Samhain
Act VI. The Name of the Wind
Supernatural Sex Story: Act VI. The Name of the Wind - A Halloween concert in a deconsecrated church. A singer fills in for a sick friend, then returns for her own band’s set at midnight. Between the two, a stranger is watching her from the crowd. Some songs are written. Some are only remembered. And on Samhain, the line between the two grows thin.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Mystery Paranormal Oral Sex Halloween
When Nika stepped onto the stage, the hall met her with a deafening roar. Light hit her eyes, the front rows surged, hands went up, someone shouted her name. She was used to it — living inside that noise, feeding on it. But tonight it passed through her as through an empty hall.
The host’s farewell still echoed behind the curtain — ‘SilverCast! Nika! NIKA!’ Nika was short for Veronica, the name she had shortened years ago to fit on a poster. The hall screamed it.
She took the microphone and began to sing.
Tonight she didn’t have to perform feeling. Lines written years ago, when she had understood nothing, slid into place — every word felt lived-in. And the hall heard it. The front rows stretched their hands towards the light, caught the familiar words, and strangers’ faces sang her own pain back to her — not knowing they were singing the truth.
Nika’s gaze returned, again and again, to one spot.
Jack stood where he had promised.
He wasn’t pushing towards the stage. He didn’t look away when their eyes met. He simply stood among the living and watched her as if he wanted to absorb every second — her face, her voice, the light, the very air around her. There was no plea in that gaze, no reproach. Only the attention of a man who was memorising.
She sang ‘Line of Fire’.
‘I can no longer turn and run away, And no power can raise my wings again!
The dawn will stain the snowfall bloody red In the final battle raging overhead.
I’m alive — but the ache inside my chest: All’s on fire, and there is nothing left!’ Her voice soared over the hall, and thousands of people answered with a single cry. Nika surrendered to the rhythm — the light, the motion, the drive of the crowd — and sang as though everything depended on the strength of her voice, as if she could hold this evening in her hands. She knew it wasn’t true. That nothing could be held. And she sang louder because of it.
‘I’m alive — but the ache inside my chest’ — once, it had been a line about someone else. Now the ache pulsed under her ribs in time with her own words, and for the first time she sang it not about an image, but about herself.
Jack didn’t move. He listened.
The clock showed five minutes to midnight as the first chords of ‘Soon It’s Samhain’ rang out. Nika closed her eyes for a moment. Of all the songs — this one. She had chosen it for the setlist herself, had written these lines herself, not knowing she was writing her own future. When she opened her eyes, she looked for him in the dark of the hall — and couldn’t find him at once, because the tears stood too close.
She didn’t let them fall.
‘Soon it’s Samhain, and you wait for me Past the line of daybreak, Where, inside the dream, the rain would be Called the Wind’s own name.
And I won’t tell you Whose side I stand on...
In the hour between, in the hour of choosing, We will meet again on the darkened land.
No excuses, You’re in the game — so am I!’ A song she had always thought of as a dark story now sang like a promise. She looked at Jack and sang it to him — to him alone, before thousands of people, only one of whom knew whom these words were meant for. He wasn’t applauding. He inclined his head slightly, the way someone might listen to the last thing they had left.
In the middle of the song, Jack raised his hand.
Not high, not theatrically — a short gesture that from the stage might have looked like a chance movement among hundreds of others. The hall noticed nothing.
Nika noticed.
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