Page 53 of Waltzing With Witches

Oh, this fucker. How we’ve gone from fury to grief to halfway fucking in the span of hours is a mystery to me. But I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to daydreaming about fucking him hundreds of times at this point.

And in every one of those daydreams, he bites me over and over and over again.

I reach behind my back, feeling for the hard-on I know he’ll have. He grunts when I cup it through his slacks, running my hand down the length to his balls. I say a thank you to the gods that slacks are thinner than jeans, because I get the perfect handful of sack, rolling and kneading him between my fingers.

“Fuck,” he moans into my ear. “I’m going to lose my godsdamned mind if you keep doing that. Do you want answers today or not?” His voice is tense, frayed, like he’s on the very edge of sanity.

I step away and turn, shooting him a haughty look. “We’ve never covered the topic of my sexual preferences. But I love a good tease.”

He stares at me, eyes narrowed as he reaches up to straighten his turtleneck.

“Noted, witch.” He flares his wings out wide and lifts off the giant tree branch, zipping up into the sky. I watch the powerful wings at his back as he grabs a current.

“Who knew he had wings?” I mutter.

A polite cough floats down from somewhere above me. Celset or Moira, I expect.

“Oh, I’m sure you knew,” I say under my breath.

The sky above is a pale blue, the Keeper a tiny black dot against the horizon. I turn to see a ladder leading up into the tree above me. It looks like it’s made out of the tree itself, but it's easy enough to ascend.

Except it goes on for literal fucking ages. I must climb a hundred rungs before I come to the treetop and a flat wooden surface. The ladder stops at the mouth of a hole, and when I pop my head up, it’s a tiny porch. The front of Celset’s home is a darling small green cottage with brown trim. Moss and ferns spill out of window boxes along the front four windows. The front door is, well, not a door. It’s simply a round opening like a hobbit hole.

A figure appears in the doorway with a sad smile.

“Hello, Moira.” It’s hard to keep the anger out of my voice at seeing her.

She flutters her wings, lifting them off her body and tucking them back down. The feathers on top of her head lift and flatten twice. “I expect Abe told you everything?”

“He did,” I confirm, pulling my way up onto the porch. Awkward tension fills the space between us.

“Good,” she says after a long, tense beat. “I’ve encouraged him to share that with you since you arrived. Please come in, and we’ll talk.” She turns and disappears into the cottage’s depths.

I straighten out my tee and put my hair back up into a bun as I step through the doorway.

Here goes nothin’.

The inside of Celset’s cottage is…well, it’s only three-quarters of a cottage. I came through the front, and there are two more sides, but the entire back of the home is open to the tree, with giant branches poking into the main room. There’s an obvious hole cut through them.

“That’s our exit,” Moira says with a nervous-sounding laugh. She lifts her wings. “On account of these. The ladder is for visitors.”

“What about centaurs?” I ask. “Doesn’t seem super accessible for them.”

Celset comes out of a second doorway that must lead to an adjoining room. She frowns at me. “Most harpies don’t have visitors. The only reason I have a ladder is for you. We grew it when you arrived in town. Moira and I knew the day would come that you’d have questions for us.”

I cross my arms. “No offense, Celset, but why are you involved in this?”

The two women exchange a glance.

Celset crosses the room and wraps a wing around Moira, rubbing her beak along Moira’s. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

Oh. OH.

They’re partners. Got it.

Celset leaves us, retreating back through the doorway she came from.

Moira gestures at a small dining table with two chairs. “Please sit, Morgan.”

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