The Witch's Cousins

"Why, you can give me anything you want, honey," Hilda purred. She took a pamphlet, sparing it a venomous glance as she flipped through it rapidly. It was just as bad as she thought, with lurid warnings of the dangers of homosexuality, birth control, minorities, the equal right's movement, the women's rights movement, the teaching of evolution, and pretty much every government program aside from the armed forces.

"I'm not really free to consider a new faith at present, but thanks for your time," she said, using a phrase she had learned at her mother's knee years ago.

"Oh, thank God," said Steven. "Then I won't have to try to covert you. It's bad enough wandering around out here," he continued, "shoving these stupid things in people's mailboxes and doors and getting sunstroke on a Saturday morning, but if I had to actually talk about this garbage today I think I would lose my mind." Behind them the light changed to green, but neither noticed.

Hilda blinked in confusion and stopped even pretending to jog. Standing in place, she regarded Steven thoughtfully. "Then you really don't believe this stuff?"

"Oh, hell no," he exclaimed, looking as if he had bitten into something nasty.

"Then why, in the name of the Goddess, are you doing it?" she exclaimed, completely baffled.

A car pulled up to the curb next to them. A tall, stooped man unfolded himself from the driver's seat and stood, glaring at them both. He was dressed identically to Steven, and Hilda wondered if he believed that discomfort was a sign of God's favor.

"Because of him," Steven muttered.

The man walked around the front of the car and onto the curb. Pausing to give Hilda and her outfit one withering glare, he barked at Steven, "I didn't send you out here to pass the time with some strumpet! You have six more blocks to go. Your mother was finished half an hour ago!"

"She's not my mother, Calvin." Steven said. His voice was quiet, but there was an angry light in his eyes.

"The State of West Virginia says she is," spat the tall man, Calvin, in a vicious cornbelt rasp. Kansas, Hilda thought. Or Nebraska. "And if you don't start doing the Lord's work, there'll be a strap waiting for you at home tonight, and no supper!"

"The State of West Virginia can be damned," retorted Steven. As he grew angrier, the Appalachian twang in his voice grew more pronounced. Calvin's fists bunched and he looked ready to lunge at the young man. "She isn't my mother, you're not my father, and..."

"Excuse me?" said Hilda, trying to defuse the confrontation between the two. She smiled winsomely at Calvin, hiding her disgust at the way he was treating the young man. Father, stepfather, guardian, or whatever, there was no excuse to be so abusive, in public or in private. She wished that she knew where this poor kid was living so she could report his situation to the police, or the Iowa Department of Family Services, or something. "Steven really was telling me about his church. It sounded fascinating," she gushed, trying to keep her voice happy and perky, like some of the dimmer cheerleaders from when she was in high school.

Calvin looked down his nose at her. "We have no use for your kind. The Tabernacle of the Eternal Savior is for the godly. No one who goes out in public dressed as a whore would be welcome there." Hilda heard Steven take an outraged breath, but kept calm, showing Calvin a dumb, vapid face.

"So you adhere to a strict biblical interpretation of God's law?" she asked.

Calvin blinked in confusion, obviously unprepared for a doctrinal question from a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a fitness magazine. His face thawed slightly.

"Yes," he said.

"Well, then, I am a little bit confused, Reverend..."

"Grant," he snapped.

"Reverend Grant," Hilda nodded, with a smile. "I see you are wearing clothes of two different fabrics. Cotton shirt and polyester slacks. Or are those rayon? I believe that is a stoning offense. When do you propose to be put to death? Leviticus 19:19."

Grant drew a breath, but Hilda continued. "What about your eating habits? Do your parishioners eat pork? I know that is forbidden. Do you follow the Jewish dietary laws? What about seafood? I would hate to think that the members of your church are unclean.

"And it looks like you shave. That's a big no-no. Leviticus again." She smiled sweetly at him. Perhaps this quote from the New Testament will apply, sir. 'Before you remove the mote from your neighbor's eye, remove the beam from thy own'."

Behind her came a strangled noise. She did not look at Steven, but kept her eyes, hard and unyielding, on Reverend Grant.

"I would consider it a personal favor if you left, sir. I have a few more questions about your church, but I will address them to Steven, here, rather than yourself."

She turned her back to him and counted to ten. When that time had passed without the explosion of violent anger she half-expected would occur, she dared to look up at Steven and whisper, "Is he gone?"

In answer the car's motor started. Grant pulled away from the curb with a jarring shriek of tires, merged into traffic, and disappeared down the block.

Steven whooped with glee. Turning to Hilda, he exclaimed, "That was fanastic! Where did you learn all that stuff about the bible?"

"Here. In Iowa," she said shortly. "My family is a group of pagans in a city of two hundred thousand Methodists and Baptists. If we didn't learn to speak the language, we'd be in a lot of trouble."

"Pagans?" he mused. "That's...interesting." Suddenly he shook himself. "Listen. I don't have much time. That prick is going to be back in a few minutes, just to make sure we haven't gone to the No-tell Motel for a quickie. He's obsessed with sex."

"I've always said that no one could be completely bad," observed Hilda.

Steven looked blank for a moment, then grunted a laugh, "Ha. Funny. You'd know better if you had to spend more than five minutes with him. That's why I want to talk to you.

"Do you know anyone," he said desperately, "who might have a room to rent? Furnished if possible. I don't have enough money for an apartment, since everyone I've talked to wants the first and last month in advance, but I've got a good job working road repair with IDOT this summer and I'll be able to pay for a room.

"I've got to get away from that guy," he continued, his voice strained. "You don't know what it is like. I had a happy life once. But my folks died and I was given to him and..."

"Stop," Hilda said. Her mind raced furiously. What to do, what to do? she thought. She had sensed Steven's power. Having seen Reverend Grant, she knew she couldn't abandon the boy to his untender mercies. None of her friends had rooms to spare, and she was not about to invite this boy to stay with her when she and John would be mating soon.

Of course. She grinned. This would serve John right for proposing that they move in with him. Shoe's on the other foot, now, Johnny. She unfolded the pamphlet, which she still had clutched in one hand, and using a pen she picked nimbly from Steven's shirt pocket, jotted down Aunt Claire's number.

"Do you have a phone?" she asked. "One that is private?"

Steven patted his trouser pocket. "I bought a burner a couple months ago, when I made up my mind to leave. But we just moved up here from Oklahoma, so I had to re-do all my plans."

"This is my aunt's number," said Hilda, handing him the pamphlet. "Her name is Claire Chamberlain. She has a big house on the north side. My cousin Eleanor has moved out, so it is just her and my cousins John and Susanna. She has a couple of spare rooms. One upstairs, and a finished basement. I can't guarantee anything, but she has a soft spot for strays, so I think your chances are pretty good. I'll call her when I am done with my run and tell her to expect a call from you. Give her a ring later this afternoon."

Steven's eyes misted over and his throat worked. "Oh, God, thank you. A finished basement? That would be awesome."

Hilda nodded and did a few squats to loosen up her legs. In front of them the light changed. On sudden impulse, she leaned up and kissed the corner of Steven's mouth. He tasted, not unpleasantly, of male sweat. She turned and crossed the street, rapidly picking up speed.

Behind her, she heard a shout. "Wait! I don't know your name!"

Turning, she ran backward for a moment. Filling her lungs, she shouted back, "Hilda! Hilda Chamberlain!"

@@@

Reverend Calvin Grant turned the corner, looking for Steven and the whore he had been talking to. His lips were peeled back in a snarl, and as the wheezing motor of the old Dodge coughed, he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. The Aries gave one last gasp of protest, then caught again. He rolled slowly down the street, eyes alert in a hungry face.

There! There was Steven, walking up a sidewalk, head high, looking happier than he had in months. What was the boy up to? Had he made arrangements to meet that tramp later? He would have to chastise the boy, he thought, fingering his thick leather belt fondly. He didn't mind. It was his duty. Spare the rod and spoil the child. And Steven had been plenty spoiled when Grant plucked him out of the orphanage. Steven didn't realize how good he had it, here among the godly. That was all right, though. Calvin Grant was best with slow learners.

But where was the whore? Waiting nearby, ready to rut with her new friend? No. Grant saw her a block or two ahead, on the other side of the street, jogging along the sidewalk, her tight ass bouncing. His cock swelled with hate as he drew near her. The sheer gall of that strumpet, to quote scripture at him, as if a woman was equal to a man!

She must pay.

The girl must pay, he decided. As he neared her, his palms sweated. His eyes were glued to her perfect form. He imagined her in his bed, wrists and ankles tied to the posts, while he flogged her mercilessly. His hand ground down on his rigid phallus.

No. End it now. She must pay.

Grant grinned mirthlessly. The whore was about to cross a street. A left-hand turn, a burst of speed, and it would all be over. Oh, he would weep, weep for the police, but he would rejoice inwardly, knowing he had done the Lord's duty. His foot pressed the accelerator. The Aries slowly lunged forward, a loyal old dog.

A horn, blaring stridently, cut through the fog. Grant saw that he had drifted over the center line and a city bus was rapidly approaching. With a shriek of fear he jerked the steering wheel back to center, barely getting back into his own lane before the bus caved in the front end of his car like an old soda can. With a shake of his head, he came back to his senses. What had he been thinking? He wasn't a murderer! He was a man of God!

And when he circled back around to check, just in case, the whore was nowhere to be seen.

@@@

Hilda opened the door to her apartment. She had decided not to go back to Aunt Claire's house, half-fearing to see John and Agatha acting all sappy together.

Or John and Susanna, she grumbled to herself. Or even John and Aunt Claire. Then she recalled that her mother had still been at the house when she left. Oh, sweet Goddess, not John and Mom. I don't think I'm ready for that yet.

She peeled off her sweaty clothes and relaxed in the cool breeze from the air conditioner. Her nipples peaked in the cold air, and she admired herself in the bedroom mirror. She cupped a breast thoughtfully as she thought about Steven. Her fingers idly toyed with her erect nipple.

Goddess, I need a man, she thought, as she caught the scent of her own arousal. Meeting Steven had made the run back to her car a torture, and she could not tell if the moisture on her thighs was sweat, or another, more intimate fluid. One of two men, actually. She picked up the phone.

"Aunt Claire? Hi. It's Hildy.

"No, I don't want to hear about how it went between Aggie and John. I'm not that much of a voyeur, believe it or not.

"Ho ho ho. Very funny. Listen, the reason I called is that I was on my morning run earlier, and you will not believe what happened..."

Chapter 5

When John awoke, Agatha was gone. He could smell her scent on the sheets, but that was all that was left of her presence. Swallowing his disappointment, he took a quick shower, then wandered downstairs.

"Good afternoon, sleepy-head," his mom said cheerily over her shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. She was at the counter, preparing a late lunch, dressed in a pair of beige shorts and a t-shirt that John thought was unflattering to her softly rounded figure.

"Agatha gone?" he asked, though he was sure she was.

"Yep," Claire nodded. "She said she tried to wake you for another round, but that you were zonked out. Not terribly surprising. This was, what? Five times in barely twelve hours? No one can keep up that pace forever, honey."

John's cock, however, had other ideas about exactly what he was capable of. As soon as he saw his mother, it had hardened. As she turned back to the counter to core an apple, John stepped in close behind her. Pressing his cock into the cleft of her ass-cheeks, his hands rose to cup and massage his mother's beautiful tits.

As soon as she felt John's phallus press into her ass, Claire sighed. You knew this was going to happen sooner or later, she said to herself, rejecting the surge of lust her son's touch engendered. Might as well set the ground rules now.

She twisted in her son's arms. As he smiled down at her, smugly certain of her rection, she placed both hands in the center of his chest and pushed him away

John staggered back, almost tripping over his own tangled feet. He stared at his mother in disbelief, then collapsed into a chair.

"What the hell, Mom?"

Claire twirled a paring knife idly between her fingers. When it came to a rest, the point was, undoubtedly coincidentally, pointed at her only son.

"We're going to have this talk once, Johnny. And then never again. Because if we have to have this conversation twice, you will no longer be welcome in my home.

"What in the Goddess' wide green world makes you think you can come up and grope my tits without my permission? What in your stupid, testosterone-addled brain makes you think that was a good idea?

"Oh! I know!" she exclaimed with mock-enthusiasm, as he sat, flummoxed. "We screwed last night, so that means I will want to screw all the time, doesn't it, Johnny?" she said sarcastically.

"Listen to me. We will be your lovers. Some of us will even be your mates. But none of us will be your slaves. If you want to show me affection, do it with your hands light and your face towards mine, not an ambush from the rear.

"Do you understand me? Because if you don't, the door is open, and you know where it is."

John nodded, shame-faced. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't think."

"Well, start. It's bad enough for you already, having to disguise in public the love and lust you share with your family in private. But an action like that in the wrong place could get you hauled up on a sexual assault charge, and the police and courts here in Iowa are notoriously unamused by cases of incest. They have had to put up with jokes about that and cow-fucking for far too long to think it is funny."

She set a plate in front of him. Sandwich, apple slices, carrots. "Milk or juice?"

"Soda?" he asked hopefully.

"We're out. If you want some, pick some up the next time you go to the store." She set a glass of milk at his elbow, then leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. "Still friends?"

John smiled, remembering the phrase from his childhood, one that he and his sisters used after a big fight. "Still friends, Mom."

"Good. After you finish lunch, you can do your homework. Susanna is still at the library, so you won't have to worry about horizontal entertainment for a bit. How are classes coming?"

"All A's and B's. Even German."

"Ugly language." Claire shook her head and looked out the window at the hazy summer day. "After you are done with that, you can mow the lawn, if the grass has dried off enough from last night. Any plans for the evening?"

John's answer was cut off as Claire's cell phone rang. Walking over to the counter, she glanced at the display and answered it.

"Hello?

"Hello, Hilda darling, how are you? Did you call to find out how things went between John and Agatha?" she asked with a naughty wink to John as he blushed.

"That's not what I heard from your mother." John frowned as he tried to follow the conversation, then shrugged and went back to his meal, mind already disconnecting. His attention was snagged back almost immediately.

"What did you say?" Claire's voice was high and strained with disbelief.

@@@

The next few minutes of conversation were impossible to follow. When Claire finally finished the call, she sat at the kitchen table with John, eyes wide with shock.

"What was that all about?" John asked.

"Your cousin thinks she has found a man of power here in Des Moines. Apparently he's about Agatha's age, and is being held in some sort of, of, indentured servitude by a religious nutball, and Hilda gave him my number, since he wants to run away and she thinks that we could put him up in the basement." She shuddered and held her head in her hands. "Why now? We looked all over the city. Hell, we looked all over the damned state. And we couldn't find anyone we would let into the coven. And now Hilda finds one on her morning run? And he is so damaged that to not aid him would be a crime?

"The Goddess is laughing at me," she groaned morbidly.

"So what's the problem?" John asked.

Claire stared at him in disbelief. "Didn't you listen to anything I told you last night? He is a man of power. With some training, he could say charms, lay spells, and heal. Who knows what he could do? And Hilda thinks it a good idea to put him up here, where there will be at least two women who are highly sensitized to, and physically attracted to, just that sort of power. Hell, Johnny, Susanna is your mate! Can you honestly sit there and tell me that the thought of Susanna being irresistibly attracted to another man doesn't bother you?

"Because that is what will happen," she warned him. "No matter how much she loves you, she will also be drawn by the power this Steven has."

John frowned. "How irresistible are we talking about? It can't be a case where you have no choice in the matter at all. Heck, you just proved that now. If the women of the coven were all effected in the way you think, there is no way you would have been able to push me away.

"So how bad is it? Would you or Susanna have sex with this guy if he was, for example, a child molester? A rapist? A murderer?"

"Goddess, no," shuddered Claire.

"Okay then. I didn't think so. I know you all wouldn't sleep with a guy who was a complete prick. But I knew that before Hilda even found this guy. So nothing is different there.

"It seems to me," said John, speaking carefully, with the vast experience of his eighteen years, "that I don't have anything more to really worry about than if this guy was completely powerless, but really good-looking. If he is an asshole, you won't sleep with him. If you find him physically repulsive, you won't sleep with him. But if he is moderately attractive and a good person, you will be attracted to him.

"Just like you would be to any other man. If you or Susie or Aunt Sybil decide to take this guy to bed, I won't pretend to like it, but I have to accept it, just like Susie and Agatha are going to have to accept me mating with Hilda and Ellie.