Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

The Story Thus Far

Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.

Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.

Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.

Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.

Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops. 

Chapter Six: Nettie has a heart-to-heart with Hannah about her personal demons. Later, she gets a call from Agent Bridgett Ramscone, who has an unsettling request: for Nettie to go through the documentation of her own childhood kidnapping — and the murder of her sister — as a possible way to gain insight into the abduction of Heather and Gina (who are still being emotionally abused by their kidnapper, but are also taking steps to escape). Nettie is shaken, but agrees to do what she can. 

Chapter Seven: Many years after the fact, submerged memories of Nettie’s kidnapping began to make themselves known — memories of a possible accomplice to the original crime. She shares her thoughts with Bridgett. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina work on a potential escape from their makeshift prison.

Chapter Eight: Nettie unearths more hints that kidnap victims Heather and Gina were abducted by the same man who kidnapped and brutalized Nettie and her deceased sister over a decade ago — but that man was known to have died in prison.  Gina manages to escape captivity. But Heather can’t fit through the opening they dug, and must remain behind. Nettie gets a possible fix on the girls’ captor who, while out and about, gets a flat tire — then he discovers the spare is flat as well. 

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by Rachael Yukey

Look around, wrong information
Attempt on our life
Hard to find, balance and wisdom
In this absurd circus
Labyrinth, 2021

The lean man with the clean-shaven head and careworn face pauses on the narrow shoulder of Scout Camp Road, heaving a sigh of relief at the sign reading MATER”S GARAGE, planted next to a driveway leading to a country auto shop nestled snugly amongst the pine trees. Sweaty and out of breath, he clutches the Datsun’s spare tightly to his chest and soldiers on, gravel crunching beneath his boots. The donut seemed light enough to begin with, but lugging the thing almost five miles has proven to be another matter altogether. He’s not looking forward to the return trip.

He does have help available, and it occurs to him that he probably has cellphone bars now that he’s not buried quite so deep in the woods. He’s reluctant to make that call, and decides to leave the option open, depending on how long it takes him to catch his breath after he puts this thing down.

He curses himself as he realizes he left the big, stupid-looking hat in the car. Hoping the little garage in the big woods doesn’t have security cameras, he resolutely continues up the drive.

***

“Mater’s Garage, this is Jesse.”

“Hey, Jess, it’s Steve.”

Jesse Thompson blinked in surprise. His relationship with his brother Steve was chilly at the best of times, and the two rarely spoke. Jesse had never cared much for cops, and Steve’s participation in a drug bust that got Jesse’s girlfriend sent up for fifteen months did nothing to improve their relationship.

“Steve.” As always, Jesse replied to his brother in as few syllables as he could muster.

“I was wondering if you could do something for me,” the voice on the other end replied.

“If you want me to check the other guys’ lockers for pot, go fuck yourself.”

“Jesus, Jesse.” Steve’s voice was exasperated now. “It’s not like I knew Katya was part of the ring, you know that. Look—we got an APB on a car, and you’re inside of the circle they’re canvassing. Datsun 210, 1981, gray with lots of rust, Minnesota plates. I’ll give you the plate number if you have a pen handy.”

“Why the hell are you telling me?”

“Because you work at a place that fixes cars, why else?”

“Solve your own damn cases, Steven.”

“Jesse, come on. We’re checking with all the other auto shops in the area, too. If you won’t talk to me, I’ll call your boss directly, because we need someone at your shop keeping an eye. Can you take that number, or what?”

Jesse grudgingly plucked a pen from a cup on the reception desk, pulling a notepad close with the other. If the boss found out he wasn’t cooperating with the cops on something like this—well, he was already one small step from being fired.

“All right,” he said, not trying to disguise the resentment in his tone, “hit me with it.” As he spoke, a hint of motion outside drew his attention to the front window.

“4HF 401”, said Steve. “If that car shows up at your place for any kind of service, don’t fuck around. Go where the driver can’t hear you and…”

“The fuck?” Jesse broke in, cutting Steve off.

“Something wrong?” Steve’s voice had gone from conciliatory to sharp and professional.

Jesse squinted at the window. “Well, there’s some fucknut walking up our drive right now clutching a goddamn donut.”

“You mean like—a pastry?”

“I mean like a spare tire, dumbass. Some guy walking in carrying it. I’d better go out and see what’s—”

“Whoa, hold on. What’s he look like?”

“Like a fucking guy carrying a fucking donut,” Jesse snapped, then let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. He’s thin, kinda tall, completely bald. Wearing what looks like an army surplus jacket. He’s—”

“Okay, okay.” Steve’s voice had gone up half an octave in pitch. “Listen to me, Jesse! Stall him. Tell him you’ve got a shitload of other things you have to do before you can fix his tire. Keep him there! We’ll have deputies on the way.” The line went dead.

Resentment rapidly flaring into anger, Jesse turned his eyes toward the glass-plated entry door, which the guy in the army jacket appeared to be considering how to open without having to set down his burden. At this distance, Jesse could see that the man was sweaty and disheveled. The spare, he noted, was mounted on a rim of outdated design, and small even for a donut. Both tire and rim appeared shiny and unused, most likely removed from a compartment that had never been opened.

Hurrying from behind the counter, he crossed to the door and pushed it open. The man staggered wordlessly past him, crossing the room and depositing the donut on the counter with a thud. Mopping sweat from his brow, he turned towards Jesse, the thinnest of smiles forming upon his lips.

Jesse glanced towards the inside service window that afforded a view of the garage area. Tim Jensen was rotating tires on a Honda Civic; Sam Noel changing oil on an F150. Neither seemed to have noticed that a customer had entered the lobby. Eyes narrowing, Jesse stepped close to the man.

The rundown middle-aged dude gestured towards the tire. “I’m afraid my spare is—”

“No time for that,” Jesse muttered, taking the man’s arm. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but we have cops heading this way, and I’m pretty damn sure you’re the one they’re after. You best bug the fuck outa here while there’s still time.”

The thin smile faded, and the man jerked his arm from Jesse’s grip. Speaking not another word, he crossed the lobby in two long strides, and was out the door before Jesse even registered that he’d moved. The ragged figure cut sideways across the lawn and ducked into the forest.

Slowly rounding the counter, Jesse ran his fingers across the smooth rubber of the tire still lying on the grease-stained surface. A glance at the service window assured him that Sam and Tim remained oblivious.

Settling slowly into the office chair, he considered how long it was likely to take for the deputies to arrive, knowing they’d most likely be lurking in the more populous areas of the county. Figuring he had at least fifteen minutes, he began concocting the story he would tell.

Lighting a Marlboro, then exhaling a long plume of smoke, Jesse extended a middle finger to the “No Smoking” sign posted on the opposite wall. Fuck Steve, and fuck the St. Louis County Sheriff’s Department. Be goddamned if I’ll help ‘em put some poor dipshit behind bars for what’s probably nothing more than a baggie of dope.

***

The bald man in the army field jacket didn’t stop running until he was almost a mile into the woods. Finally he came to a halt, sagging against an oak, clutching his side, the breath exploding from his lips in harsh, tearing gasps. This kind of shit was a young man’s game and no getting around it—he wasn’t anywhere near young anymore.

As his heartbeat gradually slowed, the fear began giving way to something darker. He hadn’t finished. He’d only just begun to play his special games with those two little lambs—so young, so delicate, so vulnerable. He’d been nearing the end of the first stage—simply drinking in their terror, letting it wash over him like summer rain—an appetizer for the feast of the senses that was to follow.

Next would come the screams, the cries of agony as he inflicted pain on those sweet little pre-nubile bodies. The music of those hideous shrieks was, for him, the ultimate ecstasy. He’d so been anticipating the indescribable surges of pleasure, the tightening in his jeans as his erection bloomed. It had been so long.

Resting his head against the tree, he began to beat it with his fist. “Fuck!” It came out harsh and guttural. Later he would rue his loss of control, belatedly realizing how lucky he was that none of his pursuers had been close enough to hear him bellowing out his fury and sense of loss. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

He heard a scattering in the leaves; saw a fat brown squirrel staring at him from about fifteen feet to his left. Seizing a dead, rotted branch jutting out from the tree at eye level, he broke it off, hurling it at the varmint with an inarticulate roar of rage. The tiny animal bolted, the stick of wood crashing down in his just-vacated bed of leaves.

There was a jolt of pain as he threw, quickly bringing him back to himself. Looking down at his hand, he saw that he’d beaten it bloody and raw against the tree.

Slumping back against the old oak, he weighed his options. Half a dozen scenarios danced through his head in which he somehow found his way through the woods back to that abandoned shed, and finished his barely-begun work with those tender little doves.

Painful though it was, he brusquely cast those possibilities aside. It was time to cut his losses. He’d avoided yelling for help when the tire blew, but now he had no choice but to call in the cavalry. He had maybe an hour to vacate this part of the forest before the pigs turned it into a killing box he’d never get out of.

Tugging his phone from its jacket pocket with the hand that wasn’t beaten bloody, he called up his GPS and located the nearest gravel road. Trudging off in that direction, he got into his contacts and placed a call.

***

Nettie was sitting in her car on the side of the highway, eyes fixed on the cordoned-off entrance to Keenan Trail and wondering just what the hell her next move should be, when the phone rang again, Bridgett Ramscone’s name on the screen.

She snatched it from the seat. “Where ya at, Bridgett?”

“Still a ways out. It looks like we have a hit, Nettie. A guy matching your description, minus the hat, has been sighted approaching a rural auto repair shop carrying a donut-sized spare tire.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Yep.” Bridgett’s voice remained level, but Nettie detected an undercurrent of excitement.

“Do we know if he’s still there?”

“Staff at the garage have been instructed to slow-walk whatever his request is,” Bridgett replied. “It’s gonna take the Sheriff’s Department at least twenty minutes to hit scene, and the FBI is in even worse shape. Where are you?”

“Just a couple miles up the road from the convenience store. What’s the name of the garage?” Nettie was already calling up her GPS, hands shaking with excitement.

“Now hold on there, lady. Doing a little snooping is one thing. Butting heads with a murdering kidnapper—that’s something else. I don’t want you on that scene till the suspect is cuffed. We don’t go in until the police do.”

“I don’t want to go in, dammit,” Nettie protested. “If he’s there, he’s not wherever those girls are. Maybe if I go out in that direction, I can get some idea where he came from.”

Bridgett sighed. “All right. It’s Mater’s Garage. Promise me you won’t take any risks.”

Fumbling with the keypad, Nettie plugged the information into her phone. “Looks like a twelve-minute drive, Bridgett. I’ll be there in eight.” She was already shoving the gearshift into drive.

“No risks, Nettie.”

“Promise,” said Nettie, thumbing the steering wheel button to kill the connection as she floored the accelerator.

***

Gina hunkers down next to a little stream, greedily scooping handfuls of ice-cold water to her lips. Most of it runs out between her fingers, but she manages enough to take the edge off her thirst. She wonders how long she’s been stumbling along the little game trails that cut a maze through the undergrowth. It feels like forever, but some part of her mind is aware that it’s most likely been no more than a couple of hours.

She wonders if the bad man has returned to the shed, and if so what horrors he’s been visiting on her sister. The thought galvanizes her. She has to find help, before the bad man does something truly horrible to Heather. Pushing herself to throbbing feet, the grubby, exhausted child pushes on through the forest, this time following the stream. That, she’s been taught from earliest childhood, is what you’re supposed to do when you’re lost in the woods.

Fifteen minutes later, she emerges unexpectedly onto an abandoned stretch of highway, patches of asphalt appearing randomly between the encroaching shrubbery. She throws both hands up to shield her eyes from the glaring sunlight.

***

Nettie slowed as she approached the entrance to Mater’s Garage. The building was set back from the highway, only traces showing through the trees. She pulled off onto the shoulder.

Unfolding her lean frame from the car, she cast her eyes downward. The shoulder was recently graded, leaving a thick layer of fresh macadam. Good; new gravel meant an adult on foot would leave easily identifiable tracks.

It took her just a few minutes to find them, fresh-looking ones on the opposite side of the driveway from where she’d parked. The tracks came from the northeast, then terminated where the person who left them turned onto the concrete apron of the auto shop driveway.

Nettie hurried back to her car, put it in gear, and eased forward. She could no longer see the tracks directly alongside the car once she exceeded twenty-five miles per hour, but by looking ahead to where they were no longer rushing by, they were discernible at a higher speed. She found the sweet spot at around fifty, hugging the shoulder with her passenger-side tires just barely brushing gravel.

About two miles up the shoulder disappeared, the grassy ditch reaching its zenith at the edge of the blacktop. No more tracks. Nettie mumbled a few choice curses but kept on driving, knowing she would simply have to take the first side road she came across and hope for the best. She slowed to forty, keeping her eyes peeled.

Less than a quarter mile from where the shoulder gave way was a well-worn field approach, leading to what looked like four or five acres of alfalfa. There was an implement path around the edge of the field consisting of bare-earth tire tracks, a stretch of weedy grass in between. Nettie pulled into the approach, put the car in park, and got out. Walking around to the front of the car, she squatted down and examined the path closely.

The imprint of tractor tires were in evidence, but didn’t appear to be recent. Visible over the top of these was a set of tracks that looked a hell of a lot like the ones in the photo Nettie had been perusing at home just a few hours ago. These tracks barely made an imprint in the hard-packed earth, and she wouldn’t have seen them had she not gotten out of her car to look. The implement path skirted the edge of the field in both directions, but the car tire imprints veered off to the right. Looking more closely, Nettie realized the vehicle had been in and out of here a number of times.

Straightening, she turned back to her car, sliding behind the wheel once more. She eased forward to follow the implement path–alfalfa field to the left, forest to the right. A quarter of the way around the field she found what she was looking for, a vehicle-width path into the trees that might have been a hunting trail.

It was rough going, her Kia very nearly bottoming out a couple of times as she jounced along the rutted path. She kept it dead slow, alert for any trails veering off to the left or right. Pine boughs jutted into the trail, brushing her car and obscuring her vision. She didn’t see the Datsun until she was nearly on top of it.

She got out of the car, senses on high alert, wondering if this tallied with Bridgett’s warning to avoid risks. She pushed it aside, reminding herself that whoever the hell was behind this was currently several miles away, getting his spare tire fixed. She walked around the car. It was jacked up on the passenger side with a wobbly-looking center-screw jack, the right front tire lying in the dirt. The tire, Nettie noted, was so old dry-rot had set in, and a big hole had been ripped out of the side when it blew. No fixing that one. How long had this car been sitting undriven before it was pressed back into service?

She ran a finger across the side of the vehicle, shivering a little despite the heat. Was this the car that had transported her and Anna to that abandoned trailer deep in the pine forest? She searched her mind desperately, trying to dredge up a memory that might provide some insight. Nothing was forthcoming.

***

“What do you mean, he ran off?” St. Louis County Sheriff’s Deputy Steve Thompson stared at his brother Jesse. Jesse’s lips were pressed together, face sullen. Rex Mater, the owner of the garage, was standing next to Jesse behind the reception counter, arms folded and a thunderous expression on his face.

“I mean, he ran off,” a bristling Jesse repeated. He waved his hand at the donut spare, which had simply needed to be resealed and reinflated. It was on the counter, ready to be paid for and picked up. “I let him in,” Jesse went on, “he slammed the donut on the counter, just said, ‘fix this, please, I’ll be back,’ and ran back out. Last I saw of him.”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed again. He turned to his partner. “Jake, you wanna go into the garage and question the other two mechanics on duty? I’ll handle this.” The beefy man with the handlebar mustache nodded once and turned to the door that led to the main shop. As the door closed behind him, Steve turned back to Jesse and his boss.

“So he just—left. Where the hell would he even go on foot? There’s nothing out here.”

“How the hell should I know?” Jesse shot back. “Maybe he went to take a dump in the woods. Maybe he has a baby momma holed up in some little shack. He could be jerking off in the middle of the goddamn highway for all I know. Or care. It’s not my problem, Steve. He wanted his tire fixed. I fixed it.” He slammed his hand down on the hard rubber of the spare tire.

“Cool it, Jesse,” his boss admonished.

“Fuck,” Jesse muttered, folding his arms and plopping his ass down on a stool.

Steve spread his hands on the counter, wracking his brain. He’d expected a quick pickup and arrest, some glowing accolades and maybe even a commendation. Not for a second had he anticipated anything like this. “Did you see which way he went from here?”

“Just back up the drive, I think,” said Jesse, making a vague motion of his hand in that direction. “Didn’t really pay attention, truth to tell. I had to go take a shit.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “So—I tell you to stall this guy, keep him around, do his fix slow so he doesn’t take back off—and you couldn’t even bother to watch which direction he took off in?”

Jesse glared right back. “I told you, Steve—I don’t care. Solve your own fucking cases. Don’t drag me into it. I don’t owe you any favors.”

“Would you care if I told you we’re after a kidnapper, maybe a murderer?” Steve was yelling now.

Rex, a portly man in chinos and a polo, fixed Steve with a wide-eyed stare. “Those little girls up by Iron Junction? You’re looking for whoever did that?”

Jesse’s mouth dropped open. He quickly closed it, his pale face gone distinctively paler.

Realizing he’d said more than he should, Steve sucked in his breath. He was opening his mouth to speak when his partner emerged from the shop door.

“The two guys in the shop didn’t see anything,” he said, settling himself onto one of the stools at the reception counter. “They didn’t even know someone came in.”

“Fuck my life,” muttered Steve. He turned his attention to the owner. “I don’t see security cams in here. Any hidden ones?”

Rex sniffed. “I’ve got two big dogs and a deer rifle. I don’t need security cams.”

“Jesus,” said Steve. They all turned their attention to the big front window at the sound of an engine outside. A black late-model SUV was pulling into the lot.

“And there’s the FBI,” said Jake. “This is going to be fun.”

***

Nettie glared at her cellphone, brow furrowed in annoyance. No bars. She didn’t know what to do next. There wasn’t room to get her car around the immobilized Datsun, and she had no idea how much further she had to go. Could be miles. Nor was there enough room to turn her own vehicle around. She’d just resigned herself to backing the Kia down a couple miles of badly rutted trail and phoning for help when she heard the sound.

At first she struggled to identify what animal made that particular noise, then realized it was someone crying. No, it was someone sobbing, high-pitched, heartbreaking sobs evocative of a world ripped asunder. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought it was probably a child.

Nettie opened her mouth to call out, then thought better of it. Closing her eyes and listening hard, she decided the sound was coming from off to her left. She plunged into the forest, pushing aside branches, heedless of the nettles and brambles scratching her skin. A few yards in she happened across a deer trail that seemed to be going in the right direction and followed it, hands out in front of her to push aside pine boughs and other assorted foliage.

The sound of weeping was steadily increasing in volume, so she was clearly headed in the right direction. The deer trail spilled out into an open space, about the width of a two-lane road and stretching from one direction to the other as far as the eye could see. Some broken chunks of asphalt identified it as an abandoned highway, but it must have been left for dead a very long time ago. A great deal of shrubbery had grown up, and even some smallish trees were beginning to dot the landscape.

Huddled on the ground in the center, head buried in arms, was a grubby, half-grown figure, most likely a girl from the long, scraggly hair. The child was filthy from head to toe, clothes torn and ragged, covered with fresh scratches and scrapes. Nettie rushed forward, stumbling over a jutting piece of asphalt and almost falling headlong. She caught her balance and proceeded more cautiously.

A small head jerked up at the sound of her approach. The girl’s face was dusky with grime, tears having smeared the dirt rather than washed it away. On closer inspection, Nettie saw the child had removed her shoes. Her feet, shockingly dirt-free compared to the rest of her, were bleeding.

“Who’re you?” The voice was hoarse from thirst and from crying, taut with fear.

“My name is Nettie. I’m a friend.” She knelt before the girl, reaching out to her but not quite touching. She didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was. Mentally comparing the face before her with the case file photos she’d studied, she was pretty sure this was Gina Dulcey. A wash of triumph and relief coursed through her, dashed away by an icy pit in her stomach at the realization that Heather was nowhere to be seen. Oh please God, no. 

She pushed the dread aside, keeping her voice calm and reassuring. “Are you Gina?”

Dissolving into sobs once more, the child propelled herself from the ground and into Nettie’s arms.

***

Bridgett Ramscone put her government SUV in park, surveying the scene with the automatic ease of long practice. Mater’s Garage might be an auto repair shop in the middle of nowhere, but judging from the condition of the poured cement driveway, the grounds, and the buildings, she figured it must do reasonably good business. Along with her own ride, the parking lot contained a few employee vehicles, a squad car with St. Louis County Sheriff’s Department emblazoned across the side, and yet another shiny black SUV. That would be the FBI.

She’d just been on the phone with the FBI agent in charge of the case, one Latisha Miller, who was speaking to her with a newfound respect now that one of Bridgett’s agents had gotten them this much closer to locating the kidnapper and, hopefully, the missing girls. Miller had given her the rundown on everything that had transpired on the ground, so Bridgett would be walking in fully briefed, ready to move on to the next thing.

She was worried about Nettie, though. It had been almost an hour since they’d last touched base, and she’d been unable to make contact since. Agent Miller had obligingly run a trace on the phone number, hoping to pinpoint her position, but that cellphone was nowhere to be seen. Nettie had gone off-grid.

As Bridgett exited her vehicle, the glass front door of the building was pushed open from the inside, a slender woman with milk chocolate skin, thick shoulder-length black hair, and black business attire similar to her own holding it open and beckoning to her.

“Latisha Miller.” The woman extended a hand as Bridgett approached. Bridgett grasped the hand firmly, receiving an equally firm grip in return.

“Bridgett Ramscone.” Their eyes met, and Agent Miller gave her a slight smile that instantly put Bridgett’s gaydar on high alert. She smiled in return, hoping to send a similar message, then filed the momentary exchange away for future consideration.

Bridgett stepped into a room that looked pretty much like the reception area of every auto repair establishment she’d ever been in. Promotional posters for auto parts and tools adorned the walls, a fake potted palm occupied one corner along with a couple of waiting area chairs, a battered Formica coffee table in between, stacked with hunting and fishing magazines. The reception counter was worn and grimy, with four padded bar stools on the customer side. The spare tire that had precipitated all of this was still resting on the counter.

The room was packed with bodies. On the customer side of the counter stood two male agents in FBI black business suits. A tall, lanky sheriff’s deputy leaned against the counter, a stormy expression on his chiseled features. His partner, a stout fellow with a handlebar mustache, was perched on one of the stools. Behind the counter on a stool was a sour-looking man with greasy hair, his features displaying a striking resemblance to the tall police officer, the nametag on his mechanic’s coveralls identifying him as Jesse. In an office chair sat a bulky man wearing business casual attire.

“Special Agents Tso and Fischer,” said Latisha Miller, indicating the FBI agents. “Sheriff’s Deputies Thompson and Lanne. Jesse Thompson here is the mechanic who interacted with the suspect, and this is Rex Mater, the owner. Do you have questions for anybody here, or are you satisfied with the briefing you’ve received?”

“No questions at the moment, thank you,” Bridgett replied.

“Excellent,” said Latisha. “Mr. Mater, we don’t want to interfere with your business any longer than necessary, and we’re kind of monopolizing your reception room. Is there another place that the rest of us can go to discuss the situation, so you and Mr. Thompson can carry on with your operations?”

“You can use my office,” said Rex Mater, indicating a door on the opposite side of the room, then gave Jesse a disgusted glance. “As for Mr. Thompson, he doesn’t work here anymore. Empty your locker, Jesse. You better wait around until these people leave, in case they have questions for you.”

“Fuck them,” Jesse snapped. “If they want to talk to me, Steve knows where I live. But he’d better have a fucking warrant.” Launching himself from the stool, he threw open the door to the shop. Through the window, they could see him cutting across the floor with long strides, approaching a bank of lockers against the wall.

The agents and deputies filed into Rex Mater’s small, cluttered office, Agent Latisha Miller bringing up the rear and closing the door behind them all. Bodies pressed together in the cramped space, they all turned to face her.

“Okay,” she said. “We have three issues in front of us. First off: the suspect was momentarily on the radar, and has gone right the hell off of it again. If you want my opinion, Mr. Thompson back there tipped him that we were coming.”

“Probably,” said Deputy Thompson. “Jesse’s been in and out of legal trouble since he was fifteen, and I was part of a sting that put his girlfriend in Shakopee. He hates cops, and he hates me especially. He’ll take any chance he gets to screw things up for us. I should never have called him.”

“If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be this far,” Bridgett reassured him.

“I agree,” said Latisha. “Anyway, we have a helicopter coming down from Hibbing to do a sweep of the woods—what’s the status on the dogs, Deputy Thompson?”

“The guy we contract for this stuff is on a fishing trip up by Duluth,” Steve responded. “We won’t get dogs today.”

Latisha nodded, without changing expression. Bridgett was impressed with how she took bad news in stride. “Unfortunate. Okay, item two. The suspect blowing a tire near here doesn’t necessarily mean the kidnap victims are close by. We don’t even know for sure that this is the actual perp. But it does give us an area to focus on, so once we’re done with this meeting, I’ll have Agents Tso and Fischer take a close look at our satellite photos of the immediate surrounding area. Some stuff that we dismissed before might be worth checking, now that we have a smaller circumference to focus on.”

She turned her attention to the two sheriff’s deputies, standing side-by-side with their backs to a bookcase stuffed to bursting with auto repair manuals. “Officers, I’ll ask you to start combing the roads. See if you can determine from tracks which direction the suspect walked in from, and start there. You’re looking for a car with a flat tire. Since he carried the spare in, it has to be pretty close. Maybe a five-mile radius, at the outside?”

“There’s a lot more little back roads and stuff within five miles than you might think,” said Steve’s partner Jake. “But we have another car coming as soon as they get through with a domestic about eight miles from here. We’ll get started.” Twisting their way past the black-suited agents, the two deputies exited the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

“Last item,” said Latisha, “Agent Ramscone, your agent on the ground that’s gone missing. We need to—”

Bridgett’s phone chose that moment to ring. Extracting it from the pocket of her blazer, she glanced at the screen—and felt a smile stretch the corners of her mouth.

“It’s her,” she said, and swiped at the green, following it up with a jab at the speaker button. “Nettie, I’m with a roomful of FBI agents, and you’re on speaker. Where are you?”

“At the top of a goddamn tree,” Nettie sounded thoroughly irritated. “I had, like, one bar on the ground, and it wouldn’t put a call through. Bridgett, I have Gina Dulcey. Heather is still back where they were being held, and was alive when Gina last saw her. We can—”

“Ms. Hastings, this is Latisha Miller with the FBI,” the supervising agent broke in. Her voice remained businesslike, but she was smiling. “Outstanding job, but I’d like you to back up. First off: does Gina require immediate medical attention?”

“No,” Nettie replied without hesitation, falling instantly into a long-practiced medical reporting mode. “She’s obviously dehydrated and a little malnourished, has minor lacerations and contusions in multiple locations, but the biggest problem right now is that she can’t easily ambulate. She walked her feet raw after she escaped this morning, so she took off her shoes to give them a few minutes relief. Then, of course, her feet swelled up, and she couldn’t get the shoes back on. I carried her to where we are now.”

“Okay, good. I figured if there was a medical crisis you’d have led with that, but I still had to ask. Tell us what happened. Be brief, but start from when you last talked to Agent Ramscone and end with where you currently are.”

“I found the footprints on the shoulder where the guy walked in with the tire,” said Nettie. “I followed those till the shoulder gave out, about two miles up. From there I just kept going till I hit a field approach. That’s the first field approach after the shoulder ends, on the right as you’re traveling northeast. I found car tire tracks there, but the ground is firm enough that I had to get out of my car to see them. I followed those tracks to the right on the implement path at the edge of the field, then found a little hunting trail leading into the woods, roughly a quarter of the way around the field. It’s pretty rough, but I was able to follow it in my car until I came across a Datsun jacked up with the front passenger side tire removed. Hang on a second.”

When next she spoke, her voice was distant. “I’m right here, Gina,” they heard her call out. “I’m on the phone with people who are going to help us.”

Her voice then came through more clearly. “Sorry,” she said. “Anyway, the Datsun is definitely the same one from the security cam footage I saw this morning. It’s blocking the path, and I couldn’t get my car around it. There isn’t room to turn around, so I’d have had to back out, and it’s quite a stretch. I was about to try it when I heard someone crying. I followed the noise through the woods and found Gina Dulcey on what looks like an abandoned highway. She…”

“Excuse me, Ms. Hastings,” said Agent Tso. He was a compact man of Eastern Asian descent, and spoke with a deep voice. He’d seated himself behind the owner’s desk, and had a laptop open. “I have the field approach pinpointed, and it looks like you must be on what was formerly County Highway Eight which, according to the information I have here, was taken out of service in 1967. Do you see anyplace on the old roadbed that might be usable as a helicopter landing zone?”

“I’m afraid not,” Nettie replied. “That’s the first thing I thought of, but it’s overgrown and pretty rough to boot. I don’t think it’d be safe.”

“That’s all right,” said Latisha. “We can at least get the deputies re-routed to your location.”

“I wouldn’t send a car up that trail,” said Nettie. “It’ll then be stuck behind mine, and we’ll have one more vehicle to back out of that mess. An ATV would be better.”

Agent Fischer spoke up. “I saw an ATV out back of this building when Tso and I canvassed the grounds. A Ranger; two seats and a rear storage bed. If the owner will let us use it, I could most likely get everyone out in that.”

“Let’s get the rest of the report first,” said Latisha. “Go ahead, Ms. Hastings.”

“Okay. Gina tells me Heather found a siding board that was rotted, where the wall met the floor of the shed they’re being kept in. The kidnapper has only been with them during the day. At night he goes somewhere else. They’ve been loose in the shed, but it’s locked. Anyway, they managed to break the rotted board out, then Heather spent most of the night digging enough of a hole that Gina could squeeze out. Heather wouldn’t fit, but insisted Gina go anyway. She walked through the woods till she hit a stream, followed that, and eventually it spit her out on this old roadbed.”

Nettie took a deep breath, then went on. “So—Gina tells me on the night they were taken, they drove down this long bumpy road through the woods. Probably the same trail my car is parked on. They stopped in a little clearing, and walked from there to where the shed is. Gina said there’s a few small buildings there, nothing as big as a barn or a house. She says it’s a long walk, but it was along the top of a ridge following a game trail. She thinks she could find it again.”

“She’ll probably have to,” Agent Tso broke in. “I’m not seeing any buildings at all within a reasonable walk of your location. It must be under complete tree cover. Not surprising; there’s a lot of deciduous stuff in that area right along with the pines. A few oak branches can obscure pretty much anything.”

“Can you carry Gina back to where the cars are parked, Ms. Hastings?” Latisha inquired.

“Yeah, we’ll make it,” Nettie replied. “Be advised that I’ll be out of contact from the moment I climb out of this tree.”

“All right, get moving. Our agent will meet you at the location of the vehicles. I can’t stress enough what amazing work you’ve done today.”

Latisha Miller turned to Agent Fischer. “You get going, too. Offer the owner compensation if you have to, but get the use of that ATV. We need to find Heather Dulcey as soon as possible. Have the sheriff’s department cover the field approach, and the entrance to the woodland trail, once you find that.”

Fischer nodded once, then exited the office.

***

An aged four-cylinder engine idled roughly, exhaust blatting through rusted-out pipes. The Toyota van parked at the edge of the badly-graded macadam didn’t look any better than it sounded. The bottom edge of the body was laced with rust; the remainder of the royal blue paint job caked with dust and bearing the dings and scratches of long, hard use.

The woman seated behind the wheel of this eighties relic wasn’t much better kept. Forty-seven and going to flesh, her uncombed hair yanked back into a ponytail, ragged old jeans and a t-shirt with so many wash cycles behind it that one could no longer make out the logo.

Not that she cared. Her life had narrowed down to a single focus, a desire put on hold for a long run of years. During that dry spell, this desire had escalated to the level of a burning obsession—an obsession that finally seemed back on track to realization. The dream had been thwarted this day, and here she sat, waiting to rescue the idiot responsible.

She wondered how he managed to bungle this one. She wondered what excuses he’d give. She wondered why she was waiting for him at all—why she didn’t let the cops just scoop him up and nail his sorry ass to the cross.

Because, damn it, she needed him. By taking what he wanted, he got her what she wanted. It was a symbiosis, and she needed him to do that which she could not quite manage to do herself.

But where the fuck was he? She couldn’t hang around waiting much longer. Before long they’d be doing sweeps by air, and a van parked on a minimum maintenance road not three miles from that damn auto-shop was sure to set alarm bells ringing.

And then he was there, approaching from within the trees across the road from her at a brisk walk, a thin, bald man in a faded olive jacket, his face dripping with sweat.

Jesus Christ—about goddamn time.

She beckoned impatiently through the open driver’s side window. “Come on, already. We have to move!”

Breaking into a trot as he emerged from the foliage, the thin man rounded the front of the ancient Toyota MasterAce, popped the passenger side door, and slid into the seat. Before the door slammed shut, the woman was already shoving the gearshift into first.

She spared him a withering glance as she goosed the accelerator and let the clutch out, the van shuddering into motion. “What the fuck just happened?”

On to Chapter Ten!

Note from JetBoy: Please join me in welcoming our latest author to the Juicy Secrets pack. I offer E.M. a hearty welcome — along with an apology. You see, the author sent us this story over a year ago, and I eagerly accepted it — then promptly misplaced the story and forgot about its very existence. Imagine my horror when stumbling upon it much, much later! Luckily, the author accepted my mea culpa instead of mailing me a box of scorpions. So I’m still breathing, and here is E.M.’s debut story. Please enjoy.

 

by E.M. Parsons

 

There’s a wonderful lesbian eroticism to women’s and girls’ soccer. I remember attending a game where I saw a hot soccer mom stand behind her pretty daughter, slip her hands inside the collar, and lovingly massage the girl’s neck and shoulders. The adoring look that passed between them, each staring into the eyes of the person they love most in the world, was truly beautiful. This story is inspired by moments like that. I also use names that I like the sound of. Both elements help with the creation of a story, but the events depicted here never happened and the characters are not based on real people. It is a work of complete fantasy.

***

I’ll steal a famous opening line from a novel and say the past is a foreign country, because it’s literally true for me. The line jumped into my mind one April morning as our plane came in to land over Sydney Harbour.

My only child Kaitlyn was beside me. It was just the two of us, her dad having recently passed away after a long battle with cancer. The large insurance payout gave us the means to live independently, so I gave up my job as an English teacher and returned to the city of my birth for a new beginning. I was sad, but also glad to be back home.

“I hope they play soccer here,” Kaitlyn said.

“Your first view of Sydney Harbour, and that’s all you can say?” I asked. “By the way, here it’s football, not soccer.”

“Oh, yeah, I gotta get used to that. Well, do they? Play football, I mean?”

“You know they do. Didn’t the Aussie Matildas play at the World Cup?”

“Yeah, they did.”

“We’ll find a local team for you. After you’ve settled into your new school.”

“Good idea, Mom,” Kaitlyn said. “US women’s soccer – football, damn it! – it’s the best in the world. Any Aussie team would jump at the chance to have me play with them.” She looked out the window and back to me, smiled, and flopped her wrists in front of her chest and bounced on the seat. “Jump like kangaroos, boing, boing.”

“Such a comedian,” I said, and laughed.

***

Turns out the little squirt was right. I spoke to a couple of moms at school pickup and they said their daughters were in a local under-thirteen team and the new season would start soon. The squad was already picked, but one extra place had come available as a girl had broken her leg.

I took Kaitlyn to pre-season training, and after a speedy run with the ball down the wing with her red hair flowing behind, the coach turned to me and nodded. She was in. Could we make the game on Sunday morning? No worries, mate.

Actually, I’d lost my Australian accent a number of years ago. Now it now sounded kinda midwestern American, don’cha know? Coupled with my long blonde hair, I was pure Yank soccer mom to these Australian parents. Everyone looked my way when I shouted encouragement to Kaitlyn on the field, especially the dads.

Kaitlyn and I were walking back to the car at the end of the first game of the season when one of them spoke to me.

“You daughter, she did well today,” he said. He threw his hand out. “Reallyfast.” That’s how he said it, the words stuck together in some kind of European accent.

“Thanks. And your daughter has a great throw.” Earlier, I’d admired his daughter from behind, when the ball went out of play and she launched a powerful throw-in towards the opposing goal. “Her name is Elodie, right?”

“Yes. She and Kaitlyn on the same team is a good thing.”

No doubt he was using the fact that our girls were the two best players in the team as an angle to get more familiar with me. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, but I liked the idea of Kaitlyn having friends like Elodie.

“Well, see you next game?” he said.

“Sure.”

***

The following week it was an away game near the water’s edge with a view over the harbour. It was going to be a warm day and I wore khaki shorts and a t-shirt with a thin white sweater. I loved how that sweater accentuated the curve of my back and the upward tilt of my breasts. I’d put my hair in a high ponytail to show off my tanned neck, and I’d applied just a hint of that Dior perfume I love. Despite our recent bereavement, it was hard not to be happy on a morning with such a view over the harbour. I felt good. And for the first time in ages, sexy.

Elodie’s dad came over and stood next to me on the sideline. Of course he did.

“Oh, hi again,” he said.

“Hi.”

“I’m Michel, by the way.”

I nodded towards him. “Jen.”

The ball went out of play beside us. His daughter was nearest the sideline and he ran to retrieve the ball and hand it to her. “There you go, ma chérie, long throw.”

The pretty girl looked at him, then at me, and smiled. My brain immediately went into story mode. There’s just her and Dad. His wife died tragically young. Cancer too, probably. They’ve been through terrible grief but they are strong, and now he feels ready for another relationship. It’s what his late wife would have wanted. But it’s hard being a single parent. His best chance of future happiness is to find an attractive parent in a similar situation. He hasn’t seen anyone who might be Kaitlyn’s father, so this American lady and her daughter are probably a single-parent family too. It’s an opportunity – a new wife for him; a new mom and sister for her. Perfect.

The shouts to the girl from her team mates brought me back to reality.

“Elodie! Elodie! El-oo-dee!”

Elodie threw the ball to Kaitlyn, who chipped it over the defence, sprinted ahead and took possession again. She side-stepped the goalkeeper and blasted the ball into the top of the net. The team and supporters screamed with joy as Elodie and Kaitlyn embraced.

They won easily in the end, and once again Michel took the opportunity to chat as we walked back towards our cars. Elodie and Kaitlyn went ahead.

“You enjoying the Aussie autumn weather, Jen?” Michel asked. “Or should I say fall?”

“It’s okay, I understand. I grew up here. And yes, I am enjoying it. Looks like we’ll get to use the pool for a little longer.” We walked on and I nodded towards him and his daughter. “So you’re French?”

“Yes. Elodie’s mother and I ‘ave been here fifteen years now.”

Hmm. So much for my vivid imagination. My new acquaintance clearly wasn’t in the market for a new mommy for his daughter. Just as well – I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. “Ah, and such a pretty name for a pretty girl,” I said.

He smiled. “Thank you. We wish we had a pool. We once did, but I lost my job and we had to sell our house, so we’re in an apartment now. Elodie wants a house again, but I’ve told her it will have to wait until I have a job.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Kaitlyn and Elodie were waiting for us to catch up. “Can Elodie come over for a play date this week?” Kaitlyn asked. “She doesn’t have a pool.”

“Well, how about Friday afternoon after school? As long as it’s okay with her dad?” I said.

“Sure,” he said, then gave me a wry smile. “I promise you, we did not set that up.”

I turned to my daughter. “Okay, Friday afternoon it is. Elodie’s dad and I will swap phone numbers. And Elodie, I guess you should bring your swimming costume. The forecast is that this good weather is going to last.”

“That sounds great. Thank you,” Michel said.

“Thanks, Kaitlyn’s mum,” a beaming Elodie said.

“No problem,” I said, slightly taken aback by the way Elodie looked at me just then. She was a real cutie, ever so slightly olive-skinned, green-eyed and gorgeously French with an Australian accent. Oh my God.

We got to our car first, put Kaitlyn’s gear in the back and said goodbye. As we drove towards the exit, I waved as we passed Michel and Elodie as they got into a little car that had seen better days.

“They seem nice,” I said.

“They do. I hope me and Elodie get to be friends,” Kaitlyn said.

“It would be good for you to have a friend who doesn’t go to the same school,” I said.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I noticed Michel and Elodie chatting as they watched us drive away. Were they having a similar conversation?

***

Unable to concentrate on my book, I shifted about on the lounger, trying to get comfortable. I’d left my reading glasses upstairs in the bedroom and that didn’t help, but it was the sight of Kaitlyn and Elodie playing in the pool that had really distracted me.

I’d been hit pretty hard by post-natal depression shortly after Kaitlyn was born, so the desire for a second child just hadn’t been there. I figured there was plenty of time to give her a sibling, but then her dad got sick and, well, that was the end of that. Life doesn’t always give us what we want, and Kaitlyn remained an only child.

Kaitlyn peeked around the door. “Hey, Mom!” she shouted. “What’s up with the downstairs bathroom? Can Elodie use it?”

“No, honey,” I replied. “The plumber needs to come back to fix it next week. She can use the upstairs bathroom. And I’m going to cut up some fruit. Do you guys want some?”

“Okay. And yeah, thanks, Mom.”

In the kitchen I grabbed a cantaloupe, or rockmelon as they call them in Australia, some strawberries and apples, and sliced them on a chopping board. I picked up the board, then immediately placed it back on the bench top when I remembered my reading glasses were upstairs and I should fetch them first.

I was just entering my bedroom as Elodie emerged from the bathroom. “Oh,” she said, and blushed.

“Hi, honey,” I said.

“Um… Kaitlyn said it was okay to use your bathroom.”

“I think she meant the bathroom over there,” I said, nodding at the door across the hallway. “But the one in my bedroom is fine, too. By the way, I cut up some fruit for you girls. It’s on a platter in the kitchen. Get Kaitlyn to help you carry it outside.”

She reddened with embarrassment as she rushed past me and out of the room.

When I picked up my glasses from the bedside table, I noticed something odd: my clothes were still on the bed, but not how I’d left them when I undressed. I always fold my panties and bra and place them on top of my other clothes. Just a little obsessive-compulsive habit of mine. But I could see the bra on the bed, and my panties were no longer folded. Had Elodie picked them up?

I walked to the window and angled the shutters in such a way that I could see down to the pool, but no one below could see me. Kaitlyn and Elodie had taken the fruit platter and placed it on a table on the patio next to the pool. I watched them pick pieces of fruit and eat. Mostly, I watched Elodie. Had that little minx played with my underwear when she was in the room? My heart throbbed with the possibility that she’d done exactly that. Did she pick up my bra, press it to her face and imagine she was sucking my tits? Had she covered her nose and mouth with my knickers to breathe in my scent?

“Oh, God!” I moaned, shoving a hand between my legs. Why the fuck did I think it would be any different back in Australia? Changing countries wouldn’t make my perverted thoughts disappear.

It wasn’t just Kaitlyn’s friends back in the States who affected me this way. Like Sarah and Grace, or darling Kate, who fell in love with me. No, it would happen with pretty young things anywhere, especially those who liked me a lot. I related easily to little girls, and often ended up being an older friend to them. It’s the kind of thing a normal adult would think of as a part of growing up. And I would play along, like I did when Kate’s mom mentioned that her daughter had a huge crush on me. I remember I put a hand to my mouth and said, “Oh, bless her heart, that’s so cute!”

What Kate’s mom didn’t know was how I’d rushed home afterwards, dashed up to my bedroom, locked the door and gave myself a screaming orgasm, thinking of that gorgeous dark-haired girl and her pale little bottom peeking out of her denim shorts. Some nights I’d cry myself to sleep with shame and longing, squeezing a pillow while fantasizing of Kate or some girl like her, naked and in my arms. And oh, the hypocrisy – never once have I thought about my own daughter that way, and I’d kill anyone who did. But I couldn’t help myself when it came to other people’s pretty girls.

I walked over to the bedroom door and locked it. There was no chance anyone was going to get in to interrupt. I could see the girls below, but that click was my way of allowing my dirty thoughts to come out into the open. No limits.

Moving back to the window, I slipped my bikini bottoms off while looking down at Elodie. Then the top. I brought my hands up to my tits and weighed them. “Is this what you wanted, my darling?” I whispered down to Elodie. “Did you pick my bra up sweetie? Did you put it to your nose and imagine your mouth on my nipples? Did you imagine sucking them, gorgeous girl?”

“Ohhhhhh!” I toyed with my clit while watching her. SO fucking cute in that small black bikini. The tiny bumps of her nipples at the front, and oh God, that sweet little butt. How good would it be to undress her? My tongue would explore all over her sweet little body. She would taste divine, I just knew it.

My excitement rose as I watched Elodie take a bite of cantaloupe, and I thought of eating fruit off her body. Oh God, from inside her! I would put a strawberry inside that sweet, creamy slit and suck it out.

I dropped to my knees, still able to see over the window frame and through the slats. I had a good view of Elodie’s bottom, and I quivered with excitement when an especially obscene thought entered my mind. I would take a delicious thick finger of semi-hard cantaloupe and push it into her gorgeous bum until there was only a little piece sticking out. Then I’d lie on my back and get the little darling to squat over my face and release it into my mouth.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh!” My fingers were a blur on my clit as I lay back in the position I wanted to be in my fantasy, under her, quivering on the carpet. I would reach up and grab her hips after she’d pushed the melon out, pull her down to cover her rosebud with my mouth. I would push my tongue inside and suck the sweet juice out.

Pushing a finger into my own anus, I went over the edge with this deliciously filthy thought. I screamed and squirted all over the wall underneath the blinds, shaking like a leaf, moaning, whispering, “Oh yes, oh yes,” over and over.

Yes, I told myself, thrilled to have let myself go, embraced my deepest desire and celebrated it.

What amazed me was how I managed to act completely normal afterwards, even when Elodie’s dad came around later to pick her up and it was time to say goodbye.

“So, we will see you at the weekend on Gala Day, Jen?” Michel asked me.

“What’s that?” I replied.

“It is where all the club’s teams ‘ave a mini-tournament in one day. The players are, how you say, random picked into teams. Each team plays four games – fifteen minutes each half and a fifteen-minute break in between.”

I gave a thoughtful nod. “It sounds like fun. What do you think, Kaitlyn?”

“I want to do it,” Kaitlyn said.

“It is fun,” Elodie said. “I hope you both come.”

“Oh, we will,” I said.

***

On Gala Day I stood on the sideline and watched Kaitlyn walk up to me, looking glum.

“Elodie’s not on my team,” she said.

“Oh, not to worry, dear. When is your first game?”

“In five minutes.”

Michel and Elodie walked towards us.

“I will be referee in Kaitlyn’s game,” Michel said.

“They get the parents to help out too?”

“Yes. But our girls are not on the same team. Unfortunately.”

“I heard,” I said.

“Elodie will ‘ave to wait,” Michel said. “Her team’s first game is after this one.” He pointed to the playing field.

Elodie glanced at me, also looking a little sad, and walked away.

Five minutes into Kaitlyn’s game, I remembered I hadn’t had coffee yet. I’d parked the car next to a toilet block at the edge of the playing fields with a café nearby. I’d have time to go grab a cappuccino and still catch the second half.

As I walked past the toilet block, I noticed a single-roomed unisex disabled toilet on the side – the male and female facilities were at the back. The door was partly open, and there was a sink and mirror inside. It was an opportunity I decided to go for. The slim pretty blonde teen with the glasses might be working at the café today. I’d want to look my best if she was there.

After a quick check of my makeup, hair and lip gloss, I turned to leave, then started. Elodie was there, standing in the doorway. She looked so fucking gorgeous in her shorts and jersey and her hair tied back in a tight ponytail.

“Oh, hi, Elodie,” I said.

“Hi,” she replied.

“All yours. I only came in to wash my hands.”

A blush spread across Elodie’s beautiful face. “No, I’ve just been.” She tilted her head in the direction of the women’s toilets.

“Oh, okay.”

As I moved past her towards the door, I noticed she kept her head down, as if unable to meet my gaze. Something was up with her. “Are you all right, Elodie?”

She looked at me, nodded and bowed her head again.

“You don’t look all right. Are you sure everything’s okay?” I was trying to act the role of a responsible adult, but now I could sense what was going on, and it made me tremble inside.

I’d better explain. At the age of twelve, I’d fallen in love with my mom’s friend Rachel. She was so beautiful and Jewish, dark-haired and sophisticated. I loved my mom, but ached to be Rachel’s little girl, her only child who she pampered and adored. She would be my special mommy who would undress me and bathe me and cuddle me naked in her bed and love me all night. At nighttime I would fondle myself while caught up in sexual fantasies of Rachel. Then afterward, I’d sob with longing for her.

Now, years later, I had a strong suspicion that I was Elodie’s Rachel; that she was in love with me.

It’s hard for me to admit this, but my first thought was that I’d just stumbled onto a golden opportunity,  one I’d be a fool to pass up. If I walked away now, how many nights would I spend cursing myself, reduced to masturbating furiously, fantasizing of what might have been?

It wasn’t all about my selfish desires, mind you. Right then and there I had the power to make both our dreams come true.

There was an OUT OF ORDER sign in the corner. Picking it up, I eased past Elodie and placed it outside. I had a quick look to make sure no one was around, then closed the door from the inside and locked it.

I took Elodie’s hand. “Let’s have a chat, honey. No one will bother us here.”

I felt her shiver as I led her towards the sink and mirror. She was tall for her age, so she only had to look up a little when we stood and faced each other. I lifted her chin so we could stare into each other’s eyes.

“Would you like a hug?” I asked.

Elodie nodded. I embraced her, nuzzling her hair just above the ear. She clung to me and moaned.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.”

I stroked her cheek with the backs of my fingers, then briefly touched my lips to Elodie’s forehead. Her beautiful round face was flushed with excitement. Unable to resist a sudden impulse, I bent down to kiss her on the lips.

Elodie sighed, and I caught the sweet scent of her breath as I teased my tongue into her hot little mouth. It was a brief but extremely potent kiss.

“You are so beautiful,” I said.

“I – I love you,” Elodie said.

I held on to her slim waist to stop her from swooning. “My darling girl,” I said. “You know something? I’m falling in love with you too.”

I hugged Elodie again. This time I felt her lips press into my ear. “You smell so good,” she whispered.

“It’s my favourite perfume,” I said. “It’s very expensive and I don’t wear it every day, but I will for you, my love. Every time I know I’m going to see you, I’ll wear it.”

I kissed the top of her head and rocked her gently as we hugged. Then I eased back and looked at her beautiful face again. My kiss lingered on her soft pink lips and I kept an affectionate hand on her waist. She looked down to the exposed cleavage above my low-cut sweater.

“Would you like to see them?” I asked.

She nodded.

I lifted the sweater over my head, pausing to hang it on the door of one of the toilet stalls, then reached back to unhook my bra. Elodie gasped when I eased it off to expose my full, creamy tits.

“You can touch them. Even kiss them, if you like.”

Elodie raised both hands to touch my right breast, her eyes wide in awe. She looked so utterly adorable at that moment as she bent to take my nipple into her mouth. I could tell she was unsure what to do next, so she just did what came naturally and sucked on it.

I gazed down at her as she mouthed the stiffening tip of my breast, her eyes half-closed. Had she dreamt of doing this to me? Could she be reliving the experience of nursing from her mother?

“Oh, my darling, I wish I had milk for you,” I whispered. She didn’t reply, just gave a contented hum.

I reached down to withdraw the long nipple from between Elodie’s lips. It came away stiff, erect and trailing saliva. “Now the other one,” I told her, then fed her my left breast.

I arched my back and moaned, feeling a mini-orgasmic shiver as the eager, wet tugging continued. I had an utterly disgraceful thought of having another baby and giving it up for adoption, just so I could feed this darling girl my milk instead.

She was about to make me come just from sucking my nipples. I didn’t want that to happen yet, so I eased her mouth away and reached up to toy with her earlobe. Elodie shivered and pressed her face against my hand.

“There’s something of yours I’d like to see,” I said. “It’s a little naughty.”

She peered up at me, wide-eyed. “What is it?”

“You have the cutest bottom. Could you show it to me?”

Elodie smiled. “Sure.”

She turned her back to me, put both hands on her waist and slowly, tantalisingly eased her shorts and panties down. She bent forward to remove them from over her football boots, then blushed as she looked back at me.

My heart thumped and I felt a weakness in my legs. “Good girl,” I said. I reached out to stroke an adorable little butt cheek as Elodie placed both hands on the sink and looked back over her shoulder at me, bending slightly as if putting herself on display. The jersey, boots and socks were still on, but her sweet little bum was fully exposed for my admiration. It was so fucking erotic.

I moved forward and embraced her from behind. “Honey, I have a blanket in the car. If I bring it back here and spread it out on the floor, will you lie down with me? I’d love to cuddle you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, turning to face me, a shy hand covering her sex.

“Stand by the door and keep it locked until I get back. I’ll knock three times.”

I snatched up my sweater and wriggled back into it, then opened the door, dashed outside and around the corner to the car. Unlocking it with trembling hands, I grabbed the blanket and raced back to the toilet with my heart thumping, tits jiggling loose. It was fucking nuts, letting myself get caught up in something like this, but I couldn’t stop now.

Three small knocks. “It’s me, honey.”

Elodie opened the door. I darted inside, slammed the door and locked it again. She leaned back against the sink, still self-consciously concealing her pussy with one hand.

I spread the blanket on the ground, then took her in my arms. She clung to me.

“Kaitlyn’s game will go on for a while, so she and your dad won’t be looking for us any time soon,” I said. “How about we take all our clothes off? Would you like that? Getting naked with me?”

Elodie stared at me with love. “I think I would,” she said, a slight quaver in her voice.

My sweater was off again in an instant, and I kicked off my shoes and eased my jeans and underwear down. I reached forward to touch the hem of Elodie’s jersey and she lifted her arms. She blushed when I helped her remove her adorable little sports bra. “I haven’t really got boobies,” she said, frowning at her flat chest.

“Don’t be embarrassed, honey, you’re gorgeous. And you can leave your boots on.” It would be too inconvenient to take them off anyway, given the limited time we had. I got so excited when she showed me her ass, but the sight of her stark naked but for boots and socks was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I also adored the bashful way her hand occasionally wandered between her legs to cover herself. I caught glimpses of her precious little slit and shivered with excitement when I realized I’d get to taste it.

I took her hand. “Come on, baby, let’s lie down.”

We knelt down on the blanket, then lay on our sides to face each other. I traced my fingertips along her arm and down to her waist, then rested my hand there. “You’re such a beautiful girl.” I leaned forward and kissed her again. Her eyelids fluttered nervously and her sweet breath came in shivers. “Lie on your back, darling, and stick out your tongue for me.”

She dutifully obeyed, and I leaned forward and sucked the delicious wet pinkness. Elodie moaned and I stuck my own tongue out. The sweet girl didn’t hesitate, raising her head to suck on mine. We drifted together in a kiss that immediately grew hot and passionate.

I kissed her chin and trailed my lips down her neck, accompanied by tiny, playful nibbles. Elodie moaned and arched her back when I traced her ear with the tip of the tongue, then I murmured, “You’re so fucking gorgeous. I love you.”

“I – I love you too!” Elodie cried, hugging me tightly with both arms. “So, so, SO much!”

I slipped my tongue into the child’s ear, nibbled playfully at the lobe, then down the elegant column of her neck, leaving behind a trail of kisses until reaching Elodie’s chest. She gave a little “Ah!” when I lightly licked her puffy little nipple. I circled the tiny bud, causing it to stiffen, then darted across to do the same to the other, sucking it until she squealed. Unwinding Elodie’s arm from around my body, I raised it above her head and licked her smooth armpit.

“Oh, wow,” she moaned.

Then I kissed my way back to the centre of Elodie’s chest, and set off on my journey downward. My tongue flicked into Elodie’s delectable little belly button, probing it like I’d done with her ear. My body slid onto the coolness of the tiled floor, which probably hadn’t been cleaned in at least a week, but right then I couldn’t care less. I was a woman on a mission, my tongue now below Elodie’s belly, getting steadily closer to my prize. She was shivering with excitement as she realized where I was going.

“Ease your legs apart for me, love,” I said, and when those slender limbs parted, I positioned myself between them. I reached beneath her thighs to grasp each one, then brought them closer to my face. I tasted the soft skin of Elodie’s inner thigh, then moved in until what I wanted was right there, close enough for me to feel its warmth.

What a perfect age she was. Old enough to be aware of her sweet little sex, but young enough for it to still be flawlessly smooth. She was a delicate flower, ready to be plucked.

I drew a deep breath, sampling Elodie’s scent. The aroma promised sweetness. And when my tongue made contact, that promise was fulfilled – she was absolutely delicious. I licked a path from the top to the bottom of the girl’s baby-smooth slit.

I had to whisper as I explored her. “So beautiful. So luscious. Look at what you have. Let me taste it. Yes, it’s okay to moan, my love – no one will hear, that’s it. Oh God, you taste so good. Did you have a pee before you came in here, my sweet?”

“Yes,” the darling girl whispered back.

“I can taste it, I love it. Do you shower every day, and change your panties?”

“Yes, Maman says I must.”

“Of course she does.”

Was her French mother a stickler for cleanliness? She must have been – there was a freshness to Elodie’s sex that was downright intoxicating. I’d never tasted a sweeter pussy. I played around her clitoris with tiny swipes of the tongue, but not too much – I meant to take my sweet time pleasuring her. Instead, I pressed my index and middle fingers to each side of those sweet lips and gently parted them. They eased open with the most delicious wet sound, and I licked inside the exposed pinkness to make her even juicier. “So precious,” I whispered.

It didn’t seem right for me to penetrate her there with my finger. Not yet. So I eased myself along the blanket until my face was level with Elodie’s once more. I kissed her, and she responded just as I hoped, shyly extending her tongue to meet mine. Such a quick learner.

“Would you like to touch me, angel?”

“Um, I think so.”

“Good girl.” I took Elodie’s hand and guided it to my trimmed pussy. “There you go. Feel how warm it is. And wet. Yes, further down. Put two fingers in me, sweetie, and you’ll make me even wetter.”

I helped her get those fingers inside, then arched my back, dizzy with pleasure. “Oh, sweet Jesus, yes, Elodie, you’re incredible.” By then, my clit was begging for attention, so I began to tweak it with my free hand, using the other to show my little lover how to fuck me. “Good girl, feel how slippery it is, how easy it is to push in and out? Don’t be afraid – go in as far as you can.”

She began to saw her arm back and forth, hesitantly at first. “Um, like this?”

“Fuck, yes. Now do it fast, fast as you can.”

My clit rubbing became frantic as Elodie plunged her fingers in and out, in and out. I felt an orgasm build and my breath came in gasps. “You, you’re s-so beautiful, Elodie. D-don’t – oh, God, don’t stop!” I stammered.

Then, oh, my goodness. This little honey made me come so hard I nearly swooned. I was shuddering and moaning, groping my breasts. It was clear that I was going to squirt, so I drew back enough to avoid drenching Elodie with my juices. Then the final ecstasy was upon me, rising to an unimaginable peak, culminating in a violent jerk, a deep moan and a gush of womanly fluids.

I collapsed, with just enough remaining strength to take Elodie in my arms.

“Did you pee?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said. “It’s something some women do when they have sex and get especially excited. It isn’t  pee, but it comes from the same place.”

Her brow was slightly furrowed. “Is that what we just did? Have sex?”

“Oh, yes, my darling.” I kissed her. “Did you like it?”

Elodie slowly nodded. “Yes, very much. I liked it when you, um, put your mouth on me down there. And the kissing; that was nice. Also, I liked giving you good feelings.”

I gazed at her lovingly, well aware that she had yet to come herself. And I had some very definite thoughts about how to make that happen….

“I want to give you those good feelings, my love,” I told her. “But I’d like to do it a special way.”

“What sort of–”

There was a sudden commotion of thudding boots and girls’ voices just outside the door.

I placed a finger over Elodie’s lips before she could finish. “Sssh. Let’s wait for them to go.”

I continued to cradle her in my arms, nuzzling the child’s sweet-smelling hair. Then those boots abruptly clumped away, accompanied by fading girls’ voices, then silence.

Finally, I felt secure enough to speak. “There is something I’d like to do to you, honey. It’s kind of naughty, like before.”

“What is it?”

“I’d like you to turn over and lie on your tummy.”

“Okay.”

The gorgeous girl shifted onto her front. I eased Elodie’s ponytail to one side and gently massaged her shoulders. “You have such beautiful skin.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I scooted up until I was on all fours above her, resting my mound on her angel-soft bottom, then I leaned down to her ear. “I said I wanted to lick you everywhere, remember?”

“Y-yes,” the child replied, already quivering in anticipation.

I briefly sucked Elodie’s earlobe before moving to kiss the back of her neck, then began a long sensuous journey, trailing my tongue down her spine. I eased my body down the length of hers, shifting position as I licked lower and lower.

The dip of her lower back was heaven, and my heart was thumping like crazy. The curve rose until I  reached the top of her buttocks, where there was a delicious hint of saltiness around her tail bone. Elodie’s breath was coming in quiet shudders, and I knew she had to be wondering what I intended to do to her next. I already knew the answer, and the thought of it made my heart gallop even faster.

The first time I saw Elodie take a throw-in, what I admired most wasn’t just her technique, her legs or the backs of her knees. No, there was something else I craved – the thing I’ve always wanted when it comes to pretty girls. One final push downwards brought her pert little bottom to within inches of my face. I kissed one cheek, then the other, sliding my hands down to grasp her thighs. “Let me spread your legs a little, sweetie. There you go.”

My hands rested once again on those tender cheeks. “Do you have something for me here, angel? A little jewel? A precious ruby?” I pressed into her buttocks and slowly, slowly parted them.

There it was. Her perfect little anus. “Oh, baby girl, you do. Look at this. Oh, my, it’s beautiful.” I leaned forward, pressed my nose against the tight brown orifice and inhaled deeply. Elodie whimpered, then a choked cry escaped her lips when I thrust my tongue forward, sliding the tip into her rectum.

It was nasty. It was delicious. The thick aroma, the sour taste and the surprised gasp Elodie gave, no doubt stunned to have a grown woman lick her back there – this was what I craved. I thought of all those years of secretly being in love with girls, then occasionally having them fall in love with me. It had been sheer torture, knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing about my feelings, or theirs. I was a mother, an ex-wife, a former teacher who was very good at her job, and what I wanted more than anything was to do this forbidden thing to a pretty little girl. To inspect her most secret place. To worship it. A perverted lesbian fantasy, one I couldn’t share with anyone. Ever.

Only now, in this place far away from my old life, I’d been given the opportunity to do just that. My twisted, beautiful dream was about to come true with Elodie. I forced my tongue into her again.

Elodie raised her head to moan, “Ohhhhhhh!”

I paused my licking. “Is it good?”

“Oh, God.”

“I know, I know.” I collected a gob of saliva in my mouth and spat it on her rosebud. The rudeness of the act turned me on even more. I used the tip of my index finger to rub the spit around the tight knot of Elodie’s anus.

“I want to put my finger in there, honey. If we go slow, it won’t hurt. Okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Push back against my finger, sweetie, and try to relax.”

I felt the sphincter muscle contract, then grip and suck the digit inside.

“Oh, yes, Elodie. Such a good girl.”

I penetrated her up to the knuckle. There I could feel the girl’s pulse, her rising excitement. Then I began to slowly go in and out. I pushed my long, manicured finger even further inside, past the tight anal ring and into the warm butter of her colon.

This dirty scenario had me trembling all over, beside myself with arousal. The sheer dirtiness of what I was doing to such an adorable young girl made me feel so fucking good. I probed her to the core, my finger as deep as it could go.

“Oh,” Elodie moaned. “Ohhhh, yes. Yes. So g-good.” She gave a shiver of ecstasy, her anal ring gripping my finger.

I was aflame with lust, aching with the need to come again. Once again, I reached down to toy with my clit, gazing in awe at Elodie’s ass. I moved closer to kiss a flawless buttock, but resisted an impulse to give it a playful bite. Maybe next time.

Elodie’s body was pumping on the blanket, gasping, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,” then she suddenly stiffened and cried out loud. “Ahhhhhhhh!”

My God, I’d given her an anal orgasm. I’d only experienced that once or twice myself. The thought of making Elodie come in such a lewd way; the reality of this deep, dark fantasy playing out before my eyes; the certainty that she’d never felt anything even remotely like it, the knowledge that I’d just made this underage girl my lesbian lover – all these things came together to overwhelm me completely. Like a bolt from the blue, I came again, twitching and wailing and out of control. I peaked with a sharp scream, and this time I didn’t fucking care if anyone heard me or not.

I lay on the floor for a good minute with my finger still buried in Elodie’s rectum while we both recovered, sinking into a warm, post-orgasmic glow. Then I eased myself back up and patted her bottom with my free hand, murmuring, “I’m going to take my finger out now, sweetie.”

“Um, all right.”

I carefully withdrew from Elodie, then took her in my arms. “I hope you’re okay with me doing that to you, sweetie.”

“No one has ever touched me there before,” she replied.

“I’m glad I got to be the first,” I said, caressing her face. “Now we have to put our clothes on and get back to the game, before your dad and Kaitlyn start wondering where we are. If it was up to me, though, I’d spend the whole day here with you.”

“I would like that,” Elodie said. “Can we do this again some time?”

“I’d love to, angel, but we have to keep it completely secret. You can’t tell anyone else about this. You know the two of us aren’t supposed to be doing these things, don’t you?”

“I know,” Elodie said. She glanced down at my boobs, then gently cupped one. “But I cannot do anything about how I feel.” Her eyes met mine. “I love you, Jen.”

I could have cried. Instead I said, “Oh my precious, I love you, too. Tell you what, when I see you again, I’ll put my fingers on my earlobe, like this, and play with it. Then you’ll know I’m thinking of your sweet body and the very naughty things I want to do with you.”

She broke into a grin. “And I will put my hand on my hip when I look at you, so you will then know I’m thinking of things we can do together,” Elodie said. “Next time I want to use my mouth on you, just as you did for me.”

Oh, my goodness. I was sorely tempted to throw caution to the winds and have her go down on me there and then, but common sense prevailed, thank God. “I’d love that, sweetie. Listen, what if I spoke to your father about you and Kaitlyn having another play date? Then we could see each other, and maybe get a chance to kiss and cuddle and touch each other while Kaitlyn is doing something else.”

“I want to do that, yes!” Elodie exclaimed with a huge smile.

“Okay.” Getting to my feet, I reached down to take Elodie’s hand and help her up. We gathered up our clothes and began to dress. Once we were done, I studied her, then brushed a few hints of dust from her jersey.

“There you go, young lady. Go out there and warm up for your game. I’ll follow you in a minute.”

I led her to the door and just before I opened it, we embraced again. Unable to resist, I placed both hands on Elodie’s waist, then eased one down inside her shorts to cup that warm little slit. “I’ll think about this part of you a lot. I wish I could cover it all day like this. Protect it.”

Elodie gave a little sigh of pleasure. “Oh, Jen.”

I allowed my other hand to slip down the back to her sweet cheeks, easing a finger between them to caress her rosebud. “And I wish I could touch and kiss you here whenever I liked.”

“I’ll think of you in bed later,” Elodie said. “All night long. I will pretend you are there with me. Maybe I will touch myself while I have thoughts of you.”

We shared one last passionate kiss, then I opened the door and had a quick glance around. “Okay, the coast is clear. Go on, my darling.”

I patted Elodie on the bottom, and she set off toward the playing field. I followed behind a moment later, watching the way her gorgeous little bum moved in her shorts as we made our way back to the game.

***

Kaitlyn turned to me when we were in the car. “Is it okay if I listen to music, Mom?”

I looked over and noticed she was already wearing her earbuds. “Sure, go ahead.”

My daughter settled in for the ride and I drove on, thinking about the future and its possibilities. With my teacher qualifications I could easily get work in Australia. I’d seen all those private schools on the Pacific Highway. Private schools, for girls only. Hundreds of teenage nymphs together in the same place, with a mostly female staff. For me, the stuff of dreams.

I placed my right arm against the window while steering with the left. I’d been away so long that it still felt odd to drive from the right side of the car on the left side of the road, but I’d be completely used to it in a few weeks. It was a more natural way for a right-hander to drive anyhow. A quick glance at Kaitlyn confirmed she wasn’t looking, so I took the finger I’d used to probe Elodie and held it under my nose.

Now I had a plan. Kaitlyn and I would arrange play dates, so I’d get to see my darling Elodie again. Maybe we’d only get to make love every now and then, but I’d make each time special. I’d get a job in a good school and constantly be in the presence of young girls. Girls from good families, who took care of their bodies and always wore clean knickers. Some of the little darlings would fall in love with me, and this time I would give them what they wanted.

I shivered with wicked pleasure as I slipped that finger into my mouth to suck, making sure I kept my eyes on the road. Kaitlyn, bless her, didn’t notice a thing.

I was going to put an end to merely dreaming of and yearning for pretty girls. No, from now on I would indulge my appetite; embrace their love and make them mine. This was a new home, a fresh start – and I would do things differently here.

The End

The Story Thus Far

Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.

Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.

Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.

Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.

Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops. 

Chapter Six: Nettie has a heart-to-heart with Hannah about her personal demons. Later, she gets a call from Agent Bridgett Ramscone, who has an unsettling request: for Nettie to go through the documentation of her own childhood kidnapping — and the murder of her sister — as a possible way to gain insight into the abduction of Heather and Gina (who are still being emotionally abused by their kidnapper, but are also taking steps to escape). Nettie is shaken, but agrees to do what she can. 

Chapter Seven: Many years after the fact, submerged memories of Nettie’s kidnapping began to make themselves known — memories of a possible accomplice to the original crime. She shares her thoughts with Bridgett. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina work on a potential escape from their makeshift prison.

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by Rachael Yukey

Somebody save me tonight
I’m ready and willing to fight

Uriah Heep, 2023

Nettie didn’t know why she couldn’t stop staring at the photo of a dirt road. It was almost seven AM, and she’d been flipping through case files on her laptop for the better part of two hours. No epiphanies seemed forthcoming, but something about this one picture kept calling her back.

Heather and Gina Dulcey, along with their unknown captor, had been tracked a little over a mile through the woods by police dogs. The scent had gone cold when it crossed paths with a lightly traveled dirt road leading from the highway to a remote fishing spot, the obvious inference being that the perp had loaded the girls into a waiting car, then hauled them off to who the fuck knew where.

The photo in question depicted the wretched dirt trail at the point where the scent had been lost, in hopes of identifying the vehicle’s model based on tire tracks left in the dust. Unfortunately, there were four discernable sets of tracks, none of them the same. All four vehicles appeared to have driven all the way to the lake, turned around, and made their way back to civilization. It seemed a complete dead end, yet every time Nettie pulled it up she felt something nibbling at her subconscious.

Giving her head a hard shake, she flipped to a new file with an angry stab of a finger, promising herself she wasn’t going to waste another single second on this stupid picture of tire tracks.

Then she froze in place, her mouth hanging slack. Just a goddamned minute…

It took a full thirty seconds for her hands to catch up with her brain. She called up that same image again, zooming in on one particular set of tracks. Switching to her file browser, she opened the case file for her own abduction all those years ago. A trembling hand blindly scooped her phone from the end table.

“Ramscone here. Are you feeling better, Nettie?”

“I’m fine, Bridgett. Do you know if anyone was able to get a range of what car models might have made the tracks? You know; on the road where the dogs lost the scent. That info isn’t in the files you sent me.”

“Um—” The clatter of a computer keyboard emanated from the other end of the line. “Hold on a minute.” Nettie opened her mouth to speak, but too late. Bridgett’s voice was replaced by a fuzzy-sounding orchestral arrangement of some fucking 70’s rock hit that Nettie couldn’t quite put a name to. She waited long moments, fingers drumming impatiently on the arm of her chair. It was almost two full minutes before the irritatingly familiar tune cut out.

“Sorry, I had to make a quick phone call to get that,” said Bridgett. “There’s not much to go on. They got the measurements, but all those tracks could have been made by a fairly wide range of vehicles. Why?”

“You put me on hold before I was finished,” said Nattie. “I’m looking at a set of tracks that’s a little closer together than the others. Narrow vehicle, narrow tires. To me that screams little shit-car from the 70’s or 80’s. One of those Japanese deathtraps that starts rusting if you overspray it with a garden hose. What I was about to ask before you put me on hold is if you could find out whether those tracks matched the footprint of a 1981 Datsun 210.”

“Why a Datsun 210?”

“Because according to the old case files, Jacob Brentshaw was the registered owner of a 1981 Datsun 210 hatchback. And there were tire tracks at the scene where Anna and I were found that matched the footprint of that car.”

There was a moment’s silence. “The guy I just talked to was going to email me his list of possibilities,” said Bridgett. “Hang on, the message just now landed in my inbox—”

Another silence. “Yep—a Datsun 210 is one of half a dozen different car models those tracks could have been made by.”

Nettie felt a wave of excitement course through her, but that feeling was almost immediately beaten down by a surge of annoyance. “And nobody thinks this is significant?”

“Nettie—” Bridgett ventured cautiously, “I doubt the FBI people have even made that connection. Jacob Brentshaw is dead. His vehicle wasn’t at the scene of the crime when he was apprehended; he rode in on a snowmobile that day. If anyone knows where his car ended up, it’s not in any of the documentation I have. But the thing was ancient even when—”

“So what?” Nettie cut her off. “You sent this stuff to me based on the theory that it’s either a copycat crime, or maybe Brentshaw has an accomplice at large. If it’s a copycat, maybe the perp wanted the same sort of thing he drove. You told me yourself how obsessive those people can be about stuff like that. If it’s an accomplice—hell. For all we know it could be the same fucking car.”

“That should be easy enough to rule out,” Bridgett replied thoughtfully. “We can just trace whether a vehicle with the same VIN has been registered since—”

Nettie snorted. “Are you kidding? Oh, that’s right—you’ve always lived in the metro. Bridgett, I know a guy who forgot to re-register his pickup a few years back, and drove the goddamn thing for almost a year before a cop noticed his tabs were expired. I mean, it’s worth checking, but just because it’s not registered doesn’t mean someone isn’t driving it. Not out here.”

“Hmmm.” Bridgett was silent for so long Nettie began to wonder if the connection had been lost. She was just opening her mouth to speak when Bridgett spoke up again. “Here’s the thing. The FBI grudgingly let me share all this stuff with you, but they’re not taking anything either of us has to say very seriously. This opens up a whole new line of investigation, and they’re not likely to devote resources to pursuing it because, well, they don’t believe in it.”

“Fuck, Bridgett, I’m not sure I believe in it.”

Bridgett sighed. “Me either, but it’s at least as promising as anything else that’s been brought to the table. I’m traveling up north this morning to look things over for myself. Care to join me?”

Nettie sat forward, eyes widening. It was the first time Bridgett had requested her presence to assist with an investigation on the ground. Still—

“I don’t see how you can justify going at all, Bridgett, much less bringing me along. You’re DEA, not—”

“One of my agents up there let slip that we have a lead on whoever was supplying the babysitter with the narcotics that were in her system. We don’t, and to be honest we’re not even really looking, but it gives me an excuse to go poking around. And to bring an assistant. Whaddya say?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m starting a thirty-six hour shift at seven this evening.”

Bridgett sniffed audibly. “Let me call you back in five.”

Pushing herself out of the chair, Nettie made her way down the hall to her bedroom. Nestled in the walk-in closet were a couple of nice old pieces of brown leather luggage that had belonged to her father. Nettie pulled out the smaller of the two, tossed it carelessly onto the bed, and then slipped out of her bathrobe. Rummaging in her dresser, she got into a bra, a plain black long-sleeve shirt, and a pair of comfortable but decent-looking jeans. She then pulled out a few changes of clothes, choosing almost at random. She didn’t know precisely what Bridgett had in mind, but had little doubt that she’d be joining the investigation.

She was unzipping the suitcase with one hand and clutching a fistful of undies in the other when her ringtone went off. Abandoning the zipper, she snatched up her phone.

“You are no longer scheduled to work this evening,” Bridgett said without preamble.

Nettie was not the least bit surprised. “How exactly did you pull that off?”

“A contract medic is on his way to Johnstown to take your place, at our expense.”

“And what did you tell Greg Wahlberg to get him to go along with that?”

“The truth, or at least a heavily abridged version of it. Your boss strikes me as a fundamentally decent guy. Besides, I can be damn persuasive when I want to be.”

Nettie snickered. “Tell me something I don’t know. What’s the plan here, anyway?”

“It’s about a three-hour drive for me to get to Forbes from where I’m sitting right now,” Bridgett replied. “To pick you up would be almost an hour out of my way. But driving on your own, you could be there in ninety minutes. You wanna just do it that way and meet me somewhere? Keep track of your mileage; it’s compensated.”

Five minutes later, Nettie was backing out of her driveway.

***

Heather slams the loose chunk of concrete down on the last, and most stubborn, of the broken pieces embedded in the earth. Raising it again, she strikes once more, a cry of pain emanating from her lips. And feels the damn thing finally give way. The smaller chunk is hurled to the side, and raw, bleeding fingers pry loose the final recalcitrant bit. Then those fingers scrabble at the dirt, pulling away as much loose detritus as they can.

The resulting hole is wider than either her shoulders or Gina’s, but that’s not the problem. It’s the clearance between the hard-packed earth and the first unbroken siding board that concerns her.

“I don’t know if we can dig any deeper,” she mutters in desperation. “The ground underneath is really hard.”

“So we can’t get out?” Gina is crying again.

“I won’t fit. But I think maybe you can.”

Swiping at the tears on her cheeks with grubby fingers, Gina eyes the opening critically. “Maybe. But what about you? What’ll he do to you when he finds out I’m gone?” Her voice rises to a plaintive wail on the last few words.

Shoving her fears down deep, Heather resolutely meets her little sister’s gaze. “Nothing he won’t do to both of us when he gets here and sees we’ve been trying to get out. Just go, Gina. The sun’s up, and he’ll get here soon. I’ll keep digging till he does, but the best thing you can do for me is to find help.”

“But where?” Gina wails.

“I don’t know—stay in the woods. Try to go straight. If you can do that, there’s got to be a highway sooner or later.” Heather’s lived around the forest long enough to know that GIna is just as likely to go in circles until she stumbles into an abandoned mine or gets mauled by a bear or just plain can’t walk anymore. But what are the alternatives? She doesn’t believe for a second that the monster is going to let either of them leave this shed alive.

It takes almost five minutes for Gina, grunting and squirming, to worm her way through the narrow opening. She squeals in pain as Heather pushes on her butt, forcing it the last few centimeters to the other side. Her legs disappear, and a moment later her anxious face is pressed against the hole.

“Heather,” she whimpers, tears flowing freely, “I’m s-scared.”

“Just go, Gina!” Heather urges. “Go before he shows up!”

“Heather, he’s going to hurt you!”

“He would anyway. I’ll keep digging. Gina, go now! Get help for me.”

Gina’s face disappears, but her heartbreaking sobs are still loud in Heather’s ears. With a crunch of leaves, Heather hears the younger girl take her first tentative steps. Then those feet begin to run. The sobs recede. Steeling herself, Heather begins to frantically claw at the dirt with swollen, bleeding fingers.

***

The rusting hulk of the Datsun idles in the center of the dirt trail. A haunted figure wearing a faded green army field jacket from a bygone age raises the hatchback and leans in, coming up a few minutes later with a center-screw jack. The figure ambles to the passenger side of the car, only mildly annoyed by the delay. He has time. He has all the time in the world.

***

“Hey, Antoinette—sorry I missed your call earlier. We had a trauma case at the ER this morning that they needed anesthesia for.” Hannah’s voice boomed from Nettie’s car stereo, through which she’d been blasting Labyrinth at chest-pummeling levels. She hastily cranked back the volume.

“No problem, babe. Everything okay back there?”

“Yeah, or at least it will be. The medic who brought the patient in was kind of a tool, though. Guy named Sam? There were airway management problems, and he gave me some lip when I questioned him on it.”

Nettie sighed. “Yeah, I know. The company hired him last month, over my objections. Send me a write-up, and I’ll make sure it gets addressed.”

“Thanks. So what’d you need? Or could you just not go another minute without hearing my hella sexy voice?”

Nettie laughed. “That too. Look—I’m traveling on that case we were talking about yesterday. I’m about ninety minutes northeast of you right now.”

“Whoa—I thought you were just a consultant. What about your shift tonight?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Guess not. And the shift’s covered. The point is, Hannah, I might be gone for a couple days.”

“I understand. We still on for dinner and tongue exercises this weekend?” A hint of merriment had crept into Hannah’s voice.

Nettie smiled, but only for a moment. “Hannah—”

“Yeah?”

“Look—I totally want to do those things with you this weekend. But maybe something else, too. Would you be willing to drive up to Bronning again? There—there’s something I need to show you. Then tell you about.”

Hannah didn’t hesitate. “Of course I’ll come.”

Nettie slowed as she approached a stop sign, signaling right towards Highway Seven. A glance at the GPS told her she was a mere couple of miles from her destination.

“Thanks, Hannah. Look, I have to go. We’ll talk more soon.”

“Can’t wait.”

Nettie broke the connection as she pulled up to the intersection of Town Lake Road and Highway Seven. Across the highway and to the right was a largish, dilapidated brown building with a low-slung gymnasium-length addition out back, which she recognized from the case files. It had once been an elementary school, then briefly a restaurant, and now an apartment complex. The dirt parking lot contained half a dozen cars, none of them even close to new.

Across the road from that was what appeared to be a long-abandoned gas station, with a structure behind that had probably been a service shop. Beyond that was brushy wasteland, giving way to pine forest about fifty yards in. Except for the trailer park, this was the single largest cluster of buildings in the township of Iron Junction.

Shaking her head, Nettie turned right onto Highway Seven, accelerating smoothly. Once you left the old school behind, there wasn’t much out here. Mostly just evergreens, with clearcuts pockmarking the landscape to make room for the occasional residence. On her left passed a post office and an auto repair shop, each standing on its own, incongruous against the backdrop of trees. After two miles of this, her GPS informed her that the next turn was Keenan Lake Road.

Nettie pulled off onto the shoulder, right turn signal flashing, and came to a stop. Resting both hands on the wheel, she closed her eyes, thick black hair pressed against the headrest. There was no particular reason to turn off into the trailer park from which the Dulcey girls had been taken. She could continue in the direction she was already headed, and in about twenty minutes she would reach the city of Virginia, where she and Bridgett had arranged to meet for lunch.

But Bridgett was almost two hours behind her, so she might as well get a feel for the scene while she waited. Not that she had the first fucking clue how a proper investigative procedure was carried out, but what could it hurt to take a quick look around? She opened her eyes, took her foot off the brake, and turned the wheel to the right.

Keenan Lake Road was essentially a long hill with a moderate slope, a couple of houses tucked into the pine trees on either side. At the crest of the hill and to the left was the trailer park.

Nettie idled her Kia slowly around the outside of the ramshackle community, marveling at its state of disrepair. The trailer park back in Bronning was a pit, but this place was a whole new level of ghetto. Over half the homes, she judged, were unoccupied, as evidenced by weed-choked front walks and broken windows. Several add-on enclosed porches had collapsed into unusability, and strips of aluminum siding hung precariously. If she’d had to guess, not a single trailer in the park was less than forty years old. The only person she saw as she circled the place was an elderly woman sitting in a lawn chair, idly stroking a cat. She raised her hand as Nettie drove by. Nettie waved back.

On the far side of the park, kitty-cornered at the opposite end from the entrance, was the lot in which the abduction had taken place. Nettie approached hesitantly, lowering her speed to a crawl while still several lots away. The trailer was a shortish blue-on-white affair, probably no more than two bedrooms, as shabby and ill-kept as any of the other still-habitable units she’d passed. A few well-worn toys dotted the poorly maintained lawn; a plastic table and tea service, a couple of bikes.

Nettie blinked as her eyes fell on the car in the driveway. The rust-eaten Honda was of a design hearkening back to the eighties, and Nettie wondered if its narrow wheelbase and tires might just fit the profile of the tracks that had precipitated her presence here.

But as quickly as this line of thinking occurred to her, she abandoned it. The mother’s whereabouts were thoroughly vouched for at the babysitter’s estimated time of death, and most of the period before and after. First by a roomful of fellow barflies, then by the man she’d left the bar with and his roommates. Mom was in the clear.

Nettie allowed the car to drift past the corner lot without coming to a halt, easing right to follow the gentle turn. She couldn’t think of any compelling reason to stop. Now on the downhill side of the park, she noted there were no lots to her left. That side remained wooded, no doubt owing to a steep drop just a few yards inside of the tree line, which she knew from the satellite footage terminated on the shores of Keenan Lake.

Fixing her eyes on the side streets to her right, Nettie focused her attention on the handful of vehicles parked in the driveways. With some dismay, she noted that several of them were of similar character to the ancient smurf-blue heap behind her at the Dulcey girls home. Aged compacts from the 80s or early 90s, quietly rusting in the Minnesota sun. No wonder the FBI had no interest in following up on that set of tracks; cars like these were probably legion in this neck of the woods.

Coming around another bend, she accelerated uphill towards the park entrance. Whatever the answer was, she wouldn’t find it here.

***

The lean, worn figure glares at the still-shiny black halo nestled into the spare tire compartment. The goddamn donut is flat. He hadn’t expected that; the cubby looks pristine, new, and dust-free, a stark contrast to the rest of this rundown pile of scrap. Most likely, this is the first time it’s been opened since this wreck rolled off the assembly line. His mild annoyance has escalated to low-level consternation.

He doesn’t think the vehicle will be visible through the tree cover, and the odds of anyone coming across it are slim going on zero. Nevertheless, it won’t do to leave it sitting here for any length of time. He considers trying to drive out on the rim, but the Datsun’s clearance is barely adequate for the badly rutted trail as it is. He hefts the spare experimentally; at least it isn’t very heavy. Hugging it to his body, he sets off towards the highway.

***

Heather Dulcey huddles against the wall of the shed, only inches from the hole she’s created. She still can’t get through. She’s been using the concrete chunks to scrape at the hard-packed earth, but it’s slow going, and her hands are an almost unbearable mass of pain. The exhaustion she feels does nothing to improve the situation; Heather has been awake for over twenty-four hours now.

Fuzzy, indistinct thoughts flit through her head, scraps of imagery with no particular connection from one to the next. Tea on the lawn with Gina, only days before. Mom in those hideous red “steppin’ boots”. That horrid creature scraping lazy patterns on Gina’s belly with a sharp stick. Gina’s seventh birthday party—the last time they saw their father. He’d taken them horseback riding, then vanished from their lives without explanation or a trace.

Heather’s eyes drift closed—then snap open again. She gives her head a hard shake, then lets it sag back against the wall. Her eyes drift closed again. This time they stay that way.

***

Crossroads Convenience, about a mile up Highway 7 from Keenan Lake Road, was about as nondescript as the countless other copy/paste convenience stores dotting the American landscape. Gas, grocery, and attached liquor store, nothing noteworthy except its remoteness. Across the highway was a large junkyard, the badly faded sign out front optimistically proclaiming HOLMES PREMIER RECYCLING AND SALVAGE.

Nettie stepped into the gas and grocery side of the building, an icy blast of air conditioning sending an immediate shiver down her spine. Casting her eyes about, she located the coffee machines and headed in that direction.

Sixty seconds later she was at the counter, a hastily selected candy bar in hand, a medium coffee in the other. The cashier was a pretty teenage girl, her brown hair tucked under a baseball cap sporting the store’s logo.

“Find everything all right?” the young lady inquired, aiming her scanner at Nettie’s Milky Way.

“Not quite,” Nettie replied. Shutting out the part of her mind that told her it would be better to wait for Bridgett, she pulled a thin faux leather wallet from her purse, flipping it open to flash the DEA consultant card Bridgett had insisted she carry.

The girl’s eyes widened in alarm, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Hey, listen, I haven’t—”

“I was wondering,” Nettie cut in, “if you’ve happened to notice an old compact car of some kind stopping for gas here. Something from the 80s, maybe a Datsun. Probably rusty.” The young woman blew out her breath and blinked a couple of times. Nettie realized the poor thing had paled visibly.

“Look, um—” Nettie glanced down at the name tag pinned to the Crossroad Convenience polo. “Jennifer. I don’t care what you’re using, except to say that you really ought to knock that shit off. You’re young and pretty, and believe me, you don’t want to find out where that road leads. I don’t even care if you’re dealing from the back room of this dump. I’m just trying to find out about this car, and whoever might be driving it. Any help?”

Jennifer gave a jittery laugh, then got a grip on herself. “I—I don’t know if I can really help you,” she got out. “There’s a lot of crappy old cars around here, y’know.”

“Sure, I see that,” Nettie replied. “What about a hatchback? You don’t see a whole lot of those anymore. An old hatchback. Think Datsun, or something similar.”

The girl pursed her lips. “Yeah—okay. There’s this old gray rusty hatchback that’s stopped here for gas a few times. I probably wouldn’t even notice, but the guy always comes in first thing in the morning, just after we open, and he prepays his gas with cash. I mean—who does that?”

With an effort, Nettie suppressed her mounting excitement. “How often?”

“Every three, maybe four days for the last few weeks. Say—does this have anything to do with those two little girls missing from the trailer park?”

Thinking fast, Nettie shook her head. “Why would it? This is a DEA thing, remember? Does the guy talk about anything when he’s in here?”

“He doesn’t really talk at all. I’ll say good morning or whatever, and he just sort of nods and mumbles.”

“What does he look like? And does he buy anything other than gas?”

“He’s thin. I think he’s older, maybe in his fifties or so. Dude always has a big floppy hat on. When he gets his gas, he also gets donuts and coffee. He always looks tired, like he’s been up all night. Does that help?”

“Do you have security cams?” Nettie already knew the answer, having taken note of their locations.

“Who doesn’t?”

***

Ten minutes later Nettie was seated in the convenience store office, watching a replay from over a week before. The young attendant had phoned her mother, who owned the place, to get the access password for the cam footage. The light gray Datsun, rear rocker panels almost completely rusted away, was illuminated by the harsh lights of the pump awning, the background obscured in a predawn fog. A quick Google search on her phone confirmed that the car was a model 210.

This piece of footage was almost identical to the several captures she’d already viewed, the most recent of these taken the morning of the girls’ abduction. A lanky driver, clad in jeans, construction boots, and a faded olive drab jacket came inside the store, got his coffee and chocolate glazed, prepaid for gas in cash, fueled the car, then drove away. Like Jennifer said, he wore a large, floppy white hat that drooped enough to obscure his features. Never once did he look directly at any of the security cameras. Nettie was quite certain he was aware of their locations and deliberately avoiding them.

Jennifer, who had stepped out to wait on a customer, returned to the office. “Need me to see if there are any more?”

Nettie stood and stretched. In her hand she clutched a scrap of paper with the license plate number, and another with her own phone number on it. All her senses were tingling. “No, I think I’m good. Thank you.”

The two of them walked back out to the sales floor. Nettie caught Jennifer’s arm before she could slip behind the counter.

“Two things,” she said. “First of all: this guy is dangerous. If he comes back, act natural. Just wait on him like usual, and don’t give him any reason to think you’re suspicious. After he has gone, call me at this number right away.” She pressed the bit of paper with her number into the girl’s hand.

“Second, about what I said before. I saw how you reacted to my card. Seriously—whatever you’re doing, just stop. You’re a beautiful young woman, and you don’t want to fuck everything up for yourself when you’re just getting started in life. My thing is booze. I’m working on it, but I wish I’d never got started.”

The girl gave Nettie a sultry half-smile, tilting her head to one side. “You really think I’m pretty?”

Nettie recognized that look. Placing both hands on Jennifer’s shoulders, she leaned close. “Oh, yes. And if I didn’t have a girlfriend, we’d be having an entirely different conversation.” She planted a kiss on the corner of the girl’s mouth, then turned and strode from the station.

An awed Jennifer studied Nettie’s ass as the woman walked away. “Damn,” she breathed.

***

Moments later Nettie was seated in her car, frantically pulling up Bridgett’s number. As per usual, the DEA agent picked up at once. “Hello, Nettie.”

“I’m onto something, Bridgett. Something big. I checked out the convenience store about a mile from the trailer park and found out…”

“Wait, wait—hold on. You did what?”

Nettie sighed, realizing she’d almost certainly exceeded her mandate. “I know I should probably have waited, Bridgett. But listen; I stopped in this place and asked about old hatchbacks stopping in. This girl who works the morning shift, the owner’s daughter—she’s seen this one guy come in on the regular for a few weeks. She’s got cam footage. It was a rusty old Datsun—a model 210. The guy driving wore a big ass hat that hid his face, and he was  obviously avoiding the cameras. Minnesota plates, expiration date November of this year. I have the license number; are you able to run it?”

It was a long moment before Bridgett replied. “Officially, you shouldn’t have done that, Nettie. Unofficially, damn fine work. Gimme the number.” Nettie read it off.

“Okay, got it,” said Bridgett. “I have to call this in. Are you still at Crossroads Convenience?”

“Yeah, I’m in the parking lot.”

“I’m about an hour away. How about I meet you there instead of Virginia?”

“Works for me. See you then, Bridgett.” Nettie killed the connection, then screwed her eyes shut, thinking hard. In each instance, the cam footage showed the vehicle pulling in from the east off of MN 37, then heading back out the same way. There was no deviation from this pattern. That also happened to be the direction one would take to find the little dirt trail the tire tracks had been photographed on.

Opening her eyes, Nettie threw the car into reverse, backed out, and then accelerated towards 37 in the eastbound direction. She recalled the details from the maps she’d studied, keeping an eye on the mile markers as they passed. She’d just pegged the speedometer at sixty-two when the phone rang.

“Hi, Bridgett. Did you trace the plates?”

“I did. Those tabs are stolen. Went missing from a Ford pickup just outside of Hibbing a little over a month ago.”

Nettie’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Did you ever check on Brentshaw’s car?”

“Yeah, just heard back on that a little while ago. There’s no record of it following his arrest. It was never impounded, because it wasn’t at the scene when he was taken, nor was it found at his residence. It hasn’t been registered since.”

An uneasy shiver went up Nettie’s spine. Taking note of the upcoming mile marker, she tapped her brakes, looking carefully to the right. “Bridgett, you don’t think—”

“Brentshaw is dead, Nettie. Confirmably. He was murdered in prison last year. And the odds of this being the same car are so spectacularly low they’re barely worth discussing. It does make a very decent argument for a copycat situation, though. The FBI won’t be able to ignore this once we show them what you’ve found.”

A wooden sign, so badly worn as to be scarcely legible, marked the entrance to Keenan Trail. Nettie signaled right, hauling off onto the gravel shoulder. “Fair enough, Bridgett. Think you can get an agent here to talk to us once you arrive? The sooner everyone is in on the lookout for that car, the better.”

“Oh, I’ve already activated an all-points on the car.” Bridgett replied, sounding a trifle smug. “I have the authority to do that much, at least. And I’m going to arrange a meeting as soon as I’m off the phone with you.”

“Sounds good,” said Nettie. “Let me know when you’re close.”

“Will do,” said Bridgett, and cut the connection.

Nettie turned her attention to the sad little dirt trail just ahead and to her right, still cordoned off with crime scene tape. Shoving the car in park, she got out, knowing there was precious little she’d be likely to learn here. Only trouble was, she hadn’t the slightest clue where to look next.

On to Chapter Nine!

Note from JetBoy: A fascinating wrinkle on lesbian erotica from our newest Juicy Secrets contributor. Very few editing changes were needed with this one. Please enjoy, and do give Emma a rousing welcome to the family.

by Emma

Chapter One: Hentai First, Crying and Cocoa Later

Hi there, I’m Bunny! Wanna see my tushy?

Well, hang on, I have some stuff I need to get done before Mommy gets home, but don’t worry. I love showing my bottom to everyone, so you’ll be seeing a lot of it! (Also, shhh, I’m only twelve in real life, but I always say I’m eighteen when I show off my bottom to strangers, usually nice ladies. See, that way they can just claim I told them I was eighteen. (Wait, wait, wait, I’m getting distracted again!)

Okay, okay, so maybe tonight there’s laundry to fold and a suspicious number of glittery paw prints to clean off the entryway floor. But I’m lonely, and antsy, and the couch is soft, and my favorite hentai is glowing on the TV in soft pinks and sparkles, and… yeah. My little bunny bottom wanted me to put a little bunny butt plug inside, and I didn’t want to wait for Mommy to get home, so I got it and put it in and now I’m too horny and I just caaan’t do any chores, I need to come…

Besides, Mommy’s out on one of her Very Important Dates with someone that she thinks can become part of Lollipop Lane…but I’m bored and needy and, ugh…so twitchy with waiting, I can barely sit still.

I mean, have you ever tried to focus on setting the table when your head is full of anime centaur girls with perfect tushies and legs that go on forever? Didn’t think so.

So now it’s me, the couch, my favorite stuffy Theodore (he’s a big teddy bear with stitching on him that says Good Girls Get Kisses, but I took a marker and crossed out Kisses and scribbled in Pussy Licks, which has all my neighborhood friends dissolve into giggling fits, it’s great!), and I keep replaying the same two-minute scene where the wolf-girl sniffs the centaur’s pussy and whispers, “I missed this.” It’s supposed to be romantic. It’s definitely not appropriate for girls my age. I’ve watched it five times. Seven. Actually, nine…okay, nineteen.

I know I’m just setting myself up, falling in love with fictional characters (from cartoons, even!), but then the centauress lifts up the wolf-girl’s tail so high and we see her oh, so cute little bottom hole and, well… my horny little heart gets swept away on a sea of lust.

I tell myself I’m just relaxing. I deserve it! Outside of Lollipop Lane, everything’s so, so boring, and I have to do dumb schoolwork all the time… God, what a stupid world.

And I start wondering what Mommy would say if she saw me bouncing on my tail like this when she gets home? Would she roll her eyes? Would she give me that I ‘m-finally-really-smiling smile and say, “Again, Bunny?” with that mommy voice that makes me feel like I’m already forgiven, yet really, really in trouble at the same time?

I kind of hope she walks in before I decide to behave myself. Just barges through the door in her sexy date-night dress and finds me without a stitch of clothing, curled up on the rug watching cartoons I’m not supposed to watch, a cute little butt plug in my tushie. Makes me shiver, just picturing it.

I rock a little…juuust enough to feel my tail go further in. It’s really hard to come from just my bottom, and I’m not touching my pussy. I’m not, I swear…

I imagine Mommy stepping through the door right now, catching me mid-rock, taking in the glint of surprise in my eyes, the wolf-girl sniffing and licking the centaur-girl’s tushy on the TV screen. Maybe Mommy would lean down, sniff my hair, sigh like she’s disappointed but not surprised. Maybe she’d whisper in my ear, “How many times did you edge today, baby girl?”

It isn’t easy, but I force myself to stop rocking. Breathe. Breathe.

I want Mommy to see me like this. I’ve been so good, saving myself for her. By now, my whole body is screaming pretty please notice me!

And then I imagine Mommy walking through the door, only this time, there’s someone with her —maybe a big sister for me, or better still, a littler sister, littler than I am! When I picture that, it’s so, SO hard not to just let myself go and come. It’s been building up inside me for hours, and my entire body is screaming for it.

I can’t help it. I need to call Mommy. I need to know when she’s getting home…

♡ ⚢ ♡ ⚢ ♡

 

My name is Lilliana Ferris. I turned thirteen yesterday, and the first thing that I learned as a “young adult” is that it’s the most depressing thing in the world.

I don’t even like Halloween parties. Too many expectations, too many girls in carefully curated slutty costumes pretending it’s all an exercise irony. Meanwhile, I was sitting on a freezing bus bench at eight in the evening, drenched in rain, crying into the shredded remains of my dollar-store zombie goth-girl outfit, which, spoiler alert, wasn’t water resistant.

I’m a teenager. I’m supposed to be, I don’t know, sexy now, right?

Mascara streamed down my cheeks like war paint drawn by a raccoon having a breakdown. Valerie, my one “friend” who was supposed to get me into the party, ditched me as soon as someone said, “Ugh, who invited HER?” loud enough for everyone to hear.

So yeah. I got kicked out of a Halloween party for being unpopular. Welcome to adulthood.

When the rain started pouring down, I was half-hoping the next bus would be a metaphorical one. As in: my one-way ticket to the big goodbye. If I stretched myself out in the street, would the bus just roll right over me? Right then, it was a tempting notion.

Yeah, that’s how bad it was. I was done with everything.

My grades were terrible. Everyone at school made fun of me for carelessly saying that a couple of our female teachers were really, really pretty. I more or less got bullied every day. My mom said this would happen when I came out.

Well, really, she hadn’t said much. She’d yelled a lot, that was for sure. I could still hear her words, echoing in my head. “It’s all gonna lead towards those stupid scam art schools and being surrounded by a bunch of queers! Is that what you want, Lily? Get yourself a crew cut, quit wearing makeup, stop shaving your legs, dress in baggy clothes and tell the world you’re a man-hating dyke? You make me sick.”

My dad said nothing, but only because he was too busy being a piece of shit with the other women he’s got stashed around town. He’s even had kids with some of them. My mom can’t get him to keep it in his pants, so she takes it out on me because, according to her, I’m the one who messed up her figure when I was born.

I sniffled. The rain was getting colder. I wondered how much it would cost to buy a gun and a bullet. One was all I’d need.

A voice brought me out of my miserable reverie. “Excuse me.”

I looked up, sniffling…and just like that, I forgot about wanting to die.

“Oh, you look positively drowned, poor thing…”

A woman stood in front of me, holding a massive black umbrella, elegant as a movie still. Like a black-and-white movie still from the 1920’s where the femme fatale meets a boarding school teacher, if the teacher had the habit of spanking her students and kissing them afterwards.

Hair in a tight, perfect bun. Emerald eyes framed by lashes long enough to trip over. Her high heels clicked against the wet concrete as she stepped closer – heels that didn’t even pretend to be practical, but somehow her balance in the rain was perfect. Her clothes were all elegance and poise – a long coat, pencil skirt, matching gloves – gloves! – and a large, sleek purse that reminded me of a traveler’s satchel.

I blinked at her. “I’m… fine.”

“Oh of course you are,” she said, a hint of amusement. “That’s why you’re half-naked on a bus bench in the rain, crying like a soggy cupcake.”

I pulled my legs up, shivering. “I w-wasn’t crying.”

Her eyes strayed to my thighs. Maybe… up my skirt? I wasn’t exactly being coy.

“Oh, darling.” She sat next to me, her umbrella eclipsing the storm clouds until I was, blessedly, out of the shower for the moment. Her gloved hand tilted my chin upward, eyes scanning me with clinical warmth, like she was diagnosing the exact kind of attention I’d been starved of. “You’ve been abandoned, haven’t you?”

I swallowed. This was… so forward, yet polite.

“I know the mien of being cast aside, dear.”

My throat made a pathetic little sound.

Her smile turned indulgent. “Fortunately for you, I’ve found discarded things make delightful company.” She offered me the umbrella. “Hold this for me, little one. My name is Miss Ashcroft. You’re mine, now.”

“I’m Lily… I… what did you say…?”

She opened her purse and produced a silver thermos. Then two small metal cups, hardly big enough for Victorian tea time. “Lily, you should know that I despise drinking alone. It feels bourgeois.”

I blinked. “Wh-what is it?”

She was unscrewing the lid and pouring steaming liquid into one cup. “Hot cocoa. I brought it to the theater, intending to share it with a gorgeous friend during intermission. But, alas…” She offered me one cup, warm as her smile. “I was, as your generation phrases it, ghosted. She stood me up.”

I took the cup, mostly because I was freezing, half-sure I was hallucinating this anyway.

She continued, voice comforting as a lullaby. “A disappointing start to the evening, but serendipitous in its way. You see, this benefits you.”

“How?”

“Because…” She turned to me fully, one gloved hand brushing wet hair off my cheek. “I have enough cocoa for two.”

The first sip hit like a chocolate kiss in a cup: sweet, warm, creamy, like every snow day and bedtime story I thought I’d forgotten. It coated my tongue, thick chocolate soaked in cream. My eyes fluttered shut without meaning to, and for a moment I wasn’t a stupid emotional mess in the rain. I was safe, small, and wanted, wanted by someone bigger and better than me.

I licked my lips, practically dazed by how lovely the drink was, and risked a look into her emerald eyes. The way she watched me drink made funny things happen in my heart and between my legs. She seemed to be waiting for me to say something, so I finally came out with, “This is…literally the greatest thing that’s happened to me my entire young-adult life.” I paused. “Which has lasted an entire day, so far.”

“Tragic,” she said, sipping. Then, with terrifying gentleness: “Tell me everything.”

“I’m failing school,” I said, after three sips of the cocoa and zero seconds of resistance. “I have no friends. And my mom hates me for being gay. She doesn’t want me to be a ‘man-hating dyke’. Her words.”

“This is terrible.” She inclined her head as she tilted her teacup.

“…and tonight, I got kicked out of a party that I wasn’t technically invited to in the first place.” I studied the steam that rose from my cup.

“Let me guess. You wore that delicious little costume, hoping someone would notice the lovely girl under the greasepaint and fishnets.”

I blinked. “I… what?”

She plucked at my jacket. “And yet, despite every effort, no one even nibbled.” Her gloved hand lingered just a moment too long, nearly a millimeter from my right breast. “That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“I’m not usually like this,” I whispered. “I don’t… talk to strangers. Like, ever.”

“But I’m not a stranger,” she said, eyes glinting. “Not any more. My name is Clarissa Ashcroft. I was ghosted tonight by a bitch with no self-respect. And I’m the kind of woman who will take advantage of an opportunity, especially when she’s beautiful and lonely. Hold still.”

Words fumbled on my tongue as, with exquisite calm, she slipped a hand into her blouse and produced a silk handkerchief from between her breasts. I felt its warmth when she wiped my cheek. “There. I knew there was a pretty face under all that ruin.”

I felt my face grow hot. “I’m not pretty…”

“Don’t make me break out synonyms, child. My vocabulary is quite extensive, and we would be shivering here all evening.”

Then Clarissa… Miss Ashcroft rose with the elegance of someone who’d just finished hosting a gala, instead of consoling a would-be goth-girl going through puberty meltdown on a rain-soaked bench. She extended her hand like I was royalty. “Ordinarily, one should frown upon the notion of getting into the vehicle of a stranger one has just met. However, at this moment, I must insist you do just that.”

I blinked.

This wasn’t the 20th century. Even kids younger than me had phones and the internet and ways to get around the parental locks and age restrictions on all of it. I’d never had so much as a first date, but even I understood this situation. I knew what she was insisting on.

I was getting picked up.

What the hell?

I literally had nothing left to lose but my clothes. And my life, I figured, but that wasn’t such a big deal. “Do you… live far from here?”

Her smile curved, slow and knowing. “Not at all. I live on Lollipop Lane.”

My brain went bluescreen.

Every whispered rumor, every overheard bit of gossip, every NSFW Reddit thread involving the phrase, “Has anyone actually BEEN to Lollipop Lane?” came roaring through my mind.

Words flashed in front of my eyes: Incest. Underage girl pets. Lover. Lesbian. Sister. Mommy. Precious little daughter. Daughter. DAUGHTER.

I threw all sense of caution directly into the nearest metaphorical dumpster and placed my hand in hers. Even wearing gloves, her grip was warm.

We walked together, Miss Ashcroft’s umbrella sheltering us both. Halfway to her car – of course it was a vintage black sedan that looked like it might’ve been purloined from a noir film – I did something thrilling and very much not me.

I slipped an arm around her waist, tentative at first, then bolder. My fingers drifted lower, stopping right on the curve of her surprisingly firm backside, the fabric of her coat cool and immaculate beneath my palm. “Thank you,” I said, speaking softly.

Her step didn’t falter, but her emerald eyes cut to me, flashing. She purred. A slow, rich purr, like something feline and amused and vaguely carnivorous. The sound of someone deeply pleased, perhaps mildly aroused by being touched without having given permission.

I looked down and saw that Miss Ashcroft’s coat had shifted open just enough at the collar, the delicate silk of her blouse clinging to her skin, sheer and damp with rain. And there, visible in the soft sway of movement and light, was the dark, unmistakable outline of a bare nipple, taut and firm, unapologetically present without the cup of a brassiere to hide behind.

It could have something to do with the cold rain. But I knew it didn’t.

She said nothing more.

And neither did I.

But my hand stayed where it was, and hers never moved to stop me.

On to Chapter Two!

Note from JetBoy: As you probably know, this story’s author is the current partner of Lisa, widow of our late and much-missed site co-founder Cheryl Taggert. Suzanne was inspired to write this story by the third part of Cheryl’s erotic magnum opus “I Was the Daughter of a Porn Star,” in which the titular character (also named Cheryl, for some mysterious reason) interviews a series of women and girls who became sexually active at an early age. The basic concept of this new work may have come from Cheryl, but Suzanne brings her own distinctive approach to the idea, and it more than deserves to stand on its own. Do enjoy.

by Suzy Freeman

I am Suzanne Freeman, a PhD candidate conducting research into the sexual development of young girls. My focus is on interviewing women who have admitted to having a strong sex urge and who began to enjoy sexual encounters of a lesbian nature at an early age. I have chosen to limit my study to lesbian encounters in order to determine if a strong libido is more likely to lead young girls to seek out and indulge in sexual exploration with other girls.

For the sake of clarity and understanding, I wish to share two crucial details about myself. First, I was myself a child with a strong sex drive, a factor that led me to take on this study in the first place. Second, while I did not have sexual encounters with adults as a child, I often fantasized about such encounters once I began to have self-induced orgasms at age seven. And even then, all my fantasies revolved around other females.

***

Opening statement: The following is from the interview portion of my PhD dissertation on the sexual development of young girls. Once all of the interview material has been shared, I will end with my findings and conclusions.

My first subject is Millie, age thirty-two. Like all my interview subjects, her last name has been withheld for reasons of privacy. She is one of several subjects chosen from over seventy respondents to a request for volunteers to be interviewed about their sexual history. All respondents have admitted to considering themselves as having a stronger-than-normal sex drive. The evaluation of each subject’s level of libido was left up to the subjects themselves, since it is this belief in a robust sexual appetite that drives the focus of my research. Each potential subject was sent an initial questionnaire, and the interviewees were chosen based on their responses. Those who were the most descriptive and straightforward were far more likely to be chosen to participate.

Note: For the purposes of reading the following, “Q” indicates a question asked of the subject or a statement I made to her. “A” refers to the answer or response provided. At times when the subject is relating a story directly in the form of conversation and description, the format moves into more of a storytelling form, with dialogue and the descriptions related. This is a verbatim transcription of what was said in the various interviews. 

***

Q: Hello, Millie. How are you doing today?

A: Other than horny, as usual? I’m fine. (Millie smiles at me. Is she flirting? I suspect that this is the case)

Q: Millie, you’ve admitted to having a strong sex drive, something you became aware of at an early age. Would you care to tell us about the first sexual feelings you remember having?

A: Sure. I was very little – five years old, actually – and one day, my mother ran a bath for me. She undressed me and I climbed in. She let me play around in the water for a little while, then took a washcloth, soaped it up and began to wash me all over. I don’t really remember most of the bath, but then she started washing me between the legs; my pussy. She called it my kitty back then. I noticed right away that the washcloth felt very nice against me. She also washed by butt crack, and it felt really good there, too. I always loved it when Mom bathed me, but this was the first time she spent so much time on my private places.

Anyway, once she was done washing me, I wanted to stay in the tub and play some more, so Mom ran some more hot water into the tub to warm it up and left me on my own for a few minutes. When she was gone from the room, I picked up the washcloth and began using it to rub my kitty. I had no idea this had anything to do with sex, in fact, I didn’t even know what sex was. All I knew was I really, really liked what Mom did to me. So I ground that wet flannel into my pussy until those wonderful feelings came back, even better than before. Then I reached down further and did the same thing to my butthole.

After a little while, Mom came back into the bathroom to get me out of the tub and caught me playing with myself. I remember she stood there a moment, watching me with this, well, surprised look on her face. Now, I realize it was more than just surprise she was feeling. It was, what’s the word I want… interested, I guess. She sure seemed to enjoy watching me. In fact, when I stopped, Mom said I could keep going if I wanted to.

I remember smiling at her and saying how it felt good on my kitty, rubbing it with the washcloth like I was. Mom said she knew what I meant, that she liked to rub her kitty too. Soon as she said that, I remember thinking how much I’d like to see my mother touch herself, but I was much too shy to say so.

Anyway, I sat back in the tub and kept rubbing myself with the washcloth with Mom watching me. Finally, she pulled down her shorts and panties, put the lid of the toilet down and sat, telling me she was going to rub her kitty some too, if I was okay with that. Of course, I told her that was fine, and she reached down and started touching between her legs while watching me do the same.

Again, I had no idea this had anything to do with sex. I just knew it felt good, so I assumed my mother liked it, too. Sure, I enjoyed seeing Mom doing it, though to me it was more interesting than arousing. Of course, she was getting one hell of a thrill watching me masturbate, though I had no way of knowing that.

The washcloth was starting to feel scratchy down there, so I told Mom I needed to stop. When I explained why, she told me to soap my hands up and wash myself that way. It felt wonderful, even better than before, so I got right back into rubbing my kitty.

Before very long, Mom began to shiver and moan, a look on her face like she was in pain. It scared me at first, but she was quick to tell me not to worry, that what was happening to her was really, really good, and I shouldn’t stop what I was doing, so I didn’t.

Once Mom finished coming, I still had no idea what had happened, so she explained about how women and girls could give themselves wonderful feelings when they touched “down there,” like I was doing right then. I told her I knew that, ‘cause I was still rubbing my kitty, after all… but Mom said I didn’t know, not really. She said what I felt right then was like getting one small spoonful of ice cream, but what just happened to her was getting a big bowl of ice cream with hot fudge on top. She said that big, wonderful sensation was called an orgasm.

Naturally, I wanted to have that special feeling, so I asked her how I could make it happen. She told me it was hard for someone my age, because it can take a long time and your hand gets tired of rubbing. Then Mom said she had an idea. What if she touched my kitty herself until I had an orgasm? Did I want to give that a try? Of course, I said yes!

Q: So what happened then?

A: I got out of the tub and Mom dried me off. She said I might as well stay naked. So she led me down the hall to her room and got me to lay down on the bed. My little sister was off taking her nap, and my dad was at work.

Q: You have a sister?

A: Yes. Two, actually, but I only had one when I was that age.

Q: Were they also interested in sex at an early age?

A: Yes. Very much so.

Q: We can talk about that in a moment. What did your mother do to bring you to orgasm?

A: First she touched my clit, very gently. Then she bent down and put her mouth on me, on my pussy. I was startled at first – I mean, that’s where I peed from! But she started to lick me, her tongue felt so amazing that I never got the chance to be grossed out. It was so good… a lot better than the washcloth or my soapy hand.

Q: And you came?

A: Yes. It took a little while, but I did. And it was colossal. The sensations were so big that it almost scared me, like I might explode. Once I caught my breath, Mom asked me if she was right when she compared the feeling of just touching myself with a genuine orgasm. You know, the spoonful of ice cream versus the big bowl. And I told her, yes, she was right. .

Q: Did your mother ever do anything else sexual with you?

A: Oh, my, yes. We would get together to make love at least several times a week.

Q: Does that mean you performed sex acts on your mother? Or was it just her pleasuring you?

A: Our second time together, she asked if I would use my mouth on her. I was nervous, yeah, but I also wanted to make her happy, so I tried it. The taste of her cunt was odd to me at first, but I got to like it right away. And before you ask… yes, I did make my mother come.

We were snuggling together afterwards, and that’s when Mom taught me how to kiss. Real kisses, with our tongues. I really liked doing that!

Then she told me what we were really doing – making love. I thought it was just us doing something nice for each other… but really, it was sex. I had a little trouble wrapping my head around that, the idea of me and Mom being like, y’know, girlfriends. But I wanted to keep doing those things with her, so I didn’t let it bother me. I decided I liked being my mother’s lover.

Q: You say your sisters have strong libidos as well, and it showed up early in life. Did your mother get sexual with them, too?

A: Absolutely! She initiated them as well, starting when they were around the same age I was for my first time. All four of us are lovers to this day. My father died of a heart attack four years ago, and he never did find out about us. Or if he did, he never let on.

My sisters have children, as do I, and we have initiated our children into a life of incest. My nieces’ fathers are clueless, though my husband is also involved in very mild sex play with our daughters. But you did tell me you were only interested in my lesbian experiences.

Q: Yes, I’m limiting these interviews to a discussion of lesbian sex and female masturbation. What are the ages of your sisters?

A: Well, my mother was very young when she had me, only seventeen. So she was twenty-one, maybe twenty-two when we became intimate. My father was fifteen years older than Mom. My sisters are now thirty and twenty-five. Randi, the oldest, is married with two daughters, Lori and Riley. Cassie, the baby of the family, is divorced, but has a daughter named Melinda.

Q: All girls! How wonderful!

A: Yes. We feel very fortunate.

Q: Just one question about your husband: does he have penetrative sex with your daughters?

A: Absolutely not. Touching and oral, nothing more.

Q: How old are your daughters?

A: Emily is twelve, Piper is nine.

Q: And your nieces?

A: Lori is eleven, and Riley is nine. Cassie’s daughter is six.

Q: Do your daughters and nieces also have sex with your mother, their grandmother?

A: Of course. And with each other as well. Piper and Riley are only one month apart in age, so they act more like twins than cousins. They want to get married one day; isn’t that sweet?

Q: It is. I’d love to see that happen. How old were you the first time you had sex with someone outside your family?

A: I was eleven. It was my best friend, Alex, short for Alexandra. No, my first sex was NOT with a boy.

Q: Can you tell me about it?

A: Well, we had talked about sex a lot, of course, being eleven. It started out as discussing cute boys we knew, which actors and singers we crushed on. That sort of thing. Obviously, I couldn’t talk about the sex I was having with my mother and sisters, but I did start mentioning girls and women I thought were hot. You know, to find out if Alex could also be into girls. I hadn’t been able to figure that out one way or the other. It frustrated me, because I was crushing on her in a big way by then.

One night, her mom let her sleep over at my house, and well, that’s when things changed between us. You might say our relationship took an immediate turn for the better.

Q: Please tell me about it.

(Note: From here, I will relate the story as Millie told it as a story and not an interview, except where I ask the occasional question.)

The first time we had a sleepover, Alex stayed at my house. My mother was delighted. She thought I should have at least one girlfriend of my own, a girl I wasn’t related to. Oh, and if we did end up fooling around, Mom would want me to give her all the details later while we both masturbated.

Both my sisters also had crushes on Alex, but being the oldest, I threatened to paddle their butts if they bothered us during the sleepover. This was MY night. I wasn’t a complete bitch, though; I promised Randi and Cassie that I’d go down on them the next day. It’s funny, though – once Alex and I were a for-real couple, she was the one who suggested having fun with my sisters, once I told her I’d had sex with them both. That was one incredible night – I’ll have to tell you about it, some other time.

Okay, sleepover night. We had supper, then me and Alex played video games for a while. When it was time for bed, Mom gave us each a goodnight kiss, then we went upstairs to my room.

“Did you see that? Your mom kissed me. Right on the mouth!”

I shrugged. “She kisses me all the time.”

“Yeah, but you’re her daughter.”

“Well, maybe my mom has the hots for you!” I was teasing, of course, but also not. I knew Mom would  walk over hot coals to get Alex into bed.

She made a face. “Ewww! Don’t be disgusting.”

That irked me, but I let it pass. “I like to take a bath before going to bed. Wanna join me?”

“Sure.” She said it casually, but I could tell the idea had her thinking. We’d never seen each other naked before, and I wondered if she wanted to get a good look at me with my clothes off. Alex had a sister, but she was a lot younger, and that wouldn’t be the same as seeing someone your own age.

We started to undress, then I had a really wild idea.

“Wanna have some fun?” I asked.

She looked at me, and I think she wondered if I was going to ask if she wanted to fool around. She sort of blinked and stared a moment. “How?” she said.

I really did want to do something sexual with Alex, but this wasn’t quite it. My plan was more about getting her to do something daring that involved us getting naked. “We finish taking our clothes off, then run down the hallway to the bathroom?”

Alex frowned. “What’s fun about that?”

I poked her. “Doing it and not getting caught, goofball!”

“Oh! I get it now.” She seemed a little disappointed, as if she’d hoped for more. That’s when I really began to suspect Alex wanted us to be more than friends.

“So what d’ya say? Wanna do it?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

I’d already unbuttoned my shirt. Now I started stripping as fast as I could. “Last one naked has to come back to the room without a towel!”

“Oooohh!” Alex squealed, then wriggled out of her t-shirt. We undressed quickly, though I ended up pretending to fumble with my panties to make it a tie. So I said, “Well, I guess we have to both come back to my room naked.” The way she grinned, I think she knew I’d set that up.

As we stood nude before each other for the first time, I decided to make it obvious that I was checking her out. I looked her up and down, taking in every inch of what she had. Damn, what a cutie she was!

I was thrilled to see Alex doing the same thing. At that age, I hadn’t begun to develop yet, but she seemed to like what she saw, exploring my bare body with her eyes, even lingering on my pussy.

When she did that, I spun around and said, “Don’t forget to check out my butt.”

She giggled as she gave it a good long look, then turned around and said, “Guess you should check out mine, too.”

By then, I was starting to feel seriously horny. I’d been excited earlier, but now I could feel that familiar throbbing between my legs, the kind that made me want to masturbate. Later, Alex told me she was feeling the exact same way. Of course, neither of us said anything about that.

You should know that I didn’t really mind being seen running around the house naked. Our parents had a pretty casual attitude about that kind of thing. I sort of hoped that Mom or my sisters would catch us streaking down the hall. Didn’t happen that way, but it sure was exciting to think about.

After our race to the bathroom, we shared a laugh, then got in the bathtub together. While we washed ourselves, I decided to tell Alex about the time I figured out how nice the washcloth felt between my legs and the fun that led to.

When I described how I’d discovered the nice feelings I could get from rubbing myself “down there,” Alex  listened carefully. She was squirming around some, enough so I knew she was turned on.

When I had finished, I asked her, “Have you ever made yourself feel good like that?”

“You mean masturbation?” she said.

She knew the word! “Yeah.”

“How’d you find out about it?”

Alex gave a little shrug. “I’m not sure. Seems like I’ve always known.”

“What’s the first time you did it just ‘cause it felt good?”

“I was in bed, lying on my stomach reading with a pillow between my legs. I was sort of shifting around, trying to get comfy, and I started wondering why it felt so good. I wasn’t actually, like, masturbating. Not yet. Heck, I didn’t even know what masturbation was. All I knew was it felt good to rub myself on my pillow.”

“Okay, so when was your first orgasm?”

She blushed. “I’d rather not say.”

That threw me off. “Well… were you alone?”

“Sorry, but I can’t tell you. It’s a secret.”

That’s when it hit me. Neither of us were alone for our first orgasms. I was with Mom, but who was the first to make Alex come?

“Then you were with someone else, huh?” I said, almost willing to tell her about me and my mother to get the truth from her.

“Please don’t ask me about that, Millie!” she said. “It’s making me uncomfortable.”

I could see she really didn’t want to tell me anything, so I dropped the subject. To this day, I have no idea who gave Alex her first orgasm. Then again, she never did find out about me and Mom. It sort of became a forbidden topic between us. I’ve often wondered if it had been her mother. Looking back, I’m fairly certain it was. She and her mom were very close, just like Mom and I were and still are. It’s too bad we never discussed it.

As we got out of the tub, there was a quick knock on the bathroom door, then it swung open. It was my mom. As usual, she hadn’t waited for an invitation to enter. I just stood there, but Alex sort of shrieked and covered herself.

Mom looked at her and smiled. “Honey, we’re all girls here. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” She looked at me and said, “Exactly like Millie,.” then gave me a pat on the bottom.

“You’re so silly, Mom,” I said, giggling. I wanted to put Alex at ease, show her I was fine with being nude around my mother.

I guess it worked, because Alex took a deep breath and dropped both hands to reveal her body. To Mom’s credit, she didn’t ogle my friend, just took in with a glance and said, “Sorry to interrupt, girls. I’m giving Randi a bath and need the baby shampoo.” With that, she moved to the tub, retrieved the bottle of shampoo and made a quiet exit, giving Alex a casual glance and a smile along the way.

Of course, Mom only wanted a good look at Alex naked. There was already a big bottle of baby shampoo in the master bathroom, and she never bathed Randi this late at night. I was already picturing her in bed later that night, rubbing one out to the image of a naked Alex.

After she’d left, I grabbed a towel and said, “Here. I’ll dry your back, then you can dry mine.”

“Okay,” she said with a grin, my mother’s unannounced visit already forgotten.

As I dried Alex, I said, “Your butt is your backside, right? So I’ll dry that, too.” Reaching down, I spent the next full minute massaging her ass, with nothing but the towel between us. I noticed her eyes close, and she began to sway a bit, so I knew my touches were very much appreciated. I wondered if my friend and I would be enjoying any other special touches that evening..

I turned around, presenting my back to Alex, and she got the hint right away. She spent at least as much time drying my butt as I’d taken on hers. It felt wonderful, and my pussy had started to drip before she was done. It seemed to really enjoy touching my butt, even with the towel between her hands and my ass.

We raced each other back to my room, and when the door was shut behind us, I said, “Listen. I hope this doesn’t bother you, but I always sleep naked.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t like pajamas, and I hate the way panties get wedged in my butt crack. Do you mind?”

She shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

“You ever sleep nude?”

“Not all the way through the night. But it’s okay if you want to.”

“Cool!” I crawled onto the bed, taking my time with it so Alex could get a good look at my pussy and butthole, then slipped beneath the covers.

She climbed into bed beside me. “You mind if I sleep naked, too?”

“Heck, no!” I said. “It’s more fun with two.”

We lay there, talking about boys we liked, and soon my pussy was screaming for attention. Alex was very open about what she’d like to do to this one boy in our class, which played havoc with our ability to fall asleep.

I had a full bed, not a queen size, so our bodies were close enough to touch, which only got me more stirred up. I finally turned onto my side after telling Alex goodnight, and lay there, knowing damn well I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep unless I had an orgasm.

Alex settled in, and we lay side by side, our butts barely touching. I tried to ignore the thrill it gave me to have her cute ass against mine, wondering if she felt the same way.

Time passed, about half an hour. I wondered if Alex was asleep. That’s when I felt her move, and realized she was still awake.

She moved again. Not much, but enough. Then again. Oh, wow, Alex was masturbating!

As you can imagine, I was beside myself with excitement. My pussy was on fire, but I held back for a minute, waiting for Alex to get herself too keyed up to stop when I joined in.

It didn’t take long. Her breath was getting louder, and it was obvious she was doing her utmost to get off. I could actually hear the sounds of her fingers as they worked the slick folds.

It was time. I reached down to my own slit and began playing with myself. She just kept going, even when I moaned and whimpered, letting her know that, yeah, I was into this.

Alex started making sounds of pleasure herself, so I knew we’d passed the point of no return. So I sat up and said, “Listen, I know what you’re doing, and you know what I’m doing… so we might as well be open about it.” Then I switched on my bedside lamp.

She blinked at me in the light. I guess she was waiting to see what I was up to. Giving her a big grin, I said, “Wanna do it with me? We can watch each other.”

She grinned back and said, “Sure.”

I pushed the covers completely off the bed, lay down and got back to masturbating. Alex looked on for a moment, then stretched out next to me and did the same.

We fingered ourselves for a minute or so, then I realized we’d have a much better view if we weren’t on our backs.

“Here, sit up,” I told her. She did, and I shoved a pillow behind her back, then mine. We settled in and returned to touching ourselves.

MUCH better. Now we each had a front row seat to the action. Me and Alex could easily see our busy hands as we stroked, massaged and groped our juicy cunts.

Soon our fingers were a blur. We’d been touching ourselves for at least five minutes before I spoke up, and desperately needed to come. God, watching Alex masturbate was so incredibly hot. I couldn’t wait to see her get off!

Her orgasm hit first, and I watched in awe as my friend’s body spasmed and shook with the intensity of it. Moments later, it was her turn to see me come – and I don’t mind telling you that I gave Alex a hell of a good show, shaking the bed with the force of my release.

We lay back down together, catching our breath and mopping the sweat from our foreheads. Then we went into a giggle-fest before coming together in a hug. Looking back, I think we lost it because of the sheer delight we felt, knowing that we both wanted this, and knowing it would almost certainly happen again. Those were giggles of relief in more ways than one.

***

Q: Did the two of you do more?

A: Not that night, but we masturbated together often after that. We’d have contests to see who could come first and all that. Before long, we moved on to touching each other.

Q: Did you ever engage in oral sex with Alex?

A: Absolutely. It was maybe two months after that first time. It became a thing where we’d log on the internet and watch porn while fingering each other. Neither of our moms put blockers on our computers, so we could go to any website we liked.

Anyway, one night when Alex was sleeping over at my house, I logged on and opened Pornhub. We had only watched hetero sex before that night, but I really wanted to sneak in something with lesbian content, so I clicked on a video with a guy and two girls.

Oh, man, when the girls started kissing and touching each other, it felt like the temperature in my room went up ten degrees! We watched that for a few minutes. Finally, Alex suggested I find one with only girls in it.

I told her, “Sure, we can do that,” but inside I was going YES!! My heart was racing like mad because I sort of suspected where watching lesbians fuck would lead us, and I was right.

In the very first clip we watched, two girls did oral with each other. Alex couldn’t look me in the eye when she said, “Have you ever thought about us doing that?”

I looked at her and replied, “Lots of times.” Then I told her the truth, how I wanted to that first time we masturbated for each other, and every other time since then.

Alex burst into laughter. “Oh, God, me too.” Like me, she wanted to try oral that first time, too, but was scared to suggest it.

We ended up in a sixty-nine. She sure didn’t seem like a novice at it, either, so I figured Alex had done it before with whoever it was she had messed around with the first time she came. Like I said, I never did find out who that was.

***

Closing Statement: At this point, we ended this session, making plans to meet again. Millie said she would prefer something less public for next time, so we agreed to meet at my apartment for Session 2/Millie.

As a further note to Session 1 of the interview, we did not do anything sexual with each other that first time. However, I did go home and masturbate after we parted. I later found out that Millie actually drove into a deserted corner of a shopping center’s parking deck and got herself off before driving home and having sex with her two daughters. Needless to say, Millie and I were looking forward to our upcoming session. This is, after all, a study of the female sex drive.

Session2/Millie will be submitted in the coming days.

On to Chapter Two!

The Story Thus Far

Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.

Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.

Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.

Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.

Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops. 

Chapter Six: Nettie has a heart-to-heart with Hannah about her personal demons. Later, she gets a call from Agent Bridgett Ramscone, who has an unsettling request: for Nettie to go through the documentation of her own childhood kidnapping — and the murder of her sister — as a possible way to gain insight into the abduction of Heather and Gina (who are still being emotionally abused by their kidnapper, but are also taking steps to escape). Nettie is shaken, but agrees to do what she can. 

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by Rachael Yukey

So if you want to know 
Where I’ve been hiding all these years
Follow the tears

Heaven and Hell, 2009

“Nettie. Nettie!” 

A poke in her side. Anna swimming into hazy focus, the bruise on her cheek and the gash on her forehead standing out in sharp relief. A sick simultaneous feeling of burning heat and shivering cold. Huddled together on a moldy carpet, backs propped against the ruins of a cupboard. Wrapped in the blankets their captor had tossed at them, blankets that smelled of poo or maybe worse, warming their hands over a barely-working propane heater. Somewhere in the back of a fever-shrouded mind, the knowledge they’d both be frozen like ice statues if it wasn’t for that pathetic little heater.

“Nettie, you’ve got to wake up.”

“Hurts—”

“The doctor said you can’t lie down too much, remember?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Nettie, come ON.”

With a groan, the dark-haired girl shifts herself to a more upright sitting posture. She gulps in a lungful of air, the breath rattling audibly in her chest, and then doubles over in an agonized fit of coughing, lungs and throat aflame.

“Where’s Creepface?” she gasps.

“I dunno.” Anna’s face is pale, drawn. “I thought I heard him outside talking to someone a while ago, some lady. But no one came in.”

“Anna—” 

“What?”

“I dunno.” Whatever she’d begun to say was already gone, fluttering at the edge of her subconscious and vanishing into the ether. So cold—so hard to think.

“Nettie, we have to get out of here.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know! I don’t even know where we are, and I know the door is locked. But you need to go back to the doctor. And he’s going to keep hurting us, Nettie, I don’t think—” 

Tears swim in Anna’s eyes, but Nettie sees it through a foggy haze, as if from far away. Fading, focusing, fading—Anna’s voice again—

“Nettie! Nettie, oh God please wake up—”

“Wake up, damn you.”

Nettie was startled into consciousness by the sound of her own voice. Every muscle was rigid, her knuckles pressed against eyelids screwed tightly shut. Dropping her hands to the arms of her chair, she released her breath and opened her eyes.

The imagery on her laptop screen had not changed. Anna’s still, pale face, glazed-over eyes staring sightlessly to the heavens. A deep laceration on the upper right forehead, a fading contusion on the left cheek. A fresh-looking bruise to the left mandible, which was angulated slightly, clearly displaced—when had that happened?

Flipping the laptop screen closed, Nettie reached for her phone.

Bridgett picked up on the first ring. “Got something, Nettie?”

“There was a second.”

“An accomplice, you mean?”

“Yeah. Looking at those pics and reading the case report did bring back a few things. We never had eyes on her, at least I didn’t, but Anna and I both heard Brentshaw talking to a woman, a couple of times. I remember hearing them talking from another room of the trailer, and Anna telling me about hearing them outside.”

“How sure are you?”

Nettie closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “I can’t say it’s a hundred percent. I was damn sick, Bridgett. I have memories of just fading in and out, talking to Anna one second and her screaming at me to wake up the next. Literally anything I remember has a very decent chance of just being a goddamn fever dream. But this—it seems fairly clear.”

Shifting in the chair, she pulled herself upright to soothe her aching back. “Besides, even if there was an accomplice, I don’t know that we can even begin to guess who it might have been. This is a very cold trail, Bridgett.”

“I know it. Anything else?”

“No memories in particular, but a few observations about the case report details. I doubt like hell it’s anything you or the FBI people haven’t thought of.”

“I’d like to hear it anyway.”

“So—Anna and I were found in an abandoned trailer three miles deep in the woods, roughly fifteen miles from home. Let’s say we double that; call the radius thirty miles. I mean, the perp isn’t gonna want to go too far down the highway with two captive girls in his vehicle. He gets pulled over, he’s fucked.”

“That’s the assumption we’ve been operating under,” Bridgett agreed. “Most people have no idea what a thirty mile radius even means in terms of ground to cover. It already borders on unmanageable; anything bigger is just hopeless. But where are you going with this?”

“Well, the area we’re looking at now is just as full of back pastures, untillable woodlands, abandoned iron mines, you name it. Junk, debris, and unused dwellings all over hell and gone. Is there even a procedure for trying to investigate all the possibilities?”

Bridgett gave an audible sigh. “Not a good one. The FBI is using satellite imagery to try and narrow down potential sites, with an eye towards anything that gives any indication of having been accessed recently. Obviously that’s so far from perfect it’s laughable; just for starters we have no idea how many sites might be completely obscured by tree cover. But there’s no way we can stomp that much ground. Let’s add to that the fact that every site we can view is on someone’s land. It’s not reasonable to ask for warrants to investigate every single possibility. There has to be some kind of process of elimination, and anything they pick is going to be arbitrary to an extent.”

Nettie chewed on the inside of her cheek. “What about that trailer park they were taken from? Forbes, Minnesota—it’s like the ghetto comes to fairyland from what I can see. A mobile home park literally in the middle of the pine forest, a fair number of vacant lots, not a single trailer newer than the eighties, half of them unoccupied—from the satellite photos in the case file, I can see two bare trailer frames that no one ever bothered to remove from the lots. Can I assume all the empty trailers have been searched, not to mention the vacant house over by that scrapheap half a mile away?

“That all got checked within the first few hours, Nettie.”

“Dammit. I got nothing, Bridgett. You could check out any female relatives or associates of Brentshaw’s, but I don’t think it’s anything you can hang your hat on.”

“No, not really.” Bridgett’s voice was contemplative. “Let’s switch gears for a second. Something I always found interesting associated with your abduction: you were found because a 911 call from a cellphone was traced to your location. The caller never spoke, but the line stayed open for a while and the operator could hear muffled voices, along with various other noises she couldn’t identify. Do you remember anything about that?”

Nettie hesitated. Ever since she’d read that part of her case file, there had been something drifting around her subconscious, a monster lurking behind her temples seeking its way into the sun. Finally she took a deep breath. “I didn’t know about it till I read the file just now. But reading it triggered something; I’m just not sure what. It’s almost like—like—this is gonna sound dumb. But it’s like something my subconscious doesn’t want me to know about. Does that make any sense at all?”

“More than you might think. But that aside, cell phones were just starting to become common in those days, and smartphones were barely a thing. The account was one of those cheap Nokia phones with the prepaid plans they used to sell at WalMart, and the phone was never found. The only reason the call wasn’t dismissed as a prank and hung up on is because there were kids missing, and the 911 operators were on the alert for anything unusual. The lady who took the call sent it up the chain instead of hanging up and having another jelly donut, which is damn near miraculous. Otherwise, you’d never have been located.”

Nettie’s fingers drummed on the arm of her chair. “That’s what I got out of reading it. We weren’t found because some smart agent made the right deductions. Brentshaw must have got careless, left his burner phone lying around, then Anna or I got hold of it and managed to get a call in. Obviously not something we can duplicate. Dammit.” She realized that her voice was becoming strident, and drew in a steadying breath.

“Nettie.” Bridgett’s voice was gentle but firm. “Do not work yourself into a state over this. The odds aren’t in our favor here, and we knew that going in. I contacted you because we had to try. How long have you been staring at those files now?”

Nettie glanced at her watch. “Five hours, give or take.”

“Put ‘em down. That’s a direct order from your supervising agent. Get yourself a meal and a hot bath, and look at them again in the morning.”

“Bridgett, those girls are still out there—”

“And you’re not going to glean anything from those files that will help them in your current state. Hell, the odds are against you coming up with anything at all, and we both know it. Get some rest, and then start fresh.”

Nettie rubbed her eyes. They felt gritty; overused. “All right, you win. If I think of anything else, I’ll give you a shout.”

“Sounds good. And I’ll pass what you said about a female accomplice to the FBI people. Who knows, that might even be the lead we’re looking for.” She didn’t sound optimistic.

***

An hour later Nettie lay on her couch, hair still damp from the shower, an untied bathrobe wrapped around her otherwise nude frame. I have a real house now, with a way better bed—and my go-to spot is still on the couch, naked, with music blasting. Her lips curled upward in a weary smile. Metal from a bygone age blared forth from the speakers, Black Sabbath circa 1972. Ozzy Osbourne declaring that try your hardest, you’ll still be a loser.

The tidal wave of memories from that year in Dickson washed over her again, but this time she let it rush past, allowing the undisciplined swirls and eddies of random imagery to sweep across her consciousness, enough to momentarily blot out the present.

But maybe not so random. There was a focal point, and it was Black Sabbath, her gateway drug to the world of all things heavy. An afternoon in the Hansons’ living room, Mallory Kalvornek over to spend the night, practicing songs for her student band on Uncle Jason’s keyboard. One of them was a Sabbath tune, wasn’t it? Yes—”Computer God”! A later, leaner, more muscular Sabbath, with Ronnie James Dio on vocals. She’d asked to hear the song again, and Mallory had played the whole album for her. Dehumanizer. Fucking beast of a record.

“Wow, Jamie. You sure have a lot of Black Sabbath records.” The solemn dark-haired girl stands before a shelf full of vinyl, finger tracing the spines. 

“I have more on CD.” The lanky teenager, her chestnut hair swept back in a careless ponytail, moves to a lazy-susan media shelf, turns it, and splays her fingers across a half-dozen jewel cases. “There are a few from the 90s that were never released on vinyl, and a couple others I just haven’t been able to find in record stores. But sooner or later vinyl’s going to make a comeback, and a bunch of stuff will come out then. Wait and see.”

“I like Dehumanizer a lot,” says Nettie. “That singer they have—uh, what’s his name?”

Jamie giggles. “It’s not that simple. Ronnie James Dio wasn’t their only singer. He’s not even the first! That was Ozzy Osbourne. Then—”

“Yeah, you played one of his records for me!” Nettie blurts.

“One of his solo albums, sure. But he started out in Sabbath. He was on the first, uh, eight albums I think. Then they got Dio for a couple albums in the early eighties. Dehumanizer is actually from the second time he was in the band, in the nineties. They recorded with like three other singers in between.”

“That’s just freakin’ complicated,” Julie Hanson puts in. She and Mallory are nestled on the love seat against the opposite wall of Jamie’s attic bedroom, arms wrapped around each other.

Jamie tosses an amused glance over her shoulder. “If you think that’s whacked out, ask me about Deep Purple some time.” Her attention returns to the girl by her side. “Wanna hear some of it?” 

Nettie nods her head vigorously. “Sure!”

“Okay—” Jamie pulls a record from the shelf, shaking the inner sleeve carefully from the cardboard jacket. “Black Sabbath Volume Four. It’s from 1972, and I think it’s the best one with Ozzy.” She holds out the sleeve, record still contained within, an inviting smile on her face. “C’mere, Nettie. I’ll talk you through putting it on.”

As the dark, brooding strains of the opening track permeate the room, Nettie and Jamie turn towards the love seat, two sets of eyebrows arching at the sight of Julie and Mallory locked in a passionate kiss, each with a hand down the front of the other’s pants. 

Jamie’s eyes widen in alarm, darting to Nettie and back again. “Hey, whoa, girls, it’s not just—”

Mallory disengages her mouth from Julie’s, a shuddering exhalation exploding from her at what looks to be a truly intense wave of pleasure. “Relax,” she murmurs. “She’s been initiated. Nettie, why don’t you take Jamie over to the bed and show her what we taught you?” 

The dark-haired girl smiles up at the uncertain teenager at her side and takes her by the hand. The teen hesitates, then allows herself to be led to the bed.

“You’re wrong, Jamie,” mumbled the lightly dozing woman on the couch. “Sabotage is the best Sabbath with Ozzy. But Volume Four is pretty fucking righteous.” In her sleep, Nettie smiled.

***

A noise in the dark. Music, but not the dark, distorted, ominous sludge of Black Sabbath. Carnival sounds, a calliope, or maybe the music blared by the ice cream truck guy—and when did Bronning get a friggin’ ice cream truck?

Phone. It was the goddamn phone. Dragging herself up from the murky depths of deepest slumber, Nettie scrabbled around on the end table, fingers finally closing on the offending device. She forced her eyes to focus on the screen. Hannah.

She swiped the green button. “Hey.” Even the single syllable came out shaky and slurred.

“Oh, honey, were you asleep?”

“No biggie. Christ, what time is it?”

“About seven.”

“PM?” Nettie ventured tentatively.

“Antoinette, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just kinda out of it. I lay down on the couch maybe half an hour ago. Must’ve passed out.”

“Damn, I was hoping it’d been longer than that. Like, maybe you slept all afternoon.”

“Well, that was the plan,” said Nettie. “but Ramscone had a case she wanted me to look at. It ate up a good chunk of the day.”

“I thought you were free to tell them no.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to.” There was an edge to Nettie’s voice.

“Don’t snap at me, Antoinette,” Hannah’s tone was also a bit chilly.

Nettie’s breath whooshed out of her. “Sorry. It’s kind of a shitty case, and it’s time-sensitive. Long story. I’ll probably be working on it some more tomorrow.”

“Don’t you work an ambulance shift tomorrow night?”

“I’m a big girl, Hannah. I’ve got this.”

Hannah blew out her breath audibly, and Nettie cringed. Here you go again. Keep this up, and Hannah will be gone like all the others.

“Hannah, I am so sorry,” she said. “The case I’m working on has me a little upset, is all. It’s not very pleasant. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Can you talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay—just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

All the old knee-jerk reactions were there; the urge to tell Hannah to mind her own goddamn business was almost overpowering. Nettie suppressed it with a herculean effort. Don’t blow this, you dumb bitch. 

“I promise. And Hannah—I really am sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Mmmmm—I like the sound of that. What’ve you got in mind?”

“Dinner at the best place in Johnstown this coming weekend, followed by some tongue exercises that will blow your mind.”

Hannah snorted laughter. “I’m pretty sure the best restaurant in Johnstown is fucking Applebee’s.”

Nettie laughed too, the tension in her gut easing. “I think we can do a little better than that.”

“It’s a date. Go back to sleep; we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Night, Hannah.”

Rolling off the couch, Nettie stood indecisively for a moment, contemplating whether or not to toss down a couple of drinks before bed. In her mind’s eye she watched the amber liquid pour smoothly into the glass, enjoyed the life-affirming gurgle. Felt the smooth, slow burn down the back of her throat. Wallowed in the fuzzy-minded bliss that followed.

Then her eyes filled with tears. Face it, toots. You’re morphing into a full-blown, five-alarm alcoholic. And you sure as fuck aren’t going to help find those girls waking up tomorrow with a soggy brain. 

Angrily shoving the phone into her pocket, she stalked to her bedroom, slamming the door behind. She could feel herself fading away again almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, then a stray thought jolted her momentarily back awake. Mallory’s right. You have to talk to Hannah. You can’t keep this inside anymore.

Nettie slipped into unconsciousness on a tear-soaked pillow.

***

Heather Dulcey stalks the periphery of their enclosure, pushing experimentally on the aged timber of the walls. Thus far, it’s proven to be far more solid than it looks.

“What’re you doing, Heather?” Gina’s voice is plaintive, but steady for perhaps the first time since they were taken.

“Trying to find a way out.”

“What—what if he comes back and catches you?”

“He’s been gone all afternoon. What are you afraid of, anyhow? That we’ll get in big trouble if he catches us? We’ll get grounded or something? C’mon—help me with this!”

Gina seems to ponder that for a long moment. Then she rises, makes her way to the opposite end of the wall Heather is currently probing, and begins pushing against the siding boards.

***

“There was no reason to call in a goddamn scene flight,” Jason Hanson was saying. He and his wife Lisa lounged in matching recliners, their daughter Victoria taking up the entire loveseat, legs splayed out and back resting against the arm. Julie and Mallory were side by side on the couch.

“So we get out there,” he went on, “and the local firefighters have this thirteen-year-old girl trussed up like a chicken on a backboard. Her parents were off trying to chase down the horse that threw her, instead of tending to their injured kid. Her only complaint was neck pain, and I use the word neck in the loosest possible sense. She was so fat she didn’t have one.”

“At thirteen,” Julie was shaking her head.

“At thirteen,” Jason agreed. “She was so neckless they couldn’t get a C-collar on her.”

“How much do you think she weighed?” Victoria wanted to know. Vicky favored her mother; an oval face framed by hair that would have been light brown, had it not been dyed a flaming shade of pink.

“Oh, she knew it off the top of her head,” said Jason. “Three hundred thirty. She’d had a well-child like two days prior.”

“Ouch,” said Julie. “If I was a horse, I’d probably have thrown her too.”

“So anyway,” Jason went on, “I asked if she knew her weight. She had it right on the tip of her tongue, and then she says: ‘I know, I’m a little chubby, but it’s Covid weight. Everyone put on weight during Covid, right?’”

A chuckle went around the room. “Sounds like that kid put on everyone’s Covid weight,” Julie observed.

Jason sobered. “It’s gotten radically worse just in the decade and a half I’ve been doing this,” he said. “The obese adults are one thing, but it’s the kids that always get me. Where the hell are mom and dad while little princess is stuffing her face with an entire box of snack cakes in one sitting?”

“Working,” said Lisa. “The kids are all latchkey these days.”

Vicky glanced over at Julie. “I’m trying to even imagine what Mom and Dad would do if I started packing it on like that, or if you had.”

“Probably lock up everything in the house that wasn’t a fruit or vegetable,” Julie replied.

Mallory shrugged. “It’s not like there was ever a junk food problem in this house, anyway. Or even a convenience food problem. I remember being amazed at first at how good I ate when I was here. At home we were mostly eating microwavables. Then I come here, and Julie’s dragging me into the kitchen yelling, ‘come help me cook!’”

“You got good at it, too,” Lisa observed.

“So, what about the overweight horse-girl?” Vicky inquired.

“Actually, that was interesting,” said Jason. “I knew right off she didn’t need a thirty thousand dollar helicopter ride; ground transport to a local facility was fine. But once we’re on scene, we can’t leave her with a lower level of care. So we rode to the local hospital with the ground ambulance crew, and had our pilot meet us there.”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” said Mallory.

“Oh, I’ve done it a handful of times. Hell—I did a transfer with Nettie a couple of years ago. She brought a guy from a dinky local hospital to an airfield and—well, long story, but there were complications that made air transport a problem. Nettie already knew it, too. The first thing she said was ‘maybe I should just take him by ground’.”

“And you couldn’t leave him with the ground crew,” said Julie.

“In that case,” said Jason, “we probably could have got away with it. Nettie has the same critical care endorsement I’ve got. Not a whole lot of ground medics do. But it covered all of our asses for myself and the flight nurse to just go along for the ride, so that’s how we did it. It was kinda fun to work with Nettie for a couple of hours. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her in action.”

“Is she good?” said Vicky.

“I offered her a job,” Jason replied.

Mallory chuckled. “Not surprising. Remember how when you were in medic school she read way ahead in your textbooks, then actually explained stuff to you?”

Jason grinned. “Believe me, I do. Nothing like being shown up by a precocious fifth-grader.”

“I wonder why Nettie didn’t take you up on that job offer for flight,” Julie pondered, “since she has the certs for it. It’d pay better, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” said Jason. “It’d expand her scope of practice, too. Lots of stuff we have on the helos that ground transport doesn’t. We even have some bases up in her area, and I’ve reached out to her every time there’s been an opening. But she always gives me a polite ‘no thank you’.”

“That seems kinda weird,” said Vicky. “Why wouldn’t she want a better job?”

“You guys still don’t get it?” Mallory put in, her voice soft and contemplative.

“I think I do,” said Lisa.

“I guess I don’t,” said Jason.

“It’s about Anna,” said Mallory. “It was always about Anna. I remember her talking about that once; just about the only time I remember her ever mentioning it directly. Part of her has always believed that if there’d been an ALS ambulance right there at the beginning, her sister could have been saved. She’s staying on the ground, in a rural area with long transport times, because of Anna.”

“She’s probably wrong about that,” said Jason. “I remember the conversation, now that you mention it; all of us except Vicky were here.”

“Well,” said Lisa with a smile, “Vicky was, in a way.” She ran a hand across her now perfectly flat belly.

“I remember you telling her it was possible,” said Julie.

“And it is,” said Jason. “Just not likely. I admit to softening it a bit when she asked; what else was I gonna do? She was eleven. But based on admittedly incomplete information, I think Annamarie was in irreversible shock when they picked her up. You could have had a helicopter right there the moment they pulled them out of that trailer, and it most likely wouldn’t have mattered.”

Vicky was staring at her hands. “That really sucks. I never got to meet her.”

“None of us knew her all that well,” said Jason. “We didn’t really know Nettie either, not until she came to live here. You have to realize: my sister Clarice has some, um, monsters in her attic, and the man she married was pretty much the same. They met when they were undergoing inpatient psychiatric care. When they both had breakdowns after what happened to the girls, I was the least surprised man on the planet.”

“Whoa, I never knew Nettie’s folks had mental problems even before the kidnapping,” said Julie, eyebrows lifted.

Jason snorted. “It’s not like I was gonna tell you about it at that age. And later, I guess it just never came up. But yeah—there was some very not-good shit, long before the girls were taken. After Clarice went to Bronning to move in with Darell, she kind of kept the rest of us at a distance. We saw the girls maybe once or twice a year.”

“And it wasn’t much better than that after Nettie went home,” Julie chimed in.

“Well, for one thing, their marriage was over by then,” said Lisa. “they never did move back in together.”

“I knew hardly any of this at the time,” said Mallory, her face drawn. “It’s a good thing Nettie came here. God knows how she would have ended up otherwise.”

“I think we did a good job,” said Lisa, her face brightening a little. “It wasn’t easy, but I’m really glad we did it. She’s come a long way since then.”

Mallory and Julie shared a look, their thoughts reflected in each other’s eyes. Before departing Bronning that morning, they’d had a small glimpse of the deep pain beneath the surface of Nettie’s outward demeanor.

“She seems cool,” said Vicky. “Too bad she doesn’t live closer.”

“It’s okay—you’ve got me for the summer. What could be better than that?” Julie was grinning.

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. I get to spend three months fending off my bitchy big sister.”

“This is the best thing that ever happened to you, kiddo,” Julie declared. “I’m back, and just when you’re old enough that I can show you all the fun stuff.” She glanced toward Jason and Lisa with a glint in her eye. “We just have to wait till the parental units are asleep—or lock ‘em in the root cellar, whichever seems easiest.”

Lisa smiled. “As if we didn’t know about all the stuff you were getting up to at the time.”

Mallory and Julie both snickered. “But did you?” said Mallory. “Did you really?”

“What I always wondered,” said Jason, “is how much of your spending money got funneled into Elaine Spencer’s hands to buy vodka in Reggie’s liquor store.”

Julie choked on a swallow of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, spluttering into her hand.

“Wait, what?” Vicky demanded.

“You knew about that?” said Mallory.

“Of course we knew,” said Lisa. “And we also trusted the two of you not to get too stupid. So long as you were just hanging out at Lake Norman with Emma and Cindy, walking instead of driving, we figured it was harmless teenage stuff. It wasn’t like those idiots doing up on meth and hot-rodding their pickups on the back roads.”

“And I knew from bitter experience,” said Jason, “that if teens get too many restrictions slapped on them, they start acting out in ways that are dangerous for realsies. You girls were pretty responsible. I won’t say I didn’t worry, but not enough to wreck your good time.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I was a pillar of virtue at that age.”

“Well,” said Julie, eyes turned to the ceiling, “there was the time that—” she shrugged. “Um. I guess it wasn’t all that much. Come to think of it, we really were kinda boring, Mal.”

“Soooo great,” said Vicky. “You’ve come back to teach me all the ways to be boring In Dickson. I can’t wait.”

Mallory burst out laughing. “Kiddo, the ways to be boring in Dickson are many, varied, and never-ending. What we need to do is bring you out to Colorado for a few weeks. Spend a day or two in Denver. I think it’s a physical impossibility to get bored in Denver.”

“I don’t know,” said Julie. Her eyes were on the ceiling again. “We’ve been back in Minnesota for all of three days, and I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in years.”

“You know,” said Mallory, “you might just have something there.”

***

With a loud crack, the partially rotted siding board gives way. Unprepared, Heather pitches forward, cracking her forehead a good one on a stud. “Ow!” she blurts. Gina, who’d been lending her weight to the effort, falls sideways, landing against Heather and knocking her to the concrete floor.

Momentarily dazed, flabbergasted at their totally unexpected success, Heather stares disbelievingly at the four-inch opening between the floor and the next board up.

“Yes!” she exults.

Gina studies the opening with somewhat less enthusiasm. “We can’t fit through there, you know.”

“Maybe not,” Heather agrees. “And I don’t think we’ll be able to break the boards above it, either. But look how busted up the cement is, down here on the edge! Maybe we can work some of it loose and crawl under.” Shifting her body around, she kicks at the cracked chunks of concrete floor, looking for one with a little bit of give. It only takes a few seconds to find it.

On to Chapter Eight!

For a list of the many characters who populate this saga, check out Dramatis Personae.

Thus far in our story…

Prologue: Hailey Ellis has returned to Morcant-On-Sea after several years away, only to find the coastal town is a shadow of its former self. Amidst this decline, Hailey navigates her various relationships, but a shocking encounter with her selkie aunt foreshadows a chain of events that will change all their lives forever.

Ch1: Several months later in the village of Derwold, the summer holidays begin for the Newton girls. Eleven-year-old Freya struggles to cope with the changes that adolescence brings, and wonders why she feels so angry and alone. To add to her unhappiness, she experiences her first period. 

Ch2: The next day, Freya has a chance meeting with Elsa Hart, wife of the new lord of Derwold Manor. A little later, Freya joins Sadie and her sister Millie for a lesson in alchemy, but things don’t quite go as planned when Millie inadvertently amplifies the potency of the love potion they’ve brewed. After the effects have worn off, Millie visits the churchyard to pay her respects to an old friend. Whilst there, she has an encounter with a black panther, and discovers she can communicate with the creature.

Ch3: Several days later, Simon and Elsa host a housewarming party in the grounds of the old manor. Elsa treats Freya to a tour of the recent restoration efforts, and the seeds are sown for a burgeoning friendship. Meanwhile, post mistress Sally Jeffries has a few too many drinks and ends up accidentally setting fire to pompous druid Bernard, then has a few choice words for Simon Derwold, who she remembers from decades before. Georgia, Sadie and Millie make their way home, where they indulge in a night of passion in the lounge, only to be interrupted by Elsa and Freya. Elsa comes to suspect her new neighbours are not all that they seem.

Ch4: The vicar of Derwold has been murdered by an unknown assailant. Unaware of the events that are about to unfold, Sadie tries to fathom the mysteries of the ancient standing stone near her cottage with the help of Freya and Millie. Later, Freya pays a visit to Derwold Manor, and she and Elsa enjoy an afternoon of passion. It turns out Elsa is using Freya for her own ends, and the eleven-year-old is tricked into revealing all their secrets.

Ch5: Sadie receives a concerning call from Vivaan Dinesh, Derwold’s resident doctor. At the surgery, she is confronted with the murdered vicar. Meanwhile, Millie rescues Bernard from the mysterious black panther, and the traumatised man confesses he’s not a real druid at all. 

Sadie sets out to investigate the vicar’s murder, and discovers that someone has set an arcane wall around the village, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. In the woods that surround Derwold, she meets Astris the dryad.

Ch6: Astris tells Sadie that Elsa is the one who has sealed off the village, though for what purpose she doesn’t know. The dryad also hints that Elsa is a witch, and that she harbours great power. Sadie researches the Derwold family and discovers they have a troubled history. She also discovers Elsa changed her name to conceal her past, and is inexplicably older than she seems. 

At the post office, Sally Jeffries tells Sadie a disturbing childhood story, in which an eight-year-old Simon tortured and killed his pet dog. Suspecting the vicar’s murder may have been Simon’s doing, Sadie hastens to Beekeeper Cottage to make sure everyone’s safe, but Freya has already gone to the manor to meet with Elsa. Sadie races to retrieve her.

Ch7: At Derwold Manor, stark truths are revealed. Elsa has sealed the village off to protect Simon. More than that, she intends to set the stage for a new world order, one where women rule and men are consigned to history. She asks Sadie and Millie to join her, but Sadie refuses. She and Freya arrive back at Beekeeper Cottage only to find Georgia and Millie missing. They are captured by Elsa’s thugs, and reunited with Georgia and Millie, the four of them are imprisoned in the manor. 

Discovering the large rock in the cellar where they are confined is actually an ancient standing stone, Millie manages to tap into its magic, and she and Sadie are transported to an unknown location. 

Ch8: Enraged, Elsa threatens to kill Georgia if Freya doesn’t tell her where Sadie and Millie have gone, but Freya manages to convince her they know nothing of their whereabouts. Taking no chances, Elsa locks them in a room full of taxidermy specimens. Freya opens up to her mother, expressing her fears and doubts.

Meanwhile, in the Cornish town of Morcant-On-Sea, a tribe of Selkie rescue a near-drowned Sadie and Millie, then point them in the direction of the lighthouse. Sadie hopes that whoever lives up there can help them get back home. Having reached their destination, they discover a strange cocoon-like object. Before they have time to consider exactly what it is or what it means, they realise someone has followed them into the lighthouse.

Ch9: Elsa uses the menhir to determine Sadie and Millie’s whereabouts. Having discovered they are in the town where she spent her childhood, the enraged woman prepares to recapture them. 

Meanwhile, Sadie and Millie meet Hailey and Derek. Hailey tells them that whatever’s sleeping inside the cocoon was once her selkie aunt, Rita. Sadie explains that she needs to get back to Derwold to rescue Georgia and Freya, but with no easy way back to the mainland, they will need to wait until morning. Meanwhile, Sadie’s cat familiar, Billy Buckham, sneaks into Derwold Manor with plans of his own.

Some time later, Millie is awakened by a strange voice summoning her to the top of the lighthouse. There she meets a spectral version of Rita, and the two of them enjoy a moment of intimacy, culminating in an exchange of old magics. Over on the mainland, Elsa makes her way towards the coast to prepare an invasion.

Ch10: Elsa raises an army of the dead and invades Morcant-On-Sea. Sadie does her best to protect Hailey and Derek, but Millie is trapped in the lighthouse and they must get to her with all haste. Fighting their way to the top, they find a very angry Elsa. Revealing her true power, the dark witch threatens to kill them all, but she has invoked the wrath of the creature slumbering inside the cocoon. It bursts free, revealing itself to be a Siren. Amidst the ensuing chaos, the creature flies off with Elsa in its grasp, and Sadie, Millie, Hailey and Derek make their escape from the destroyed town.

Safely on board Derek’s trawler and bound for Derwold, Hailey discovers the sexual nature of Sadie and Millie’s relationship. The four of them part ways in the border town of Lydney. Hailey and Derek return to Morcant to help with rescue efforts, and Sadie and Millie head home, unaware of whatever awaits them there.

Ch11: Sadie and Bernard rally the entire village to march on Derwold Manor and rescue Georgia and Freya. Meanwhile, Georgia and Freya, with the help of Billy, manage to incapacitate Simon and escape. Finally reunited, Sadie, Georgia and the girls can only watch as the manor is consumed by flames. Simon chooses to perish in his home, rather than face the music.

Some days later, with life in Derwold having returned to normal, Georgia and the girls visit Sadie at her home. Sadie reveals she must leave the village and seek out the fate of the covens and her Wiccan sisters. To mark her departure, Sadie, Georgia and the girls enjoy an intimate picnic at the waterfall glade. But watching from the trees is a mysterious figure.

Ch12: Elsa Hart lives! Having been spirited away from the lighthouse by the siren several days before, we learn how Elsa came to survive the encounter. 

Amidst an epic battle between dark witch and mythical sea creature, Elsa remembers her childhood friendship with Reeta of the Selkie, unsure why her suppressed memories choose to make themselves known now. Finally, with her power all but exhausted and her magpie familiar dead, Elsa realises with horror that the siren is Reeta, though how her old friend came to be this monster, she has no idea. If that wasn’t enough, the siren appears to be pregnant. Unable to end its life, Elsa lets the creature go.

Poisoned, and severely wounded, Elsa comes under the care of a kindly old hermit who nurses her back to health. When she is well enough to travel again, she makes a detour to a destroyed Morcant-On-Sea to find a very old, very precious clock. There she buries Minerva, her beloved familiar, and makes a tentative peace with her past. It is a greatly diminished but more reflective Elsa that returns to Derwold.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the final installment. Read on…

by BlueJean

1

They found Rita on the eighth day of searching, floating on the surface of the water like so much flotsam, her membranous wings bent at awkward angles. She was dead. And perhaps that was a blessing.

After ferrying Sadie and Millie to the mainland, Hailey and Derek made their way back to Morcant, or whatever was left of it. The rescue teams were already there, digging through rubble and detritus. Twenty-three people had been pulled out alive. Seven more hadn’t been so lucky.

Hailey and her uncle offered what help they could, but once all of Morcant’s residents had been accounted for and ushered onto boats for evacuation, the two of them stayed behind, clambering up the collapsed cliffside to their cottage. They packed what little belongings they had room to carry, then cautiously made their way back down to the boat. The trawler wasn’t large, but it had a cabin with bunks, a working shower and toilet, and a small stove. They could live there in relative comfort for as long as need demanded.

Then they set out to search for Rita, if indeed there was any remnant of her left inside that terrible creature.

The siren’s call guided them ever onwards, but she remained frustratingly elusive. Often, Derek was certain they were heading in the right direction, only to find empty water or an abandoned spit of rocks. Other days the sound was so faint they had no chance of pinpointing its location.

Two days passed without them hearing the call at all, and they were sure the trail was lost until Derek swore blind the large shape he had seen in the sky off in the distance was Rita. They picked up the call of the siren once more. The search continued.

On the sixth day, the call became weak and sporadic, not simply the sound itself, but the glamour it held over Derek and Hailey. By the seventh day, it was even fainter, and far less frequent. By the eighth, there was nothing but the sound of water lapping against the hull of the boat, and the occasional seabird overhead.

By some miracle they found her anyway.

They dragged Rita aboard and laid her on deck. Hailey reached out to let a hand hover over the corpse for a hesitant moment before resting it on a grey, mottled shoulder. “So cold,” she said in a faint voice.

Derek balanced on his haunches and afforded the siren a fisherman’s appraisal. “Don’t think she’s been dead for long,” he said. “No sign of scavengers gettin’ at her, anyroad.“

“What about all this?“ Hailey said, pointing to the myriad cuts and lesions that mapped the creature’s body. “And… Christ, one of her eyes has been gouged out.“

“I’m thinkin’ all that happened when she was still alive. Most of her injuries show signs of healin’.“

“Do you think Elsa did this?”

“Aye, could be. Had to ‘ave been one hell of a fight.“ Derek shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Rita. You didn’t deserve this.“

“What’re we going to do with her?“

“Find somewhere to bury her, I s’pose. I’m glad it was us what found her – elsewise, she’d prob’ly end up bein’ dissected in a lab somewhere.“

“I should call Sadie,” Hailey said.

Derek looked at his niece blankly. “Eh?“

“Elsa may still be alive. They might be in danger.“

“Oh. Hard to say. We can only hope she’s lyin’ at the bottom of the sea. Couldn’t happen to a nicer woman.“

To make sense of death was hard enough, but to process this… It was too much to bear. The strangeness of it. Hailey couldn’t decide if it was sorrow or horror she felt. “I wish I’d never come back to Morcant,” she murmured.

“Don’t say that, girl,” Derek told her. He choked out a single sob, then put a fist to his mouth to stifle any further anguish.

Hailey wrapped her arms around her uncle’s waist, and the two of them held each other close for a span.

“I should get us to land,” Derek mumbled when they’d parted. He gave Hailey a rough pat on the shoulder, then made for the wheelhouse.

Hailey wiped away the last residue of tears from her eyes, then sank to her knees next to the creature. “Were you still you when the end came?“ she asked of the pale thing. “Or did you die in that cocoon? It’s easier for me to believe you did, you know?“

Some vague sense of movement drew Hailey’s eye to the thing’s belly. Had its stomach always been that distended? True, the chaos inside the lighthouse had not exactly given Hailey an opportunity to scrutinise the creature’s anatomy in any great detail, and it was possible the thing had gorged since then.

“I hope that’s you in there, Elsa,” Hailey said, surprised by the level of vehemence in her voice. “You deserve it.“

But wait. Something was moving beneath that pale grey skin. A jerk. A spasm. Hailey stared in horrified fascination. Then a larger, more violent convulsion, like something… something trying to get out?

Hailey’s hands flew to her mouth in shock. “Uncle Derek! Something’s happening!“

Derek rushed over. “Eh?“

“I think she’s still alive! Look!“

Derek loomed over the siren. His eyes went wide, and then he was rushing to the wheelhouse.

“What’s happening?“ Hailey cried.

When Derek returned a few moments later, he held a large gutting knife in his hand, its blade keen and unyielding.

Hailey regarded it for an instant before sudden realisation kicked in. “Whoa, wait! Let’s think this through. We don’t know what’s happening here!“

Derek hunkered down and readied the sharp implement, his face set grim. “I’ve seen my fair share of dead things, Hailey. I know what dead looks like. She definitely ain’t alive, but somethin‘ is.“

“Oh, God…” Hailey groaned, turning away from the inevitable. “When will it end? She’s like a set of Russian dolls.“

Derek steeled himself, then cut into the meat of the thing’s belly, slicing carefully through each layer of flesh so as not to damage whatever was moving inside.

Hailey rocked back and forth on her haunches, the knuckles of one hand trapped between her teeth. It’s just a fish, that’s all. A fish swallowed whole. An eel, maybe.

But eels didn’t sound like human babies, did they? No. Only human babies sounded like human babies. Hailey turned to the unexpected noise, her hands flying to her mouth in utter shock and disbelief.

“Look,” Derek said, his face gone pale. “Look what I found.“

Hailey stared at the mucky newborn he held aloft, unable to fully make sense of what she was seeing. “It’s a baby,” she said dumbly. “It’s a baby girl.“

“Hold her for me,” Derek said with a quivering voice. “I need to cut the, er…”

“Umbilical.“

“Aye. Hold her.“

Hailey took the babe with shaking hands. She wiped mucus from its brow and face while Derek took hold of the cord tethering it to the dead siren. “Not sure where to cut,“ he said.

“It’s a baby…” Hailey kept murmuring.

“Need some help here, girl. Do you know the best place to cut the cord?“

Hailey peered up at her uncle with wide, blinking eyes. “Don’t think it matters. Uh… leave a couple of inches, then tie it off with some thread or something. It’ll bleed otherwise.“

“All right.“

Hailey turned her attention back to the tiny miracle in her arms, the babe’s wails now turned to soft mewls. There was already a sparse smattering of red hair on her head, and her eyes were a familiar green. Her tiny limbs paddled the air, and if that was notable, it was only because they were limbs – human limbs, not the reptilian tail of a siren or the flipper of a selkie.

“It’s Rita,” Hailey said in amazement. “Isn’t it? It looks like her, at least.“

“Aye,” Derek said as he worked at the umbilical. “She came back to us. Millie said summit strange, summit about Rita bein’ inside a belly. Didn’t pay it much heed at the time.“

“Look at you,” Hailey murmured, her pinky finger caught in the babe’s grip. It peered up at her with bright eyes, and Hailey could’ve sworn there was something resembling recognition in them. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

Hailey couldn’t have failed to recognise Rita in those features, not simply a passing resemblance, but a sense that this might actually be Rita, that somehow this strange alien life cycle had come full circle and delivered her aunt back to her.

But had Georgia been on that boat, she might have recognised something different – the button-shaped nose, the soft dimples at the corners of the mouth. For there was undeniably something of Millie in the infant’s appearance, too, though Hailey was understandably oblivious to the notion that the babe might be the progeny of a mythical sea creature and an eight-year-old girl. Right now, this was more than enough for the sane mind to process.

Derek cut a woolen thread from his jumper and used it to tie off the umbilical. They took the newborn down to the living quarters to get her cleaned up.

2

“Stay here,” Sadie told the others, her eyes never leaving the dark figure standing at the edge of the forest. She wrapped her sarong skirt around her waist, slipped her top on, then slowly walked out to meet the newcomer.

Elsa pulled back her hood to reveal the ruination of her face. Her once wild red hair had been cropped short against her scalp, and Sadie guessed she must have recently shaved it to better treat the wounds that mapped her face and skull. Where her right ear had been, there was naught but a raw, bloody hole, the tissue there angry and barely healed.

Sadie peered down to briefly see the fingers of a hand reduced to bandaged stumps before Elsa slipped it back inside her cloak.

“Hello, Sadie.“

Sadie said nothing for a long moment. Even greatly diminished, it would be a grave mistake to underestimate Elsa, but she couldn’t help feel some measure of pity for the woman. Perhaps that was a mistake too. Finally, she spoke. “Why have you come back?“

“It was my home, wasn’t it? For a brief time, at least. And yet, all I find is charred timbers and a new gravestone. I’ll assume you had something to do with that.“

“Simon was the author of his own demise. Some of the responsibility lies with you, though. People died in Morcant, Elsa. Buried in their own homes. Did you mean to raze an entire town to the ground?“

Elsa was smiling bitterly. “I thought destroying my past would cut that part of me away. Naïve, wasn’t it?“

“How can you not see how wrong all this is? Don’t you understand the pain you’ve caused?“

Elsa jabbed herself in the chest with her fingerless hand. “What about my pain?! I’m not the villain! I’m not! I just… I just wanted to build a better world for us.”

“Oh, not like this, Elsa! Not like this. This wasn’t the right way to do it.“

Elsa absentmindedly reached out to touch her right shoulder, as if she were expecting to find something there. When her hand found nothing but the dark fabric of her cloak, she winced, grief etched into her disfigured face.

The bird, Sadie thought. Elsa’s lost her familiar. She’d never seen someone so beaten, so racked by despair.

“Back at the lighthouse,” Elsa said, “you said you’d be a friend to me if I needed one.“ She met Sadie’s gaze, and for a brief moment Sadie thought she saw someone else staring back at her, someone frightened and alone. A little girl called Frances Mooney, perhaps. “Did you mean it?“

“You killed people, Elsa. You would’ve killed us if you’d had the chance. I’m scared of what you might do next. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can be your friend.“

Elsa gave a resigned nod. “Yes, you’re quite right. I’ve been a monster for so long I don’t think I’m able to be anything else now.“

Her eyes turned cold and flinty. Any vulnerability that might once have been there melted away. She was terrible to behold, her injuries lending her a new, monstrous form that was every bit equal to the dark soul beneath.

Sadie stood with her heart in her throat, ready to pull her ward up at a moment’s notice.

But Elsa’s attention had shifted beyond Sadie. Sadie turned to see Millie walking towards them, closely trailed by Georgia and Freya.

“Go back, Millie,” Sadie told her apprentice, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“Millie, come here!“ Georgia hollered.

“The Dryad are here,” Millie said. “Can’t you see them?“

Sadie carefully surveyed the glade, peering through trees and foliage. Her eyes quickly adjusted to make better sense of her surroundings.

The Dryad were indeed amongst them, so close that Sadie wondered how she had not seen them in the first place. Now that she was aware of their presence, the thick magic of their being flooded her senses, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Six of them there were, including Astris herself, and yet no two dryad were alike. One had the silver skin of a birch tree, her hair ashen. Another had the dark skin of mahogany. The remaining three were green like Astris, but wildly different shades, from sage to olive to shamrock.

Elsa had seen them too. Her eyes went wide, and she stumbled towards the nearest dryad, a slender nymph with bright eyes of jade. “Blessed Danu! Can it be true? Dryad? Dryad! Might you be Astris?“

“I am Astris,” Astris said. “But my name is not yours to utter.“

Elsa scurried over to Derwold’s protector. “Astris! My name is Elsa. I’m—

“I know who you are, child. And what you are.“

“I’ve searched so long for your kind! I have so many questions.“ Elsa turned this way and that, regarding the Dryad with childlike wonder. “I have questions for all of you.“

“You’ll get no answers from us, sister,” the silver dryad said. Her voice was like a harsh wind.

Elsa was now still amongst them, her smile turned to confusion. “Why?“

“You are dangerous,” the dark-skinned dryad said without malice. She reached out and placed a hand upon Elsa’s ruined one. “You have strayed.“

Elsa pulled her hand away. “No, no. I’m Old Blood. I’ve come to learn. That’s why you made us, wasn’t it? To lead? To shape the world?“

“I think it would be a very foolish thing to grant you more power than you already wield, witchling,” Astris said. “You have allowed your rage and your insecurities to govern you. You have marched into this forest like a spoilt, petulant child, thrashing and wailing. You have snuffed out life as if it were nothing. But you speak true of one thing – you are of the Tuatha. You are one of ours. And so we will teach you. But it is not power you will learn from us. We will teach you humility, compassion, sacrifice. And to learn those things, you must unlearn all the lessons you have taught yourself, this poison you have mistaken for wisdom.“ Astris stepped silently towards Elsa and regarded the woman solemnly. Elsa seemed to shrink under her scrutiny. “Will you learn the lessons we have to teach, child? Do you want to learn?“

“I don’t have time to learn those things! I’m trying to save the world here! I need to know how to breed without males. I have to set us on the right path before it’s too late. I only have a few decades left to lay a foundation others of our kind can follow. Sooner or later, men will destroy the world, you must see that!“

“Men will destroy themselves,” said another dryad. “The world will continue turning as it ever has.“

“They’ll destroy everything else along with them!“ screamed Elsa.

“Poor thing,” the silver dryad said. “Have you such little faith in nature? The change is already underway. It does not require your assistance.“

“What change? Cancer? Some new pandemic? Anything nature throws at us, we just bat right back. Have you been hiding away in your forests so long you don’t see what’s happening around you?“

“If you are not willing to learn from us, then you must leave this place,” Astris said. “Whatever it is you seek is not here. Will you let us heal some of your wounds before you go?“

Elsa screwed her face up, and for one moment Sadie thought she might throw herself to the ground and bawl like a child. “What a disappointment,” Elsa hissed. “You wait your whole life to meet your gods, only to discover they’re a bunch of fucking morons! And I’ll keep my scars, if it’s all the same to you. I earned them.”

“We were never gods, silly girl,” said the dark dryad.

Astris gestured towards the edge of the glade and the trees beyond. “Leave the Oak Wood now, sister. Do not think to stand against us – you are powerful, but even a child of the Tuatha cannot hope to prevail against this many Dryad. I hope you find peace.“

Elsa made some effort to compose herself. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving. There’s nothing left for me here.“ She strode past the Dryad, then stopped short where Millie stood. “Come find me when you’re old enough,” she said. “I’ll be waiting.“

Georgia put a protective arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

Millie shook her head morosely. “I don’t want to be like you.“

“I’ll be waiting,” Elsa said once more. She turned to Freya, and seemed ready to offer some words before thinking better of it. Finally, she disappeared through the trees.

Sadie let out a relieved breath. “She’s too dangerous to let live, Astris.“

Astris gave the young witch a surprised look. “Oh! Should we have killed her, Sadie Laine? The Dryad do not take life easily, but perhaps we should have restrained her for you so you could administer the killing blow. What is your preferred method of execution? A sharp blade across the throat? To hang her from a tree? Perhaps to hold her head beneath the water until she drowns?“

Sadie looked down at her feet, suddenly unable to meet the dryad’s penetrating gaze.

“No, indeed. Do not speak of killing unless your hands and heart are equal to your words.“

“Is this the other one, Astris?“ the silver dryad asked, leaning down to carefully inspect Millie.

“It is. This is Millie Newton.“

“She doesn’t kill people, though!“ Georgia said with a nervous laugh, her arms around Millie. “She’s normal. Mostly. Just in case you were thinking of doing something… dramatic. Hi, I’m Georgia! I keep bees.“

Georgia stuck her hand out, and the silver dryad recoiled from it. Astris laughed.

“It’s okay, Georgia,” Sadie said, looking embarrassed. “They’re not going to hurt her.“

Freya peered up at the dark skinned dryad with her mouth ajar. The nymph was tall, her limbs strong and wiry. “Uh… hi. I didn’t think there were this many dryads in Derwold.“

The dryad gave her a cursory glance, then chose to ignore her entirely.

“My sisters have travelled through the stones from their own forests,” said Astris. “I needed their aid in unraveling the wall around the Oak Wood, and if there had been violence, I could not have stood up to Elsa alone. We have not been together like this for almost two millennia. There are few of us left now.“

“Aww. It’s nice to catch up with family, isn’t it?“ Georgia said, resisting the urge to click her heels together and murmur, There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home!

While Georgia, Freya and Millie finally found a dryad who would deign to speak to them, Astris took Sadie to one side.

“Sadie Laine, there is something I wish to know.“

“I’ll answer if I can, Astris.“

“What is a ‘fucking moron’?“

3

When the Dryad had retreated back into the forest, and Sadie and the Newtons were gathering their things together to head home, Freya happened upon a crimson shape laid out on the surface of one of the larger rocks.

On closer inspection, she saw it was a rose. A blood rose from the grounds of Derwold Manor.

She reached out a hand to pick it up, then stopped herself.

“No,” she murmured. “I don’t think so.”

The stem was all thorns, and she would not allow it to draw any more blood than it already had.

She turned and ran to catch up with the others.

4

The remainder of the summer holidays passed without incident. Georgia, Sadie and the girls spent several days busying themselves harvesting and bottling the year’s first bounty of honey, and Georgia was grateful for the distraction. After everything that had happened, she needed her children close at hand, at least for the time being.

Sadie divided her remaining time in Derwold between preparations to depart the village and conversing with Astris at the waterfall glade.

The other Dryad had returned to their forests, but Astris explained that the long-severed bond with her sisters had been renewed after so many centuries. It was not the confederation it had once been, and most likely never would be, but it was something.

Sadie asked about the fate of the covens, but Astris told her the Dryad had not been involved with human affairs since the Roman legions invaded their forests two millennia before and drove the Tuatha into hiding. Nevertheless, after much consideration, she gave Sadie the locations of her sisters and suggested she seek them out in their forests for any information they might be able to share.

“What if they won’t speak to me?“ Sadie said.

“Do you still have my acorn?“ asked Astris.

Sadie told her she did. Astris had left them the large green seed several months before, a symbol of gratitude for freeing her from Isabel’s malevolence.

“Take it with you and show it to any of my sisters. Still they may not speak with you, but they will know you have my favour, at least.“

Then Sadie broached the subject of the Old Blood, girls born touched by the power of the Tuatha Dé Danann, like Millie and Elsa. How had they come to be?

“It was our great mistake,“ Astris said after such a long period of silence Sadie thought the dryad would not speak of it at all. “Many ages ago, when your ancestors were still hunter-gatherers, we selected the most gifted amongst your females and planted seeds within them. The children that grew from those seeds were powerful and long-lived, as much Dryad as Human. We nurtured them, primed them for leadership, for your people are headstrong and reckless, and we believed blending a part of ourselves into your gene pool would temper such shortcomings.

“Centuries and millennia passed, and on occasion our power would manifest in your newborn, and though it remained undiluted, with each new generation their physical selves lost more and more of their dryad characteristics until eventually they appeared fully human.

“Then the Legion came from across the sea. We had heard whispers of them, of their cruelty and brutality, how they would swarm like ants, slaughtering anything in their path. They cut down our oldest trees and killed our kind, not just Dryad, but others of the Tuatha too – Giantkin and Fae, Selkie and Merrow. Those that survived fled into the Highlands with the Pictish tribes, but others of our kind stayed and hid in what remained of our forests. Gwenaëlle was the last Old Blood we ever nurtured. Your chroniclers know her as Boudica.“

Sadie’s mouth dropped open. “Boudica?! The Boudica?“

Astris gave a single haughty nod. “She feigned an alliance with the Legion to protect her people. When her husband died, Gwenaëlle was flogged and her two daughters raped.“

“If I remember my history, the Romans took her husband’s lands for themselves,” said Sadie.

“It was her kingdom. Gwenaëlle was queen of the Iceni even then, despite what your chronicles say. Though the Legion must have thought her husband was her protector.“

Sadie pondered that. “They thought it would be easy pickings with her husband out of the way.“

“Just so. They thought it inconceivable that a woman could command a military force. But Gwenaëlle did just that. She gathered the tribes to her cause and set about waging war. Her Dryad mentor Andrasta beseeched her to take her people north instead, where the Legion would not venture. But Gwenaëlle was bent on vengeance. She marched across the land with her armies, slaughtering Legion and Briton alike.“

“It’s hard to blame her, after everything she suffered.“

“Perhaps so. But I saw her during those last days of the uprising. I looked into her eyes and saw what she had become. Vengeance can twist a person beyond all recognition, Sadie Laine. Your chronicles speak of the noble and fierce Queen Boudica of the Iceni, but there is little romance in seeing men boiled alive in their armour, or strung up while…” Astris looked off into the distance. Into the past, Sadie thought. “Such a terrible way to use nature.”

The dryad seemed to come back to herself. She ran her hands through her long, walnut hair. “And so, scattered and diminished, the Tuatha drifted away from Humanity. And from each other. Without our guidance, many of those touched by our power became dangerous and unpredictable. Like Elsa.“

“Could you not have sought them out? Found a way to guide them in secret?“

Astris dipped her hand into the cool, clear waters of the pool, swirling it to and fro. “Humans have a tendency to organise themselves into factions. You segregate yourselves by culture, race, geography, spiritual belief. What you must understand is that the Tuatha only ever saw you as a single people.

“When one army waged war on another, it was naught but humans killing humans to us. We tried to protect you from yourselves, but ultimately, we failed. Nothing will strip you of your primate tendencies. We were foolish to think otherwise. Yes, perhaps the few of us that remained could have intercepted those born touched, and set them back on the path, but who’s to say allowing them to realise the full extent of their power would not have made things worse? Imagine the damage someone like Elsa could have caused if she had been fully nurtured by the Dryad.

“The world has changed. Humans have multiplied exponentially, and few of my kind remain. There are too many unknown variables in taking humans under our wing once more. Too much latitude for catastrophe.“

“What about Millie? Do you think she’ll become another Elsa, then?“

“The child is strange. She is a thing that doesn’t fit. She is… elusive.“

“I don’t understand.“

“Nor I, not fully. But that day when Millie first touched the tree where I dwelled, I had a sense that it was not the first time we had met. Regardless, when her menstrual cycle begins, we will get some measure of her true potential.“

“I hate the thought of not being here for her.“

Astris cupped water in the palm of her green hand, then brought it to her lips. When she was done drinking, she met Sadie’s gaze. “Of that I would speak further. Listen well, witchling.“

5

Sadie and Georgia lay atop the quilt on Georgia’s bed, the breeze from an electric fan delightfully cool against their sweaty skin. Their breaths came in short, laboured bursts.

“You’re one hell of a fuck, Sadie Laine,” Georgia opined.

“Thanks for saying so,” Sadie replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.“

Georgia turned onto her side and regarded her friend and lover. “Why do I get the feeling I’m never going to see you again?“

Sadie cupped her friend’s cheek. “I’ll come back. I will. I’ll come back because I love you. I love the girls.“

“I wish… I wish we could just be a normal family,” Georgia said, and for a moment it was all she could do to keep from crying. “All this magic business. It’s like a thorn in our sides.“

“It’s a part of who I am, Georgia. It’s a part of who Millie is. Nothing can change that.“

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, until Georgia spoke again. “Do you ever think Elsa might have been right?”

Sadie looked surprised. “About what?”

“A world without men. Would it be a better place, do you think?”

“Not with women like Elsa in charge,” said Sadie, then after a moment of consideration added, “I’ve never really had any problems with men. Have you?”

Georgia thought about it. “You say that, but haven’t all women had to put up with crap from men at some point in their lives? Are you telling me you’ve never had unwanted advances from guys, never been leered at in the street, never been treated differently because you have a pair of tits?”

“Of course I have. But that’s hardly a reason to snap my fingers and erase the entire male population, is it? And they’re not all arseholes. What about Mr. Dalliard? And your husband? He was a good man, wasn’t he?”

“I’m just saying.” Georgia gave a half-amused huff. “When I worked in the city, I used to walk down to the coffee shop at the end of the street on my lunch breaks. I remember some builders were working up on scaffolding nearby. Every time I went by I got the usual crap – wolf whistling, crude remarks. In the end I started taking a detour to avoid them. Took me another ten minutes to get my coffee but at least I didn’t have to put up with all the abuse. But I remember feeling so fucking angry that I had to do that, that I had to give way to their bullshit.”

“It’s a woman’s lot in life, isn’t it?”

Georgia bristled. “But it shouldn’t have to be. And some idiot shouting, ‘Oi, show us yer tits, luv!’ is the least of it. What about women in Iran or Afghanistan? Forced to cover themselves from head to toe, never allowed to go to school or university, not even allowed to speak to each other in public. They’re treated like animals. It’s horrific.”

Sadie had no way to counter the truth of that argument. In every society, women and girls had been pushed down in some way. The specter of male dominance loomed over all of them, always had. But Elsa had tried to push back. It was surely the fantasy of a madwoman, but God knows she had tried. And the world had punished her for stepping out of line, as it did so many women, for having the audacity to want change.

Perhaps it was too much of a stretch to blame men for Elsa’s downfall. She’d brought this on herself, hadn’t she?

Isn’t that what they’ve always said about women? Sadie thought. That we bring it on ourselves? That we freely invite everything that comes our way? 

Elsa had been shaped by the world she lived in, same as all of them. A man’s world.

“I don’t know, Georgia. I don’t know if a world like that is even possible, but I do know one thing: if we want to build a better one, genocide isn’t a particularly sound foundation.”

Georgia heaved a great sigh. “I know. I just wonder what that world might look like, that’s all. We’re lucky, I suppose. Derwold’s a good place to live, a hidden place. We can be who we want to be here. Mostly.”

“Mmm. I’ll miss it.”

Georgia traced the curve of Sadie’s breast with a finger. “When do you leave?“

“In a few days. I have a couple of loose ends to tie up first. My replacement at the school will need bringing up to speed, for one.“

“Oh, you found someone?“

“Yeah. She’s never taught before, and she’s awfully young, but I have a good feeling about her.“

Georgia was smirking.

“What?“ said Sadie. “I know that glint in your eye.”

“You have a key for the school, yeah?“

“I do.“

“No one goes in there during the summer holidays, right?“

“No. I’m the only one with a key. What are you up to, Georgia Newton?“

Georgia’s smile widened. “How would you like to play teacher one last time?“

6

Derwold’s school was really nothing more than a large hut with a single classroom, a small staff office, and a cloakroom. It sat on the plot next to the church, the classroom facing out onto a small playing field and the woods beyond. This was good. Because what Georgia had planned for that early Sunday evening, when most of the village’s other residents were sitting down to enjoy a traditional roast dinner, was not something for the eyes of unbelievers.

Georgia told Sadie to meet her at the school at 4 o’clock. She also told her to dress in her work attire, emphasising the importance of stockings and lacy panties. Not so strange – Sadie had always enjoyed wearing naughty lingerie at school, a fact of which Georgia was well aware.

Sadie played along, of course. When she pulled up in the school’s small carpark at a quarter to four, Georgia was already there, leaning on her own car with her arms folded. Freya and Millie were kicking a football around. They were wearing their school uniforms.

“Hello,” Sadie said wryly when she’d got out of her car and met up with Georgia.

“Hello, Miss Laine,” Georgia replied huskily. The beekeeper looked like she was all dressed up for a night on the town. A tight-fitting cream dress clung to her body, and she’d put on her white strappy heels.

“So… what are we all doing here?“ Sadie asked.

“I thought we could all indulge in a little… roleplay.“

“Oh, I see. And what ‘roles’ might we all be playing?“

Georgia played coy, the tip of a finger poised at one corner of her mouth. “Well… you’ll be the teacher. Obviously. Freya and Millie are your students, of course.“

“Of course. And you are?“

“Oh. I’m… the school inspector! I’ll be making sure everything’s, er, ship-shape. And generally just… you know, inspectoring.“

“I don’t think ‘inspectoring’ is a word.“

“I’ll be the judge of that if you don’t mind, Miss Laine.“

“I don’t like school inspectors much. Nobody likes school inspectors much.“

“Yes, well, I’m a very nice school inspector. I’ll just be observing from the sidelines while you go about your business. You won’t even know I’m there.“

“Very well. But I must warn you— sorry, I didn’t catch your name.“

“Miss Newton.“

“I must warn you, Miss Newton, my teaching methods are somewhat… unorthodox.“

“Oh, I’ve heard the rumours, Miss Laine. I’m afraid we’ve all heard the rumours back at the school inspector’s, uh, guild. Department. Headquarters?“

Sadie fished a key from her pocket and held it up. “Perhaps we should go inside and make a start, then.“

Georgia nodded gravely. “I think that would be best, yes.“

7

Inside the classroom, Sadie switched the light on, then closed the blinds. Freya and Millie took their seats at the front of the class, wearing coy little smirks.

Georgia sat in a chair just off to one side. She folded one leg across the other and rested both hands in her lap.

Sadie took her place behind her desk. “Well, here we are,” she said, drumming her fingers upon the varnished wood surface. She afforded Freya and Millie a stern appraisal. “Extra lessons for two very naughty girls. Do you know why you’re here?“

Freya and Millie looked at each other. They shook their heads.

“You were caught in the cloakroom with your knickers round your knees, weren’t you? Well, weren’t you?“

“Er… I suppose so?” said Freya.

“Yes, actually,” said Millie with an enthusiastic nod. “We were fingering each other. Weren’t we, Freya?“

“Oh. Yeah.“

Sadie gestured to Georgia. “This is Miss Newton. She’s a school inspector. She’ll be—”

“Inspecting?“ Freya ventured.

“Exactly. Say hello to the nice lady.“

Millie waved at her mother. “Hello, Miss Newton. It’s lovely to meet you.“

“Hi!” Freya said in a silly voice, sweeping a hand in a slow, wide arc in front of her.

“Hello, children,” Georgia cooed. “My, what pretty girls.“

“Well, then,” said Sadie. “Seeing as you both seem to think it’s appropriate to diddle each other in the cloakroom, I think a little sex education lesson might be in order. Now, come up here and stand in front of my desk.“

Freya and Millie pushed back their chairs and got to their feet. As they approached Sadie’s desk, Freya lifted the back of her skirt and flashed Georgia her knickers. She offered her mother a sassy pout.

“What an ill-mannered child,” Georgia opined.

Sadie circumnavigated her desk, her heels click click clicking upon the polished herringbone floor. “Bend over my desk,” she told the girls, and they complied. She lifted their skirts, leaving the plaid fabric draped across their backs. She gave each of their bums a light swat.

“Ow!“ Freya groused halfheartedly.

Millie peered back at her teacher with a naughty grin. “I quite like that. Do it again.“

Sadie gave Millie another spank, only this time she pulled her knickers to one side and slapped a bare arse cheek.

“How am I doing so far, Miss Newton?“ Sadie asked.

Georgia had allowed a hand to wander up to a breast, kneading it through the material of her smart dress. “I certainly don’t remember this being a part of the curriculum. But carry on, Miss Laine.“

“I told you my methods were rather unusual,” Sadie said. She gave the girls one last swat, then snaked a hand down between Freya’s thighs, rubbing the girl through her panties. When it was Millie’s turn, Sadie pulled the eight-year-old’s knickers high around her waist, the brilliant white cotton moulded tightly around her plump mons. Sadie locked eyes with Georgia as she trailed a finger through the narrow crease before bringing the offending digit to her nose to smell unashamedly.

Georgia hiked her dress up round her waist and spread her knees apart. Her knickers were lacy and semi-transparent. She dragged two fingers back and forth through the lips of her pussy.

“You’ll make a mess of those nice panties,” Sadie warned.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Georgia replied huskily.

“Can we take our knickers off now?“ Millie asked, her fingers already poised at the waistband.

“You can take your skirts off,” Sadie told them. “I’ll deal with your panties myself.“

The girls unclasped their plaid skirts, then stepped out of them. Sadie dropped to her knees and peeled Freya’s knickers down until they hung round her legs. She prised open her bum cheeks, moving to the side so Georgia could see the bright pink interior of her daughter’s cunt. She planted a single kiss on Freya’s arse, then sidled across to where Millie waited.

While Sadie tugged Millie’s knickers down, Georgia unhooked the top few buttons of her dress and scooped out her pillowy breasts. She dipped several fingers beneath her panties and into her cunt, then smeared the wetness across her nipples. She loved the smell of her own arousal. She loved watching her best friend do wicked things to her children, too.

Sadie squatted at Millie’s rear and spread the child’s arse open, peering back at Georgia with husky conviction. She snaked her tongue through the raw crease of Millie’s pussy and arse, leaving them glistening with saliva. She afforded Freya the same treatment, flicking her tongue through the delicate folds, then probing the girl’s arsehole.

Georgia pressed fingers into her sex, stuffing the crotch of her knickers inside. “Oh, you’re a dirty lady, Miss Laine,” she hissed. “Such a filthy, filthy teacher. I can see why my superiors were so concerned now.“

Sadie flashed her eyes at her lover, teeth bared in a wicked grin while her tongue flickered back and forth. This was the fantasy. The one that’d left so many pairs of her lacy knickers soaked through at the end of each day. Two little girls bent over her desk, panties round their knees. But that was only part of the fantasy, wasn’t it? There was more to act out.

“You can take your knickers off now,” Sadie told the girls, and while they eagerly tugged down their undies, she unbuttoned her blouse and slipped free of it, then pushed her skirt to the floor. Her lingerie was white and sheer. “Now that you’ve taken your own panties off,” she told her students, “you can remove mine for me.“

Freya and Millie folded to their knees at either side of Sadie and peeled the gossamer panties down her smooth, toned legs. Sadie stepped out of them, then sat back on her desk. She brought her heels (slutty pumps, Georgia liked to call them) up onto the wooden surface, and spread her legs to their limit. If that wasn’t a lewd enough invitation, she prised herself open like a curtain, the rose-coloured flesh of her sex taut and glistening.

Millie looked back at her mother and smirked, while Freya regarded Sadie’s open sex with unconcealed lust.

“Both of you… get down here and eat my cunt,” Sadie growled.

By now, Georgia had removed her own panties and was scrubbing them back and forth through her moist folds.

Freya and Millie drew closer to get at the rare treat proffered so wantonly by their teacher. They lapped at the musky flesh, tongues working as one as they moved up and down, up and down.

Sadie scooped out her breasts and lubricated her rubbery nipples with saliva. “Fuck yeah,” she snarled, then peered over at her students’ mother frigging herself on the chair. “How’d you like that, Miss Newton?“ she recited in a sing-song voice. “This is how we do it out here in the sticks.“

“It’s a very unusual method of teaching, Miss Laine,” Georgia replied. “But I approve wholeheartedly. Carry on.“

“You hear that, children?“ Sadie said, stroking the girls’ hair. “Miss Newton thinks we’re doing splendid work at our little school. If you show her how well you can make your teacher come, I’m sure she’ll give us an excellent rating.“

Millie stuffed her tongue into Sadie’s cunt. Freya nursed on Sadie’s clit. Moments later, Sadie came hard, pressing herself into the girls’ faces.

“Oh, fuck,” Georgia muttered as the first of her orgasms hit. “That has to be better than an apple on your desk.“

Freya turned to her mother, a hand toying between her legs. Her lips and chin were coated with Sadie’s nectar.

Georgia held up her knickers, the fabric sodden and creamy. “Want these?“

Freya nodded, so Georgia found her feet and brought the messy gift to her eldest, pressing them to her face. Freya sank back onto the desktop and closed her eyes, strumming her slit while she breathed in her mother’s rich scent.

Sadie climbed from the desk, nudged Millie back onto it, then took one of the youngster’s legs between her thighs, rubbing herself on a long, white pelerine sock, leaving it smeared with her juices.

Gazing lovingly at her teacher, Millie eased a finger into her own bum and worked it back and forth.

Georgia leaned across and kissed Sadie on the mouth.

“I love you, Georgia Newton,” Sadie groaned as they parted. “Fuck, how I love you.“

“I know,” Georgia replied. “And I’m worth every ounce of it.“

There were more climaxes that day in the humble little hut that served as Derwold’s only school. When the four of them finally reinstated their clothing and crept out of the building, all they left behind was the sweet scent of their lovemaking.

8

Two days before the new school term was due to begin, Georgia, Sadie, Freya and Millie were gathered in a forest clearing not far from the waterfall glade. Georgia stood behind Millie, hands resting on her youngest daughter’s shoulders. Freya and Sadie stood off to one side in respectful reverence, hands laced in front of them.

Astris, the Green Lady of Derwold, stood a short distance away.

“Do you remember the words?“ Sadie asked Georgia in a low voice. Her face was serious, her jaw set firm.

Georgia nodded.

“Then speak them.“

All of this flew in the face of Georgia’s better judgement. Allowing Sadie to instruct Millie in the ways of witchcraft had been one thing, but this… this was something else entirely. This was a fucking escalation. But what choice did she have as a mother? Sadie was leaving, and her youngest daughter needed guidance, the kind a mere beekeeper simply wasn’t equipped to offer.

But by God, if it needed to be done, it would be done on her terms.

Georgia cleared her throat and spoke. “I bring my daughter before the Dryad. I offer a mother’s consent. I grant you permission to instruct her, to nurture her as you have nurtured others before her. If this is the will of the Tuatha Dé Danann, then let it be done.“

Then, to Sadie’s horror, Georgia added a few amendments of her own. “Except on Sundays, birthdays, Christmas, dental appointments, and days when we’ve made other arrangements. Also, make sure she’s home by a reasonable time, because she has to get up early for school. Oh, and I’d prefer you didn’t teach my daughter anything especially dangerous. If she comes home missing any fingers or toes, you and I will be having words. Okay?“

“Omigod…” hissed Sadie. She closed her eyes and shook her head in despair. One simply did not talk to an ancient forest spirit like that.

Astris padded forward like an animal stalking its prey, her face like thunder. She afforded Georgia a scathing look. “Your terms are outrageous, Georgia Newton,“ she growled before her face softened by small degrees, “but I will agree to them.“

Then the dryad peered down at Millie. “You are the first we have nurtured in two millennia, and I suspect you will be the last. I will not make it easy for you, Millie Newton. Will you listen well to my instruction? Will you work hard?“

Millie gave her most enthusiastic nod. “I was Sadie’s best student, actually. And I’m definitely the cleverest in class.“

Freya rolled her eyes. She was trying hard to stop doing it, really she was, but bloody hell, if that didn’t deserve an eye-roll, nothing did.

Astris folded her arms and considered the child carefully. “We shall see.“

9

There was an atmosphere of anticipation in the classroom that went beyond the usual excited chatter that accompanied the first day of any new term.

Millie pulled out various bits of paraphernalia from her school rucksack, placing each item neatly on her desk. Pencil case. Ruler. Notepad. Calculator.

Her phone was vibrating in her pocket. They were supposed to turn their devices off in class, but Millie had promised Freya she’d leave it on. She pulled it out under the desk and saw her sister had left a message.

They’d seen Freya onto the bus earlier that morning, on her way to her new school just across the border into Wales. There’d been some talk of her boarding there, but it was only an hour’s journey, and Freya said she’d prefer to remain home and commute for now.

Millie read the text.

Well? Who’s your new teacher?

She typed a reply.

Dunno yet. What’s your new school like?

Big! Kind of scary, I guess, but exciting, too.

Okay. Sadie’s coming into the classroom now. I better go. See you tonight. Love you.

Love you too. Good luck!

Sadie entered the classroom to a chorus of, “Hello, Miss Laine! We thought you’d gone, Miss Laine! Did you change your mind about leaving, Miss Laine?!“

Sadie raised a hand. “All right, all right, settle down. I’m just here to introduce your new teacher. Everyone take your seats, please.“

The children parked themselves in place behind their respective desks. Several of them craned their necks in vain attempts to see who was waiting outside in the dark corridor.

“Boys and girls,” Sadie said. “I hope you’ll all be on your very best behaviour for my successor. If you’re not…” At this, Sadie wagged a finger, “…rest assured, I’ll be back to give you all a very stern talking to. Make me proud. And always remember to present the best version of yourselves.“

Sadie gestured to the open door. “Please welcome Derwold’s new teacher – Miss Ellis!“

Hailey came through the door and presented herself to the class, leaving Millie absolutely flabbergasted. If that wasn’t shock enough, there was also the fact that Hailey had a baby strapped to her chest.

Where on earth did she get a baby from? Millie knew enough about human procreation to be absolutely certain infants didn’t reach full term and emerge into the world in a few short weeks. There had been no baby when Millie had last seen Hailey, not even any talk of one. Was she looking after it for a friend?

Everyone was making cooing noises at the babe. Millie caught Hailey’s eye and gave her a discreet little wave. Hailey mouthed hi from across the classroom, accompanied by a knowing smile that left the child light-headed.

Millie tapped out a covert text message to her sister under the table.

Omigod, you’ll never guess who my new teacher is!

10

Sadie Laine packed the last of her belongings into the boot of her car – the essentials, at least. Hailey would look after the rest. In particular, she’d been at great pains to stress the need for proper care of her beloved books.

“You’re welcome to read them, but don’t bend the covers back, it damages the spine,” she had told Hailey. “And never put mugs of hot liquid on them, that’s a big no-no. Oh, and dust them now and again. Books like to be dusted.“

There were several more things to consider:

“If the boiler starts clunking, you have to run the hot water tap for a few minutes. If you don’t, there’s a good chance the cottage will blow up. If you hear scratching noises in the eaves, it’s just birds nesting up there, maybe the odd rat or two. Cows sometimes find their way into the garden from the farm next door. Just shooing them away usually works. And don’t fall down the well!“

Now Georgia was peering into the boot of the car with the thorough scrutiny only a mother can command. “Have you got everything you need?”

“Yes, Georgia.”

“A warm jumper?”

“Yes, Georgia.”

“Enough pillows?”

“Yes, Georgia.”

“Plenty of knickers?”

“Yes, Georgia.”

The two of them regarded each other in silence for a few moments, then burst into laughter.

Sadie pulled her friend and lover into a warm embrace. “I love you, Georgia Newton.”

Georgia nodded solemnly. “Come back to us,” she whispered.

“Always.”

When they’d parted, Georgia gestured discreetly to Hailey, who was standing near the cottage bouncing baby Rita in her arms. “Can she be trusted?”

“Absolutely,” Sadie said.

“What’s going on with that baby, anyway? I’m sure she’s doubled in size since yesterday.”

“Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but yeah, she does seem to be quite the grower.”

“And they found her inside a dead mermaid, you say?” Georgia screwed her face up. “Are you sure this new teacher isn’t having you on? My nan used to tell me they found me in a cabbage patch when I was a baby.”

Sadie shook her head matter-of-factly. “No, no, she’s telling the truth. But it was a siren, not a mermaid. I’ve explained the difference between mermaids and sirens. Several times.”

“I don’t like it,” Georgia decided. “It’s weird.”

“Be nice. Hailey might need some help in the future.”

Freya and Millie were saying their goodbyes to Billy Buckham, who didn’t seem fussed one way or the other. Sadie wandered over and folded to her knees.

“You’re going to tell us to be good, aren’t you?” Freya said with a wry smile.

“Oh, aren’t you the smart arse,” Sadie retorted. “Actually, I have a task for you both.”

“A task?” Millie said.

Sadie glanced back at Hailey and the babe for a moment. When she turned back to Freya and Millie all her humour had gone. “Look out for Rita. I’m assigning you both as her guardians.”

Freya made a face. “Uh, we don’t really know much about babies.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” said Sadie. “I have a feeling she won’t be a baby for long. Just… just be there for her, okay? I can’t trust anyone else with this.”

Millie was regarding the infant with interest. She bunched a fist against her chest. “I will train the child,” she declared. “She will become a great warrior under my mastery!”

Sadie got to her feet. “Right. Good. Or maybe just read her bedtime stories. Whatever works for you.” She kissed the girls on their brows. “Anyway, we can all keep in touch on our phones. It’s not as if I’m going to the Antarctic.”

Sadie slammed the boot of her car shut, then peered back at the little roundhouse with a tear in her eye. She’d been happy here, but had come to realise that happiness wasn’t always enough. Sometimes there needed to be a measure of struggle in life, a little hardship to help us discover who we are and what we’re truly capable of.

Leaving was hard. But staying would only eat away at her.

Besides, there was work to be done. She needed to find out what happened to the covens, why they were so suddenly abandoned. And if there were others like her out there, those of her lineage, Sadie would seek them out.

But you already cast one of your own aside, didn’t you? a voice in her head reminded her. Elsa reached out to you and what did you tell her? “I can’t be your friend.“ Are you sure you made the right decision?

She’d vowed to take responsibility for Elsa, but what did that actually mean? To drive Elsa off? Maybe even to end her life?

No. It meant taking her under your wing, and you know it. That’s why you feel like such a coward, isn’t it? You offered her friendship, then took it back because the prospect of taking responsibility for someone like Elsa was too frightening, too complicated. You wanted a nice neat ending. One where the wicked witch gets her comeuppance and the good guys live happily ever after.

Well, nothing to be done about it now. Elsa was gone. But there might be other Elsas out there. Sadie wasn’t so naïve to believe all witches were pretty schoolteachers who brewed love potions. It was time to step up, to start thinking about what was needed, instead of wanted. There might very well be tough decisions to be made.

Hadn’t Elsa said something like that once?

But I’m not Elsa. I’ll never be Elsa. I’m Sadie Laine.

Sadie pulled the acorn from her coat pocket. Its weight was reassuring in the palm of her hand. She turned it this way and that, then slipped it back inside her coat.

She climbed into her car. Billy Buckham regarded her stoically from the passenger seat.

“Here we go then, grumpy boy. Onwards and upwards.“

Sadie Laine keyed the ignition and drove away from the village of Derwold.

11

Millie Newton stands alone in the forest.

Her eyes are shut tightly. She reaches out and allows the cool breeze to caress the palms of her hands. Shutting everything else out, she pinpoints her senses on the rustling leaves in the trees. But when she listens, she really listens.

Because the trees whisper memories. The trees remember. And Millie Newton understands the subtle language of trees, for she is of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

The currents of the world are shifting, the trees tell her. A monumental change is underway. More and more, women begin to turn away from men and look to each other for comfort and intimacy. Fewer children are born, and of those, nature begins to favour female offspring. Of those born male, an increasing number are sterile and will be unable to father children of their own. Nature is fighting back. The world is unravelling.

The trees whisper other secrets: The last of the Tuatha are out there somewhere, scattered and alone. They must be brought back together, for the knowledge they keep will be much needed in the years to come.

Millie opens her eyes and walks on. A dark shape emerges from the trees and takes its place by her side. She lets her hand wander across its black fur. They’ve been meeting in the forest for some time now. They have an understanding.

“Hello, Serene,” Millie says, because that is the panther’s name in the human tongue.

Together, the young witch and her familiar head towards the waterfall glade where the dryad awaits.

The End