Chapter 4

Minerva stepped into the guest room of the Blythe household and took a moment to marvel at it. This guest room was twice the size of her bedsit. There was a water closet. There was a window that was open to the fresh night air beyond the building. The electric lights were covered with tasteful shrouds that softened their harsh glow to something warm, welcoming. The door shut behind her and she whispered. “This is quite spectacular,” she murmured, softly.

“It is.”

Minerva started. She had thought that the house fae of the Blythe household had left her to examine the room without stepping in after her. The sight of her gloriously perfect, nude body made Minerva’s heart thump faster than she had expected. A faint tingle of confused nerves shot through her as one long white finger pushed against the latch of the door, clicking the bolt shut and locking it. Titania’s eyes, swirling black on black, looked to Minerva and she smiled.

“And I of course, live to serve, Miss Golding.”

“I, uh...” Minerva gulped. “I don’t ... I don’t need any service right now.”

“To the contrary, you do.” Titania took a step forward. Then another. Minerva stepped back again and then again, not sure exactly what it was that was happening here. Her cheeks felt too hot. She felt her knees bump against the side of her brand new bed, the cushy mattress threatening to sweep her off her feet. Her hand grabbed onto the headboard, feeling its sturdiness as Titania continued to prowl towards her. Like a hunting cat. Graceful. Dangerous.

“I really-” Minerva started, then silenced as Titania put her hand to her cheek. Her fingers were cold, and she tilted Minerva’s head back with a tiny push of her palm against her chin. She cradled Minerva’s face with the tenderness of a lover and sighed, with exquisite pleasure.

“Miss Golding, do allow me to serve you,” Titania whispered. “We fae know what you humans desire, better than even you.”

“I...” Minerva felt her words choke on her throat as Titania leaned forward, down. Her mouth was as cool as her fingers. Her tongue was exotic ice, sliding along Minerva’s mouth, pushing into her. Minerva’s toes curled as the cold turned to blazing heat in her mouth – liquid gold dripping into her belly. The heat between her thighs was intoxicating and impossible and overpowering. The fae woman continued the kiss, on and on and on, her free hand reaching forward to pluck at a button here, a button there. Minerva leaned in ... and as she leaned in, Titania drew her back. One hand held her head, the other plucked at her collar, and Minerva felt the shoulder of her blouse slipping along her skin, leaving it bare as Titania crooned softly.

“Oh but you are a delicious morsel.”

“What is ... happening?” Minerva asked, her head spinning.

“Nothing at all, morsel,” Titania purred. “Simply enjoy it.”

Her blouse’s shoulder slipped aside. Minerva mumbled. “I ... y-you should ... stop...” She knew this was wrong. Titania was a woman. This went against everything that was natural. But her bra trickled to the floor and her nipples were two rosy points that drew Titania’s mouth like a loadstone drew iron filings. Minerva moaned her objection. “Stop...” But as she moaned, she arched her back, pressing herself against Titania, who heeded her request, her commands, not at all. Her cool hand cradled Minerva’s other tit, squeezing her gently. Then more firmly. Then she rolled and tweaked Minerva’s nipple, the pressure sending a warm jolt straight to to space between Minerva’s legs. She gasped and bucked her hips, while Titania kissed from breast to breast, sucking. Nibbling. Drawing her head back without releasing her teeth from Minerva. It should have hurt.

“Oh God,” Minerva moaned.

“Miss Golding,” Titania purred, drawing her mouth fully away. Her hands continued to stroke Minerva, sliding down to her hips. Minerva felt her panties slither down her thighs as the fae woman stooped – her knees bending, her heels lifting. She remained on her toes as she watched Minerva’s sex come into view, the thick snarl of her pubic hair drawing her nose. She buried her face against the downy softness, breathing in. “You have such a lovely cunt.”

“T-Titania!” Minerva gasped. “Y-You can’t call it that!”

“Can I not?” Titania grinned. Her hands cupped Minerva’s ass, then she leaned forward ... Minerva had not expected any of this.

She had triply over not expected ... hell, she had never even dreamed of what Titania did next. Her dark tongue slipped from her mouth and lapped from base to clit of Minerva’s sex, teasing her folds. Then she leaned in, kissing Minerva’s sex with an open mouthed moan, her tongue plunging in and in and in and in – uncoiling longer and thicker than it was humanly possible. Minerva’s mouth opened and she clutched onto the fae woman’s hair, her hips bucking despite herself. The gold in her body felt as if it had been set slight, and it blazed through her eyes, turning her vision white as she moaned inarticulately. “Oh fuck!”

Her back arched.

Her hips spasmed.

Minerva Golding came. The pleasure that burst through her was so similar to the times she reached between her own thighs, but so much finer as well – Minerva knew what each stroke of her finger against her sex might do. This was unexpected. This was overpowering. Her knees went weak, but Titania had the strength to hold her up despite her willowy build. She had more strength than that. Sliding one hand down and then spreading Minerva even more, she began to feast on Minerva’s cunt and ass. She licked at one, then ducked forward and tongued the other – her wet lips bringing more bliss to Minerva than Minerva had thought possible.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes Titania! Oh, yes! Oh God! Oh God!” Minerva moaned and trembled and clenched her hands on the hair of the woman eating her out as she came again, then again. She had never imagined sex could feel like this – that it could involved this. And it went on and on and on and on. The cresting didn’t reach an upper limit, there was no gentle fading to blackness, there was merely more and more pleasure as the fae woman’s tongue delved into her again and again and again – and as she added her fingers to the mixture. Long. Cool. Knowing. They found places inside of Minerva’s body that she hadn’t even known had been a choice, a possibility.

Minerva’s throat felt raw as she trembled and twitched and sobbed out. “P-Please! No more!” She tossed her head to the side, tears streaming down her cheeks as the fae left one last blazing lick against her, then withdrew, leaving Minerva feel as if she had been wrung out. She gasped and trembled and closed her eyes. The fae clicked her tongue and then swept down into the bed. Her long and limber body enfolded Minerva, arms to belly, chin on shoulder, mouth a warm breath against her ear.

“No more, my little sweeting,” Titania crooned softly. “Your dew will keep.” Her hand cupped one of Minerva’s breasts. Her fingers were elegant and she wrung from Minerva a needy whine as she gently teased and tugged on her nipple. “Mmm, but you do make such sweet music.”

“Hnn!” Minerva felt as if the noises being ripped from her throat were anything but musical – raw, animal want. Grunting need. She had never felt more soiled, nor more pleased, in her life. She turned her head – and despite her confusion and her conflict, she leaned into Titania, kissing her ferociously. Her tongue and the other woman’s pressed together and for a time, Minerva was allowed to explore – and then Titania unwrapped herself. Legs, arms, hands, all left Minerva as the fae woman slipped from the bed, stretching her nude body with languid feline disregard. Minerva’s voice felt raspy as she spoke. “Titania...”

“If that is all, my lady?” Titania asked, starting to door.

Minerva’s hands slipped under her. She pushed herself to her hands and her knees. She felt wrung out. But she also felt a hunger in her. One that she had felt flickering many a time before – even if she had never allowed herself to fan those flames. But she needed no fan now. Titania had taken care of that, with careless abandon. Hell, Titania had tossed about kerosene onto the fires, they raged. An inferno. Minerva’s voice came out as a growl.

“Get. Back. Here.”

Titania turned.

“You order?”

“I order,” Minerva said.

Titania stepped to the bed, then slipped onto it. Her knees drew up under her and she laughed as Minerva’s hands, seeking and wanting, reached out and cupped her almost flat chest. She squeezed, firmly, sliding her hands so that her fingers could find and tweak Titania’s nipples, feeling their aching hardness. Minerva leaned forward, kissing one breast, then the other, tasting the fae woman’s silvery skin. She was cool to the touch. And yet, licking her only made Minerva’s heat grow brighter. Titania chuckled, softly. “Have you ever been with-” she bit her lip as Minerva took hold of her nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting – roughly. “-mmm, a woman?”

Minerva didn’t respond. She sucked harder on her other tit, and the fae arched her back, pressing more into her.

“I see not,” Titania crooned.

Minerva pushed her backwards. The bed’s silk sheets rumpled beneath her, and Minerva kissed along each sleek inch of Titania’s muscular belly, pausing to circle her belly button with her tongue. Then she kept kissing down. Down. Down. She kissed along the hairless spot where pubic hair should have grown, then hesitated, looking down at the cool folds of the fae’s sex. She watched a gleaming droplet of her arousal slipping down, beading against the sheets. Her eyes were glazed and her own body sang out with the need – but Minerva hesitated. She had read enough stories, enough tales, even if the bard hadn’t included the fact in his own Midsummer’s tale. Her eyes closed and she drew her head back. “Does this count as ... eating ... of the fae?” she asked, raggedly.

“Oh it does, my little sweeting,” Titania said, her voice a quiet purr. “But, ever since I was bound in service to the Blythe household, my ability to lay geas has been shackled.” She twitched her thighs a bit wider. “Feast away.”

The urge to lean in and lick and lick and lick and lick was so overpowering that Minerva was three licks in before she stopped herself. Each lick bloomed with the flavor of Titania – exotic and delicious and so very sweet. But she forced herself back, lips dripping with glowing, faeish juice, and whispered. “S-Shackled? Bound?” she asked, lifting her gaze up.

Titania’s face had shown her pleasure – but in an instant, that pleasure faded. Her fingers were down, almost touching her own clit, but they drew back slightly as she murmured. “My court was conquered by the Blythe’s men at arms in the year 1598 and I swore an oath to the King of England and the Blythe-Smythe family to serve them and the Stuart Dynasty – and, after the Hanoverians took control, the Blythe half of the family were on the winning side, then, took my bound word and carried me on through the Georgian era-”

“Are you a slave?” Minerva asked, her hand going to her mouth. The sweetness on her tongue tasted foul.

Titania arched a silvery eyebrow. “Aren’t we all servants and masters?” she asked, voice wry. “The fae under me serve me. I serve the Blythe. The Blythe serve King George. King George serves his God. Thus it is.”

Minerva turned her head aside. She wiped at her mouth, wishing she could wash it off with some water. Her voice was soft. “I ... I didn’t know you ... had...” She trailed off. Gathered herself. Squared her shoulders. “That you had to follow my orders!”

Titania cocked her head.

“Do you still wish to be with me?” She asked. “Sexually?”

“No!” Minerva exclaimed.

Titania inclined her head. “As you wish, my lady.”

She stood, then slipped back into the shadows, before Minerva could say anything more. Minerva drew her thighs against herself, and felt as if she had crawled through mud, muck and mire. She laid in bed and found that sleep remained just as illusive.

The Lord Nelson pub was as quiet and drear as Minerva had expected when she had asked the operator to patch her through. The barkeep, Norman, spoke to her through the Blythe’s remarkably fancy new telephone. He sounded clearer than she had ever heard on one of these things. “This is the Lord Nelson, hours are...” He rattled them off and then finished with: “What do you need?”

“Norman?” Minerva asked. “It’s Minerva.”

“Golding!” Norman said, cheerfully. “I haven’t see you or Petunia ‘round here for a while. Want to sell us some more of them matchbooks?”

“Not right now,” Minerva said. “I was wondering, could you give a message to ... well, anyone living at our tenement? I just need Petunia to know that I’m staying with some family and I’m safe. Tell her they’re Sableknights.”

“All right,” Norman said, cheerfully. “Got it jotted right down here.”

“Thanks, Norman,” Minerva said. “Goodbye.”

She and he hung up and she breathed a slow sigh of relief. Now, at least, Petunia wouldn’t fret herself to pieces. She brushed her fingers through her hair, then stepped to the door of the small sitting room that Virginia had brought her too. She found Virginia was still out there, looking up and down the corridor like a watchdog. “All right ... are you sure it’s safe for me to be out of my room?” She asked.

“Mostly!” Virginia said, grinning. “Mom and Dad are out, and my brothers all have work – well, except for Roland, but he’s out shopping. He’s heading to Hexgramatica too, worse luck.” She shook her head. “But that’s why we have the grounds.”

“The grounds?” Minerva asked. “But we’re in the middle of London?”

Virginia took her hand and yanked her down the corridor. They came down a flight of stairs, past a kitchen full of dishes that seemed to be busy cleaning themselves, and then burst outside through a back door that should have led into an alleyway. Instead, it led into a vast, sprawling expanse of greenery, with a hedge maze in the center, grassy fields surrounding, a small game forest and a hill beyond, and past it all, through a hazy shroud that seemed more sky than surface, the rest of London loomed. Virginia laughed as she saw Minerva’s face.

“You’re so mundane, it’s grand,” Virginia said, shaking her head. “So, we got the hedge maze, the forest – don’t worry, it’s all mundane critters in there, ever since grandpa killed the last manticore we had in there – and sometimes, we have a game of football in the grass when other wizarding families come and visit. Though, that’s not quite what you think football’s like – see, we got our own rules for it. Makes sense, ya know, since, well, the average footballer doesn’t have magic. But we do, so, we have to have magic rules for the magical game!”

Minerva shook her head while Virginia tugged her past the hedge maze, clearly intent on showing her just about everything close up. “Virginia, there’s something I still don’t quite understand,” she said, not having the courage to bring up Titania, or what had happened last night.

“Gina, please!” Virginia said, grinning at her. “I prefer Gina. Virginia makes me feel like my grand aunt. A hundred and ninety years old and still rapping my knuckles whenever I visit.” Her palm rubbed her knuckles, as if she remembered the feeling intimately. “And I’m guessing you’re going to be asking that question a hell of a lot, eh Minny?”

Minerva snorted. She was amused at how Gina had offered a nickname, then just assumed one for her. It was almost charmingly thoughtless. Like so many things about Gina. “Well, all right. Here’s a basic one for you to mock me over: Why am I not a witch?”

“Because you’re a wizard,” Gina said, sounding faintly confused, her brow knitting. She paused and leaned against the small brickwork base that served as the potted root for the hedgerow that marked this part of the gardens. “Obviously?”

“Yes, but, well, in the stories and such, witches are women that ride around on broomsticks, with black cats as familiars, and who cast spells. Boil boil, toil and trouble and all that,” Minerva said, chuckling.

Gina chuckled. “Ahhh, right!” She snapped her fingers. “All right, witches are ... like...” She searched for a word. “They’re like those peasant woodsmen they have in the back-country. They can do a bit of carpentry, maybe sew up a cut or set a broken bone, may be hunt a little, maybe trap a little. But it’s all hearth knowledge, stuff they picked up from their da or their granny. Wizards?” She stood up a bit straighter, arms crossed over her chest. “We wizards actually know the processes behind it. We don’t just trust in old tales and stories, we’ve taken things apart and put them back together again. It’s a white way of casting magic, you know?”

Minerva arched an eyebrow at her.

Gina blushed. “W-Well, scientific, I mean!” she said, having clearly caught what she had said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean, you know, you.”

“Gina...” Minerva shook her head, then smiled, letting Gina off the hook for now. “So, wizards are like scientists and witches are like craftsmen?”

“More like Luddites,” Gina said, brushing her hand through her brilliant hair, nose in the air. “No one’s actually a witch anymore. I mean, I suppose some of the more poor families, the ones that can’t afford to show their face in Hexgramatica, they might still have witches. But you’re not a witch – you’re doing all your studying properly.”

Minerva nodded ... then her head lifted. “Wait, okay, you say that you wizards play football?” she asked, then laughed. Then, growing a little nervous. “Do you follow Tottenham?”

Tottenham was Minerva’s team. She wasn’t sure if every other Jew in London was a fan of theirs – getting three Jews into one room would produce five opinions, after all – but the other teams fans sure acted like it when they got drunk and mean. She tensed herself as she gauged Gina’s reaction.

“Fraid not, when it comes to mundanes, I’m more for the Arsenals. Gotta back a winner!!” Gina huffed, but she didn’t seem to be offended or insulted or any of the other things that Minerva might have expected. “But lets be honest, neither of those mundane losers wouldn’t last a second against the London Dragons!” She pulled her wand and flicked it once, twice. “Awer Kemb Bollr!” Her wand glowed and the air above her glittered with purple and green sparkles, which flashed, then transformed into a perfectly regulation football. It landed right on Gina’s head and she bonked it up into the air, then started to kick it with her feet, joggling it in the air with no small amount of skill. She grinned wickedly, holding her wand in her off hand. “Think any mundane team could handle this?”

She started to chase the ball down the green – but her wand flicked in her free hand as she spoke in time with her footsteps, giving a cadence to her spellcasting that seemed to add a driving pressure to it. “Drit!” Step. “Kemb!” Her foot swung, thunk! The ball sailed forward. “Drit!” Her wand thrust and the earth ahead of the ball humped upwards, forming into a curving wave, like the cresting water at the edge of a beach. The ball hit the weave, which twisted and then straightened into a ramp that sent the ball whipping off at a right angle from where Minerva had expected it to go. It shot between the entrance of the hedge maze, vanishing, and Gina thrust up her arms. “Goal! Goal! Goal!” She shouted, bouncing. “And then the crowd goes wild! Gina! Gina! Gina!”

Minerva couldn’t help but to start laughing. She shook her head as Gina lowered her arms. “So, basically, no spell can directly affect the ball – no making it burst into flames, no replicating it, no using illusions to mask where it is. Oh! And no spells on other players.” She pointed her finger at Minerva, importantly. “Or else it’s just a duel with a ball! But you can use spells to affect everything around the ball. So, creating walls of fire? Slicks of ice? Thorns? Vines! Throwing gremlins?” She laughed. “Ah, it’s ever so much fun!”

Minerva laughed. “And how many people die horribly?”

“Not that often,” Gina said. “They have healers on the fields. But, it can get pretty dicy. The Dragons lost a player in 22 when the Screaming Sikhs made this clever little wall of skulls and spikes – some were illusions, but some were real, and poor Daniel Schrier-Kostly went head first into the real one while leading the ball...” She shook her head a bit sadly. “One of the best, Dad says.”