Page 96 of Girls Night
Once the ball has made its way down into her gut, the woman opens her eyes to an assault of psychedelic patterns, prisms, and energies. Adjusting to this strange, new world, she swoons but manages to keep herself steady, for the moment. She’ll have to lie down soon, but for now...
The woman switches her attention to the shimmering rope that now connects her belly to Delphi’s heart. She isn’t sure how she knows this for certain, but she does. From what she can tell, Delphi is too far away. Judging by the taut pull of the rope, she’s no doubt in the city.
One of the new flowers grows and rises to meet her. It’s dark and maroon and carries a glorious serenade that brings a smile to her dry lips. The woman plucks the flower and the song dies. It’s perfect.
As the sun lowers behind the distant mountains and turns the sky a rosy pink, something catches her attention in the distance. She attempts to focus her eyes and realizes it’s a bus.Student Adventure Toursis written on its side.
But it’s not a bus, and those are not students crammed into it, blasting music and chatting amongst each other.
It’s an offering.
More flowers for the ever-growing garden of the Rose Mother.
Chapter Five
Day One
I’m eighteen years old, and spent the morning milling around the depths of Chinatown pretending to look for Changbai Mountain ginseng roots Copper-Eye has sent me to get for some spell she’s wanting to cast later today. What I’m actually doing is following a chick between the aisles of shouting vendors selling their wares until she finally looks up at me from her tatty shopping list and grins. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. We strike up a casual conversation, nothing particularly exciting other than a fewWhat’s-your-names,Where’d-you-come-fromsandWhat-are-you-here-fors. She doesn’t tell me her name right away, says she’s dealt with too many fae in the past to give it up so quickly. But she does part with various other titbits: she’s an eye mage, a seer. Part one of three identical sisters. She’s also eighteen. Single. And wondering if I have any plans after finding my ginseng.
She takes me to a tiny bar nestled in an alleyway a few blocks from Chinatown. It’s eleven o’ clock, so there aren’t many patrons about, save a crusty prostitute chewing the ear off an old man by the jukebox and a big dude with lumberjack arms crying into his lager. The barman doesn’t ask for ID, not that he has a chance to say anything at all. I lean over the counter, look him straight in his eyes and, with the help of my third eye, command him to bring us six of his tastiest beers. It’s a little mind control trick I’ve learnt recently while studying one of Copper-Eye’s old grimoires she used to keep when she was a teenager.
Magic isn’t pissed off with me yet, so I’m performing spells and incantations like it’s no one’s business. This is three years before my fall from grace, but this day can certainly go down as the spark that lit the bonfire.
The barman sinks to the floor without hesitation, snags six bottles and places them before us on the counter. Needless to say, my date — if I can be so bold as to call her that — is super impressed.
We get day drunk and leave before the spell wears off and the barman comes to his senses. By this time, it’s late afternoon, and we find ourselves at a pop-up amusement park in a moderately decent part of the city. At the top of the ferris wheel, the girl teaches me how to get my zing on, the magic way. By the time the ride is done, the two of us are royally stoned without even touching a joint.
I don’t respond to Copper-Eye’s texts, no matter how many times she tries to contact me.
It’s dark by the time I bring her to my house. It’s one of the oldest in the city, a historical monument at this point. Big and beautiful, with many rooms and hiding places. Perfect for bringing a girl around when you don’t want to get caught.
I sneak her into my room, careful to dodge my brother levitating bottles of vodka above his head in the kitchen. Copper-Eye is nowhere in sight, neither are the rest of my siblings. They’re either out with friends, in bed, or scribbling in their grimoires like the brown-nosers they are. Even Copper-Eye’s bodyguard with the thousand-yard stare is AWOL.
I barely have time to close my door when my date grabs me by the back of my neck and slams me against a wall full of posters of emo rock and goth bands. The Cure and Bullet For My Valentine stare down at us as the girl forces her tongue into my mouth. She keeps her one hand clasped around my throat. The other digs fingers into my breast.
I gasp into her mouth, and bite down on her bottom lip. She tries to pull back, but I don’t let her. If she wants to be rough, I can get rough too. She just mustn’t get scared when it’s time for us to fuck.
I grab a fistful of her honey-colored hair — long, silky, and meticulously tousled — and yank her head back. Grazing my teeth along her jawbone, I spin her around and pin her against Robert Smith and Pearl Thompson. I snap my fingers at my stereo, andHow Soon Is Now?by The Smiths blasts through the speakers.
I lift my date’s shirt up her body and over her head, dropping it to the floor. I remove her bra with my teeth and take my time dragging my fingers down her back. When I’m done, I slap her left buttock and tell her to remove her pants while still facing the wall. She completes the task quickly without putting up a fight. Meanwhile, I open my wardrobe and remove a black cotton tie that once belonged to Copper-Eye. With it, I fasten the girl’s hands behind her back. Once I’m satisfied that they are secure, I sit down on the bed and order her to turn around.
She’s an idol. A deity to be bowed down to and worshipped. Poised and confident, the expression on her face and the way she composes herself tells me I’m only borrowing the dominant role for tonight, that she’ll play submissive even though she’s anything but.
I beckon her over to the bed and place my hands on her hips, sitting her down on my lap. I run the tip of my tongue around her left nipple, then her right. I kiss them until they’re perked and hard. I bring my index and middle fingers to her mouth and instruct her to suck on them. She does. I trail my fingers between her breasts, down her stomach, and circle them around her clit.
When she shivers and moans, I slide them into her warm, wet cunt. She slowly begins to ride my fingers as they move deeper inside. The hairs on my arms stand on end when she brings her mouth to mine.
“Electra,” she breathes through sweat and teeth. “My name is Electra.”
Chapter Six
Cotton Rock
Cotton Rock. Home to just over ten thousand residents, and about a five-hour drive from the city. The town’s official website boasts of surrounding farmlands, white picket fences, and wholesome small town living. On its Wikipedia page, Cotton Rock is said to be the oldest village in the county, with an economy based in agriculture and seasonal tourism. Its Instagram account, run by a self-proclaimed Cotton Rock historian, is littered with bad photographs of smiling children, happy families, and various festivities. The town is colorful and friendly, bustling despite its size. Charming. The kind of place you’d want to retire and live out the rest of your days relaxing on a porch with a pet Labrador sleeping by your feet. It even has a Starbucks.
But this isn’t the Cotton Rock I find when Google Maps tells me I’ve arrived at my destination.
I park on the curb outside what used to be a post office judging by the signage. The building is a shell now, nearly completely hidden by the vines, leaves and flowers that stretch and grow over it. Much like every other building I’ve seen so far. Crouching down, I pluck a blossom growing between the cracks of a concrete dustbin from its stem. It’s almost identical to the one Copper-Eye sent me, its petals a color of deep maroon.
