Sisters of the Mists Ch. 13

Ebonar's face replaced the image within the crystal. "I thought you would find this amusing, Master."

"And convenient," Zoraster agreed. "Our agents across the sea have their new orders?"

"Yes, Master. Those natives who serve our cause have even determined several promising locations to begin. The racial tensions ever boiling beneath the tentative peace also draw other unwitting accomplices to our cause."

"Determine those who are the most determined and prepared. Have them act this night."

"It shall be so, Master."

Ebonar's face dissipated into the pale luminescent fog contained within the crystal. A wave of Zoraster's long-fingered hand caused the cloudy interior to swirl again, calling up the image of a new location. His lip twitched from the surge of anger seeing Brandon with Marlena caused. Though the nude couple appeared as though they had only recently recovered from reaching a peak, their passions rose within them again.

"I shall have to determine proper penance for your disloyalty, Brandon," Zoraster half-growled while tapping his nails upon the surface of the ancient mahogany desk. A flick of his fingers changed the scene again.

The young blonde lay awake, fidgeting in her bed. The sight of her changed Zoraster's sneer to something even more disturbing — his smile.

{*****~~o~~0~~o~~*****}

Andrea pushed back the covers with a quiet sigh, even the thin sheet feeling as though it was going to smother her. Her small nipples, stiff with desire, pressed hard against the satiny pink material of her new nightgown. Sliding down the sheet had also wafted faint hints of the scent of her arousal to her.

After spending a torturous evening of holding back her desire for Travin, the young man who had followed her back to the Hall, Andrea found sleep impossible. The muted sound of Marlena and Brandon's passion that managed to penetrate the thick stone walls and oaken doors of the Hall to reach her didn't make it any easier to ignore her need, either.

Andrea's hand crept between her legs to quiet the ache, but she soon pulled it away. Lying in an unfamiliar bed made her very self-conscious, to the point that she almost felt as though someone was watching her.

With a frustrated sigh, she sat up and concentrated on a lamp. As aroused as she was, she had little trouble summoning up her fire power to light the lamp. Controlling it wasn't quite so easy. She managed to light the lamp without incident, and then sat up to reach for the bag of holding Danica had made for her. She pulled her family book from within the bag, hoping that reading might distract her from the ache in her loins and make her tired enough to sleep.

A quiet knock on the door a few seconds later startled Andrea, actually causing her to jump. Her heart pounding from the start, she heard the Duchess say, "It's Christi," from outside the door.

"Just a moment," Andrea answered, and then swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She crossed the room toward the door, deviating from her original path to remain on the carpets when a step on the hardwood below revealed how cold the floor was.

When Andrea opened the door, the Duchess said, "I saw your light come on. Can't sleep either?"

Andrea gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders and shook her head. "I guess I'm just too wound up."

"As long as we're both up..." An especially sharp yelp of pleasure followed by a laugh from Marlena interrupted Christi. The Duchess chuckled and continued, "Well, three of us are up, but one of us is busy. I thought maybe you could get my sizes to make me one of those brassieres you all are wearing." The Duchess cupped her breasts, covered by only a light sleeping shift, in her hands. "I'm getting older, and the girls are headed toward my knees."

Andrea had to silently disagree with that. Christi's breasts still rode high and proud from what Andrea could see — which was a lot. Daily exercise and sparring sessions kept the Duchess in fighting trim, well evidenced by the short, thin shift that did more to draw attention to her than cover. "Sure. Let me get my measuring cord."

Christi stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She chuckled when Andrea stuck her hand into her bag to the elbow, searching for the cord. The actual leather purse couldn't have possibly admitted even her whole hand with the fingers fully extended, and the sight was quite comical. "I really need to get one of those, too."

"Aha," Andrea declared when she located the knotted cord she used to take measurements and withdrew it. "I love it. I can carry anything I want, and it doesn't weigh a thing."

Christi held her arms up as Andrea approached and asked, "What do I do?"

"Just keep your arms relaxed, but give me enough room to get the rope around you." The Duchess let her arms drop, and Andrea said, "That's perfect." Andrea passed the cord around Christi's back, and then pulled the end over to take the measurement. She couldn't help but notice that doing so caused Christi's shift to cling prominently to the Duchess' obviously stiff nipples. She felt her own nipples stiffen in response.

Andrea let the cord slip a little lower on the brunette's back, and brought the end of the cord back over the fullest swell of Christi's bosom. With that measurement in mind, she let the cord drop and said, "Done."

Christi shivered. "How hard-up am I? It was all I could do to keep from gasping when you brushed that across my nipples. With Cerebus gone to talk with Redbear, and Brandon and Marlena going all evening, I'm in a tizzy."

"Me too," Andrea shyly admitted as she wrote down Christi's measurements and put her cord away.

"Wishing you'd brought your young man back with you?" Christi asked with a knowing look, her hips cocked to the side with one hand resting on her bottom.

"Yes," Andrea replied and then laughed. "I just don't want to give in and find out he's a jerk later, but he made me so hot."

"All worked up and no men to take care of us," Christi said as she walked toward the blonde. "And I really don't feel like taking care of myself."

Andrea blushed; already knowing what the Duchess was leading up to, and quickly becoming enamored of the idea as her pussy tingled with a fresh rush of wetness.

"Whatever could we do about that?" Christi asked, her voice dropping in pitch, and filled with sultry seduction.

Andrea gasped, unable to contain her desire any longer. Her eyes locked with Christi's, silently calling the older woman to her.

Christi slowly gathered up Andrea's teal nightgown in her fingers, revealing the white cotton panties beneath. As she pulled upward on the bundled cloth, the Duchess leaned in to kiss Andrea with unusual gentility. In sharp contrast to their last frenzied encounter, Andrea realized that Christi wanted something far softer and more intimate this time.

The Duchess ended the kiss with a feather-light trace of her tongue over the blonde's lips, and then pulled Andrea's nightgown over her head. Even as the cloth drifted toward the floor, Christi guided Andrea's hands to her satiny shift.

Amidst continued kisses, full of restrained passion, Andrea revealed Christi's body to her questing hands. The two women sank to the bed, kissing and caressing, the ache they'd both felt now reduced to a warm, pleasant glow that infused them from head to toe.

Brandon and Marlena had collapsed into spent exhaustion several minutes before Christi finally washed her tongue over Andrea's nipple. The pair of relaxed, aroused women sought out and tantalized every inch of each other's bodies. Both knew that their orgasms would come in due time — sweet, shuddering climaxes that would linger for long, blissful minutes.

All thoughts of men forgotten, Duchess and witch made love to each other as only two women can.

{*****~~o~~0~~o~~*****}

Camilla crept through the surrounding bushes and undergrowth under cloak of invisibility. The cottage before her looked cheerful — inviting — and certainly belied the nature of the woman who dwelt there. Only a careful observer would have noticed on first glance that the flowers in the windowboxes were black roses, and that dark, arcane symbols formed the reliefs on the door.

A sick feeling knotted Camilla's belly as she approached the gravel path leading to the front door. Her new senses, awakened by her Devil Master, alerted her to the numerous charms and wards hanging from — and even carved into — the trees.

Camilla knew she didn't have the skill to break those wards. The key to that lay within the cottage, beyond the protective barrier. With stealth out of the question, she fell back on her preferred method of attack. Summoning up her newly gained powers, she stalked forward, blasting every talisman with gouts of demonic flame as she reached them.

The door of the cottage opened, revealing a bent, aged woman dressed in a simple homespun gown and an apron covered in bloodstains and other blotches. "Wishing to join your Master in the hells, are ye?"

"Step aside, crone, and I might let you live," Camilla lied, continuing to approach with supreme confidence.

"White witches and Demon Lords I've faced, and live to tell the tale. What have I to fear of ye — yer Master's seed probably still burning in yer belly?" The old woman snorted derisively, having no idea that the insult about Camilla's inexperience was lost on the woman, who had little knowledge of witchcraft.

Camilla paused and flipped her long, curly hair back over her shoulders. "Good. That means your book is exactly what I'm looking for. I'll just thank you now, because you'll be dead when I take it."

"I've no time for ye," the crone muttered, absently thrusting her hand toward Camilla. A crackling, ice-cold beam of black energy leapt forth, streaking across the distance between the two women.

The runes covering Camilla's skin burst into crimson fury, every line and whirl itching. Camilla felt the chill of the old witch's power, and knew that were it not for the runes, she would even now lie dead upon the moss and gravel below. Her protective spells of the Art had melted away as if nothing before the power of the witch's assault.

A flash of thought commanded the ring on Camilla's pinky finger, teleporting her some twenty feet away into a patch of ferns. To her surprise, she faced not the old woman's profile, but another beam of black, icy death. The witch, having battled many demons before, was well used to translocation — a favored tactic of greater demons.

Camilla vanished again, her frantic command to the ring only a fraction of a second faster than the ray seeking her heart. Once again, she faced her opponent when she appeared on the opposite side, standing upon the root bulge of a massive elm tree.

"If ye're thinking that ye can blink around and vex me, ye're sorely mistaken. Get ye gone before I get tired of playing with ye."

Her confidence shaken, but her determination and anger swelling, Camilla sneered and pulled a wand of lightning from its sheathe at her waist. The angry bolt discharged, crackling in a bright display of electric fury around the witch.

The old woman clutched a talisman around her neck, turning away the lightning assaulting her.

Camilla blinked back to her original position, but not before pulling a tiny bottle from her pocket and shattering it against the thick bole of the elm behind her. Just as Rexxus had suggested, it wasn't her newfound abilities as a witch that made her dangerous, it was her devious application of the Art that could give her an advantage over the far more powerful and experienced witch. She sent out another bolt of fruitless lightning, but the attack was nothing more than a distraction.

"Enough of this. Waste to kill ye, as ye probably got no powers worth having, but ye're keeping me from a potion a' bubbling."

Camilla felt the sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach again, and all her hair stood on end. Her runes flared to full brilliance, but almost instantly dimmed.

The crone stiffened, twitching and lurching until she fell against the doorframe of her cottage. Camilla let her vision shift into the second sight and smiled wickedly. Her invisible servant's hand covered the old witch's nose and mouth while the other gripped the hag's neck. Crafted by some of Zoraster's brightest summoners, Camilla had come to thoroughly enjoy the unique abilities of the creature the bottles summoned. Far more dangerous than the invisible hands was the drug leeching from the magical creature's transparent flesh.

"Do you like my friend? Oh, you can't see him, can you?" Camilla taunted as she sauntered toward the slumping black witch, the lesson of the crone's overconfidence proving her undoing not even registering in Camilla's mind. "You probably can't even understand me any more. I can already see the paralysis setting in."

Camilla squatted down on the flagstone stoop in front of the now stock-still witch, smacking her hard across the mouth. A quick mental command ordered the invisible servant to drag the witch back inside her cottage.

"Now, it's my turn to play with you. I don't bore easily — or quickly," Camilla ominously declared as she shut the door behind her, drinking in the sight of the witch's grimoire and other tools of her black trade.

Despite having grown accustomed to sharing the wood with a black witch, the local wildlife scattered upon hearing Camilla's triumphant, mocking laughter.

{*****~~o~~0~~o~~*****}

Hope you're enjoying Book II of Danica's story. Thanks to Roust for his editing, as always. Big thanks to all of you reading and commenting on the tale as well.

Apologies for the long wait. I say that a lot, don't I? I'm doing my best to get back into gear, but it's hard. I hope everyone will bear with me, and thanks for all the well-wishes, condolences, and encouragement from my readers.