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ascottywrites · 5 years ago

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Love on a Silver Platter -- All Hallows Eve

Love on a Silver Platter

All Hallows Eve

Behold the power of the Tide and all the wishes made wherein…

12:00 AM October 31

A fog rolled in over the city, covering it like a winter coat. An unusual sight for the time of year. But that’s not what set this day apart from the other, going unnoticed by the one who most needed to see it. Though, perhaps if those involved would have been more wary and there would not be a story that needed telling. In the stead of ominous weather, it all started because of a book. A thick leather-bound thing that took obvious care to create. Something taken as so innocuous it could be given as a gift from one friend to another. A petty little parcel accompanied by a birthday card with sarcastic note written inside:

All Hallows Eve. The one night of the year when the link between the two worlds is at its peak. Doors are opened. Spirits can cross. Wishes can be made and magic appears where magic did not exist before. Happy Samhain.

Happy Birthday weirdo! Open on your birthday ONLY and go to the marked pages. I’ll know if you don’t you cheating cheater who cheats.

Love you Asshole Call me in the morning

Blinded by ignorance, none took heed off that rolling fog or the series of perfect events Siobhan Ferguson unwittingly set in motion that would make this gift something far from trivial.

2:00 AM

Happy Halloween my lovely weirdos!

Veronica Torres replied to your comment: Yooooo! Happy Birthday asshat! Did you open my gift?

Penny Sutherland replied to your comment: Happy Anniversary of the day of your birth! Why are you still awake anyway?

Siobhan Vonnie Ferguson: Veronica I did open your gift and did so at the specified time. Penny you know, the yoose. I lit the fireplace too late. Waiting for it to die so my apartment doesn’t catch fire while I’m sleepin’. Thank you both, my best loves!

Siobhan snorted when the chat window popped up at the bottom of her screen.

Veronica: Your only loves you fuckin’ liar. Open it! Siobhan: I did open it you asshole. A book of spells? Really? Penny: Hahahaaaaaa!! Veronica you’re such a dick! Veronica: No. I’m a godsend. Penny I got the book, true. But really I got her the specific spell inside. Penny: OMG I’m afraid to ask. Veronica: It’s time for her to get laid. She’s gonna be 40 before we know it. Penny: A love spell? I just died laughing. Siobhan: I’d appreciate you two not carrying on like I’m not here. Veronica: But frfr have you ever thought of it? Siobhan: What? Being a virgin until I’m 40? Seriously? Penny: OMG! Please! Why am I friends with you two? Veronica: No you idiot. Veronica: Are you telling me you never thought Oh my birthday is on Halloween. Maybe I could be a witch? Siobhan: LOL No. Penny: Bullshit Siobhan: Eh? Penny: Every girl our age that laid eyes on a TV growing up at some point thought she could be a witch. Veronica: True Penny: I mean Justin Timberlake in your closet. Saving the world every week and looking hot doin in? Penny: Come on Siobhan: Lol Penny don’t pass out. Penny: Whatever Vonnie ijs. If I could live in a bomb ass Victorian instead of my current shitty apartment and blow shit up. I’m down. Veronica: ANYWHOOZLE Veronica: In all seriousness. Happy B-day Von. I still love your non-magic havin ass. Penny: I guess I do too Penny: Speakin of love. We getting together soon? I miss you nerds. Siobhan: Right on, love you guys too Siobhan: I agree. We should make it happen soon. Veronica: Talk about it in the morning? Penny: Sure Siobhan: Sure. Everything should be cooled off enough anyway. I should go pass out. Veronica: Do the spell. See if it works Siobhan: Seriously Penny: If you get a man I wanna try it Siobhan: omg Veronica: Couldn’t hurt. Night! Penny: G’night! Siobhan: Love you guys

Setting her laptop aside Siobhan took a sip from her wine glass, a festive little thing that was too big to constitute a normal serving, more goblet than glass, and sported an obligatory conical hat toting witch caught flying across the face of a full moon. She hummed, squinting dubiously at the book setting on the coffee table in front of her. It was interesting if she had to admit anything. A touch faded and well worn. Something that probably would have been passed down along the generations had it not somehow found its way in the back of whatever thrift store Veronica liberated it from. Setting her glass to the side, Siobhan reached out to graze cool-tipped fingers across the edges until she could dig her fingers to the split seam, wedged open by the ornate bookmark Veronica placed inside. “Almost thirty and you’ve never been in a real relationship.” She huffed. “…couldn’t hurt.” Then ripping it off like a band-aid, she wrenched open the book. Then there is was, after a complex looking spell to bind and tagged as ‘Romani’ and before a simple seeming, non-descript incantation for peace, the ‘gift’ Veronica meant: To Call for Love. It began as all good recipes do, with a description. A short blurb that described the spell as a combination of invocation and summoning. That both were precarious in their own right and could be even more so when forced together. That because of the inherent danger of dabbling in matters of the heart and summoning the unknown, one should be pure in their craft and sure in the work they will commit in influencing the natural currents of life and love. “Don’t do this if you’re just lookin’ for a good time. Got it.” She read on

…One virgin candle to ignite desire and a waxing moon…

Well, she had that mulberry scented candle she lit every evening when she came home and she wasn’t all that worried about the phases of the moon. A little improvisation couldn’t hurt anyway. Swiping the half spent, burnt candle from the side table she set it on the coffee table beside the book. “Anoint the candle with your vaginal secretions from the bottom up.” Her face scrunched in distaste. “Well that’s not happening.” And that was that. “Conjure the image and characteristics you would desire of a perfect mate and hold them tightly in your mind’s eye.” Well that she could do with veritable ease. Had been doing it for a good while if she were being embarrassingly honest. Which is probably the very reason why Veronica had stooped to the supernatural in the first place. She winced at that. “Goodness gracious. Let’s just get this done.” The last of the fire diming in the hearth went unnoticed by Siobhan as she closed her eyes. He would be strong, passionate, desperate to love her and hot with a touch of villainy to keep things interesting. Always having had a weak spot for dark hair and light eyes she was not surprised by the image that sprang to life in her head. One with a gaze the brightest of blues and a head of perfectly coiffed golden hued brunette hair. She laughed at what her mother would think. Her lips pulling up her crooked mouth. Just another black girl mixing it up with some white guy that was going to undoubtedly ruin her life in the end. Not that she blamed her mother for her opinions, not with their family history. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t real. Just a mesh of ideas she’d put together in her head. And after a slew of bad dates…oh who was she kidding, they were all completely horrible, disappointing failures of the worst kind and she deserved this fantasy. “As you hold onto this ideal gaze into the flame and repeat the incantation three times. Each time with more conviction than the last:

During this dark witching hour I call upon the witch’s power Take this description near to thee And bring my heart’s desire to me”

She repeated the words and each time with more determination. Staring deep into the blue of the flame. Caught in its hypnotizing sway. Half wishing that it could all be real. As if to prove itself the candle flickered and blew out. Severing the thrall its dance dragged her into. “What in the world?” Curious and confused, Siobhan leaned forward. There was no breeze from an open window. No air from the A/C. She had not touched the flame or moved near it. Her heart raced wildly in her chest. Blood thrumming in her ears. What now? Then as the world around her became still and quiet the flame flickered back to life and a sound crash came from behind her. She flinched with a hard yelp, spilling the wine in her lap. “God damn it Pogue!” A haughty meow came from the kitchen. That cat was going to be the death of her. Sucking her teeth, she wiped at her lap. It was useless, the wine was going to stain. Sighing, she carefully moved to stand. Setting her glass atop the coffee table with a little more force than she meant the stem snapped. The broken glass slicing into her palm. She hissed a curse, cradling her bleeding hand. Completely engrossed, the few drops of blood that sizzled on the newly lit candle and the flickering flame that held strong went unnoticed.

3:30 AM

Wrapped in the snuggliest blanket burrito known to man Siobhan snuggled deeper into its warmth. A sigh of con-- "Oh fuck!" he eyes snapped open. She forgot the chili on the stove. She screwed them shut. "Whatever." The embers in the ash heap, the leftovers, the mess of glass and wine, they'd be alright 'til morning. If the window in her living room cracked open just a bit, well…she was one the fourth floor, that would be fine too.

5:45 AM

Siobhan groaned. Unsure of what it was that woke her in the middle of her beloved REM. Whatever it was, though, it left her buzzed and when one wanted nothing more than to sleep, to feel electrified from skin to boney center was the last thing desired. Fortunately for her she knew her body, even in her sleep inebriated state and the best, sure-fire sleep remedy she had up her sleeve was one good orgasm. She’d rub one out like a pro and pass right the hell back out. Her eyes slipped shut. Fingers slipping into the juncture of her thighs to find the nubbin waiting just there. She wasn’t ready, not in the slightest. But she didn’t have to be. Her imagination was solid and just the idea of what would bit sitting at the end of the other side of the rainbow was enough to make her flutter. Dry, wet, it wouldn’t take long either way. She thought back on the face she created of her perfect man. Imagined how his body would look. How it would feel against hers. How warm he would be. …How beautiful his hard cock would look jutting up from his lap. Looking like an offering sitting relaxed on her couch. Waiting for her to take the initiative, to come sat astride his lap. The next she knew, he was moving against her, around her, inside her. His words whispered hotly against her ear, deep and desperate and harsh, “Fuck –yea. That’s it. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” Oh! All right brain we’re just jumping right into the thick of it then. Which that was just fine, she didn’t need to build up just the release and there was nothing that was going to get her there faster than the desire to beat her partner to the finish line. To give him what he begged for and to take everything he offered. Her skin turned hot to the touch, burning beneath the blankets, her breath devolved into short bursts pushed out by the rapid beat of her heart. A fresh rush of arousal surged forth to slick her way around the engorging nub. She imagined large hands clinging desperately to each cheek of her ass, thick fingers dinging in deep enough to leave bruises. “I’m gonna come.” His voice brought to a reedy whine by her ministrations. He wrenched her closer. “F-fuck. Gonna come in you.” He could. That was fine too. Because even if he did, even if he pled for her to slow down, to give him a respite from his oversensitivity, she would keep riding until she finished. She would take and take until there was nothing left. Ring him out until he was a goddamned husk if it came to it. When she came it was with a seize that took her whole body and to the idea of a pathetic sounding whine coming from the barrel of a finely sculpted chest. “Goddamn. Well that was fuckin’ new,” she whispered to the darkness of her room. It wasn’t long after that she was fast asleep once again.

8:00 AM

She shot up with a start. Restless. An unusual buzzing trapped beneath her skin. Not so unsimilar to that surprise the few hours before, if only a little more subdued. She chalked it up this time to the gruesome details of her fading dream. Goodness, had it been the wine? Whatever the case may be, the results made her shudder in disgust all the same. But the further away she moved from the realm of sleep the fuzzier the dream became, leaving her with mere vestiges of what happened in it. Like trying to see into the farthest reflection of a mirror in a mirror. But there was still a piece of her that knew it was something horrible. Something involving her friends. Something…that made bile sting at the back of her throat and sent a cold shiver racing down her spine. But…whatever it was slipped through her fingers like sand through a sieve until there was nothing more for her to grasp onto and she was left with just that feeling of that restlessness. Christ, she needed to get out. Needed fresh air. A walk would do. She cleared her throat against the burn and clenched her hands into tight fists. They were shaking. What the hell was wrong with her? …Air.

9:00 AM

The next thing she knows, Siobhan is stepping through a dinner door. The chime overhead startling her enough to bring her into the present. How had she gotten here? “Mornin’. How many?’ Hearing the words felt strange, as if they had been the first sounds she heard since going to bed the night before. “Uh — jut me.” She followed on suddenly unsure feet when the over-coffee’d waitress pointed to one of the empty booths seated along the windows. “So what can I do ya for?” She wasn’t from around, that was for sure. “Just coffee for now, thanks.” “Cream?” “No thanks.” “Be just a minute then.” What the hell was she doing here again? Old fashioned Greasy spoons, while not unheard of in a city like San Francisco, the city’s eclectic aspects catnip for hipsters interested in such hospitality throwback, weren’t places she typically found herself spending her time and she’d definitely never seen this place before. But that wasn’t the point. Point was…well… what the hell, she couldn’t remember. Her mind was slipping and sliding, this way and that, racing in some thoughts, sluggish in others. Tugging in all opposing directions. Almost as is if it was actively working against her. Keeping her distracted. “There ya are hun.” The waitress returned, shocking her out of her inevitable spiral. “Did you get a chance to look over the menu?” “Sorry.” Siobhan cleared her throat, embarrassed. “I haven’t even looked.” “Well that’s alright. Take your time. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” Siobhan returned her sweet smile with and uneasy one before she flitted off to another table. “Try the French toast. It’s pretty good here.” His voice rang clearest of all among the den of senseless chatter and Siobhan couldn’t help looking up at its source. Oh wow, he was beautiful. She stared up at him, transfixed by eyes the deepest blue, shaded by thick, dark lashes. He took the seat across from her. Plopping down comfortably, confident he wouldn’t be turned away. “So, French toast?” She grimaced, her stomach flipping at the idea of the sweet treat…or was it because of him? Holy hell, she was losing it. “I think maybe I drank too much last night,” she confessed, unprompted and rightly confused to why she felt comfortable enough with this stranger to do so. “Ah.” He smiled, commiserating. “Then you need the hash browns.” He took her menu, flipping it to the back, mulling over the options listed there, “Maybe with bacon, sausage, and two over-easy eggs. Sound a little more appetizing?” “Over-easy?” Siobhan asked, admittedly a little more lost than she liked. As if she just couldn’t keep up. What the hell is going on? “Sunny side up. Goes good with toast. It’ll help with your uneasy stomach.” Then the stranger smiled, and it was like a punch to the gut. Everything about him grew clear as if he existed superimposed on the world around them. The most prominent thing to exist in the hazy mess of people around them. And in that moment, she knew him. Those blues eyes were familiar, that sculpted collar and thick neck revealed by the three open buttons of his soft looking Henley…familiar. “Holy shit,” she breathed. It worked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

9:30 AM

They chatted through breakfast and into a late morning dessert… “This place has the best New York Cheesecake in town.”… and if she was so caught up in it that she didn’t notice that she’s missed several calls well…enough had been missed so far, what’s one more drop in a pail full of water?

5:00 PM

After a reluctant goodbye and a date planned for later that evening Siobhan finally put the leftover chili into the refrigerator and cleaned out the fireplace. The restless feeling suddenly dissipates and the exhaustion that had been lurking around the edges finally takes its toll. She laid back along the couch, happy to take advantage of a few winks, and before she knew it, she was sound asleep.

6:45 PM

Unprovoked, Siobhan leapt into consciousness, cursing with a quick glance to the time. She was supposed to meet Him in fifteen minutes. There was no way she would make in on time. In her haste she tripped over Pogue, the cat screeched, and she went tumbling into the coffee table. Pressing her hand tight against her stinging bicep she was sure that when she lifted her hand, she would pull back blood. “Fucking shit! Goddamnit Pogue.” She couldn’t go like this. Then, as is the way of things, her phone started buzzing, rattling persistently against her breakfast bar. The name flashing across the screen, one she couldn’t remember adding to her contacts. She answered anyway. “Hey! I was just calling to see if you wanted to try this Irish pub I found instead of going to the Mexican place we were talking about earlier.” “Peter?” she asked, needing the confirmation. When had they even exchanged numbers? She shook her head against the errant unease creeping up on her. “Oh my goodness, your timing is incredible. I was just going to call you.” “You’re not canceling on me are you?” He chuckled into the phone, a suave sound that made her forget any possible blooming discomfort. She smiled at it. “No! I mean, I was going to ask if you wanted to just hang out at my place tonight. But if you’re dead set on that pub—“ “No-no. I’d be happy to spend time with you anywhere. Just text me your address and I’ll be there soon as I can.” “Great. I’ll be here.” I’ll be here? What the hell? Where the hell else are you going to be? “See you in a bit,” she blurted, fumbling to hang up before she said anything else embarrassing. Good job you awkward ass. She looked down to her cat, “At least he was kind enough not to laugh.”

7:30 PM

Pogue has never been of the friendly sort. Not even towards Siobhan, the hand that feeds him, no matter how reluctantly at times. Siobhan and Pogue are enemies caged in an apartment that is not big enough for the both of them. Their war a near daily one beginning with a cat slap to the face and a reciprocated angry toss worthy of a football quarterback. While other smarter, more humane people with a fully developed sense of self preservation would have called it quits long ago, the two had instead come to an understanding that one day one of them would wake up dead and when push came to shove, both of them were fine with that dysfunctional set up. That being said, when it came to strangers, Pogue rarely paid them the time of day. Would have lazed about the apartment, being his usual blaze self, preferring to pretend that whoever that cretin to deign to exist in his space simply didn’t exist at all. So when Pogue hisses something fierce, bats at the air, his hair standing on end, before shooting off as if the hounds of hell are on his tail leaves Siobhan standing flabbergasted in her doorway where Peter waited patiently to be allowed in. “I’m sorry about that,” she mumbled. “That was weird, even for him.” Peter shrugged it off, a half smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Some cats just don’t like me. Call it my personal curse.” His eyes flickered to the bandage on her arm when she shifted uncomfortably. “What happened? You bleeding?” “It’s nothing.” She shied away, trying to hide in her invitation. Peter asked nothing more about it after that. In fact, he wouldn’t say much at all for the rest of the night. But Siobhan wouldn’t judge. Wouldn’t think on it at all really. It could have been the way he touched her, a gentle graze against her skin. Or the way he looked at her, with hunger lurking just beneath the surface. Being able to pinpoint what it could have been exactly was of little consequence in the grand scheme of all things. All she knew…all she needed to know…all that mattered was his mouth on hers. Was how it felt when searching hands tugged impatiently at the hem of her dress; groping, desperate, and moving with a single purpose: to bring her to the height of pleasure and hurl her over the cliff. She never thought she would be the type. One to fall in bed –couch…semantics…whatever—with a veritable stranger. The kind so willing to be devoured. Such a severe about face from who she knew herself to be. The change was exhilarating, and she lost herself in it…him. In that mix of pleasure and the right side of pain he coaxed from her. Burning her from the inside out. Lost herself in his breath, his moans, his grunts, his praise, and everything else that was him. It was dangerous. She couldn’t bring herself to care. She groaned, a sound birthed from deep in the hollow of her chest at the press of his hand against her throat. His thumb pulling roughly at her bottom lip. Tilting her head back. Arching her spine. His grip tightening with each forceful thrust of his hips. For a moment she thought she might die as he filled her overwhelmed by the feeling of being both empty and full. Then came the swell, building from the tips of her fingers and toes to converge at her center and form the tightest of knots until it was strained to its limit and shattered into a billion pieces. The world around her falling to white noise.

11:59 PM

The fire is dead. The food is still out. The wine she poured, spilled against the white carpet in the living room. Siobhan remembers these things for little more than a second during the five minutes of lucidity wherein she also notices that she’s alone. Five minutes of a flash of worry and oppressive insecurity fighting to rear its ugly head. But then, he was slipping back beneath the blankets with her and where he when, why it was long enough for the sheets to turn cold, none of it mattered. And when he started touching her, his hands warm against her skin, God, nothing else outside of him mattered and in that moment, she wasn’t sure she could ever be convinced that anything would again. It made it so easy to ignore the fact that his hands were wet and that the room suddenly smelled more of copper than sex. To instead, bury herself deeper into his warmth. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she whispered into his mouth. She felt him smile against her when he said, “I’m one of a kind.”

That he was. Wouldn’t her friends be proud.

Happy Birthday to me.

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