched her cheek gently.  "These freckles are adorable."

"They're hideous.  Can't you fix them?"

Her hair darkened, turning the lovely shade of auburn his mother wore so beautifully.  The freckles faded away, turning lighter and lighter until they disappeared altogether, leaving her complexion flawless.  "Better?" he asked.

For a time, his daughter didn't respond.  Then she nodded.

He let go of her, expecting to receive a hug.  But she didn't turn around.  Just stepped closer to the mirror and studied her new, more European face.

The mix of joy and wonder this brought her made him uncomfortable.  He was glad to see his daughter happy again, but her apparent belief that women of other cultures were inherently uglier did not sit well with him at all.

"Can we go back outside?" she asked.

Cahill nodded.

His daughter was out the door in the blink of an eye.  It didn't take her much longer to reach the backyard and start climbing up the stone structure again.

"Was that Cori?" his mother asked.

"Yeah."

"She looked...different."

"Yeah," he repeated, slipping a hand around her waist.  "It's an experiment."  He gave her pale cheek a quick kiss.  That ultra-fair complexion appealed to him, a lot, but that didn't mean he'd love her any less if she belonged to any other ethnicity, did it?  He was more than a little attracted to Liadan, after all.  And he'd been heartbroken after Alejandra had dumped him, a lifetime ago.  "Let's hope it doesn't take."

"That hair looks familiar," Caronwyn replied, leaning against his shoulder.

"She doesn't think she's pretty.  I disagree.  Vehemently.  But if anything could possibly count as an upgrade...."  He shrugged.

His mother's lips readied themselves for a grin.  "I knew I liked you."

"Sometimes."

"When you're not being an insufferable, unreliable, total scoundrel who's not there when I really, really need him more than ever in my life.  Yeah."




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 05



They watched and waited while his daughter rejoined the game.  Everyone was busy running or hiding from Maeve, who was really only interested in chasing Regan, so no one took much notice of the strange girl wearing Corianne's clothes.

"Whaddaya think?" Caronwyn asked him, some time later.  

Regan had tagged Maisie, who in turn tagged Cori when she failed to catch Morgan.  Cori had flushed Aengus out of his hiding spot and tagged him while he stood staring at her, dumbfounded.  Then the game had continued as normal.  

"Figure it's safe to go find Brittany?  Seems like the crisis has defused itself, no?"

If not, they'd probably know it by now.  He nodded.

"I'll make sure Aengus tells her she's not as pretty now as she was before," his mother added.  "Assuming he hasn't already."

Cahill regarded her quietly for a moment, almost unable to process her perfection or the eminent good fortune that had brought him her heart.  He leaned in, gave her ear a little nibble and her Libido a nice stroke, then said, "You're a goddess."

"So I hear," she said, a bit short of breath.

They kissed each other on the lips, a bit more aggressively than was appropriate where the children could see them.  But at least their hands behaved themselves.  Mostly.

"I'm glad you're back," his mother said before letting him go.  "I might even tell Seamus and Finnegan to make room in bed for you tonight."

He gave her ass the pinch it deserved before heading off to find his sister.

#

She wasn't in any of the obvious places.  Not the rec room, which doubled at times as a gym, cafe, or whatever else they might desire.  Not the bedroom she shared with Finnegan or the common area on that floor.  Nor those of any other floor.  

So he reached out metaphysically for her Libido.

And found, to his surprise, that Brittany was on the second floor after all.  Just not in the room he'd have expected to find her in.

Cahill hesitated.  Maybe it would be better to check up on her later.  But he decided to go ahead and rap his knuckles against Padraig's bedroom door.  Despite the oh-so-very inviting skull and crossbones poster hanging there.

"Shh, quick, put it out," he heard a female voice whisper.  Blaire's, he thought.  She sounded enough like her mother that he couldn't be sure, but he had a hard time picturing his sister getting high with her teenage kids.

Of course, he hadn't expected to sense her Libido behind that closed door either.

"You said he wouldn't be back for a while!"  

Now that was definitely Blaire.  Meaning that the first voice he'd heard, the one telling somebody to put "it" out, pretty much had to be his sister's.

Padraig cleared his throat then said, "Just a sec, Dad."

"No, it's Uncle Cahill."

"Let him in," Blaire said.

"Gimme a sec," her brother replied.

Didn't they know how to use soundproofing glamours yet?  He knew for a fact Brittany did.  Why would they risk letting anyone, least of all Finnegan, discover them?

More than a second later, the door opened.  No telltale signs of the activity they'd been engaged in confronted him.  They'd at least gotten that much right.  

Or, rather, the room was devoid of smoke and odor.  The glassy looks in their red eyes and irrepressible grins upon their faces were another story. 

Cahill forced himself not to let his disapproval show.

He had nothing against weed.  Had, in fact, smoked more than his fair share once upon a time.  Getting high before a tournament kept him on an even keel.  Kept him from going on tilt after catching the occasional bad beat even his fairy luck couldn't protect him from.

That his sister was smoking up with her kids in the middle of the day, though, was not good.  That Finnegan didn't know about it, and Brittany felt the need to hide it from him, was even worse.  Understandable, perhaps, given what she was going through.  The death they were all still trying to come to grips with.  But still a bit worrying.

If Brittany got in the habit of doing this with her kids, what other things might start to happen between the three of them behind closed doors?  Far enough down the line, that would be fine, of course.  To be encouraged, even.  But not for a good while yet.

Maybe he wasn't giving his sister enough credit, though.  Besides, he wasn't here to pass judgment on a grown woman, but to lend a grieving sister emotional support.

"What's up?" Brittany asked.  She patted the bed, but there really wasn't enough room on it for a fourth.  Even with Blaire doing her best to occupy less than no space, backed into the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest like that.

"Just wanted to say hi, I guess."  Cahill ran a hand through his hair.  Why did Brittany look like she couldn't wait until he left?  Blaire, of all people, looked more comfortable with him being there.  "See how you're holding up, you know?"

Some of the tension she evidently didn't want him to know she even felt bled away.  "Fine."  She worried at her lower lip with her front teeth.  "Well, not really, to be honest."

That much was clear, and not just from her behavior.  She had to know it was written all over her metaphysically.  The pain she was trying to bury crept out through the cracks of her Libido, darkening everything around it.

Padraig looked at his mother with a level of concern that seemed somewhat at odds with the fact that he'd tried to burn her alive not too long ago.  Except, of course, he hadn't been acting of his own volition.  Not entirely.  At least, Cahill didn't think so.  They might never know the truth of the matter, but he just didn't think the boy had it in him.

"And you?" he asked Padraig.

Green eyes, eerily reminiscent of Fiona's, started up at Cahill.  The young man to whom they were attached said not a word.  Didn't so much as blink.

He wished he could read the boy's Libido.  But that sort of connection was only built one way, at least so far as Cahill knew.  And he had precisely zero regrets about never having done what was necessary to cultivate such a link with his nephew.

Aeife had mentioned once that there were some immortals who could cold read anyone, come to think of it.  It might not surprise him to discover that Titania was among their number.  But he himself was not one of them.  He could read the emotional states of those with whom he'd been physically intimate on many occasions.

"Ty's left him alone," Blaire said for him.  When Padraig gave her a hard look, she ignored him, keeping her blue eyes locked on Cahill.  

With her purple lipstick, hair dyed an unnaturally bright shade of red, and missing eyebrows, to say nothing of her ever-more-numerous face piercings, she was simultaneously hard to look at and hard not to.  Did she know she was only twelve years old?  

How out of control would she be at sixteen?  

"But he's done plenty of harm to himself," she said, affording her brother a sideways glance.  One of her hands gently gripped the nearer of his wrists.  "Though I've asked him a thousand times to stop.  For my sake, if not his."

On second thought, why did he think her some sort of problem child just because of her unconventional appearance?  So what if she chose to express herself that way?  She could go back to normal any time she wished.  And even if she never chose to do so, it would do no harm to anyone.  Did he need any more evidence than he was witnessing at that very moment that, deep down, she was the sort of girl Brittany ought to be proud of?

"That's no concern of his," Padraig said, pulling his hand away and covering his wrist himself.  Not before Cahill got a chance to see the scars from self-inflicted wounds.

"You can't blame yourself," Cahill said.

His nephew looked at him with disgust.  "I don't need your pity."

"Wasn't offering any."

"Fuck off, okay?  I'm fine."

Brittany slapped her son's calf, which was stretched out right beside her.  "Padraig!" 

"It's okay," Cahill said.  

Growing up fey, or believing you were fey, was in many ways different from anything he'd experienced.  Their children didn't attend school, though that didn't seem to have effect on their cognitive development.  They were constantly learning things on their own, both mundane and, particularly as they got older, metaphysical.  Their parents did less to control their behavior, and more to nurture their interests and talents, than was true of any mortal household.  And they were around a lot more, seeing as they had no need of any financial income.  But for all the obvious differences, he was constantly reminded that some things couldn't be avoided.  Such as the tendency for teens to develop a deep-seated, almost reflexive mistrust of all forms of authority.  The need to rebel.  To establish independence.

"Maybe we should leave them alone," he added.

"She can stay," Padraig told him.

The comment earned him a reproachful look from Brittany, who then turned to Cahill and said, "Maybe we should."  Her blue eyes darted back to Padraig.  "Once he apologizes."

"Forget it," Cahill said.  "Should have kept my mouth shut."

Blaire smacked her brother.  After getting it from both sides, the youth apparently decided he'd come on a bit too strong.  "Sorry," he mumbled.  "You meant well."

Cahill gave Padraig a quick smile before leaving his room, Brittany in tow.  

The two of them then went and sat on the couch in the common area.  His sister tucked her legs beneath her, sitting sideways, facing him.  Remembering what his mother had said about Brittany's current lack of interest in sex, he tried not to notice how nice her bare legs looked.  How truly tiny her shorts were.  She didn't have the type of body he liked best, as he always reminded himself in her presence.  But her slender, athletic build had more of an effect on him than he entirely understood, as he'd also noted pretty much every time he got close enough to her.  At the moment, that effect had a lot to do with her lovely stems.  The firm breasts straining the fabric of her faded T wasn't hurting anything either.

"I'm not really-" she started to explain, staring into her lap.

"No, I know," he said, placing a sympathetic hand on her knee.  Then, realizing that might send the wrong message, he withdrew it.  "I can't help the way my body reacts around you.  But I understand.  Thought we'd just talk."

Brittany smiled.  "Finnegan keeps trying to take my mind off things."  The smile died as quickly as it had been born, pink lips drawing tight.  "At first, I thought it was sweet.  But it's getting harder to think it's really about helping me escape my thoughts."

His hand found hers.  That was safe enough.  And the gentle warm waves he sent radiating through her would feel more comforting than exciting.  Or they should, anyway.

She sighed and tilted her head to rest against the sofa cushion.  "I just...can't stop thinking about her, you know?"  Her blue eyes watered.  "It hurts so much."

"I know," Cahill said.

"Of course you do," she said, finger pressed to her lower eyelid.  "Listen to me.  She wasn't carrying my baby.  But still.  I was there.  I could have done something, if I'd just woken up.  If she hadn't needed to save me when she should have been saving herself."

"You...know about that?"

"The baby?" Brittany asked, laughing.  "Of course."

"Does everyone?" 

She gave him a flat look.  The sort that gently scolded him for being dense.  "That masking glamour she used was pretty good.  But it wasn't flawless.  And the two of us were a lot closer than any of you boys ever realized."

Cahill raised an eyebrow.

Brittany rolled her eyes.  "Oh, Kay.  You're so cute."  The smile she gave him almost, almost carried a little warmth with it.  But the tears were already returning.

"That ban on daytime sex you and Mom came up never made much sense to us," she continued.  "Four hours uninterrupted with a litter of kids is a lot, let alone an entire day.  Sometimes, we just needed a break.  And an energy boost."  She stared off into the distance, enjoying a particularly fond memory of their older sister, to judge by her Libido.  "But you wouldn't understand.  You never look after the youngest ones all at once.  It's all music, games, and one-on-one time for you."

Cahill started to protest, but he realized he had no ground to stand on.  Back when he and his mother first had children, he'd put in some serious hours with the kids.  Earned himself one of those #1 Dad coffee mugs or T-shirts they sold everywhere, if he did say so himself.  But since then?  His sister was right.  Like the others, he left the hard parts to her, Fiona, and Caronwyn.  But her and Fi most of all, especially when they were really young.  

"It's okay," Brittany said in that resigned voice that says "It's not, really, but it's also not worth fighting over."  A voice that Cahill figured everyone had to learn sooner or later, if they wanted their relationships to succeed.  "You're not the only one," his sister added.  "It's the same with all you guys."  The look on her face was equal parts amusement and frustration.  Her Libido, on the other hand, was pure agony as she said, "Fi used to say we should count ourselves lucky you're as enthusiastic about parenting as you are."

"Good to know you haven't set the bar too high," he said, frowning.  "Someday, you might even get us to put the toilet seat down.  Or express our feelings!"

She smacked him lightly.  "That wasn't casual misandry on her part, jerkbutt.  She meant because most of our kind never spend any time at all with their fathers."

"Oh, right," he said. 

Brittany sighed.  "If anything, she gave you guys too much credit."

"Well, you did choose the least evolved among us."

"Tell me about it," she said.

"Is everything alright between you two?" he asked.  "I mean, you think this is just one of those things you eventually work through?  Or are you starting to worry?"

"I don't know."  A pause.  "No, yes, I do.  The former.  Definitely.  I'm driving myself crazy trying to understand why he doesn't get that I'm not going to suddenly decide that the best way to grieve for Fi is to hump like bunnies."  She blushed.  "I mean, nothing against Mom.  If that works for her, great.  But it's not for me."

Cahill snickered.  "No need to explain."

"I love him as much as I ever have.  And he's been great with Padraig.  Besides that one moment.  The two of them have been spending more time together lately.  I think they're even speaking in complete sentences, if you can believe that."

"Short ones, no doubt."

"Let's not get carried away here," Brittany said. "And he's right, I need to take my mind off it," she continued.  "But it just seems like that would be disrespecting her, you know?"

He didn't.  Not really.  But he respected the sentiment.  "How bout a drink?"

His sister smiled.  "That, I think she could forgive."

If she could forgive Brittany for smoking pot with her kids, he certainly didn't think she'd mind her sister having a drink with their brother.

So Cahill went into the kitchenette and fixed up some frozen blueberry margaritas.  They were a bit sweet, not to mention blue, for his tastes.  But Brittany loved them.

"Thanks, Kay," she said, when he returned to the couch.  She planted a soft kiss on his cheek before raising her glass in salute.  After they clinked glasses and she raised hers to her lips, Cahill noticed her Libido start to come to life.

If Finnegan hadn't returned shortly after they started in on their second round, she just might have forgotten all about her little hang up.  But that was just as well.  As he left, Cahill thought to himself that his sister might start patching things up with the man she loved.  And so far as he was concerned, having played some role in facilitating that was almost as good as sending her to Happy Town himself.

Almost.

#

"How about something...cheerier?" Niall asked as he shouldered his fiddle.

Cahill smiled.  "Had fun on that hike, did you?"

"What?  Shut up," his son said, blushing.

"Where'd your uncles take you, anyway?" he asked.

"Nowhere special," the boy said.  "Stop!"

He'd been about to ask who else had gone on the hike, but he decided to show some mercy.  He knew the answer full well, and had a pretty good idea why Niall was in such a good mood.  And his son knew that he knew.

Under different circumstances, it wouldn't be hard to imagine a boy as shy as Niall reaching adulthood without ever kissing a girl.  Nor would it be surprising if a girl like Aileen, who defied a few of the more important gender stereotypes even while adhering faithfully to many others, went completely overlooked by the male population.  With legs so thick she could kick harder than a mule, Fi's firstborn would have been condemned to years of ridicule in high school, nevermind that she was the sweetest thing alive.  The budding romance between them, complicated though it might be by Kegan, made Cahill think there was some good left in the world after all.  No thanks to Titania.

"Okay," Cahill said.  "I know just the tune.  But's challenging."

"Good."  Niall readied his bow.  "You've been going too easy on me anyway."

"Oh, have I?"

His son didn't reply.

So Cahill taught his son the most beautiful, most complex, instrumental he knew.  It took the boy a few tries to get through some parts, but not nearly as many as he might have expected.  Perhaps he had been taking things too slow.

"Again, from the top," Cahill said.

While Niall played, the world came alive.  The carpet in his son's room turned to greenest grass.  Flowers bloomed, filling the air with fragrant pollen.  Butterflies drifted about the room unhurriedly.  The afternoon sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly.

Then something even more impressive happened.  Cahill felt his consciousness slip away from his body, the way it so often did at the peak his ecstasy.  He left his shell of flesh and blood behind, drifting away on a gentle breeze.  From somewhere far above, he saw a goofy smile spread across his face.  He tried to keep time, listening for any slight slipups on his son's part, unlikely though those might have been, but he just couldn't.  All he could do was be happy.  Not ecstatic or exuberant, but more than content.

Niall's nimble fingers danced along the neck of the fiddle and his other hand worked the bow like a true master.  He hopped about in keeping with the rhythm, as the best folk musicians all did, but it was his hands that spun the glamour.

And it was glamour.  He didn't know if his son was aware of it, but pure magic poured out of the instrument.  It wasn't Cahill's work crafting the fiddle that was responsible either.

"Wow," was all he said when his son lowered the fiddle.

The bedroom slowly turned back into a bedroom.  Grass became carpeting, butterflies popped like bubbles, and flowers shriveled up into nothing.  It almost made Cahill sad.

"Yeah?" Niall asked.  "Felt like I got it."

"You did more than that," he told his son.  "That was...pure."

"Pure...?"

Cahill shook his head.  "Perfection?  Performance.  Glamour.  Talent."

His son blushed.  "I think I like that song."

"Wasn't the song."  He ruffled his son's hair.  "It's a good one, no doubt, but it's never had that effect on me before.  That was you."

"That's just how she makes me feel," Niall confessed.

"I'm glad for you," Cahill said.  "Tomorrow, we try something harder."

"Harder than that?"

He smiled.  "Well, you might not think so."

His son swatted at him with his bow, but there was a grin on his face.

#

The whole clan gathered outside after dinner.  A warm spring evening gave way to a cool night, its passing marked by a sunset the likes of which was never seen Faerie, where it was forever dusk.  They were joined at first by fairy butterflies, their bodies more akin to those of nubile young women than caterpillars and their wings unnaturally bright and effulgent, then later by glowing will o' the wisps.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 06



######################

Author's note

Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight. Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.

########################





The first surprise of the day was that his sister was pregnant. But when Cahill thought about why his mother had asked him to put another child in her just a few nights ago, it only made sense that once Brittany had decided she was ready to open up to Finnegan again, she'd also want to take her mind off death by creating life. 

He hadn't been entirely sure at first. It usually took a few days after conception before the presence was unmistakeable. Aeife hadn't noticed that Caronwyn was with child again until last night, for example. But there were only so many reasons for a Libido to look that deflated. Of course, it was possible that their cousin had truly rocked her world, and done so all night long. If she'd spent all her energy performing some epic glamour, that too would have accounted for it. But the smile on his sister's face, and the way she kept touching her stomach as if expecting to feel something other than nicely toned abs, left little doubt in Cahill's mind that he'd soon welcome another niece or nephew into the world.

The second surprise, arriving late in the afternoon, came when his mother and grandmother returned from what had been announced as a trip to the kitchen with their Libidos completely deflated. It was hard to imagine that meaning what it did with Brittany, not least because Caronwyn already had one in the oven. But when he saw who trailed behind them, he immediately understood where all their energy had gone.

And that was the third surprise. The big one.

Fiona was alive.

She hadn't quite passed through the door before Seamus swept her up in his arms. One moment, he'd been pretending to be a fearsome dragon that brave Ser Aengus had to slay, and the next he'd wedged himself in between his sister and his grandmother, arms wrapped so tightly around the former that her eyes looked like they just might pop out.

He wanted desperately to go to her. But he figured Seamus deserved some time to welcome her back without Cahill hovering over his shoulder. After all, if the tables were turned, his brother would extend him the same courtesy.

And Cori,now happily wearing her true face again, was next in line at any rate. The daughter Fi had given him didn't bowl anyone over on her way to her mother, the way other girls her age might have, but that was only because she was too used to hoping no one ever noticed her existence. As she stood there, bouncing on her heels, waiting for Seamus to take his lips off Fiona and let her breathe again, the girl looked she just might explode.

"Is that who I think it is?" Wynne asked, abandoning the game of poker she'd been pretending to care about. She got up from her seat at the marble table and pressed a hand gently to Cahill's back. "How is that possible?"

Uaid had yet to lay his hand down. After a few incredibly bad beats early on, when Cahill had probably gotten a little too actively involved in helping his daughter put up some competition, the boy was slowly starting to whittle away at his sister's lead. Now it appeared he'd never get the chance to finish doing so.

But it wasn't that he was wrapped up in the game, Cahill realized. The reason his son still clutched his cards like that was because he'd lost control of his motor functions. That same expression, eyes wide and mouth agape, had been on his face for nearly a minute.

"Dad?" Wynne asked, reminding him that she'd asked a question.

"Magic," he said. 

He couldn't take his eyes of his older sister. For someone who'd been no more than a pile of ashes that morning, she looked damn good. Waves of green shimmered through her brown hair as the sunlight shone upon it, and she wore that green dress she loved so much. The one that barely covered her lovely bottom.

"I figured that," his daughter said.

"I didn't think it was," Cahill elaborated. "I guess that just goes to show that you should never underestimate your mother." 

"That's a stupid phrase," Uaid remarked, pulling out of his trance. The little storyteller fancied himself a wordsmith as well, and correcting people for saying things that were perfectly clear but not perfectly grammatical was a hobby of his. "You should never underestimate anyone. It's a mistake more or less by definition."

Cahill laughed. "Okay. You'd be hard pressed to ever overestimate her abilities. That pass muster?" he asked. It was tempting to ask if the new phrasing passed "mustard" instead, just to see Uaid go apoplectic, but he restrained himself.

His son gave a nod of approval.

Cahill's mind had already drifted back to Wynne's question anyway. More specifically, his inability to answer said question satisfactorily, even setting aside semantic issues.

In a sense, it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. But when his brother had risen from the dead before his very eyes, his corpse had been fresh. And nowhere near as damaged. He'd suffered a terrible blow, yes. The sort even Aeife might not survive, though she apparently found having a lower half of one's body to be a mere luxury. But there'd been plenty left for Titania to work with. Fiona's body, on the other hand, had been...well, it hadn't been. 

His mother hadn't repaired the irreparable. She'd created a new Fiona, out of nothing.

He wondered if that meant she'd be different. No recorded music ever sounded exactly like the original, after all. No matter how good the equipment involved. No matter whether you were talking vinyl or the inferior compact disc. Something was always lost in the process. 

Perhaps the child of his growing that had been growing inside her womb?

Their mother hadn't known Fiona was pregnant. At least, he didn't think she had. Granted, he hadn't thought Brittany had either, but by her own account that was because the two of them had been especially close. Supposing his mother had known, though, would it even be possible to recreate a life so young? So unformed? One that hadn't yet left an indelible imprint in her mind by way of a lifetime's worth of memories?

"You think she'll be able to bring Uncle Gallech back too?" Wynne asked.

That was a good question. He hadn't even considered that. 

"I don't see why not," he said. Oona too.

What did Titania have that they didn't have? What reason was there to fear the Queen of Faerie in the least? To play by her rules? To take part in her stupid Hunt?

His mother had essentially granted them their independence.

Well, that might be going too far. Even if they could bring their loved ones back effortlessly, and he didn't know whether it had been easy or done only at some terrible price, that didn't mean Titania couldn't make them suffer. Quite horribly. They couldn't afford to adopt a cavalier attitude towards the queens punishments and reprisals. 

But things had changed. They'd not play the same old tune anymore.

"That's big, right?" his daughter asked, almost as if she'd read his mind. "That is, this means more than making the clan whole again, right?"

"Yeah," Cahill agreed.

"Wow," Uaid said, putting that prodigious vocabulary of his to good use.

"Yeah," Cahill said to that too. Because sometimes ten cent words just weren't necessary.

He tried to work out the implications of what his mother and grandmother had done while he waited for his turn to welcome his sister back to life. And failed. It was too much to think about, and all he really wanted to do was shower Fi with kisses.

Lots and lots of them. Maybe even in appropriate places.

"Mister horned god," she said when he finally approached her, smiling the sort of smile that stopped hearts cold. She stretched her arms out, inviting a hug, and he felt his sister's Libido pull at him in ways that made life worth living.

He gave her what she'd asked for. Not the kind of hug that cracked ribs, as her other brother had, but one that made sure she knew how much she'd been missed.

"Mmm," she moaned. "Could almost think I was gone for a long time."

Cahill laughed. "None of us thought we'd ever see you again."

She gave him a smile that let him know she was perfectly aware of that. That he'd taken her words a bit too literally. Realizing his mistake, he blushed.

In his defense, holding her in his arms again made it hard to think clearly.

On some level, he was aware that Caronwyn and Aeife were still standing right there, smiling as they bore witness to the heartfelt reunions they'd made possible. That Seamus had gone to tell Kegan and Aileen that their mother was alive. That the little welcome back party hadn't yet made it off the patio and onto the grass. But those things were almost as far back in his head as his knowledge of the music scales or myths and fairy tales.

Damn, she smelled good. Felt good, pressed up against him like that. 

"Whoa there," his sister said. "Time enough for that later."

"Sorry," he said, easing his grip.

Despite her words, though, Fiona was smiling. She even reached down and gave the tip of his mostly hard cock a playful tap. "It's alright. I'll take it as a compliment."

"Not too much of one," Aeife said. "Takes precious little to get him going."

"Stop," Caronwyn said, shoving an elbow at her mother's ribs, though not too forcefully.

Cahill would have liked to think that was for his benefit, but the look on her face made it clear that it wasn't. It was Fiona she was looking out for, if the playful gesture could even be called that. Which he supposed was okay anyway.

It wasn't like his grandmother was wrong either.

Pretending they hadn't even be interrupted, he leaned down and kissed his sister's forehead. Then her beautiful, indecisive hair. One more for good measure.

Her hands roamed over his chest, sending gentle waves of pleasure through him. For a moment, he almost thought she might change her mind about waiting until later. But then Seamus returned with their two kids and Cahill stepped away from her suddenly. Guiltily. As though they'd been kissing and touching in much bolder ways.

"Come here, you," his mother said, pulling him away.

"How did you do it?" he asked, peeling his eyes away from Fiona for the first time since she'd appeared. Though not for long. Just enough to make brief eye contact with his mother. "And, more importantly, can you do it again?"

"That's what guys always say after the first time, isn't it?" Aeife remarked.

Caronwyn gave her a flat look. The sort mothers gave their children, rather than the other way around. That still made Cahill's head spin, every now and then.

"I think so, yes," she eventually said to Cahill. "Not right away. We're going to need some time to build our strength back up. But after that, we're certainly going to try."

He stared at her, shaking his head in mild disbelief.

"Mmm. There it is," she said. "Go ahead. Say it."

"You're a goddess."

She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.

"Get. A. Room," Aeife said. "And give me a key," she then added, grinning impishly.

"Grow up," Caronwyn said, though she wasn't doing a great job of hiding her own grin.

"But seriously," the older woman began, using a serious tone that her high-pitched voice of was surprisingly capable of delivering. "We need to talk about what comes next."

"Gallech first. Then Oona," Caronwyn said.

Made sense to Cahill. First in, last out. But that wasn't what his grandmother meant. He saw it on her face even before she shook her head. Felt it in her nearly empty Libido.

"Do we take Savannah back to the Dreaming once the clan's whole again?"

Time slowed. He tried to process her words. To convince himself that she had indeed suggested putting themselves within reach of Titania's rainbow claws. The very opposite of declaring their independence. He tried, but he didn't do so well.

"Why would we do that?" his mother asked.

"Because it would piss her off," Aeife said with a why else smile. "Royally. Pun intended."

She was right about that.

Caronwyn was unmollified. "And that's something we want to do?" 

"Oh so very much," came the reply.

"Yeah," Cahill said. "It really is." His voice sounded like it came from somewhere else. Someone else. Someone who was tired of reacting.

His mother looked at him with sad eyes. 

"Should we put it to a vote?" Aeife asked.

"Should I explain the concept of matriarchy to you?" 

Cahill put a hand on the small of his mother's back. Her muscles were tight. He sent a bit of warmth traveling up her body. Nothing too powerful or manipulative. She'd know he did it, and it would only relax her if she was receptive to it. Which, it turned out, she was.

Aeife shrugged, as though she was no more invested in the outcome than she'd have been if they were discussing what to have for dinner. "You're right, of course. It's your decision."

The clan matriarch then turned to her son. Her hollow Libido gave no insight into what she was feeling. A full eyebrow arched upward as she silently asked, "And you?"

He kissed her on the mouth. She replied with a sigh.

"What do you suppose will happen if we do?" Caronwyn asked her mother.

"Morale will go up, for starters," Aeife replied casually. "I think we're all tired of living in fear. Hiding from the shadows. Not knowing what awaits us in our sleep."

"How will the queen react, though?" She flicked at the air with a finger, as if knocking down a king. "Concede? Try to force a draw? Pull a Maisie and knock the board over?"

Suddenly, Cahill remembered the reason Oberon was a former prince of Faerie. How Liadan had described the dissolution of the courts with precisely the same metaphor. "I think we all know the answer to that," he said, frowning.

"Point being?" Aeife asked. "Last time she threw a temper tantrum, her son left her. How many fits can she throw and expect the rest of her clan to remain by her side?"

"But does she need them? She's pretty dangerous all on her own," Cahill said, no longer sure which position he was defending. If any.

Apparently just as confused, Caronwyn said, "A mother without her children is nothing." 

That led Cahill to an epiphany. "Leave that to me."

His mother raised her brows at him, but didn't press him when he held his tongue.

#

He found Liadan walking the Foothills of North Carolina. The woman who'd once been the Puck, the Lady of Mischief, Princess of Sapphire Court, looked every inch the nature enthusiast turned amateur photographer. She wore relatively loose-fitting jeans, a tank top, and hiking boots. A red bandana tied about her head held brown hair back from her lovely face. She held a digital camera in her hands, with which she was snapping pics of silverbells. It was through the lens that she saw him when he approached.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, without any trace of her distinctive accent. If anything, there was the slightest hint of a Southern drawl. 

He could almost believe she'd spent her whole life within fifty miles of these hills. That everything he thought he knew about her was a lie. A misremembered dream. Except, of course, she'd have no idea who he was if that was the case. 

"Forgot how charmin' ye can be," he said, imitating something she'd once said to him.

His aunt stood up straight and lowered her camera to her hip, apparently accepting that she wasn't going to get to take that shot. "The woman you're looking for no longer exists."

"You've been pretty busy around sunup and sundown for someone who's left it all behind," he said, remembering the carnage he'd seen when last he'd set foot in the Dreaming.

Her nostrils flared. "What do you want?"

Cahill put a hand on her hip. Not tentatively either. That would only encourage her to slap it away. As if it was something he did all the time. He stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. The warmth of her body and the glow of her Libido made his cock stir. It didn't help that her bra squeezed her girls so tight or that her tank top put so much of that beautiful brown cleavage on display.

"Cahill," she said. He wasn't sure if was a protest or a plea.

Her voice sounded so strange. It had the same pitch, of course. Even deeper than Fiona's, though hardly masculine. Without the hodgepodge of Irish, Scouse, and whatever else, though, she didn't sound like herself.

Or the woman he'd once thought he once knew, anyway. Which he probably never had.

"I'm not here to make you answer for your mother's crimes," he said.

"Well that's a relief." Despite the sarcasm, he caught the tension fading from her body. The subtle retreat of her Libido walls as the energy within settled back down. "So, what? You just had to see me? After however long it's been in Savannah?"

He took her camera from her and tossed it aside. It shattered into a millions pieces, which faded away like smoke before they could hit the grass below.

"That wasn't very nice," Liadan said. 

Cahill answered this with a kiss. One that packed quite a wallop. 

He didn't bring her to climax. But he stopped just short. Her knees buckled and she'd have fallen if he didn't take firmer hold of her wonderfully proportioned body. The sounds she made as she sort of kissed him back were exquisite. A Libido he didn't remember being quite so powerful swelled, dipped, then swelled again. And again. It was like she was pausing to catch her breath, only in a metaphysical sense, and it was incredibly sexy.

"What are you...wow," she said, as she reached up to adjust her bandana.

He snickered. "Was that a question?"

Beings as powerful as she was, whose shenanigans had more or less brought about the collapse of Faerie, ought not be capable of looking so guileless. He could almost think he held an inexperienced college co-ed in his arms, rather than the Nightmare Beast.

Cahill's first inclination was chalk that up to his inestimable powers of seduction. A lifetime ago, many a young woman had swooned over him in that very manner. And in the years since, he'd only grown more irresistible. But the more powerful, more attractive, more well-endowed Cahill was also more mature. He regularly trucked with powerful glamours, yes, but he'd also seen the dead come back to life, and that hadn't been his handiwork. He knew that there were far greater forces out there than him. And if his aunt wasn't one of them, she'd at least brushed elbows with them often enough to know the difference.

It was not his looks, his kiss, or the thin streamer of energy he'd poured into her Libido that robbed her of the ability to fight gravity. Or not just those things.

His aunt had always behaved as though she thought him special. But, then, she'd done the same with Brittany. In the guise of her male pysch professor. Granted, he wasn't aware of any significant contact between his sister and Liadan since the former had awakened, but still. He'd be a fool to take her apparent interest in him at face value. Or so he'd thought.

Ever since their last encounter, he'd entertained the notion that her elaborate deception hadn't been so elaborate after all. But he'd had his doubts too. Enough of them that he hadn't tried to convince anyone that she was trustworthy, the way he often vouched for Oberon. For all that he'd hoped that she harbored true feelings for him, he'd never quite been sure whether the faith he put in her and her acorn charm might be misplaced.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 06



Now, he knew the truth, though. She had a weak spot. Him. Perhaps he should have felt bad about his intention to ruthlessly exploit that, but he didn't. Not in the least.

"I'm still trying to-" she began.

The rest of the sentence was lost. Replaced by a scream of pure pleasure. An intense orgasm had erupted within her, brought on by nothing in particular.

While her lips were still flushed, pupils dilated, and eyelids fluttering, Cahill quickly undressed her. His own hands remained on her back and hip while a half dozen invisible ones pulled at the cobwebs her clothes had suddenly become.

He took a moment to behold her glory. And regretted disintegrating her camera.

The woman standing naked before him might or might not bear much resemblance to the Liadan he remembered on the inside, but she looked every bit as good on the outside. Better, actually. Having purebred children had made her even more attractive, just as it had his mother and his sisters. She'd always been pretty, but she was now close to obnoxiously so. Those lips were fucking amazing. Her figure had always fascinated him, too, a mix of hard muscle and soft curves. That delightful dichotomy had deepened. Her legs were two of a kind. He couldn't wait to lay eyes on her bare ass, which he gathered had grown considerably bigger. Too big, perhaps, but there were worse things. Meanwhile, her waist had come in a little. It wasn't teeny-tiny, but with hips and legs like hers, he hardly noticed.

Her breasts might even have grown a bit bigger. He didn't notice at first, because her best parts were all a bit south of there, but he wasn't sure he remembered them being quite so full. Not that it mattered. Whatever size they'd been before, they were fabulous now.

"You don't play fair," she said, guiding him down to one of those beautiful breasts.

He really didn't.

She'd cum three times before he even laid her down on the grass. Only one of her climaxes had been particularly intense, but even so, she was getting overwhelmed. He could feel it. Beneath the excitement and lust, which were plenty prominent, he detected an undercurrent of anxiety bordering on panic. She was powerless before him and she knew it.

It wasn't easy resisting the urge to take his time getting reacquainted with her body. Comparing every curve to those held in his memory. But slow seduction left room for coherent thought. And that he would not abide.

He did give her the full body treatment. There was no way he was going to neglect any part of her, from her pretty feet to her strong back to her pointy ears. But his efforts lacked sophistication and nuance. He bombarded her with pleasure, sensitizing everything to the max and inducing one quick orgasm after another after another.

Towards the end, Cahill did slow down some. He had to. Her sheer beauty demanded it. He loved the way her pink inner labia contrasted with her purple outer ones. The dark triangle sitting above it, pointing down to her treasure, as well. Her juices had the nicest note of blueberries lurking beneath the surface.

"Still the best," she said, raking her nails through his hair and lifting her hips up off the grass to chase his tongue. "If we stayed here like this until---oh, oh, OH!"

As the intensity of her ecstasy eased, her hips dropped back down. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Her beautiful brown breasts rose and fell. "Not gonna let me finish a single sentence are you?" his aunt asked at last.

"Just did."

"Mighty kind of you."

Naturally, that was when he knelt between her legs and ravaged her with his monster cock. To her evident delight and torment.

Hours passed before he let up for any significant amount of time. He fucked her pussy and her ass, often at the same time, and bathed her in fairy fire and cum. He guided her through a dozen of rapid fire mini orgasms, then denied her the release she craved for so long that it nearly killed her when it came. She actually bit her tongue off at one point, though it hadn't taken her more than a panicked instant to rectify things. He made love to her with his mouth and his hands, and a few extra of each for good measure. He wore two bodies. Three. Four. Had her pleasure herself while he took one Liadan from behind. She pleasured him with her feet more skillfully than some women could with their hands. Or mouths. And the things she did with her mouth made him forget his own name.

Along the way, Cahill drained a great deal of energy from the former Faerie princess. Fed a decent amount to her too, if not nearly as much as he took. But that wasn't the point. In fact, he almost lost sight of the fact that there was one. Under different circumstances, he'd have gladly lost himself in her for days on end.

But eventually it all came back to him.

"Whatever you're after, I'm happy to give it," she panted. "Anything you want. Just promise me you won't make me wait years before experiencing that again."

Cahill kissed her full lips. Again. And again. Sweeping a lock of damp hair away from her face, he finally said, "I don't make promises anymore."

Which wasn't really true. He made promises to his mother and to his children all the time. Some big, most small, and all sincere even though nothing supernatural bound him to them. Liadan didn't need to know that, though. He could lie all he wanted now.

That one barely even made his head hurt.

"Hmph."

"But I'll see what I can do," he said. "Might be I don't love the idea of going too long without kissing those soft lips of yours again myself."

"But no promises."

He shook his head.

"Guess that'll have to do, then," she said, with disappointment he wasn't sure was entirely feigned. "So. What do I owe you?" his aunt asked, sliding her palm over his stubble.

"Nothing," Cahill replied.

A wan smile. Day-um, she was beautiful. That complexion, like coffee with just a bit of cream. Those lips, so full and dark and glistening. That cute nose and those big, dark eyes, nearer to black than brown.  "Really," she asked, sarcasm thicker in her voice than the amalgamated accent had ever been.

"Some of us just like sex," Cahill replied. "Don't need an ulterior motive."

"Uh huh. You forget who you're talking to?"

Cahill feigned confusion. "I thought you said that woman no longer exists."

"She doesn't. But I remember how this game is played." She wrapped a luscious thigh around his waist and pulled him back on top of her with a smooth motion. While lining his cock up to enter her warm hole once again, she said, "I'm going to say yes. I really am. So you might as well just spit it out and let us get started on round two."

His eyes drifted off towards the horizon.

Liadan let out the most indignant sigh. "Fuck my mother and fuck her Hunt."

"Her what?"

His aunt snickered. "Supposedly that sounded a little something else, didn't it?"

Cahill slipped a few inches into her welcome hole then pulled right back out. Slapped her swollen clit with his shaft a couple times, then plopped back onto the grass at her side.

"You've picked up a right mean streak," the onetime Lady of Mischief said.

He kissed her cheek. Softly. Sweetly. Without doing anything unfair to her Libido. Then, at long last, he came out with it. "I want you to leave Faerie and all its affiliated territories. And, if you can, I want you to convince your siblings to do the same."

The brown beauty said nothing.

"I don't care where you go. Long as it's outside your mother's jurisdiction."

"You think she's going to hurt us?" she asked, looking both confused and concerned. And maybe just a little touched that he'd care.

"No," he said dismissively. "Well, anything's possible with her. You know that as well as I do. But the goal is for you to hurt her, with your absence."

Almost without any hesitation, Titania's daughter said, "I've heard worse ideas."

Cahill raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

She laughed. It was a beautiful sound. Musical. "If you want, I can make it more difficult. Don't want to disappoint you by giving in too quickly."

"I'll get over it."

"If this is your idea of no-promise-but-do-my-best," she began, amusement dancing in her Libido, "I've got news for you, Bub. Your best sucks."

Well, he couldn't argue with that. If she went far, far away from Faerie, there'd be no telling when he'd see her again. Or if he would.

"How about you come back to my place for a little while? Make it a long, slow goodbye?"

Cahill looked up in the sky. The sun was approaching its zenith. They'd used up the better part of the morning already. If he went and spent the rest of the day with her at her place, the way she had his before he'd awoken, he'd be away from his family for a very long time. And shortly after returning, it would be time to join the Hunt again.

Which wasn't to say he felt no temptation.

He remembered the way she'd sprayed fried rice all over his bed. And the cute expression of guilt and embarrassment that had appeared on her face the moment after.

Who did Liadan think she was, being so damn hot? 

"C'mon," she said. "I'd like you to meet my kids." As if only just remembering who the father of them was, she added, "Your brothers and sister."

"I'd like that," he allowed.

"So? How bout it?"

He drew a deep breath. Kissed her quickly, barely puckering his lips. Then exhaled. 

"You can't," she said. The devastation didn't show too much on her face, but her Libido went from a steady if gentle roil to a dead calm. "Of course, not. I already agreed to help you poke my mother in the eye. So why would you?"

"It's not like that," he said, taking her hand in his. Seeing the reaction he'd caused hurt more than he cared to admit. More than his mother ever needed to know. "A long, slow goodbye sounds perfect. I just don't want to be away from my family that long."

She slapped him. "Is that all you're worried about? You jerk."

"Some of us like our mothers," he said, laughing. To judge by her reaction, one might think that was unheard of. "Rather a lot."

Liadan rolled her eyes. "I know you do. And you've no reason not to. I'm not saying you-" She cut herself off abruptly, shaking her head. "There's a simple fix for that. Same one you used to make this an issue in the first place."

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. Then he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it himself. For not having gone that route to begin with. He needn't have spent more than a few minutes away from his family, if he'd planned things better. But at least he'd only add a few more minutes to the tally, even if the two of them got as carried away with themselves as he figured they were about to.

He nodded. 

"Yeah?" she asked, sliding a slim finger down his chest. The blue sparks trailing behind delighted him every bit as much as the pleasure they carried with them. "Forgive a girl for thinking a little enthusiasm might be nice."

So Cahill crawled atop her and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her hard, sucking at her Libido. Energy vapors passed from her to him, though she was nowhere near climax.

"Let's go introduce them to their older brother," he said when he let up.

Liadan smiled at him. Without a hint of mischief.

#

They arrived at the brick home she shared with Arawn and their three children. It looked like four adjoined diamonds and probably boasted at least seven thousand square feet. The three acre lot was beautifully landscaped, containing several patios, gardens, and an arboretum. The latter featured a marble fountain and hedges shaped like satyrs and centaurs, in addition to all the proud oak, ash, and thorn trees.

Cahill waited outside while Liadan went in and told Arawn he was relieved of child care duties. A few short minutes later, she waved to him through one of the bay windows.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected. But it wasn't this. Their home was bright and inviting. The rooms were large and well lit, and though the furnishings were luxurious, the place looked lived in. Comfortable even. It expressed a unique style that was equal parts his and hers, with black and white photographs, mostly of trees in blossom, hanging alongside various flutes and pipes on the walls.

"Who's he?" asked a young boy, clinging to Liadan's leg.

"That's your brother. Cahill," she said. "Can you say hi? Tell him your name?"

The boy frowned.

"Well, half-brother," Cahill said. "Different mother."

"So not my brother," came the reply. The boy had a complexion nearly as dark as his mother's, thick black hair, fine features, and green eyes. He would break hearts left and right when he grew up. "Mommies are what matter," he added, looking up at his.

Cahill laughed. "True enough."

"Your father's much better with them than you might think," Liadan told Cahill with a frown. She gave her son's luxurious locks a good tussle.

"I wouldn't know what to think," he cut in.

She continued as if he hadn't interjected. "But he's determined to make sure they hew close to our beliefs and customs. That they not pick up too many mortal views."

In spite of what he'd just said, Cahill thought that sounded exactly like his father. There was no more rabid a partisan of the fey than Arawn. 

No one more eager to signal their loyalty to Titania.

And to think, he'd been starting to feel something like pride for the man. Pleased to see that his father was providing well for the woman who loved him more than he deserved. Was their mother an eternal presence in this house? When Arawn made love to his sister, did she ever believe it was actually her he was with?

"Is Daddy back?" a little girl asked, running into the room from down the hall. She had skin exactly like her mother's, though she too had green eyes. "Oh. You're not my Da-Da," she said, raising her doll up to block half her face.

"Shall we try again?" Liadan asked Cahill conspiratorially. As if the children couldn't still hear her perfectly well. "Eryn, honey, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Unlike the boy still clinging to her leg, the girl did so. She advanced toward him slowly, her steps tentative, then she lowered the doll and said, "I'm Eryn. What's your name?"

"Cahill," he replied.

"He's Faron," she said, pointing at her brother with a finger that would have poked him in the neck if it had but traveled another inch or two. "He's a poopy-head."

"Am not!" Faron replied.

Without acknowledging the fact that he'd spoken in any way, Eryn added, "And he doesn't like stwangers. Or little sistuhs. Or anyone who isn't Mommy."

"Don't let anyone tell you that's a bad thing," Cahill said to the little guy. He reached a hand out, as if to touch his shoulder, but noticed the preemptive recoil and stopped short. "'Mommies are what matter.' Or so I've heard."

Faron did not appreciate the reference. But Liadan smiled.

"And are you Daddy's little princess?" Cahill asked Eryn.

"Nooo," she said, blushing. "Maybe. Nevuh calls me a pwincess."

Another point for Arawn.

"I was thinking Chinese for dinner," Liadan told her kids, sneaking a glance at Cahill out of the corner of her eyes. "Whaddaya guys think about that?"

"It's not even lunch time," Faron informed his mother. "A-duh!"

"Good point," she replied. "Why don't you go ask your brother what he wants for lunch."

"Gwilled cheese," Eryn said. "All Owyn evuh wants if gwilled cheese."

"Would you like to help me make them?" Liadan asked her daughter.

So the two girls went into the kitchen and started buttering bread. Meanwhile, Faron took the opportunity to go annoy his little brother, apparently unconcerned that their mother no longer needed any culinary input. For his part, Cahill plucked their home out of North Carolina and flung it as far away from the Dreaming as he could, where time would flow more quickly. That way, they could spend hours and hours without any significant amount of time passing back in the Dreaming. Or even Savannah.

Owyn didn't speak a word, even to his mother, for more than an hour after he first appeared. But he slowly warmed up to the stranger in his house. Cahill thought that was mostly because Eryn thought he was okay. The younger boy seemed as dependent on his sister as the older one was their mother. It was positively adorable.

After a while, the two of them lost interest in him though. They politely excused themselves and retreated to their bedrooms. And their toys.

Faron, on the other hand, refused to leave his mother alone with the intruder. He might not know what games the grown-ups would play with each other when nap time eventually rolled around, but he seemed to understand perfectly well that that this man who wasn't his father was drawing a great deal of his mother's attention. And looking at her funny. Whatever that meant, it was clearly not okay. 

In its own way, that too was also adorable. But Cahill was still relieved when the boy fell asleep on the couch while watching cartoons.

After draping a blanket over her son, Liadan took Cahill by the hand and led him into the master bedroom. The door closed itself behind them and she sealed the room off so no sounds would escape. But a mirror divided itself into three parts, each granting a view of one of her children, so she could still keep an eye on them.

"I don't think Faron likes me very much," he said as Liadan began slipping her tank top up over her head. "He's awfully protective of you."

"There's nothing awful about that," she said, turning her attention to his own top.

"True," Cahill agreed.

She kissed him. Furtively, at first, but then followed that up with a slower one. Then an even more generous slice of sweetness. Her soft lips felt better than good, and he was hard enough to drive nails before she added any embellishments to the kiss. 

Suddenly, Cahill pressed his hands against her hips and gave a good shove. That sent her flying back onto the bed, and an amused laugh passed through her lips.

"Running out of patience, are we?" she asked.

Cahill dismissed the rest of her clothes.

"Mmmm," she purred, parting her legs slightly. 

The way he pounced on her, one might think Cahill hadn't spent several hours making love to her just a little earlier that very day. Perhaps he was making up for lost time.

He wanted to explore her entire body. Suck on her toes and sink his teeth gently into the not-quite-solid-but-hardly-soft cheeks of her enormous ass. Massage the thick muscles of her long legs and strong back. Nibble at her purple nipples and tongue-fuck her gently protruding hip bones. But he was in no mood for slow seduction. Her beautiful pussy called to him, and he answered.

"Oh. Oh my," Liadan panted, her thighs pressed against his ears and both of her hands on the back of his head. "That's...right there...."

Her first orgasm arrived shortly after his tongue made contact with her stiff clitoris. 

But she put up a hell of a fight from that point on. Not because she was trying to guard her energy, Cahill didn't think, but because she wanted to enjoy his ministrations as long as she could before being overwhelmed.

The polite thing to do, then, would probably have been to slow down. But instead he redoubled his efforts. Because he wasn't interested in polite. He wanted to hear her scream.

And scream she did, though not for a long time.

She showed surprising resistance. Pale green flames first appeared atop her breasts then soon spread to cover her entire body, delivering unthinkable pleasure as they burned. That alone would have brought lesser women to climax in relatively short order. Meanwhile, he gently licked her labia with one tongue, assaulted her little lady with another, and seduced her brown eye with a third. Rounding it all out, the tips of fingers that faded away into nothing below the second knuckle danced atop the spongy flesh of her G-spot. All this, she endured for nearly twenty minutes before exploding.




Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 06



Feeling especially impish, Cahill allowed the fairy fire to burn for a few seconds after her climax ended. Her body would be hyper-sensitive, unable to handle the slightest touch, while they continued to stimulate every single nerve ending directly.

Cruel though it was, when it threw her right back into orgasm mere moments after she'd experienced a monster, he smiled. And so did Liadan, when was finally able to once again.

"I see my brother has taught you some of his tricks."

"Arawn's never tau-"

"Not him," she said, trying to prop herself up with unsteady elbows. She failed and gave a sigh, equal parts consternation and self-effacement. "The one who's been living with you."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Cahill admitted, crawling up to lie beside her. To look into those beautiful brown eyes.  There was no reason to deny it, of course, but he enjoyed toying with her. "You might be surprised how little anyone but my grandmother ever sees of him."

"Actually, that doesn't surprise me at all," she said. "He was never my type. Far too pretty. But little Obie sure knows what he's doing."

"That you used to call him?" 

"He hated it," she said, running a hand down her face and over a lovely breast.

"Can't imagine why."

"You. Are. Ridiculous." She rolled onto her side. "I can't even." Liadan mouthed biting into something, brilliant white teeth gnashing sharply. "Nom Nom."

Cahill laughed. "Uh oh. Sounds like I might have damaged something."

His aunt crawled onto his chest at an angle, one hand reaching down to take hold of his cock. She jerked it lazily, hand facing the wrong way, while staring into his eyes. "Why don't you just stay here? Take your father's place. You know, until Faron's old enough to murder you in your sleep. Or challenge you to a duel for my honor or something."

He gave her a quick kiss. "If things were different, maybe I would." The hair he smoothed back from her face was thicker, slower to retreat before his advancing fingers, than he was used to. He rather liked it. "But I'm already filling his shoes with someone else." A sly grin spread across his face. "Seems dear old Dad doesn't seem to have much follow through."

"He really, really doesn't," Liadan said. "I'd tell you about all the plans he's abandoned, except that would only bore you. And you don't need more reasons to think ill of him."

"Probably not."

"Speaking of follow through, mister," she said, sounding a bit like his mother all of a sudden. "Did I hear that you completely squandered the boon you were saving, the one you didn't want to waste on me?"

Cahill scoffed in indignation. "If I recall correctly, your idea of using it on you was-"

The hand that was still stroking his cock sped up, and the flow of energy from her palm intensified several times over. Cahill couldn't have finished the sentence if he tried. All he could do was gurgle.

"Not the point," his aunt said. "We're talking about you, not me."

When she eased up, Cahill said, "Guilty as charged." He took a moment to gather his breath before continuing. Fuck. She'd taken him to the very brink of orgasm in fractions of a second. "But, in my defense, I didn't know whether he'd make the difference for their side or not. I've never fought beside Oberon before."

"Is that why you think it was a mistake?" she asked with a smile that, at long last, reminded him of the Puck. "Interesting. I must have heard a different version."

Very much aware he was being chastised, Cahill still felt the need to kiss her. Deeply.

"Okay, the whole idea was pretty stupid," he said afterwards. "Confronting your mother directly is not a winning strategy. I've now learned my lesson."

"Hope so," she said. Ecstasy in its purest form started to rain down from her fist, doing wonderful things to his groin and abdomen. When he peered down the length of his body, Cahill could almost believe he saw a woman holding a sparkler rather than giving a preternaturally effective handjob. "I love this whole pissing her off by talking her children into abandoning her thing. But, then, it's easy for me to. I'll be gone when she lashes out."

"You and which others?" he asked.

Liadan sighed. "I don't know. It's gonna be hard to convince some of them. Especially your father." Her hand stopped pleasuring him and he felt her Libido cool. "Can I just say, failing to shake his obsession with our mother has done wonders for my ego."

Cahill felt a stab of pain hearing this. No matter how she'd used him in the past, while serving as the Puck, he now saw that she was a changed woman. Or perhaps had never been who he thought she was to begin with. That seemed to be something of a recurring theme with him and the women of Clan Dreamsmyth. At any rate, he wished they could just set that all aside. Maybe even pretend they didn't belong to different clans. That they were family, whatever Faron and his commitment to the matrilineal ways of the fey might think.

"He doesn't deserve you."

She smiled a most patronizing smile. Then promptly changed the subject. "It's funny," the woman who'd literally made him believe in his dreams said. "You'd never have set foot in Faerie were it not for me. And now it's because of you that I'll be leaving it."

"Not just yet though, I hope."

A small grin preceded the sweetest kiss he'd experienced in some time. "No. Not yet."

She straddled his hips, guided his hands up to her breasts, and slowly took him inside her. He was cumming before half his length disappeared.

Were it not for her kids, that bedroom door might have stayed closed for a week.

#

"That was...considerate of you," his mother said, lips tight. "I'm glad you were only gone for nine days rather than a full two weeks."

Cahill sighed. He slipped the knife out of her hand, placed it on the cutting board, and spun her around. "I know. I should have thought of it earl-"

"Or maybe not spent so much time with her, in any part of any world," she interrupted. "You know. That's one way of looking at it."

He frowned. "You're cute. But not cute enough to pull off passive-aggressive."

She laughed even as she slapped his chest. "Says who?"

"Me." He grabbed her perfect ass, squeezed tight, and kissed her.

When he let her lips move freely again, his red goddess said, "Besides, I'm not cute. Maeve's cute. Cori's cute. But I am most certainly not cute."

He shrugged. "Suppose not."

The word did have certain connotations. It suggested rounder, more youthful features. His mother was gorgeous. Blindingly so. But not cute.

"And, for the record, you're handsome, but not hands-"

Cahill kissed away the rest.

"I'm sorry," he said in all seriousness when their lips parted. "I got carried away."

She regarded him from under a furrowed brow. "You picked a good time to pull these sort of shenanigans. I have every right to be much more upset with you than I am."

"You do."

"You have Gallech and Oona to thank that I'm not."

His brother and his aunt were both back among the living now too. Because of course they were. Nine days, as his mother had said. Not a small amount of time.

"He's a god, and she a goddess." The moment his mother's mouth fell open and her eyes bulged, he rushed to add, "But definitely lesser deities. Not at the heart of the pantheon."

Caronwyn smacked his chest again. "You're pushing your luck, mister."

"I love you."

"That's not a Get Out of Jail Free card."

"A lot."

She put her hands on her hips, glowered at him, then kissed him. Several times. The last one lasted almost as long as it needed to, and brought both of them to gentle climax.

"You stop it," his mother said afterwards, chest heaving. "Or I'm going to be forced to have my way with you right here on the kitchen floor."

"The horror."

"There are little children in the next room."

Cahill cupped her buttocks. "So let's go upstairs."

"Not now. I'm making dinner."

"Hasn't always stopped us."

For a moment, she looked truly tempted. But then said the very last thing he expected her to say. "The next person you stick that thing into had better be your sister or you're going to be in trouble. She's been looking forward to it for a long time now."

Cahill had no idea what to say to that.

As she straightened out her clothes, Caronwyn then promptly changed the subject. "Who do you think she'll take with her? You already said Arawn won't go. What about the others?"

He thought about that. Or tried. He was still a little hung up on the woman who was kinda mad at him about his extended tryst with Liadan commanding him to fuck Fiona. Granted, the former was a Dreamsmyth, spawn of the queen they all hated, while the latter was her own beloved daughter. But it still made his head hurt.

Eventually, though, a few synapses fired. "Macha's probably out. But Kearney and Teagan will be only too happy to go. Can't say I know a single thing about Uillym."

His mother frowned. "She won't be too devastated by the loss of either of those guys."

No, probably not.

"But if she can convince Macha, and thus Duncan? That would twist her ovaries."

"Does that hurt?"

His mother shrugged. "Can't say I've ever experienced it. Doesn't sound pleasant."

Cahill snickered. "I think you're right, though," he said, trying to suppress the mental image. "A lot depends on Macha. I wish I had some idea of whether she and Liadan are close. Unfortunately, I don't know much about either."

"You sure spent a lot of time studying one of the subjects," his mother said dryly. "Looks like you need to learn how to take better notes."

"Hmm," he said, as ponderously as he could manage. "That must be the problem. Highlighting every sentence rather than just the important ones."

"Every sentence, huh?"

He covered his face. "That's not what I meant."

It wasn't far from wrong, but it still wasn't what he'd meant.

"We need some sort of system. Keep track of how far in the hole you are, and what-"

"Far, far in the hole. The way you like it."

She rolled her eyes. But a giggle passed through her lips.

"-and what you need to do to make up for it," his mother finished, stressing each and every last syllable. And grinning uncontrollably.

"Sounds like there could be numbers involved," he said. "If I was any good at math, I wouldn't have needed luck to win at poker."

His mother made a show of wincing in sympathy over the pain he'd suffer. "Numbers. Yes. Pretty lar---no, nevermind. I'm not gonna make it that easy for you."

He snapped his fingers. 

"Your standards aren't very high, you know." Then she rushed to add, "When it comes to comedy." With a smile, she said, "Your taste in women isn't so bad."

Cahill smiled. Then said, "I really am sorry." 

The lovable rogue thing suited him well, but he had fucked up. Big.

Caronwyn sighed and rested her head against his chest. "I know." 

#

Cahill, Seamus, and Oberon were all drinking whiskey when an unseen force took hold of his shirt and yanked him off his feet. He let out a cry as he fell back, mentally preparing himself for a hard fall on the patio, but when he landed, it was atop Fiona's bed.

"Hi," she said crisply.

He laughed up at the beautiful sister kneeling above him, looking all proud of herself. "Could have asked. I wouldn't have said no."

"This was more fun." She had her hands tucked in between her thighs, which were squeezed tightly together. "You should have seen the look on your face."

"Thought you were entertaining Gallech."

"Oona wanted to borrow him. I was starting to get bored anyway, so I said sure."

He noticed that she had a pair of leggings on, as well as a nice lacy bra. Couldn't quite say she was dressed, but she wasn't naked either. "Took a little time to freshen up first, I hope?" he asked, as if he was actually concerned.

Fiona rolled her eyes. "You guys worry so much about that. Is it because you really don't put much trust in our hygiene? Or is the thought of coming into contact with another man's cum that traumatizing?"

"Is there a third option?"

She smiled, and he felt her Libido begin to swell. Incredibly. Whatever depraved thought had just popped into her head, she liked the hell out of it. "I'm not leaving any room for doubt about who's child I'll soon be carrying."

"Seriously?" Cahill asked, sitting up at last. He took her hands in his. "I assumed after everything that happened, you'd be having this conversation with Seamus."

"We did. I made it clear that he's got plenty of work yet to do. Another two kids at least." Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed his fingers. "But you first. I want to finish what we started. Get back what the fire took away from us."

He didn't think that was quite how it worked. But of course she didn't either, he was sure. His sister was just taking a little poetic license.

"Assuming, that is, you have no objections," she said. The look on her face was teasing, but he picked up a twitch of doubt in her Libido.

What could he possibly have done to give his sister reason to think he'd ever refuse her? In any way whatsoever? "Of course not," he said, throwing his arms around her and giving her a bear hug. "You have no idea how happy I am right now."

So, of course, that was when he got pulled away abruptly for the second time that day. But not by anyone interested in using his body for their pleasure. Nor his drinking buddies, who were probably wondering what had happened to him by then.

No, it was Titania.

The Queen of Faerie had reached across two worlds to get to him.

First Savannah then the Dreaming whisked past and he suddenly found himself at the heart of her grove. Where his aunt had died and his grandmother had been tortured. 

How the fuck she did that, despite the protective glamours that had sure seemed to be doing their job up until that point, he had no idea. But there were soon much more important things occupying his attention. Like the effort of trying not to cry any more blood, or holding down whatever remain in his stomach now that he'd vomited several times already. Like simply trying not to pass out from the pain.

The queen had him tied to the very tree he'd rescued Aeife from and had summoned a giant squirrel to stand below him and chew his cock off. One mouthful at a time. Repeatedly. Each and every time the cursed thing finished its meal, Titania would make him whole again. Just so that he'd have more to lose.

To either side of him, dangling from identical oak trees, were Oberon and Arawn. They were suffering similarly gruesome fates, also infinitely repeated, but their punishments had been chosen to fit their supposed crimes.

His uncle, who Titania had said transgressed by failing to see the beauty he'd had and the ugliness of what he'd chosen instead, was continually sacrificing his eyes to her majesty. And what was Titania using to carry out the deed? Why, hot pokers, of course.

That made Cahill regret ever having expressed the desire to do such to Titania. He didn't think he'd given her the idea or anything. Not unless she could read minds. And lacked the imagination to come up with the idea on her own. But every time he heard that revolting sizzle, a stab of guilt vied with the giant squirrel for his attention.

For failing to report Liadan's treasonous intentions before she and the others left Spring, his father was forced to part with his tongue. And it was his own trembling hand that cut it off each time, though Cahill very much doubted the poor guy was in control of it.

A thousand ways to end their suffering came to mind. But Titania had denied them all to him. Denied him the very essence of who he was. He didn't know how she'd done it, just as he didn't know countless other things about her, but Titania had cut them off from their Libidos entirely. He might as well have been an ordinary mortal, he was so helpless.

Worst of all, the fucking bitch couldn't even be bothered to watch after a while. She'd gotten bored and left them there, their various torture schemes left on autopilot.

Around the third day of their suffering, or perhaps the third hour, a song filled the grove. The woman's voice, which might have been Titania's but for its accent, came from everywhere and nowhere. It taunted them and their pain.

Oh m'dear boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,

From Faerie to Dreaming, the time's surely come,

All of Spring's gone, me glamour falling,

Me clan's left me, and the Hunt's done.

As was only fitting, a pair of pipes joined the haunting voice.

Don't come ye back, to fey forest or meadow,

For ye, it's the valley hushed and white with snow,

There ye'll be, while I'm here in shadow

Oh m'dear boy, m'dear boy, I loved you so.

Cahill wanted to scream. The physical pain, he'd almost become numb to. But he couldn't listen while Danny Boy, of all songs, was twisted by Titania.

Don't ye come, even if me flowers be dying,

Nor if I be dead, as dead I may again be,

There's naught left for ye but lying,

Cold and dead in the snow in the land of She.

She? She who?

The song, hardly uplifting to begin with, was starting to chill his blood. What was all this about them lying dead in the snow? And why were cold and wintry images being evoked in two consecutive verses? What did that have to do with Spring?

Wait. 

No. 

They weren't being given over to her?

Cahill knew even less about the Matriarch of Winter than he did of Spring. But he knew enough to know that the Titanias of the world hoped to grow up to be like Daphne. That she made the Queen of Faerie seem soft and caring.

I canna wait to hear tha way ye'll curse me,

Yer my graves'll forever restless be,

An each an' e'ry time, ye'll hate me,

No peace shall ye know, which's only as it should be.

Well, wasn't that just the cheeriest verse of all.

So. They were to go from being tortured constantly by one mad queen to being killed endlessly by another, even madder one. Lovely. Just lovely. 

As should have come as no surprise, that was the moment when the two queens arrived.

Titania looked as lovely as ever, the cunt. She wore translucent underwear and incorporated every shade of every color into her appearance somehow or other. 

Her companion, who could only be Daphne, was even worse. Her hair was all one color. Pitch fucking black. A were her nails, her clothes, and, he could only assume, her Libido. Raven's feathers lined the collar of her dress, diamonds the bust, sleeves, and waistline. Where Titania was all color, this one was all stark contrasts. If not for her bright icy blue eyes and bright red lips, she'd have existed in a world of black and white.

Through the pain and suffering, delirium and desperation, he still managed to find her quite attractive. He hated himself for doing so, but Lady Winter was beyond gorgeous. Even his mother seemed plain and ordinary in comparison.

And her body? Forget it. To so much as allow his eyes to drift below her neck was its own form of torture, if not quite as bad as the one involving the squirrel. She had bigger breasts than his mother and a smaller waist. Curves more extreme than he'd ever imagined.

He hated her the moment he laid eyes on her. Her association with Titania was enough to ensure that. But so too did he love her. He couldn't help it. No man could, he suspected. She was desire made flesh. And powerful glamours surrounded her. Radiated out from her. Drew men's eyes, and hearts, and other parts. Like moths to a flame.

Well, no. That wasn't the right metaphor. She could never be likened to fire. But still.

"These three?" the cold queen asked her colorful counterpart. Her voice was deep. Much deeper than Fiona's or Liadan's. It made his body, which ought to have been incapable of such reactions by that point, shudder.