The Fallen Ch. 04

"Jesus," I laugh. "Is that a dick between your legs or a fire hose?"

Finn smiles but doesn't answer, his gaze glued to my crotch as he watches with rapt attention. I wonder why this didn't happen last night, but then I remember I'd swallowed his first load. That must be why it almost felt like I was drowning in his cum and had to fight to get it all down. His second batch must have been no where near this size, my vagina able to hold it in or something.

Eventually I've gotten out all I'm going to, leaving me to wonder what to do with my big handful of Finn's seed. If I don't do something with it fast, though, I'm afraid it's going to drip all over his floor. Without thinking I lift it to my mouth and upend my cupped palm to let the sperm run down my throat.

"Holy shit," Finn murmurs softly.

I've read that a man's sperm is supposed to taste nasty, but honestly...I don't mind the flavor. It's not great, but it's not so bad as all that, either. Finn seems to be getting a kick out of it.

As I lick the last bits from my palm he says, "I had a towel in the hamper over there you could've used."

"That's sweet of you, but I don't mind. Really, I don't."

Finn says, "I've heard most girls can't...or won't...do that. A lot of my friends complain their girlfriends won't swallow."

I grin devilishly and inform Finn, "Well then...I guess you have one hell of a story to tell them, huh?"

He gives a sly little grin, saying, "I guess I do."

Figuring now is as good a time as any to have that talk, I continue, "In fact, I'm absolutely fine with you telling your friends every dirty detail about how kinky I am. There's something you can't tell them, though. Something you can't tell anyone."

"I figured," Finn nods with a knowing smile. "Who'd believe me anyway? I start telling people the girl I made love to last night is actually an angel from heaven, and they'll lock me in a rubber room."

"I'm glad you understand. It's really important."

"Your secret's safe with me. I promise. Besides," he chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you could kick my ass."

"Oh, Finn," I shake my head, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead. "I would never hurt you. I love you."

"I love you too, Erykah," he says easily but with a sigh.

That sigh speaks volumes. Finn knows he'll never have me in the way he wants, but he's still happy to have me at all.

"Don't worry Finn," I try to encourage him, running my fingers softly through his hair. "Some day you're gonna find a girl who knocks your socks off."

"I already did," he laughs.

"And I'll be right here for you any time you want me. If I'm able I'll come running."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yeah. Really. All you have to do is call me."

In a dead serious tone Finn asks, "So...what...? I just call out your name and you'll hear me?"

"No!" I giggle hysterically. "Call me on the phone, silly!"

* * * * * *

Parting is such sweet sorrow. Finn and I trade phone numbers outside his apartment building as we stand on the sidewalk. I give him a powerful kiss and tell him to have a good day before he heads off to take the subway. I stand there basking in the early glow of a bright, beautiful morning as I await the taxi I called.

In a different universe, if I were just Erykah Gray...if none of the craziness surrounding me existed, I think Finn and I would've had a real shot at building a life together. Being who and what I am, however, it's simply not meant to be. The thought is bitter-sweet and poignant in a way, but I'm still glad to have him in my life.

I'm also very eager to get back to Danni so we can have us a downright righteous gossip session. I can tell her about my night, and she can regale me with hers. While I wait for the cab I shoot her a quick text.

~Oh Danni my Danni. Wherefore art thou Danni?~

My phone buzzes a moment later with her reply.

~In my dorm room and btw wherefore doesn't mean "where" in that quote~

Huh?

~Huh?~

~It means "why are you". Common misconception. You're abusing Shakespeare, but I'll forgive you this one time~

~Okay smarty pantz. Coming home then~

~My pussy's getting wet just thinking about you. Can't wait to hear how your night went~

I laugh at her silly reply. Then I realize she could be serious, and my pussy starts getting wet thinking about her. I believe I might be turning into a nympho. Oh well...at least I'm built for love. If Danni does want a little sumthin' when I get back then I'm really glad I borrowed Finn's shower.

I send one more text.

~K. Love you and c u in a bit~

~Love you more. *huggies*~

I smile. This is actually the longest Danni and I have been apart since we met, and I really do miss her. I realize that was also the first text conversation we ever had. It's remarkable how even in a text Danni is so friggin' cute.

This taxi ride is going to set me back a chunk 'o change, but I should've gotten my disbursement this morning. Using my smartphone I log into my bank account, kind of kicking myself for not checking before I called a cab. Hopefully I have the money for this.

Brix are shat when I see my balance. I stare at the number in disbelief.

"Current Available Checking Balance: $10,225.87"

"Holy fuck," I mumble, hardly noticing as my taxi arrives.

"Hey miss, you call a taxi?" the driver says after stepping from his vehicle.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," I say absentmindedly as I hop in the back seat. "Bay Ridge Academy, please."

"Alright," the cabbie nods, "but you gotta pay up front for a ride like that."

"Yeah, sure," I say, digging my debit card from my purse and handing it over.

A moment later he hands it back, and I return it to my purse without looking. My eyes are still glued to my phone's screen. I keep staring at my balance, wondering what sort of monumental fuck-up must have occurred. I should call the bank and sort this out. I don't want to spend money I don't really have and then get sued for doing so. I'm halfway through dialing the number when something occurs to me.

Father.

I clear the number currently on-screen and send a text to dad instead.

~Hey is there something you forgot to tell me?~

I wait for a reply...and wait...and wait. We're actually nearing the freeway entrance (I think) when my phone finally buzzes. I swipe and open the text I just received.

~Finally checked your balance, eh?~

~So that was you~

~Yes~

I'm grateful, but baffled. Just how wealthy is my father that he can toss me ten grand like it's my week's allowance?

~Thank you, but why?~

~Can't have you running around broke~

~What am I supposed to do with that much money?~

~Be frugal I would hope. We'll see how it goes~

So this is some sort of test? He wants to see how I'll react to suddenly being so far in the black I don't know what to do with myself. I learned plenty of lessons in frugality and monetary self-control from mom, so I might just surprise him.

I send another text.

~I don't know what to say except thanks again. See ya when I get back from Vegas~

~Are you at school now?~

Dad didn't take the bait. Well, poop on him for being a spoil-sport.

~No. Headed that way. Be there in about an hour or so. Why?~

~There's something waiting for you when you get here~

~And you're going to tell me what it is, right?~

~Nope. That would ruin the surprise. Text me when you're 10 minutes out please~

~Will do, and thanks for last night. You're actually pretty cool...for a dad~

My father's reply takes a minute to pop up.

~And you're more than I could've ever hoped for in a daughter. I love you, Erykah. You don't know how much it means to me to have you back in my life~

I stare at that middle part.

I love you, Erykah.

I hesitate to reciprocate, feeling the sentiment wouldn't be genuine quite yet. This whole relationship with my father is confusing at best. Something has been bothering me about him...about him and how he fits in my life. It's like finishing an entire puzzle except for the last piece, and when you lift it from the box you realize it doesn't fit in the final slot, let alone look anything like the rest of the puzzle.

I sigh a bit in frustration, feeling like I'm missing something dreadfully important with dad, but I haven't been able to put my finger on it. I was so inundated yesterday and the night before with everything that happened, and I don't think my mind has processed it all yet.

My phone buzzes again. I thought it was going to be another text from father, but instead it's from Chris.

~Hey sis. You still in the city by chance?~

Saved by the bell, I guess. I flip back to my convo with dad and shoot him a quick goodbye.

~Gotta go. Chris is texting~

Father's reply is quick.

~Okay. See you~

I sense some disappointment there at my lack of reciprocation, but dad's a big boy. He'll get over it. I swap back to my brother's text and reply.

~In a taxi headed back to school~

~Still in town?~

~Just barely~

~Sweet. Can I catch a ride? I'm at you know who's place~

~kk~

Then I remember I was going to check out something. I open a browser on my phone, go to the bookmarked page, and ask the taxi driver if he'll make a detour. He's more than happy to do so...extra cash in his pocket for the day. I fire off another text to Chris.

~Making a quick stop before I pick you up~

* * * * * *

I gaze around at the interior of The Third Eye. The quaint and cliché little Wiccan magic shop looks just as it did from my memories...the memories of a night that never really happened. Or did it? It still blows my mind trying to think about it. I'm an actual, honest-to-goodness time traveler, like something from a science fiction story. Granted it was only a small jump of a few hours, but it's still mind-blowing.

I half expect to see Emma or Graves standing around, Emma with her spaced-out, faraway look and Graves with his kind eyes. Neither are here, though. Sitting behind the sales counter is a very young woman I don't recognize. Her black hair is pulled into a tight, severe bun. She appears to be slightly chubby in a pleasantly feminine way, but it's kind of hard to tell for sure underneath her black women's business suit.

She has an open textbook in front of her, her attention riveted. As I watch her briefly she reads for a bit then scribbles in a nearby notebook. The woman senses she's being watched and looks up to peer at me through her thick glasses. She strikes me as a fellow bookworm. There's something painfully familiar about her, but I cannot for the life of me remember where I've seen her before.

"Hello," she greets with zero enthusiasm, her lips twitching briefly in a quick, forced smile. "Something I can help you with?"

It's obvious to me the young lady is irritated at the interruption, and whatever she's doing with the book and her notes is important to her. I approach the counter and try to flash a disarming grin. The woman closes both book and folder, placing them beneath the counter and out of my sight.

"I'm sorry to bother you," I begin, "but I'm looking for Emma. Does she work here?"

There's a flash of annoyance in her eyes when I say Emma's name, and the young woman answers, "Work is sort of a strong word for her...and it's more of an ownership thing...and if by work you mean does she ever show up here to actually do anything...then no."

"Oh," I nod, not really surprised. "She owns the place?"

That annoyance flashes through her eyes again as she replies, "Isn't that what I just said?"

"Yeah, I guess you did," I reply to the woman's brusque manner. "Is she here?"

She sighs heavily before saying, "Look, if Emma wants to get in touch with you she will. Take my advice though, sweetie. Lovers like you are a dime-a-dozen to her. Walk away before you get your heart broken."

"What?" I laugh lightly. "No, it's not like that. I didn't...we didn't...uh, you know."

"Oh? My mistake," she begins, her eyes narrowing at me in suspicion. "Then what do you want with Emma?"

"I just want to talk to her. Is she here?"

"No. She isn't, and as I said she rarely ever if ever shows up here."

"She was here the other night with a man named Graves. Is he here?"

The young woman's eyes become almost unfocused, yet she's still looking at me. Something's going on behind those liquid brown orbs of hers, and I'm suddenly nervous at the realization she's a mage like Emma. My skin crawls uncomfortably under her scrutiny, and I know for certain she's examining me with some sort of mystical sight.

"Oh...finally. You must be Erykah," the woman pronounces as she stands up. "Emma left something for you. Follow me."

She walks over to a door behind the counter, opening it to reveal what appears to be a storage room. Gorilla shelves full of dusty boxes and old-looking stacks of books fill the area. The place is a dingy grey and tan with sparse light filtering through a lone window, little speckles of dust floating in the bright beam of sunlight. The woman walks inside.

"Emma left something for me?" I ask, pausing at the open doorway.

"Yeah," the woman says roughly. "You want it or not? Take it and leave or just leave. I don't care. Either way as soon as you go I call Kimmy in and I'm outta here."

I'm guessing Kimmy is an employee.

She turns to look at me and crosses her arms under her massive bosom. The young woman taps a foot impatiently at my hesitance.

"I don't have all day," she scowls.

"Can't you just bring it to me?"

"No. I was instructed to give it to you in here with the door shut against prying eyes, and no...I don't know why. I don't know why my sister does half the things she does. So, either come in here and take the blasted thing or leave. Like I said, I don't care either way."

Damn me and my curiosity. I walk inside and close the door. The woman turns and strides behind a shelf toward a back corner of the room. I should walk away, but I have a feeling what I'm about to receive could prove important. It's bound to be another piece of the puzzle my life has become. So far, while mysterious, Emma and Graves have been helpful...as far as I can tell.

As I follow I point out, "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Candice, if you must," she grumbles.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Candice."

She crouches in front of a large fire-proof safe and begins twirling the combination dial.

"The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," she replies in a sardonic tone.

I'm not certain what to say to that, or exactly how to react to her curmudgeonly attitude. She's a real sour-puss for sure, but I don't think it's something I did. It seems more likely she's peeved at being made to play "fetch 'n carry" by Emma.

"You don't actually work here, do you?" I query.

"Absolutely not," Candice grunts as she yanks the safe's handle. "Do you really think I enjoy slinging worthless baubles to tourists and selling useless junk to silly fools who think they're playing at real magic?"

"I imagine not."

"You imagine correctly."

Candice lifts a large, nondescript wooden box from the safe. It's maybe a foot-and-a-half long by one foot wide. A small brass clasp holds the lid closed. My host places the box atop the safe then steps back a few paces.

"What's inside?" I ask.

Candice shrugs, saying, "Not a clue. I avoid Emma's affairs as much as possible. Well, open it so I can be done here."

I reach out to the box nervously, my fingertips hovering over the clasp. I wonder what witchery will befall me when I touch it.

"Oh for crying out loud," Candice barks. "The box is just a box."

She reaches over, flips the clasp, and lifts the lid to bare the box's contents to my eyes.

"It's the hilt of a sword," I say, caught off guard by the unusual object.

"Huh," Candice says quietly. "Odd."

It's rather plain-looking, the two-handed grip wrapped tightly with sweat-stained leather. It has a rounded pommel at the base, and the crossguard is thick with minor dings and scratches. There's no blade attached, but the thing looks as though it saw a lot of use before the deadly part of it disappeared.

Something about it calls to me. I reach out...

"Wait a moment," Candice warns a second too late.

...and I grasp the handle without thinking. I lift it from the box and almost immediately regret my haste.

"Son of a FUCKING BITCH!!!" I scream in agony.

My hand feels like it's on fire, as if the flesh was melting from my bones. I crumple to my knees under the force of it, my eyes tearing up. I try to force them open to see if my hand is indeed melting, but I cannot. I try to drop the thing, but my fingers curl around the hilt with reflexive spasms.

"Are you alright?" I hear Candice question quietly as I fight to stay conscious.

"FUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!" I scream, sure I'm about to die...

...when the pain suddenly vanishes. I inhale and exhale raggedly at the unexpected relief. I squeeze my eyelids tight then open them against the tears to look at my hand. It's intact, none of my flesh melted away. The hilt has vanished. I stare at my palm and realize there's now a small tattoo there. Dead center is an intricately shaded image of the hilt.

"What the hell? Some warning would have been nice!" I practically shout at Candice.

"I had no idea that would happen, and I did warn you to wait," Candice chuckles. "Looks like there's a note inside the box, too."

I stand, wiping the remainder of my tears away, and look inside to see the small, folded piece of paper within. I'm afraid to touch it. Candice sees my trepidation and extracts it for me. She opens the folded paper, gazing at what's on it before handing it too me.

"Command words maybe?" she guesses. "It's gibberish, though."

My newly tattooed hand is still shaking at the memory of the worst pain I've ever felt. It's a huge blessing it was short lived. I open the note and gaze upon two foreign-looking words. Candice is staring at my palm with intense curiosity.

"May I?" she asks, gesturing to my hand as if asking to touch it.

I dunno...maybe I should be more paranoid about this mildly chubby, bookwormish young woman, but I'm not getting a bad vibe from her at all. The intense curiosity written in her eyes is the most honest expression she's shown me, her grumpy demeanor a mere front. Someone that genuinely curious probably means me no harm.

My hand doesn't hurt anymore, so I shrug and reply, "Yeah. Go for it."

Candice stands in front of me, grasping my hand with a light, gentle touch. She traces her fingers over the tattoo, pushing lightly. I hold up the note and try to figure out the two words.

"Fascinating," the young woman mumbles to herself, "I can feel the edges of it."

The first word is "рости".

"Pock-tun?" I murmur under my breath.

What is a pock-tee-backwards-en? Cassie enlightens me.

"That is a Ukrainian word. It's pronounced rosty."

Huh. Like frosty without the "f", but the "r" is rolled.

"Rosty," I utter experimentally just to taste the exotic word on my lips.

There's a sudden weight in the hand Candice is examining, accompanied by a meaty "chuunk". I hear a weird noise from her, almost like a gagging, belching squeak. I look up.

"Oh shit!" I curse in shocked horror.

There is a large, two-handed sword hilt in my palm, the very same one I lifted from the box moments ago. This time a blade is extended from it...straight into and through Candice's chest! One of her giant breasts is speared like a shish-kabob. She coughs blood and staggers back toward the wall, blood also flowing from the edges of her ghastly wound. She twists and falls on her side, the sword slipping from my grasp.