people who might have heard the ruckus.”
“Yeah,” Power Ranger Christie said. “I don’t mind being raped, but doing it in front of people is icky.”
I figured—without the protective barrier of the mask—Christie would have reverted to customary shyness already. Anonymity was her brand of courage.
Staring at Christy, Holy looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. “Sorry, I thought … I thought...”
I sighed. “Just go.”
Holy picked herself up and scurried away. And I still didn’t hear the damn floorboards creak or groan under her feet. The girl walked like a ninja; she was the one who needed the Ranger costume.
I put my hands on the bed and leaned in to stare into Christie’s eyes through the holes in her mask. The snake-fang necklace swung between us. I smiled. “Now, where were we?”
I couldn’t see her smile, but I heard teasing in the tone of her voice as she pulled my lips to her exposed breasts. “I’ll let you figure that out, you vile beast.”
* * *
For some reason, I dreamed of hot molten cream drizzling from the heavens. Fluffy whiteness splattered to the ground as if the Mother of all Pigeons were seeding the clouds. One huge glob hit the haunted mansion, covering a third of the roof, creeping down the back of the building in gooey runnels, adding a sugary flavor to the night winds.
I wondered if there were a giant ark nearby where the faithful would be loading aboard animals of every kind, hoping to survive the Marshmallow Apocalypse. Yeah, I knew this was a dream. What else? And, no, knowing it was a dream didn’t kick me out. Most of my dreams were nightmares and they never—easily—gave me up.
Pleasured moans emanated from the nearby chapel. Apparently I was revisiting the site in my sleep; only this chapel was in perfect condition. The stained glass filled every window, dark eyes that returned my stare. The outer walls were intact, smoothly coated with white paint. That meant that I was not only asleep, but occupying a vision of the distant past.
This was what I had hoped might happen. The same psychic mechanism had provided answers in Santa Fe where a ghost girl had put me on the trail of a serial killer. I was a long way off from making this ability reliable, but for now, I’d take what I could get.
Note to self: talk to Thorn about how I can develop this power more fully.
I approached the side door. It opened by itself as I reached it. I crossed the threshold and stood listening in the gloom of night.
A young woman spoke, “Giles, did you hear something?”
“Only the pounding of my heart, love.”
“Are you sure you locked the door?”
“Positive.”
Yeah, but this is my dream.
I closed the door behind me, taking in the scents of the room: furniture polish, bee’s wax, and horny teenagers. I heard the sound of fumbling fingers and rustling cloth. The girl said, “Wait, I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“But you know I love you, Rhonda. I want you. I need you, honey. You’re everything to me. Tell me you believe in us, too. I know you want this as badly as I do.”
“But what if I get pregnant?”
“Oh, that can’t happen the first time. It will be okay. I’ll just pull out before I cum.”
I snorted softly to myself. Yeah, that never goes wrong.
I ghosted along the wall, passing the stained glass windows as I headed toward the stage. The sounds were coming from the choir benches, near the baptistery.
An interesting choice for fornication.
I stopped at the front pew. Surely voyeurism wasn’t the reason for this dream, not when I could be reliving memories of my own legendary conquests. On a hunch, I went on. An inside door and a short passageway took me to the back hallway. That in turn led me to the basement door.
I found it open a crack. Young female voices spilled out, a droning cadence. “Puer nobis ad inferos. Ipsaeque
“Yeah,” Power Ranger Christie said. “I don’t mind being raped, but doing it in front of people is icky.”
I figured—without the protective barrier of the mask—Christie would have reverted to customary shyness already. Anonymity was her brand of courage.
Staring at Christy, Holy looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. “Sorry, I thought … I thought...”
I sighed. “Just go.”
Holy picked herself up and scurried away. And I still didn’t hear the damn floorboards creak or groan under her feet. The girl walked like a ninja; she was the one who needed the Ranger costume.
I put my hands on the bed and leaned in to stare into Christie’s eyes through the holes in her mask. The snake-fang necklace swung between us. I smiled. “Now, where were we?”
I couldn’t see her smile, but I heard teasing in the tone of her voice as she pulled my lips to her exposed breasts. “I’ll let you figure that out, you vile beast.”
* * *
For some reason, I dreamed of hot molten cream drizzling from the heavens. Fluffy whiteness splattered to the ground as if the Mother of all Pigeons were seeding the clouds. One huge glob hit the haunted mansion, covering a third of the roof, creeping down the back of the building in gooey runnels, adding a sugary flavor to the night winds.
I wondered if there were a giant ark nearby where the faithful would be loading aboard animals of every kind, hoping to survive the Marshmallow Apocalypse. Yeah, I knew this was a dream. What else? And, no, knowing it was a dream didn’t kick me out. Most of my dreams were nightmares and they never—easily—gave me up.
Pleasured moans emanated from the nearby chapel. Apparently I was revisiting the site in my sleep; only this chapel was in perfect condition. The stained glass filled every window, dark eyes that returned my stare. The outer walls were intact, smoothly coated with white paint. That meant that I was not only asleep, but occupying a vision of the distant past.
This was what I had hoped might happen. The same psychic mechanism had provided answers in Santa Fe where a ghost girl had put me on the trail of a serial killer. I was a long way off from making this ability reliable, but for now, I’d take what I could get.
Note to self: talk to Thorn about how I can develop this power more fully.
I approached the side door. It opened by itself as I reached it. I crossed the threshold and stood listening in the gloom of night.
A young woman spoke, “Giles, did you hear something?”
“Only the pounding of my heart, love.”
“Are you sure you locked the door?”
“Positive.”
Yeah, but this is my dream.
I closed the door behind me, taking in the scents of the room: furniture polish, bee’s wax, and horny teenagers. I heard the sound of fumbling fingers and rustling cloth. The girl said, “Wait, I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“But you know I love you, Rhonda. I want you. I need you, honey. You’re everything to me. Tell me you believe in us, too. I know you want this as badly as I do.”
“But what if I get pregnant?”
“Oh, that can’t happen the first time. It will be okay. I’ll just pull out before I cum.”
I snorted softly to myself. Yeah, that never goes wrong.
I ghosted along the wall, passing the stained glass windows as I headed toward the stage. The sounds were coming from the choir benches, near the baptistery.
An interesting choice for fornication.
I stopped at the front pew. Surely voyeurism wasn’t the reason for this dream, not when I could be reliving memories of my own legendary conquests. On a hunch, I went on. An inside door and a short passageway took me to the back hallway. That in turn led me to the basement door.
I found it open a crack. Young female voices spilled out, a droning cadence. “Puer nobis ad inferos. Ipsaeque
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