Mysteria Nights

“Well, I’m sorry,” he huffed, straightening his shirt and hair, “but I’m not that kind of guy. I need wooing and romance. I need flowers and dinner. I—oh, fuck it, come back here.”

They climbed into the back of the van, which was empty, carpeted, and smelled strongly of garlic and pizza sauce. They rolled around the strong-smelling floor, tugging and yanking at each other’s clothes, Thad marveling at her smoothly muscled body: not an ounce of fat anywhere, but my God, the scars!

They didn’t detract from her beauty; they deepened it, made her seem more like a real woman and less like a goddess. The one arcing across her abdomen was so long and twisted, he wondered how she’d survived the original wound.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him forward—well, yanked him forward was more like it. He was concerned; he normally liked to give a partner more than eight seconds of foreplay. But she was having none of it, pulling him forward, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her hips rising off the carpet to meet his.

“I don’t want to hur—whoa!” Sex with Withering wasn’t unlike being caught in a rowing machine. A hot, limber, blond rowing machine. Used to being the aggressor in sex, Thad just closed his eyes and tried to hang on for the ride. In less than a minute he was spasming inside her and shaking so hard he wondered if the van was rocking.

“Gah,” he said as she gently pushed him off her. He flopped on his side next to her, trying to catch his breath. “Well. That. Ah. That was—”

“Very quick,” she said, sounding indecently satisfied. She was rapidly rearranging her clothes, tying her long hair back with a ponytail holder. “Thank you.”

“I guess it’s all right,” he said slowly, “that swiftness impresses you.”

“How else would you do it? This way we can clothe ourselves and be ready to face danger.”

Oh my God.

“Uh. There are lots of other ways to ‘do it.’ In fact—”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Much too dangerous.”

“But did you even come?”

“Come where?”

Oh my God. Please let me teach her the many ways two people can pleasure each other. Please let her stay so I can teach her, please God.

“I guess,” he said slowly, buckling his belt, “I’d better drive you home.”

Twelve

He dropped a cheerful Withering at her front door and began the walk back to the van, when suddenly the sidewalk turned to glue (or so it felt) and he was stuck fast.

“Cut it out, you two!” he said loudly, struggling to extricate himself.

Scornful and Derisive peered down at him from their tree house. The town knew the girls were too old for it, as they also knew that was where the triplets (when they were triplets) retreated to work on their more diabolical plans.

“You’d better explain,” Scornful said.

“And right now, before the sidewalk ends up over your head.”

“Unnnf!” he replied. “Nnnnnfff! Mmmmmff!” One foot moved a whole inch.

“So talk,” Derisive added.

“Mind—nnf!—your own—mmfff!—damned—argh!—business,” he panted.

“Our sister is our business. She might look like a hottie grown-up, but she’s a little naive in some areas, like you haven’t noticed.”

His feet were moving slightly easier. “You can’t—nnff!—do the magic—rrggh!—you could when—mrrgg!—you were the Desdaine triplets.”

“We can do enough,” Scornful said shortly, and he knew he had touched on a sore spot. He wondered what had happened to Withering’s magic. Out of practice, probably, from the years of fighting. “So what are you doing with her?”

“None of your damned—ha!—business.” One foot was free. He set to work on the other.

“It is, too! Is this why you came back to Mysteria? To score on the new girl?”

“No. And that is none of your business.”

“We can do a lot more than stick you in cement up to your ankles,” Derisive threatened.

“Think I don’t know? But what’s between your sister and me is private.”

“Guess he doesn’t kiss and tell,” Scornful said to her sister.

“Prob’ly just as well; who needs to puke after that good supper Mom cooked?”

He knelt to get better leverage as he tugged on his left foot. “You two are a menace!”

“Tell us something we haven’t heard since we were two. Look, all we want to know is, are you sticking around this time?”

“This time?”

“We looked you up in the archives. Your whole family picked up and left when you were a kid. Now you’re back, and you’re sniffing around our sister. So are you in it for the long haul, or just a slap and tickle before you vanish?”

“I’m—never—leaving—again. God damn it, what’d you turn the sidewalk into, rubber cement?”

“Oh.”

“Huh,” Scornful added. “Never leaving again?”

He temporarily abandoned his efforts to escape. “I came back because I thought Mysteria had gotten into my blood. There’s nowhere else like it in the world, kids, but I guess you know that.”

“So?” they asked in unison.

“So. Your sister grew up in five seconds, and now I’m here for her. I’ll always be here for her. I’m trying to get her to stay. I’m trying to get her to relax and not be ready to fight all the time. Now get me out of this shit!”

The girls made identical gestures, as if they were pulling invisible taffy, and his foot popped free, and the sidewalk was solid again. He nearly toppled backward but righted himself in time.

“I guess that’s all right, then,” Scornful said.

“We can’t watch her twenty-four/seven,” Derisive added.

“So nice to have your permission,” he snapped.

“Don’t kid yourself, Thad. You did need our permission. Unless you like the idea of getting stuck in every sidewalk, driveway, and linoleum floor between here and the shooting range.”

“Oh, and Thad?” Scornful added sweetly as he stomped down the sidewalk. “Break her heart, and we’ll break your spine.”

“Among other things,” Derisive added.

Great, he thought, climbing into his van, teenage mob enforcers. Just what the town needed.

Thirteen

“Pardon me,” Janameides said politely, “but do any of you know where I might find an exorcist?”

He was standing in the Desdaine living room, having been ushered in by Mrs. Desdaine, who had been headed out the door for work. Shrugging at the sight of the river nymph (but not at all worried for her daughters’ safety—she hadn’t been before Withering grew up in an alternate dimension)—Mrs. Desdaine had made herself scarce.

“This woman would know why the—the man needs an exorcist,” Withering said. She was the only one fully