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Morrigan

By: nobody53



"Finally." One stupid task after another will wipe anybody out. But I was finally free for a couple days, and one drink will make all of it complete. 

I headed over to a close by bar for a drink and hopefully something more. What am I saying, I'm the guy that always ends up with the ugly friend. If your wasted though, none of that would really make a difference.

Then there she was. Tall brunette, with a great body. I'd have to say 5'7, but she had long flowing hair down to her waist. A woman who owned the room when she entered it. I of course glanced the minute she came in, but quickly switched my attention back to my drink so I could head home.

As I finished up my third, fourth or fifth drink, I was finally able to pass out at home like I intended. As I got up to leave, our eyes met. Apparently she was keeping her eye on me from the beginning, but I was to buzzed to care. We got to talking and the only thing that I remembered was her name, Morrigan.

"So... you wanna get out of here?" Staring into my eyes with this deep gaze.

"Sure." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Those eyes just captivated me. The alcohol was pretty much in my system, but I can remember those beautiful green eyes and how she gazed into mine.

I barely remember the walk home. What we talked about, where we were going, or what time it was. I don't know where we were, but I was glad we were there. The day had taken it's toll on me, and I was running out of energy.

Then without realizing, she kissed me with such force. Those soft lips reached mine and it was just one of the many things that I would wish for more. Her tongue wrestled with mine as it feverishly searched its way to the back of my throat. God I loved that. Again even when I opened my eyes, her green eyes were hypnotizing me.

Still in a haze, she whispered, "you don't need this anymore," and literally ripped my shirt off. Hey I didn't care. I did the same to her, and tore off her shirt, and heard her buttons hit the wood floor. Lucky for me no bra. She sat me on the bed, and I slowly massaged her breasts until they came to attention. 

"I know what you need."

As she reached her arms around my head and pulled me closer, I couldn't stop myself from wanting this mysterious woman. I sucked on her nipples graciously alternating from one to another as I could hear her soft moans and breaths. I was even able to look up as I could see she openly smiled. 

She straddled me, and began kissing me again. Her hands were everywhere now, and she moved from my mouth, to my neck, until "SUN OF A BITCH!!! What the hell are you doing woman?" I managed to scream out.

"Just a bit of fun." She smiled to me as she moved away from my shoulder. Freckin woman actually bit me on my shoulder.

Laying me on the bed, Morrigan worked her way to my chest...

"FUCK WOMAN! Stop biting me." "Your to sensitive. Just relax, you'll enjoy everything." She smiled again, as those green eyes calmed me down.

Bewildered, I let her do what she wanted to do. I don't even remember her getting my pants off, but who cares.

Her mouth was amazing. I remembered what her tongue did to my mouth, she worked me the same way. Looking down, I saw her take in all of me, her bobbing head was just turning me on even more. She looked up and her eyes squinted almost as if she was smiling.

"KNOCK IT OFF!!! GOD DAMNIT!!!" Fuck that, I just pushed her off of me after that last one. "What the hell is your problem?!"

"What are you gonna do about it?", with a smile, still with those eyes.

Starting to get my clothes on, I forgot to keep my eyes on her, and she forcefully pushed me back onto the bed.

"Your done when I'm done with you."

"Yeah sure, I'm out of here," trying to get myself up.

Now several hours had passed by, and the drinks should have passed through my system already. But I couldn't get her off me. Using all of my strength, I made another attempt as she was pinning my wrists to the bed. 

"Are you through yet?" Still with that smirk. She kissed me passionately again.

"What are you crazy women? Get the hell off of me." 

Still confused on why I couldn't get her off of me, she just kept on staring into my eyes. It almost felt as if she was telling me something with those eyes, I just stopped struggling.

"Now you want to stay, don't you?" she whispered into my ear.

All I could do was nod in approval, not understanding why I wanted to stay now. But she kissed me again. Stopped in my tracks, I couldn't force myself back up. One last go around, she slowly eased her body towards mine and I could feel the warmness of her insides. She rhythmically began to grind herself into me. Getting to that point I gasped for her.

"Not yet." She hissed at me. The she did something that stopped me from hitting the top. "Come to me"

I sat up as she and I embraced. Then this excruciating pain spread over my back. She had wrapped her legs around my back, crushing my spine. Her hands were all over, and she raked me with her nails, as she bit my shoulder again.

"Stop," was all I could manage to utter. But I was still lost with the pain and the pleasure. 

"Now you can come." Was all that she shouted.

With that command, I was able to release the flood gates. It's like she had complete control over me, and there was nothing that I thought or even tried to do to stop her from doing as she willed.

I was going for a good couple minutes, as I could feel her contract on me, almost as if she was squeezing every last drop. It was pure ecstasy, a trance like state that was able to keep me going. 

Morrigan sometime stopped during that ten minutes of what it felt like, and used her mouth on me one last time, getting every last drop. She used that smiled like it was all for her amusement, and she licked her lips with this sexy gesture. Unable to move I lay there just trying to find out where she was.

"Come to me." Is all I heard as I was stared at the ceiling.

This new found strength dragged me back into an upright position. The last thing I remembered was those eyes captivating me, and suddenly a sharp pain in my neck, as the room blacked into nothingness......

The sun welcomed me with its blinding light in my face, and all I could do was think about what just happened. I don't remember if it was a dream or not, cause I don't remember where she went, how I got home, or where I was at the time. But it was such a real dream. 
Turning on my side I noticed that it was already 3 pm. "Shit." I didn't want to get up, but the day called to me with all the things I needed to take care of on my day off. All of a sudden the phone rang, 

"Hello?" "Hey man, how come you didn't show up for work today?"

"What are you talking about, I got off till Friday."

"Uuuhhh...yyyeeeaaahhh, today is Friday. Are you serious, what the hell have you been doing?"

"Okay tell him that I'm coming in now." And slammed the phone.

Rushing to get ready in a hurry, all I could think was what happened in the pass couple days. Washing away the sleep, I jumped out of the shower trying to finish up my shit before I could get out. Then I saw it, my back was covered with scratch marks, the places she bit me had little marks, and I noticed my neck. There was a bite mark. I pressed against it, and the pain shot through my entire body. Was she a dream or not? 

Morrigan....

Morrigan's Curse



"Siobhan," Cillian moaned. His hands fisted in her hair, the setting sun glinting off the red highlights, so bright against the sea of emerald grass around them. His beautiful woman looked up at him, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, but her soft lips kept going.

His tunic was off now and she kissed the ridges of his abdomen, softly teasing, nipping at him. He wanted to force her down to his cock, throbbing with need inside his hose, but the witch was intent on unmanning him.

"Please," he breathed again, pure need.

She raised her delicate chin to him but this only gave him a clear view of the mil-white tops of her breasts. He groaned and closed his eyes to her throaty chuckle.

"Hush now, me love," she whispered and began unlacing the hose. He trembled as she moved slowly, ever so slowly. Her long fingers finally touched his cock, coolness meeting pure heat.

Cillian's pleasure grew immensely, and then her wet mouth ensconced him. He cried out and she stopped, leaving him wet to the cool air.

"Hush now me love, the ghosts be out soon. You don' wanna be bringin' the great hunt down upon our heads, now do ye?"

"Woman, don't tease me!"

Again came the throaty laugh which melted into a hum as her lips wrapped around him. She gripped his shaft with one hand and his balls with the other, and began to move. Her tongue teased the swollen head of his cock with every pass, gripping him as tightly as her hand. Faster and faster she went, timing her strokes perfectly to his moans, sucking gently, and his balls lifting higher, need curling inside him as she moved and moaned with him. 

Siobhan was a minx; just when he thought the pleasure would burst on him she slowed, stilled, and when he caught his breath she began with ferocity. Too soon and not soon enough he felt himself spill over the edge. He cried her name out with pleasure even as her hand flew to cover his mouth, and she drank his seed greedily, sucking him dry.

Spent, he lay in the grass for a moment, and stared at the distant peak of three of the Twelve Bens rising up into the sky. "Why did ya quiet me, woman?"

"Do you want everyone ta know you've been pleasured by the Witch of Galway?"

He sat up and gathered her into his arms. "I'll no be havin' you say such things. Ye are no witch; you're my woman. Everyone knows this but not ye."

She kissed him back. "Soon, my love, soon we can be together."

"When? Why must I wait? Woman I am past grown; I ha' seen war, left our island and crossed the ocean back, all to return to the sweet lass I knew."

She smiled at him, crinkling the dusting of freckles across her nose. "You know I was raised w'some o' the old ways, but not all. We shall be married, soon as m'father dies. He willna let me marry a Catholic, no matter what kind of a man ye might be."

Cillian spat in the grass. "I canna wait, my love. I've known such pleasure by your hand, let me show you what it feels like."

She blushed then, surprisingly innocent, and prepared for the old argument he never won. "You know I canna-"

He covered her mouth and leaned in close. "Be quiet, woman. I hear horses, it could be the bastard English again."

She moved his hand and laughed. "I have no land, no coin, nor do you, my love. They willna rob us, what could happen?"

"They could take ya in the vilest way and burn you alive."

Her eyes widened but then she laughed. "Yer not serious atall, are ye?"

"Bloody Mary lives to do such vile things to protestant women. Everyone knows your family are the only ones who don' worship Jesus well and truly."

She punched his arm. "I may be no Catholic, and my family may have taken to King Henry's faith, but I follow the old ways. Even if they burn me I will come back for ya. You'll never be rid of me, Cillian Martin. 'Tis Samhain, a time of magic even yer stuffy arse can surely feel. I- oh, gods!"

The world went black as pain engulfed him, and the last sound in Cillian's ears was Siobhan's cry of anguish.

***

He was so familiar, but who was he? When Kelly asked he cocked his head almost like a dog in a clear way that spoke of not understanding. He was stunning, that much she knew, but something was out of place. His long hair was dark and his brown eyes lit up like warm honey when he smiled. He was built rough, putting every male model she'd ever worked with to shame; broad shoulders, long limbs, narrow hips, and corded muscle between. He wore something strange, was that from Francesca's fall line? It looked like a very high quality costume from an Elizabethan movie, yet the balloon shorts and glorified pantyhose did nothing to hide his masculinity.

"Chevon," he said again, so clearly she guessed it was a name. She looked behind her and almost stumbled. She could have sworn they were just in a room, and now they were in a wide field with distant hills. 

Turning back he was closer. She had to lift her chin to meet his eyes, rare for a woman six feet tall. His hand cupped her face and he leaned in, smelling of mint and the earth, a heady combination.

His kiss knocked her socks off, and when she next opened her eyes they were lying down, and she wore a gown. It was tight in the middle and low-cut, the skirt huge. Where had her jeans and t-shirt gone? Her feet didn't feel like there were sneakers on them any longer.

Then he kissed down her neck while a hand lifted that skirt. Her legs were bare and his large hand was hot against her skin, his mouth hotter. He ripped the laces of the dress and she could only gasp as he chuckled, and then he captured a nipple.

It felt so good she relaxed into his embrace. Something told her she should fight this, that it was wrong, too early, but another part of her felt nothing but pure love. He nipped and then laved her with his tongue, soothing the gentle bite.

She moaned, begged him, but only got the confused look again. His hand faltered, then moved closer and closer to her center. Spreading her legs, Kelly moved her hips impatiently. He said something foreign, but she could tell he was cursing, and then his fingers brushed her just as he sucked her hard nipple.

"Yes!" she cried, holding his head, moving her hips more urgently, rubbing herself against him. She was wet, aching, and wanted so badly to be filled. Mindless with need she tried to trap his hand, to slide a finger in, and finally one of her own hands began to fight the skirt to reach him.

Before she could, he slid a thick finger into her and his thumb rasped her clit. Shimmering on the edge of orgasm she yelled in frustration at his lack of movement. Then that finger pulled out and-

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Sleepily Kelly shook it off and rolled over, bypassing the snooze button to yank the alarm's plug out of the wall.

BUZZ.

Cursing, she sat up, remembering she'd installed a battery last week. Her sleep-addled mind couldn't figure it so she settled for throwing it into the open closet. Lying back down she pulled a pillow over head and groaned.

She'd had the dream again, a different variant. They were always the same man, but always different, and very, very erotic. And just as always, right before it got good, something woke her up. She'd never reached orgasm with the dream man, but what she'd experienced over the years blew every real date she'd ever had out of the water.

They'd been coming more and more, almost every damn night that month. Maybe it was just her brain's way of avoiding thinking about The Curse, she thought with a shiver.

She been debating masturbating but that thought cooled her ardor. Instead she got up, showered, dressed, pushed past the quiet room of the apartment's other occupant, Holly, and squeezed into the 3'x6' area that passed for a kitchen. As she made coffee to go and grabbed a cereal bar she cursed every television show and movie she had ever seen that convinced her apartments were human-sized in New York City. Before she'd moved there she'd also thought they all bordered on Central Park, she remembered with a laugh as she headed downstairs and out into a cool Brooklyn morning.

"Hey you," Catherine called from the limo.

"Hi!" Kelly called back and wrestled her way in, trying not to spill the coffee while carrying the bar and her portfolio, and waving to the kids lingering on the steps of the next Brownstone over waiting for the school bus.

"Let me take those so you can get belted in." Catherine took the portfolio and set it in the front seat, then put the coffee in the cup holder. "On to work," she called to the driver. Turning back to Kelly she smiled. "You seem frazzled today. Holly?"

"No, she's visiting her grandmother. It's these strange dreams I've been having...I think they're related to The Curse."

Her best friend and business partner laughed and smoothed her black hair back. Catherine's white skunk streak was partly natural, finished with bleach, and made her stark bone structure and bright red lips look artful beneath Gypsy brown eyes. "You mean the family curse your mother swears your father broke?"

"I'm serious. It goes all the way back to England before my family got here."

"They moved her e with you in utero, and it was a plane, darling."

"I'm talking back to when people said 'thou,' 'twain,' and spoke like a good version of Robin hood."

"Men in Tights," Catherine said with a smile, "the best in my opinion. It's silly superstition, nothing is going to happen to you. Look, the winter line is all done, we have some downtime before the spring line sketches are due, and it's Halloween. Tell me you're coming to Richard's party tonight."

"For countless generations someone in my family has died the night of Halloween in their thirtieth year, we're talking back to the dark ages. And you want me to go to a dumb party?"

"Your father is still alive and well my dear, the curse was broken long ago, if it ever existed. Probably just a run of bad hearts but wise choices in wives have bred recent generations stronger. And isn't it only for the men of your family?"

"Well mom and dad had just me, and we're pretty sure Uncle Ben is gay so probably no cousins lurking around."

"Broken, see? Besides, if you're going to be maudlin it's full costume required; death can't recognize you."

Kelly looked askance, red brow arched. "Did you ever see 'The Masque Of The Red Death' with Vincent Price?"

"I did, gorgeous set design, those colored rooms. Come to think of it the yellow room, that should be the signature color for the spring collection. Simple lines suggesting something Mediaeval. I'm so sick of seventies retro, if we're going back in time for inspiration let's do it right."

Kelly laughed quietly, used to her friend's tricks. "I'm not going to the party, so don't pretend I said yes just because you changed the subject."

"And why not?"

"For one thing I don't have anything to wear."

Catherine laughed. "This is why I handle the business and you're the designer. Honey, we employ ten seamstresses full time and have more fabric than an Olympic opening ceremony. If that's your best excuse then check and mate."

Kelly just looked out the window. She wanted to believe The Curse was broken, that her father hadn't been just lucky to survive his 30th Halloween with a minor cut, but what if death came? How could she leave this world behind? She was so young, life had so much to offer. 

She thought of her dream man. Often he had a sword, a big wicked looking one, some of the dreams began with her watching him at practice and he'd looked like he knew how to use it. If only he were real and with her, maybe she wouldn't have to fear death and Halloween so much.

***

The sensation of becoming corporeal was always jarring. One moment Cillian was in the shadows of the cairn, watching the misty curtain between worlds rise and wane with one of the three faces of the goddess taunting him for years at a time. And then the Morrigan granted him his bitter wish, and he entered the world again.

At sunset, a time of crossing, the place where he would find the next Quinn suddenly materialized. Rather he did, but it always felt backwards. First came the dizziness, then the sick feeling, making him fall to his knees. As it passed he heard her tinkling laughter, the Morrigan in her elder face, the washerwoman who held power over death, but this time he heard a throaty sensual laugh that didn't fit the warrior goddess, even in her maiden form.

Normally what came next was the pain; the pain of memory. Of standing over his own body and that Siobhan. Of seeing her prone form. Of seeing the lord laugh about what fine sport humans made. Of the lord's men pulling out the arrows and laughing, leaving them to rot. Of the pain of being alone.

He'd searched all night for the shade of Siobhan, hiding from the Great Hunt and the scary things he'd only ever half-believed in. When dawn came the Morrigan had been there, a striking woman with ink-black hair and a harshly beautiful face. It had been she who had taken him through the curtain to the land of the dead. 

There he'd met many of his fallen brothers, the people of his line, but he could find no comfort. Siobhan was never there, and he had haunted the Morrigan until she finally told him Siobhan had gone on. Filled with purity and love, she'd been granted another mortal life, and until he found peace, Cillian was a shade once and forever.

It had taken mortal years of begging for vengeance before the Morrigan had granted him a boon. Lord Richard Quinn had killed them on Samhain, but he had killed another young couple in the 3 days after Lughnasadh, a bloody act forbidden by the goddess Áine. 

So Morrigan gave him quarter; on a Samhain ten mortal years after his death he took corporeal form to visit vengeance on Richard Quinn. It had been a quick death, but he had not been granted new life, and for one night he searched fruitlessly or Siobhan's new body only to be yanked back at sunrise. He remained a shade in the Cairn, waiting for the curtains between worlds to thin so he may search the living for his lost love, whom he could sense.

Fourteen mortal years later he again took corporeal form, and faced the son Richard Quinn had left behind. And so when every descendant reached thirty he returned to life in a body his own, always at the place where he would find the Quinn. Long ago he's lost his taste for vengeance but until the Quinn bled he could not leave the place he'd been sent, only after could he leave and search for Siobhan's soul in a new body.

Now he could sense neither. For the first time in over half a century he could sense neither the Quinn nor his bonny Siobhan. Fighting panic he rose to see he was in a strange room. There was a bed, a...dresser, he knew. The Morrigan always granted him the words of the new time and place but it came slowly at first. This was a hotel room, a fine one, but the Quinn should have been there. The man had a suit laid out on the bed, he must be close.

He tried the door and it opened, but an invisible wall held him.

"What is this!?!" he cried, only to hear that sensual woman's laughter.

The sun finished setting and still he could not leave, so Cillian sat on the bed and dreamed of the chance that night. If he could do this quickly, he could find her...but without his ability to sense her soul, just how would he do it?

Then he noticed the folded piece of stiff paper next to him on the bed. Opening it, he smiled, and the large suit beside him made sense. The game was on.

***

"I feel silly."

"You look gorgeous," Catherine said with a smile. She herself was dressed as a zombie Marie Antoinette. Inventive and detailed; the black ribbon at her neck seemed to ooze fresh blood and her skin was deathly pale with only a few accents of rot. Beneath her slim black masked she smiled. 

"At least people can tell what you're supposed to be. Cool idea; but me?" Kelly stood in the mirror of the room Richard had given them. "I look like Johnny Cash as played by Tits McGee."

Catherine laughed. "Honey, you have the build to be Tits McGee twenty-four seven if you like. You're the dread pirate Roberts, and the sexiest I think any of these stuffed shirts will have ever seen."

She stared at herself in the mirror. Tight black stretch pants were stuffed into heeled boots (like she really needed to be 6'3" she thought with a sigh), and in the back a half skirt trailed. Since she'd only seen this style in movies about courtesans she doubted anyone would get an impression of dark & dangerous about her.

On top she wore a billowing-sleeved black shirt and handkerchief over a ponytail, and black mask, although she showed more cleavage than Cary Elwes ever had. 

The rapier at her side, a gift from Richard, felt good. It wasn't buttoned for safety like a foil; it was real and old. Her family may have lost their fortunes after years of dying at thirty, but some traditions remained. It had seemed silly in childhood but tonight she was glad for all the fencing lessons with her father.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." As they were leaving Kelly had a small change of heart and dove for the small courtesy fridge. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey the size of a thimble and downed it one go.

"Impressive. Need a minute for the liquid courage to work?"

"No, I'm good," Kelly said through the coughing. Laughing, Catherine ducked her head so her giant wig wouldn't get knocked off. "Hey, how come I'm not zombie Roberts? Or maybe the dread vampire Roberts?"

"Sweetie, when each Roberts retires he passes the mantle to someone new. You're very much alive and I think it's quite feminist."

Stepping onto the elevator Kelly gave a wry smile. "A modern pirate? Shouldn't I be Somali?"

"Oh, you." 

The doors opened and in the lobby of the Pierre was a sight only Halloween could bring: jet setters of the world dressed in full costumes. "Is that Donald Trump?" Kelly asked as they stepped out.

Catherine squinted at the people posing for photographers out front. "The clown or the jester?"

"I thought this was a costume party."

Catherine gave her a wry smile. "Sarcasm is a defense mechanism."

"You know I hate hobnobbing."

"Richard Aulom is the reason we're afloat, getting noticed, and have a real shot at a decent spot next fashion week. If he booked us to perform an opera tonight we'd have to agree."

"At least the drinks are free."

Catherine laughed and led her to the Grand Ballroom. A serious affair, security was high, and a man with a tux and a gun checked their invitations carefully. Kelly was surprised no one asked them to remove their masks, but after a pointed stare he nodded, and let them in, moving to tell the next Big Bad to check their names and note their costumes.

Inside was a different world. In the real one Kelly was used to Halloween parties for kids; trick or treating, houses with paper back cats and vibrating ghosts, bobbing for apples. This was somewhere between a very high class dungeon and a vampire's layer. All black and red, the floor-to-ceiling windows had billowy black curtains. The chandeliers sported flame lights as did the sconces, and the only decorations were acrobats on pedestals dressed in a variety of tight and revealing costumes. For all she knew Richard had rented out Cirque Du Soleil for the evening; he certainly had the cash to do so.

Everywhere she looked the rich, powerful, and- was that Paris Hilton?- ostensibly famous were dressed in full costume and smiling as much as any child at a neighborhood party.

"Nelson's blood?" A waiter dressed as a convincing mummy offered.

"What's in it?" Catherine asked, eyeing the champagne glass with the dark liquid.

"Dom Perignon, rum, port, brandy, blood orange juice, and spices."

Catherine grabbed two and passed the other to Kelly. "Here's to a great year, and a promising future." They toasted and drank. It was strong, spicy, and Kelly fought the urge to drown the glass to calm her nerves.




Morrigan's Curse



"Oh! I think I see Jonathon. Excuse me there, I think I have the chance to flirt some info on Francesca's spring line out of him. Stay here, I'll be right back."

At least Catherine was easy to spot, the wig and heels turned her 5'6" frame into a pole of white hair 7' tall, over most of the crowd. Kelly stood there at the meeting place of the tables and dance floor, already filling. The band was dressed as Michael Jackson in Thriller Zombie guise and the backup zombies from the video. They were playing Halloween songs, melding from "I Put A Spell On You" into "The Monster Mash" but keeping it lively and contemporary, barely hokey. 

She saw a supermodel turned vampire, and some man dressed as Rasputin so convincingly she had to wonder if the urban legends that he lived might be true. Catherine was in deep conversation; she pretended she flirted with Jonathon to get information from the rival designer's businessman, but Kelly knew it hid a major crush. Perhaps with the anonymity of masks they'd stop playing the game and finally do it tonight, she thought with a smile.

Left to her own devices she headed for the buffet at the far wall. The French chefs looked only mildly irritated being dressed as werewolves in chef costumes, and fretted over the gourmet treats. Ham with blood orange glace, Beef Wellington made to look like cross-sections of legs and arms, but smelling of heaven, joined blue cheese and potato casseroles designed to look like swamps or graveyards topped with mushrooms painstaking decorated as tombstones. There were rolls and salads in the theme, vegetable medleys turned into pickled eyes and teeth with food coloring. There was a separate table for snacks; more traditional Halloween candy available in any dollar store or Bodega, she saw with a surprise. The dessert table looked like Martha Stewart had made it all, and knowing Richard, she probably had.

Feeling nervous she just took some candy corn and ate two pieces, looking around. How could she recognize anyone with a mask? She finished her drink and turned to find a waiter, bumping into a man in a tux and a cape.

He was big, just barely taller than her, and broad. His dark hair was slicked back like her own and his face was covered in a Phantom Of The Opera mask.

"Excuse me!"

He steadied her. "I've taken no damage, my lady." 

His accent was Irish, but not somewhere between Liam Neeson and Colin Farrell, she thought. "Well, that's good." He seemed very familiar but with the mask she couldn't place him. "Do I know you?"

"I haven't the pleasure. I'm Cillian Martin." He made a sweeping bow and took her free hand to kiss the back of it.

At his touch she felt a tingle, a definite tingle, and his hesitation spoke volumes. "I'm, ah," her brains tumbled for a moment, "Kelly. Kelly Quinn."

He dropped her hand and stood, suddenly all dark menacing energy. "Your husband...where is he?"

Involuntarily she glanced at her left hand, still in the black leather glove. Danger radiated off him, making her nervous. "He's, uh, he'll be joining me later."

"Kelly!" Catherine called, and all she could think was thank you, God.

"Well I have to go. Nice meeting you, Mr. Martin."

He watched her go, those hard dark eyes following her like a hawk sighting prey. 

"Who was that? He looks like a good time."

"I have no idea. Look, he gives me the willies."

Catherine looked him up and down again. "Is this because you haven't gotten laid in...how old is Holly?"

Kelly glared. "I don't know, something's just off. Look, how was Jonathon?"

Catherine laughed, in her element. "Following the French rumors again, like always. Pastels and python...it's going to be a disaster."

Transported back into work Kelly shook her head. "Mixed media for shoes is good. Imagine classic python stilettos with a little yellow bow on back. Handbags could match."

"Oh my god! We'll need to rework everything!"

Kelly laughed. "You only saw half my sketches. Come on, let's forget work and find Richard."

"Good idea, I feel a shopping trip to Singapore coming on." Catherine took her hand and led her through the crowd. 

When Kelly looked back, the stranger was gone.

***

He stumbled into the bathroom and with a growl sent the attendant running out the door. Cillian ripped off the mask and figured out how to use the...faucet it was called, that was right, and splashed cool water on his face.

How cruel!

He'd touched her skin, she'd been within inches of him. This woman was so tall, so strong. She had Siobhan's eyes and her lush corves, but she had the body of a warrior, so different from his soft, feminine Siobhan, but all the same it was her.

After centuries he'd found her, she was in the same place as the Quinn...and she was the Quinn's wife.

He punched the mirror in rage and it hurt as the glass cracked. Damn, he'd forgotten so much of life; pain did not exist in this way cross the curtain. He was bleeding, too; real blood flowed from his knuckles. Oh, the Morrigan went all the way, didn't she?

He found a towel in the attendant's basket and wrapped it around the wound, though he could feel it slow already. What as he going to do?

"That's up to you," a sultry voice purred.

He turned to see a stunning woman, all strawberry hair, sensual features, and a body to die for covered in an old, flowing gown. She wore a red heart-shaped masque above her ruby lips.

"Áine?" 

"Cillian Martin. Warrior, wanderer, and now vengeance personified. How do you know me? I gave you the blessing of true love and when did you ever join in the dance as my effigy was burned for the crops? When did you ever sing my praises at the table when feasting on my wheat? How do you know honor me by continuing to exist as you are only for blood and death?"

"It's not true! I live for love!"

"You don't live at all, if I recall." She swept towards him, circling, and as her hand trailed behind her it passed through his chest. He was becoming a shade again.

"No!"

"I love my dear cousin, the Morrigan, but all she knows of men is killing them. You were always such a good warrior, a strong sword arm for her to command. She is mad you were felled by an arrow, you who had seen such glory in battle sending legions onto her."

She still circled slowly and he remained stock still, afraid to move lest he slip through the floor into the very Earth itself.

"The woman you want and this Quinn you seek to bleed are here, tonight, in this very place. Think you can best the Quinn and still win your fair lady?"

"She'll remember, she'll know."

"She's had at least six lifetimes since she knew you. Husbands, families, happiness. How long to find the Quinn you want? Will it leave you one hour, two, maybe three in which to bewitch the Witch of Galway herself?"

"She knew me! She felt it when we touched!"

"Did she know love?" Standing behind him she managed to whisper into his ear though he was much taller. Her delicate hand trailed over his chest. "Is that why she ran from you, stinking of fear?"

"Stop it!" Finally he moved from her grasp and whirled on the goddess. "Why do you torment me!?!"

"You are the Morrigan's; your woman is mine. Despite my misgivings, you are the missing half of her soul. For all the lifetimes I have watched her, guarded her, I have never seen as happy as she deserves. For whatever reason, you are the answer to that problem.

"So tonight I task you; choose. Choose vengeance or love for you cannot have both. My power is different than my cousin's but I too can grant you life or take it; I am a goddess of fertility; of humans, of the earth. Gift me with love between you and your woman and I may free you."

"But the Morrigan demands blood!"

"Choose." There was power in that word, an unseen wind blowing her hair like fall wheat, her eyes pure white electricity.

He'd been born and raised to revere the Morrigan, a mother goddess side by side with the Virgin Mary. Turning his back on her after all she had done...for Siobhan, he would. For love, he would.

"I choose love."

She spread her arms and glowed golden, power filling the air around them. She laughed, that sultry laugh he'd heard before. "It is done; she must love you by sunrise."

"It's not enough time! I canna do it!"

She glanced back down, the power seeping into her once more, and smiled beatifically. "Oh, I have helped you. I have laid the groundwork."

"How?"

"I've given you more help than you can dream of." Laughing as if it were a joke, she disappeared instantly. In her wake he felt something ethereal slam into him.

The weight of it was immense; knowledge. Memories: Siobhan's. And a woman named Sinead, a Mary, a Katherine, and more and more until Kelly. He saw their lives, their families in snippets, their desires, their loves, children, all swimming together until he did not know which child belonged to what woman.

It filled him, overwhelming him, and then it cooled. It cooled to visions, dreams, he knew, belonging to the woman Kelly. Those visions left him hard and aching, and desperate beyond measure.

Come what may in the morning; death, oblivion, or the love he dreamed of, Cillian was committed.

***

"You really do look lovely tonight, my dear," Richard told her for the third time.

Old enough to be her father, he was the patron who had financed her when she'd been a struggling designer fresh out of school working in the garage of the mother apartment she'd rented from a professor out on Long Island. Now with his help they had a decent studio on the very edges of Manhattan and could afford to take a limo to work. The #5 train was faster, in truth, but he insisted.

"And so do you. The wig is a little disturbing." He was dressed as Bram Stoker's Dracula, the older version fresh off the boat with the double bouffant. A paper thin blood-red mask covered his eyes, and when he smiled real-looking fangs showed.

"It's heavy, but I like the effect. Vampires aren't supposed to be cuddly, and they sure as hell shouldn't sparkle."

Kelly laughed at that and the music stopped for a moment.

"Oh, do forgive this old man, I need a rest. I haven't eaten yet and the Beef Wellington looks heavenly. Will you join me?"

"Actually, may I have this dance?"

She glanced behind her and saw him, the stranger. He looked intimidating, but not scary. Still she felt herself tremble.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier."

"Kelly?" Richard asked.

'I'll be fine, Richard."

"All right." He toddled off but gave Cillian a look her father would be proud of.

"You were apologizing?"

"I am sorry. A, um, Donald Quinn owes me some money. I thought he might be here and you were his wife, but I was wrong."

"I accept your apology," she nodded as the band started into a slow tune she vaguely remembered form old Disney Halloween short.

"Shall we dance?"

She stepped to him and took his hand, placing her other on his waist. She wore both her leather gloves once more and he had at least two layers on, but that tingle resonated once more.

"How do you know Richard?" she asked to cover her awkward steps. Dancing was nothing she had time for, but he knew the steps and her fencing training helped greatly once she got the rhythm.

"I don't, not directly. Business."

"What is it you do?"

"Nothing important," he responded cryptically, swinging her gently. "And you?"

"Nothing of consequence," she responded equally.

"You're a designer. Very artistic, and rising in your field."

"How did you know that?"

"I've heard of you."

"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say so she let herself grow quiet, feeling their bodies move. Unwittingly they had melded into the same rhythm, and she could feel his hard, warmth pressed against her.

The tingle was everywhere. Her head was swimming, and suddenly his masked face danced in her vision, mingling with that of the dream man. She gasped and tore herself from his embrace. "You!"

He looked around at the few couples staring, vampires, and fairies and new celebrities dresses as dead ones. "The dreams. I know, I- I've had them too."

She gaped at him. 

He stepped closer and took her hands once more, and Kelly let him. "What do you mean?"

"I've been searching for you, for a very, very long time."

Her breath froze in her lungs. Disbelief swam over her, and all she could think of was The Curse. "Oh, god, you're not a vampire, are you?"

"I'm afraid not. I am starving though, and that ham smelled divine."

"Are you going to kill me?" She blurted out.

He stopped dancing, eyes boring into hers. "Never. I have never harmed a woman or child in my life and I never will."

He seemed so ardent she shook it off. What did this all mean?

Suddenly his eyes left hers and she followed his gaze to a stunning woman with strawberry hair and a flowing gown. She was so beautiful, appearing to shine in the dim lights, that even Kelly could not take her eyes off her.

Moving through the dancers who parted for her, she headed for them. Drawing close she gave Kelly a motherly smile, and an enigmatic one to Cillian. Kelly blinked and she was gone. "What the heck was that?"

"A gift, I think."

"A gif-" Her body was filled with warmth. Something low in her body turned over and yawned awake from an ancient place, stretching. Heat responded, inside blooming out, and suddenly she was mad with lust.

He felt it too, and the look in his eyes behind the white mask was burning.

Suddenly, without shame, they were kissing on the dance floor. Just as in her dreams his lips were soft and firm, and he tasted of mint. The kiss was consuming, burning away all her fear of the night, the din around them. Her nipples hardened into aching points as she clutched him, desperate to feel his body beneath the suit.

"Not here," he said, breaking off.

"I have a room. I- I don't know what's going on but I can't wait."

"It's magic. Samhain is pure magic."

"Soween?"

"Close enough. Come, show me your room." He took her by the hand and pushed through the crowd, leading her to the door and out to the elevator.

Once inside she pushed the button for her floor as the doors closed. He was on her in seconds, a ferocious attack of pure sensuality. His mouth devoured her as one hand palmed a large breast through her shirt, the other sliding up her legs. The glorified stretch pants did nothing to hide her and she knew her wetness had soaked them.

Never in all her life had she felt this...horny was the only word that came to mind. Always fearing an early death Kelly had lived her life wild and free, seizing the moment, never settling down until Holly came along. Cillian wouldn't be the first stranger she had known in her bed, but never had she wanted anyone this way.

She touched him too; popping buttons on his shirt she felt his chest, all hard muscle covered with a light sprinkling of hair. He moaned into her and then his hips moved between them, forcing him to withdraw his hand. He ground his erection into her, making her gasp.

The doors slid open and a man pardoned himself, letting them close again. She rubbed herself on Cillian like a cat in heat, feeling she might die if she couldn't have him inside her.

Finally the doors opened to an empty floor and it took her lust-addled mind a moment to realize it was hers. "We're here."

"Hurry," he whispered urgently, nipping her earlobe.

She caught the doors and led him to her room, fishing for her key card. Once in she flipped on the light and then he was there. Her patience shredded and she tugged off her sword belt and handkerchief, pulling at his cape and coat. He pulled them both off together and then she pulled his shirt open, the remaining buttons flying off.

He bent to kiss her again but Kelly stopped him, panting. "Masks."

He pulled his off as she did hers, and both stopped, staring. He was the man from her dreams, the very man. Her heart thundered as reason threatened to intrude, and then he touched her again, cupping her face. "You're so beautiful, so unique, but your eyes...I have dreamed of them since I was born."

His words made little sense but his touch enflamed her.

She drew him into a kiss and worked as his pants open, sliding a hand in to cup him. He was rock hard and long against her palm. Cillian whimpered as she stroked him, and with a smile she broke the kiss, sliding her lips to his chin, nipping at his neck and collarbone, and laving a nipple.

His hands moved to fasten in her hair as she slid down his firm stomach to his exposed cock. She licked him gently and he moaned softly; she swallowed the head and sucked firmly, working his pants further down to slide as much of his cock into her mouth as she could.

"Chevon," he moaned.

Her head snapped up. "What? Is that a name?"

"I- I'm sorry."

She just smiled. "When I'm done the only woman's name you'll know is mine."

"Of that I have no doubt, but Kelly, dear, there is something I have waited a very long time to do."

He pulled her up, picked her up so her legs wrapped around his waist. Kelly purred and rubbed against him, pressing the fabric of her pants into her hot aching pussy. He walked them to the bed and set her down with a bounce. Kneeling between them he grabbed her low collar and with a single tug, ripped it open.

Before she could do more than gasp he was there, one large hand gripping a breast as his mouth fastened on the other nipple. She loved this, she had missed this, and she forgot about everything but the feel of him then. His tongue and teeth worked one nipple hard and the other was treated to a painstaking gentle stroking by his thumb. She grabbed the sheets, twisting, moaning, encouraging him.

He switched his mouth and his hand reached down to her pants. They wouldn't give so he had to break off so she could kick off her boots and work the stretchy material down with him.

He became a cyclone; she felt his hands and mouth everywhere. He kissed every inch of skin with sweet reverence until she was mindlessly begging him to do something, anything, to make her cum.

At last his lips moved between her legs and at the first touch of his tongue she reared up, swearing in three languages. His mouth fastened over her, suckling, as his tongue toyed with her clit, attacking it from every angle. He moaned and the vibration made her slam back into the coverlet.

When a large finger slid inside her she worried for a moment she would wake and he would be gone. Then he curled it forward and pressed and she came with such a loud wail it was nearly a scream. All through it Cillian didn't stop, not until she came down, begging him to leave off, she was so swollen and sensitive.

"Now," she said. "Pants off," she demanded at his confused look.

Reason left when he undressed completely. His body was perfect, strong, and she wanted every inch of him in her mouth, but if she didn't have that delicious cock inside her she'd go mad.

He tried to kneel between her legs but she surprised him. Hooking an ankle behind his she grabbed his shoulders and rolled him to his back. Kelly didn't stop to gloat, she covered him, centered his cock, and sank down.

The feeling was incredible. It had been so long, and strangely with him it felt so right. His face was a work of beauty, anguish and pleasure in one.

Then he jerked her forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. Cillian kissed her deeply, palming a breast, and she struggled to move. The end result was sliding against him rather than thrusting, rasping her clit on his hair, his thick cock stretching her.

She clutched at his shoulders as his hand slipped from her breast to her hip, driving her to undulate against him, the other keeping her pressed to him. His hips responded, moving against and surging into her. Kelly chewed his lip, frantic to move faster but he refused her.




Morrigan's Curse



He pressed her tighter and tighter and the pleasure deepened with every thrust until she could bare no more. The orgasm washed over her like madness, radiating from every cell in her body, but centered on where their bodies met. She cried out, wailing with it, and felt him lift her slightly.

Cillian slammed his hips into hers, hard and fast, his cock reaching deep. The orgasm continued, impossibly long, and then he jumped into the abyss with her, his shout shaking the room. She felt him fill her, pumping still, and their tongues danced.

When it passed she collapsed on him fully, loathe to separate their bodies. The lust was leaving her, but slowly. "I want a cigarette."

"I don't have any."

"Neither do I. I haven't smoked since-"

He moved his head aside to better see her. "Since?"

"I'm sorry, it's been so long since I- er, did...this with a stranger. It's probably best we don't talk much about our lives."

"I want to know everything about you."

Reluctantly she moved to dismount and he let her, though he hauled her to his side and wrapped and arm around her. "I would tell you about my...existence, but you may think I am crazy."

She tailed her fingers over his face. "I've dreamed about you for years. Almost as long as I can remember. Just your face when I was young, and then...of this when I got older."

He grabbed her fingers and kissed them. "I have had you in my thoughts before you were born."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you believe in things you canna see? Cana know?" His accent thickened.

She snorted. "I'm an Atheist."

He raised a brow. "Be that as it may, do you believe there could possibly be things such as ghosts, spirits?"

"I'm not saying I know for sure nothing exists, just that I have yet to see any proof. Ghosts...I don't know. They seem to be used to sell tourists on booking at an awful lot of hotels."

"What if I told you I am a ghost?"

Her hand trailed down his stomach to brush against his cock. "You feel very real to me."

He grabbed her hand. "What about reincarnation. Do you think it's possible you were here before?"

"What do you mean? Which are you? A ghost or a really old soul? I know it's Halloween, but this is silly."

"Yet dreaming of me all your life, and I here I am...that's not silly?"

"I don't know. Look, my life has been a very strange one. I believe in curses and now I don't know what to believe."

"Curses? What do you believe about curses?"

"Well, for starters, I'm probably going to die tonight."

He laughed and held her closer. "I won't let anything harm you. I've been seeking you for a long, long time, you have no idea how long."

"It's not that simple. It's a family thing." He stilled at that, and with a sigh, she continued. "In every generation, for hundreds of years, on Halloween, in our thirtieth year, the only or eldest child dies. Only my father survived."

His body went cold. "Your...family? Don't you mean your husband's family?"

"I'm not married. Would I have slept with you if I was?" She sat up, indignant. "I was married, we were young, and he...he's gone now."

"But you kept his name?" He asked with dire hope.

"I never took it. I'm a Quinn, born and raised."

The look he gave her was stark fear. Before she could move he was off the bed, grabbing the trash can. From it he took an envelope, the kind her invitation had arrived in. Unfurling it he read the name and sagged to the floor, gasping.

"What? What the heck is it?" She scrambled off the bed to reach him, but he shrank back in horror and made a mournful howling sound. "What!?! What is it!?!" She shook him until he stooped the keening, but still he flinched, tears falling now.

"It's me...I'm," he stumbled over the words. "I'm your curse."

***

The look she had given him at that pronouncement was disbelief, pure and simple. The tale spilled out of him; the story of his birth, life, and death. The tale of the bargain struck with the Morrigan to kill her ancestor. The tale of how it was done, a fight to the death, and how no peace had found him.

When he spoke of another fourteen years of waiting, she trembled. Back on the bed and still naked, she drew her legs to her chest and held them, listening. At his tale of love she too had cried. At his tale of first vengeance she'd trembled.

Now she gazed at him with anger.

"So you killed his son. And thirty years later his son. And every time one of us reached thirty, you came on this night and killed us, a vengeful ghost with blood on the mind. How could you seduce me!?! What did you do to me!?!"

He stood, hand out. "I did nothing. And it's not what you think."

"It's not? Oh so you killed what, thirty of my ancestors? Forty? Fifty?" She too rose to her feet, fists balled, blue eyes flashing with rage as they scanned the room and lit on her rapier.

"Five."

"You killed- what did you say?" That stopped her from reaching for the weapon.

"Five. I killed the first five I found, and I'd do it again. Your people were lords in those days, treacherous and evil. The British were never very kind to my people. After that I lost a taste for it, but I still had to come back."

"Why?"

"The Morrigan is the goddess of women, war...blood. I had to spill blood. I could come back but only to the area where the Quinn I sought was. Once blood was spilled I was released and I had until sunrise to find you. Your soul has been here, again and again, and I've never found you until now."

"But they died! They all died, all but my father!"

He nodded. "After five generations the fear and superstition grew. I cannot tell you how many had heart attacks, slew themselves, or ran straight off a cliff or bridge in fear of me. I did not want them to die, I grew tired of it long ago. All I wanted was to find you."

"Why not my father? Why not him?"

"He spoke to me. He's a reasonable man. We spoke, and he let me cut his finger, only a drop of blood. I made him swear to tell his son that I would come, and he promised."

"Surprise!" She threw her hands up. "All my parents got was me and I had to grow up hearing about The Curse from my uncle Ben. If I ever asked about it, my parents swore it was broken."

"And it is! Tonight is the night. I know you won't believe me but I was given a choice. Vengeance...or you. I chose you. I chose to be with you."

She sat down on the bed, looking confused. Cillian found himself hoping, praying she believed him. Hoping Áine would appear at that moment and make it all better.

The knowledge she had given him had shown him so much of who Kelly was. He loved Siobhan, he loved her soul, but Kelly was a strong, intelligent, confident woman. No shrinking virgin she had pleasured him more than any woman he could remember from centuries ago. Truthfully, she pleased him more than even his sweet, innocent Siobhan had.

He had to find a way to show her what she meant to him. He was risking eternal punishment by refusing his quest of vengeance. He had chosen to show her love rather than hurt her in any selfish bid for freedom.

"Tell me," she said at last, "tell me about the other four you killed. Tell my why you stopped."

Grasping at the hope he heard in her patient voice, he rose to sit in the armchair, and began his ghost story.

***

There was nothing real about this night. She had always feared Halloween, and yes, part of it had been The Curse- Cillian, she amended, but more than that. She had died a violent death on this day centuries ago. She could sense the magic, for in her English veins and American mind was an Irish soul.

He told her of abuses, atrocious by modern standards, barbaric in his day, and long-tolerated under Mary and later Elizabeth, queens bent on Irish conquest. She heard stories of rape and murder by a Quinn he had happened upon. She shook, wanting to defend her ancestors instinctually, something in his deep brown eyes told her his earnestness was also honesty.

Then came the tale of Donovan Quinn. Bastard born, upon his father's death he had taken up his seat and assumed his titles. Donovan had been raised in an Irish tavern with an Irish mother, and held native sympathies. He had been a smart lad, could read, and was fair. He too, like her father, had struck a bargain and chosen a knife from his table for Cillian to use to draw blood. It was an unfortunate accident (and spoke of hygiene in the day, she thought) that his blood had caught something and sepsis had killed him quickly.

With no one to pass on the tale foolish accidents had happened, heart attacks, some suicides. All the way to her father, an Atheist who professed logic along with history at NYU. For all his intelligence, Michael Quinn had not grasped that it was the eldest Quinn child, not just the males, who would be visited.

Cillian came to a miraculous story of the woman who had visited them on the dance floor. A goddess...this was all a bit much for her to grasp. Cillian was a ghost...she was a reincarnated witch...and the gods were playing them like chess pieces.

"I need a drink." She stopped him and looked at the clock. Just after two. "Let me order something, Richard is paying for it."

"Is he your lover?" 

She glanced back at him as she grabbed the room service menu. "He's like a second father. Or third if you count Uncle Ben. He's my friend and investor. It's because of him I have a job and can provide a stable home."

Feeling churlish she ordered for him, getting three sandwiches, fries, crab cakes, chocolate cake, champagne, soda pop, coffee, and orange juice. It was a bit much but one thing had stood out to her: all those years he'd only been allowed one night in a solid body, one night to find a Quinn, settle their hysterics, get some blood, and then look for her soul which could be thousands of miles away.

Maybe it was because she was a mother, but he activated her instincts to nurture. At least tonight, if this was to be his only night, she would let him try as much food as he liked. On that thought she called back and added steak, lobster, and ham with vegetables and potatoes. He was Irish, potatoes had to be a staple of his diet. She added whiskey and hung up, thinking of Holly.

"There's something I have to tell you."

"Anything."

She took a deep breath and sat back on the bed, entirely casual about her nudity. "I have a daughter. She's five. Now if for some reason this Awny-"

"Áine."

"Áine, doesn't come through, you'll be back in twenty-five years. If I'm not here you have to know this: her father was Japanese. She looks almost nothing like me save for her height and build. She has dark hair, brown eyes, slightly Asian. She's a real beauty. If you go away in the sunlight I swear I'll tell her everything."

"So you understand?"

"No. I accept. It's the most I can do."

"Thank you. I believe that's all I can ask for."

She looked out the window, at the lights of the huge park shining through the autumn trees. "What if you stay? What then?"

"I have no idea."

They lapsed into silence for a time and then she showed him television. He took to ESPN like a 21st century man, and was well into another boring hour of soccer coverage when the food came.

It took two carts to hold it all and she signed a generous tip, planning to apologize to Richard later. Patiently he let her uncover every dish and sniffed the air. Then he dug in, taking a single bite of everything including the chocolate cake.

There were tears in his eyes as he sampled it all. The orange juice perplexed and excited him, the champagne made him sneeze, the coffee he nearly spit out until she put cream and sugar in, and the soda pop confused him. The whiskey made him melt. 

"It's not the same as when I was a man, real and true, but it's good enough I don' care." 

It also brought his accent back.

They began to eat; she grabbed a ham sandwich and he chose the steak to focus on, but still snuck bites of everything. He tried mixing drinks, creating several vile concoctions they had to put aside.

When the main meal was over he sat back as did she. "I fear if I eat anymore I may burst."

She started laughing, and kept going.

"What? What is it?"

"If I didn't believe you before, I would now," she replied, still laughing.

His eyes softened. "I don' care if it's me you're laughin' at," his accent had grown heavier with each pull of Jameson, "so long as I make you smile."

She stopped then. Over the meal she had spoken about her life. He'd laughed at the nudist camps of her childhood, had never scorned her when she spoke of drug use in college, and never showed jealousy when spoke of meeting Hatori and falling in love. When she told him of his death he'd held her hand, and when she spoke of Holly he'd asked as many questions as possible.

She knew so little about him but there was something there. Hope. Being with him felt disturbingly natural. He was so lonely, so hollow, he'd been through so much and still there was hope burning inside him.

She rose and pushed his chair back. Leaning over him he didn't move as she drew two fingers through the frosting of the cake and then over his lip. Bending down she licked it and pulled back, smiling.

"Why?"

"If Áine brought us together because of a spell, that's all well and good, but this time...you need to know it's me who wants you."

She wished she could have had the patience to well and truly make love to him, but the need was too great. He rose from the chair and grabbed her, and they crashed to the floor, almost knocking a cart over. They rolled together until she was on the bottom and he entered her.

Then they moved slowly together, kissing, touching, memorizing one another. All the while their hips moved in consort, luxuriating in the feel of each other. Their peaks nearly came together, but close enough for each to enjoy the other.

They ate some of the cake and talked. She told him more tales of her life, laughing together at her old memories. He spoke of his life before his death. She listened as he described his love, and learned Chevon was her American interpretation of the name Siobhan. 

They made love again, then ate the lobster, and loved again. Morning approached rapidly and she began to feel dread grow. He spoke of her lifetimes, what he'd been shown in memory, and with each tale more and more came back. 

Just before six, they were making love slowly, exhausted. In the middle, it came to her. She remembered him, alive, a shining young man. She was a bedraggled young woman from a strange family, mistrusted by all except in the dark of night. They came to her mother and then her for potions to cure aches, possets to soothe pregnancy worries, and tinctures for their wounds. 

Cillian was the only one who would call out to her in town in the daylight. He'd walk beside her, keep everyone else at bay. They would take walks, and soon they found love. She had been shy, afraid that if word got out about them, she might be fair game for the rest of them. And so she had squandered their time.

Snapping back to the present all Kelly could think was what a damn fool Siobhan had been. She had found the love her life and didn't fight for him. Instead she had made him hide away, and it had gotten them killed.

She opened her eyes to see him beneath her again. They bore bite and scratch marks from heartier sessions, and she smiled, tracing them with her fingertips. "I won't be foolish this time," she said, determined. Foolish or no, this night had been pure magic, he was pure magic, and if this goddess had any heart to speak of, Kelly had some magic of her own. She was going to keep him.

She pinned his hands down and Cillian was so tired he let her. Bracing her knees on the carpet she bent over, letting her hair trail on his chest, and began to fuck him, as hard as she could. Sweat slicked them both and her breasts bounced with the rhythm. His muscles strained at her but she kept him pinned down, riding his hard cock for all she was worth.

Deeper and deeper she took him, letting out the pleasure with grunts and moans to match his. He swelled, filling her, and she climbed higher and higher until the shimmering wave crashed once more impossibly over her.

Cillian broke with her, crying out her name, HER name, and spilled into her. Just that moment, the sun began to peak over the horizon through the window.

"We did it. We did it!"

"Kelly!" His eyes widened.

She sank lower, as if through him, and scrambled off."No, Cillian, you can't!"

"I love you, Kelly. I love you; I love your soul, I love you strength, I love you."

Still, he faded in and out, wavering.

"No, you can't leave!" She dove for him, cradling his face, kissing him but touching air at first, then the gentle press of his lips. "Cillian I- I love you!"

He began to fade steadily as the natural light bloomed. "Nooooo!!!" she cried. "Holly, I'll tell Holly. You'll come back- wait!"

She reached around and found her rapier. "Morrigan, you bitch, you can't have him!" She sliced her palm and dripped the blood onto his translucent form. "My blood, you have my blood! Let him stay!"

Then he was gone. Sobbing she slammed her palms on the carpet, feeling around, but he was gone, and she was getting blood everywhere. "Nooooooooo!"

She waited all morning for him to appear, leaving cuts all over her hands. She left once, only once, clad in the bathrobe, to let her blood fall to the Earth directly. Nothing. Back in the room she closed the curtains against the hated sunlight and wept.

She fell asleep crying, and woke to a woman standing over her. She was tall, pale, with long dark hair. "Morrigan?"

"What? Sweetie, are you okay? You're alive at least. Checkout's in an hour. I would have checked on you sooner but Jonathon...well, I have stories for you. Why is it so dark?" Catherine opened the curtains and turned back. 

"Jesus, what's with all the food? And the furniture is wrecked. Sweetie, did you have a wild party and forget to invite me?"

Kelly sat up and rubbed her eyes. 

"Oh my god! Your hands! What the hell happened?" Catherine sat with her and the story spilled out. She nodded patiently and Kelly couldn't tell if she believed her or not, and she didn't care.

When it was done Catherine got towels and tissues from the bathroom and started to clean her up.

"If he's a ghost...he'll never come back and I'll keep being born over and over. I want to be with him. What if I-"

"No!" Catherine left her and went to Kelly's purse, which she'd brought in with her clothes from her room. She found her wallet, opened it up, and flipped to Holly's picture. "If you ever entertain that kind of thought again I want you to look at this picture. Do you think Cillian would want you to abandon her? If he really loves you, it won't matter if you're a hot thirty year old ghost or a wrinkly old ninety year old one. Tell me I'm wrong!"

"I just...it hurts. Everything's changed."

Catherine sat once more and hugged her. "We'll get though this together."

"I never knew that was what love was."

"You'll know it again."

"No. That was it."

"Oh, sweetie." Catherine held her as she began to weep again.

***

After six months, Kelly could function again, smile again, but he was still on her mind. She'd researched Áine and Morrigan, talked with "experts," seen some kooky rituals, but nothing helped.

Holly was her bright spot. Not that she wasn't happy for Jonathon and Catherine, but their happiness only reminded her of how lonely she was.

"Hey kiddo!" She called to her daughter as she came running out of the school. Afternoon kindergarten was agreeing with Holly, naturally as boisterous and sociable as her father.

"Mom!"

Kelly picked her up and swung her around. She never noticed people looking, they always did at how disparate they looked, but she did noticed more a pair of women, teachers by their look, who didn't notice. The redhead looked familiar but she couldn't place the brunette. 




Morrigan's Curse



"What did you do today?"

"We drew pictures!" Her daughter cried as she touched ground once more. She held up the folded piece and when Kelly saw it her heart almost stopped. It was a crude picture of her at the breakfast table, and a man was touching her.

"Who's that, sweetie?" Kelly pointed at the man.

"That's daddy. I see him. He's sad that you're sad."

"Oh, I'm not sad."

"Yes you are, daddy says it's okay, you'll be happy soon. We couldn't play in the gym today because there are builders in there."

Kelly was speechless at her daughters ability to change subjects so rapidly. "Sorry honey, want to go to the park?"

"Which one!?!" Hyperactivity quickly set in.

Someone brushed close and Kelly stumbled back, dragging Holly with her.

"Pardon me."

That voice...she turned to see a man she didn't recognize. He was guiding three others moving drywall in. He was tall, slim, with long blonde hair. But his eyes...

He cocked his head in a very familiar way. "Ma'am, this is going to sound crazy, but do I know you?"

Those dark brown eyes sparkled like honey.

"Maybe. I'm Kelly, Kelly Quinn."

"James Murphy."

"Oh, this is my daughter Holly."

He waved on the others and bent down, offering her little girl his hand, which she took and pumped eagerly. "Hello, are you going to make my mommy happy?"

He laughed. "Gee, I don't know. You're quite a forward lady, aren't you?"

"Mommy says I'm a straight shooter."

He laughed.

"Honey, why don't you get in the car?" Kelly waved to the limo driver who rolled the back windows down.

"Okay. Bye!" She waved at James.

They watched her go. "You're going to think I'm insane, but I- I think I dreamed about you. And about you...but you were different."

"Was I Siobhan?"

That startled him. "How did you know?"

"I don't know how it's possible, but I know you. Knew you. I- it's complicated."

"Would you like to have dinner and explain it? Oh, I'm sorry, are you- is Holly's dad-"

"He's been gone a long time. I would love to have dinner. Here's my card." She fished one out and passed it to him. As their fingers touched a very familiar tingle began.

His eyes snapped to hers. "I think I'm losing my mind."

"That's okay. Sometimes it's how you find your heart."

He leaned in closer as did she, and they kissed. It was familiar, yet he tasted of cinnamon, different enough, but it was the same passion.

"Mom! Gross!"

Kelly pulled back laughing. "Would tonight be too soon?"

"I'm done here at five. I'll call you then but I'll need to go home, change." He spread his hands to indicate his dusty jeans and paint-splotched navy t-shirt.

"I'll get a sitter."

"Oh, Holly can join us."

She put her hand on his arm and felt that jolt. "No, she can't."

He smiled at her, and once more Kelly's soul felt at peace.

***

"I win! I win!"

Morrigan folded her arms and sighed. "You'd think after a few millennia, you could be a gracious winner."

"It's just I never win, you always do!" Áine chuckled. 

"Well, war, vengeance...these are things people see every day. For most true love is something from movies. How'd you do it?"

"Sex."

"Pardon?" The war goddess blinked.

"Why do you think I'm a fertility goddess? You think I really like farming that much? As if, can you imagine cow patties on these?" She lifted up her small feet to show off the ungodly expensive designer heels.

"Focus, cupcake."

Áine stuck her tongue out. "True love equals amazing sex. Fucking is what gets their attention. I just get them to fuck their true loves, and the rest falls into place."

"You know, if you were human, they'd call you a sociopath."

"And you'd be Alexandra the Great, but with tanks."

"They hardly use tanks anymore. Oh, if only there was a man alive half as smart as Alexander. I don't know, I like the daughter."

"Holly?"

"She's tough, smart. I think she'd make a fine warrior."

"Not if I find her soul mate faster."

"That reminds me, I ran into Psyche the other day...she says hello."

"Hobnobbing with the Greeks? You haven't been boinking Ares again, have you? I seem to recall the last time you did that there was a volcanic explosion, a city sank into the sea-"

"Cold turkey. Say how did you go behind my back? That was some slick time-travel stuff you did there, I mean, one night my boy Cillian is banging Kelly, and six months later his soul's in a man who appears to be-" she glanced at James, now kissing Kelly, and turned back with a sneer of disgust. "Thirty, maybe thirty one years old. Ooh, he's a lefty and knows how to use a firearm. I kind of like him."

"He likes opera and gardens," Áine said, casually examining her nails. "And I'm not telling. Danu knows what you'll do with that secret."

"So how about another bet? I was up on you for over five hundred years. We need someone new."

Áine raised her brow. "I get to pick."

"You picked before and you got that milquetoast Siobhan. I get to pick."

"You'll find the next Pol Pot! I pick!"

"Let's go." Morrigan said with a smile and they assumed their poses, ready for combat. "One, two, three. Damnit!"

Áine laughed. "You always go for rock, and paper beats rock!"

"I fail to see how that follows the laws of physics."

The other ancient goddess just raised her brow at that. "Come on, they're having dinner and fantastic sex tonight, our work is done. I like America, but New York...it's getting cold. Let's go to L.A.!"

Morrigan shuddered. "Too many pretty boys who can't take a punch."

"Oh, you whine too much. We'll find you a nice stuntman..."

They left the school grounds, walking past James Murphy who stood there, staring at the retreating limo. As the other goddess yammered on about movie stars who liked to fight, Morrigan looked over her shoulder at James and caught his eye. She winked, for once glad to lose one of her warriors.



Morrigan's Money Quest



Much like peeling a plaster, he decided the best method of entering his pin number would be to do it without hesitation. He pressed the first digit -- eight -- as soon as he was prompted. His index finger wavered and drifted over the second digit now; like a virgin on his wedding night, he was uncomfortable, unsure and above all desperate to please. His sweat dripped like premature ejaculate; his heart throbbed like a member first tucked inside a woman's folds; he fingered out the last three digits in a rough, impassionate fashion and felt his desire to tear himself free from the machine as if he were done.

He reminded himself that he was still required. The second prompt arrived: How much would you like to withdraw? He tapped in the numbers: two-nil-nil. The mechanics inside whirred for a brief spell before halting. An error had flashed up on the screen: insufficient funds. Tapping again, he opted to check his balance rather than withdraw - $156.78. His heart stopped; his glance faced backwards towards the Ford Escape (oh, how he wanted to) and the slim figure within. He was denied overdrafts; his histories with credit were nowhere near sublime. All he had to withdraw was something short of the $200 she ordered.

Making do with slim pickings, he re-entered his pin number, this time with less trepidation, before he then entered a new sum - $150.

He waited for the familiar and unsettling churn of rotors; his hand waited at the slot where seven twenties and a ten popped out. Yanking it from the slit as if it were his, he slipped the bills into his wallet and then retrieved his card; flipping his wallet shut and slipping it into the back pocket of his pants, he almost ran to the comfort of the parking lot.

He knocked first on the driver side window before being permitted to enter his own car, and he fumbled with the handle for two seconds longer than usual. In his mind, he still thought up excuses but she could sense his fear, that anxious disposition of his would glow even in the darkest of darks. He opened his mouth to start: 'Mistress, I'm-...'

'Drained?' she answered, with a clear-cut interruption and a correct assumption. He hung his head in shame with that remark, feeling the brunt of dejection. . She held the power in her hand to ruin him should he fail her, and he had; but still she resisted.

'It was bound to happen.' She smirked to herself, 'Drive.'

'Where to?' he asked on instinct.

'I'll direct, this time.' And so she did -- she ordered him to pull out, to drive straight through the traffic lights to then take a left at the end of the avenue. She reclined; her feet kicked up onto his seat and her toes flicked against his earlobe; he shuddered as he managed to wrestle control of the vehicle and of himself. Those little black nails that he himself had painted were now caressing against the hairs of his neck; it made it difficult to drive, dangerous even. She kicked him, once, to see how he'd react; she was surprised, he managed to keep the vehicle straight on the road.

'Pull into this street,' she cooed. He started to recognise odd street signs and buildings; this was no more than a block from his own home. He predicted the next series of directions before she spoke them: turn left, straight over, left and pull up on the right beside a small block of flats.

He looked towards his immediate right; the monotonous block of apartments stretched up for eight floors with little description required. The damp beige colour would have blended the building in with the wearied skies behind if it weren't for the casual interruption of graffiti tags, wall cracks and mould. There was little comfort in returning to this place; he had promised his ever-forgiving girlfriend that the two of them would move out as soon as he could afford it -- the thousands that he had spent on his Mistress had prevented all such movement.

'Please, Mistress, please-...'

She silenced his whimpering with the corner of her foot stabbing into his mouth; he reeled back but submitted to her whims. The less than he complained the quicker that she would perhaps let the two drive off. His tongue brushed against each one as she wore leather heels without socks or leggings in the summer for that purpose. He angled his neck to allow his peripheral vision to allow more sight of his Mistress; it was hard to see that a person was even there: black hair, black corset, black lips pulled back into a smirk.

Get it out,' she whispered, refusing to even name it. It wasn't a "cock" like the other men; it couldn't perform in the same manner, and thus deserved not to even be categorised among them. Instead, it was "it". His hands fondled his belt, tugging at it; his tongue neglected her foot, she reminded him with a swift kick to the skull, and he returned his due focus. His tongue slithered along the base of her sole now; she twisted it anti-clockwise so that he could attend to the tips of her toes as he began to yank down the zipper, and pull open his pants.

Attempting to stand tall, it stood instead a simple six inches. Although his member was not unimpressive, the toll of torture had left a permanent mark on him; he was unable to hold a full erection, and it even curved to the right from the amount of hits and slaps she had caused, and even Mistresses that he served before her had left no better impression on the man.

She dropped her left foot down towards his lap before striking his face once again, with a wet slapping sound, with her right. Her left foot pressed down against his cock, as if it were an accelerator; his moan replicated the sound of an engine revving up and she waited for a brief moment until she decided to stall him -- she slammed her foot down on his member and heard his howl of pain. She couldn't resist a laugh, further to mock him and all that he chose to suffer.

Her legs dropped to one side; her hand reached out to his rod. She wore a glove, as was protocol, ever refusing to let him touch her bare flesh, as long as it wasn't her feet. Her hands tightened around his member that started to whir and throb; comparable to a street thief, she held his cock -- rather than his less important throat -- to ransom, and slipped her hand into the back of his pants, retrieving his wallet. She opened up the leather satchel and took what was hers. The credit cards were soon to be useless for good, so she left them as a simple memento.

A small pair of handcuffs was on the seat beside her. His hands were limp; as ever during his submission, he would keep them at his side unless orders asked otherwise. This made pulling them back and locking them up all the easier; before he could react, his wrists were locked together behind the seat, impossible for him to remove alone.

'We agreed -- you can leave our agreement,' she cooed, 'but only as soon as you pay the leaver's fee. That was all I asked for - $200. You failed me.' He opened his mouth to beg and plead; she did not listen, nor did she wish to hear his blabberings. His mouth, when opened, was filled with her panties with a single motion; he gagged for a second but then came to understand his position. Handcuffed in his own car, a pair of soiled panties in his mouth to silence him, his cock wavering in the air larger than it had ever been before.

She stepped out of the car, opened the driver's door and placed a small envelop on his crotch, balancing on his thin member. His heart beat faster than at the cash machine, than the first time the two had met. She pulled out his cell, and texted something that he would never see and never forget.

For a moment, there was a chaos of emotions; now a tidal wave of guilt and regret had come to sweep the lust aside. He hung his head once more, and his tears began to flow. He did not see his Mistress leave to spend the bills that she had earned; he did not see the front door to his apartment block open as a figure came to investigate such strange text; he did not see his old life ever again.

He had nothing left to lose: she had made him the perfect slave. It wouldn't be long until he returned to her.

Until then? Diamond-studded shoes for $109, and a $40 bottle of wine. The change would only light her cigarette.