Chapter 2

Henrietta was more of a bicycle person than a motorcar person because she was fearful of being in some accident that would negate her cursed existence for at least another five hundred years of mortal life.

Actually at almost three hundred winters under her belt she was really still in her younger years in humankind terms and she was a bit irresponsible in matters of the heart. She had expressed her regret at her terrible weakness of the flesh with regard to the one-legged Police Chief in whispered conversation with her sister Cordelia more than once.

Sometimes, she had lived content with no masculine foolishness to burden her with emotions that she failed to understand because she was only half human and half demon through no fault of her own.

In fact, she had done her best in her earlier years to adhere to the straight and narrow when it came to carnal activities and she often prayed with the good book in her hand to conduct her actions with a sense of propriety and modest, well-behaved feminine behavior.

Unfortunately, she had fallen prey to some evil influences early in her life and had almost been burned at the stake with most of her female coven with dark impulses to fornicate under the light of the moon. She remembered those days of hard cocks and shouts of pleasure with great fondness, but she knew it was not her sort of thing because she had no love of the concept of submissiveness and she valued her independence above all else.

Henrietta was more inclined to run with naked feet in the surf on the sandy beach rather than bend over for the pleasure of ungrateful males with no love in their barren hearts.

Police Chief Muir rested back in Dutch style rocker. He watched Henrietta come up the garden path with a basket of biscuits for his breakfast table. She also had the potion she had made for him to sooth the stump of his leg in a way that caused him to forget entirely that the pain was still there.

That pain was like a memory of a nightmare hidden in his mind and sealed from his conscious thought at any given moment.

“Thank you kindly for the biscuits, Miss Henrietta. Tell you sister she is a fine cook and will make a good wife for a hungry man.”

“Are you volunteering for the job, Chief Muir? I think you would make a fine husband just sitting at home and waiting to tend to my sister’s dire need for masculine attention.”

He had to smile because he knew her sister had little fondness in her heart for him due to the he took up too much of her sister’s time. That didn’t bother him much because he knew Henrietta was not the sort of female to trick a man into something he didn’t want to do and he sensed her sister Cordelia was the same sort of female underneath where it really counted.

Of course, the poor clueless lawman had no idea he was dealing with wanted women that had escaped the law for almost three breathless centuries and they pretended to be normal human females with an adventure-lacking past.

On this greyish pre-winter day, the fog-shrouded shoreline was littered with the remnants of sea-weed from exotic places. Sometimes, the canny sisters would sift the sea-weeds for those with magical healing powers that only their kind recognized from either the smell or the sight without the interference of a relentless sun shining down on their search.

Cordelia was in the grips of some long-forgotten memory of sadness or despair and she was firmly sat on her padded bench at the back of the bed and breakfast looking out to the fog covered waves lapping with infinite restraint into the waters of their sheltered inlet. Some sea creature was howling in the distance and she ignored the plaintive call of non-human loneliness.

Henrietta walked past her depositing a lid-covered cup of fresh-brewed tea at her side and didn’t speak a single word. She know from centuries of closeness that her sister was not one that appreciated being disturbed in her reverie of the sins of her past and she loved to grovel in the depths of her regret like a famous female film-star of a long-ago era with the unforgettable pronouncement of, “I want to be alone!”

The beautiful but shockingly cautious witch unlocked her favorite bicycle from the rack on the long wooden covered porch and she dried the moisture from the early morning dew from the custom-made padded leather seat.

Henrietta set a great store in her custom-made seat.

She loved the feel of the hide of the predator animal that given up its life to aid in its manufacture. The vibrations of his vicious attacks on unsuspecting humans and other mammals clung to the surface of her feminine folds like a flag of the danger of wandering to the dark side and allowing some dark traveler to ride her spine like some unseen creature of the midnight hours.

Henrietta admitted to her sister alone that the touch of the perfectly shaped seat was enough to start her down the road to a satisfactory explosion of female release.

She always headed for the long slightly downhill stretch of shoreline road that would leave her panting with repeated orgasms and smiling in the face of pelting rain on days that most people were safely inside their rectangular little domiciles.

On this seemingly ordinary day, she reached that point of no return with frenzied pedaling that made her legs sweat with her exertions and left her private parts tingling with the passion of the knowledge that there were times when, “A girl’s got to have it!” and there was really no substitute for the real thing.