Chapter the Thirty-fourth: Harvest time.

If I didn't want to sound too peevish, I would complain loudly about the way that the females I thought I controlled actually had the powers I thought were mine. But a man has to at least give the impression that he knew the answers all along. It is clear now, that the original power was always generated by the female, the male was and is only the conduit for their power.

That night on Erking Hill, the coven had been completed by the arrival of my two daughters and with a member for each moon, we were able to draw on the whole of nature for our defence.

I was a bit overwhelmed at the finality of it all as I handed the box with the dark force trapped in its own version of hell, to the newly arrived Bran.

"Is it done Bran?"

"Yes it is, Daniel John. You have been a worthy champion for my beloved Queen."

He handed the dreadful box off to Iysla and she disappeared back to the Sidhe realm.

"You will use that to restore the correct balance to the Sidhe world too?" I asked.

He nodded, "We must begin to work together to correct a long line of imbalances."

I shook his hand and he patted me fatherly on the shoulder, "You will still have future challenges but I think they will be well beneath your powers." He took some time to congratulate us individually, hugging us to him. His courtly robes swirling regally around him. He told us all that the Queen herself, would be granting our rewards.

The women of my coven stood like gorgeous queens themselves. The power we had realised was going to change everything. We left the cars where they were and lifted as a flock of swans in the moonlight and glided home.

I felt as if the next weeks were the first weeks I had ever been alive.

We made our home in the farmstead. At least for five of us. Sara was the major beneficiary of Aiden's will after Bernard and Devlin were gone. It was more sensible to look after the farm and we knew it was a good place to be.

The deaths that had occurred were a horrible thing to cover. I spent almost a full week in bed after the exertions associated with creating an air crash that 'took so many lives' (as the T.V news reports told us.) I had to do a lot more than my previous attempts at meddling with reality and my nosebleed and migraine was pretty intense by the time I had finished. Magically undressing a woman was small potatoes when compared with arranging for a sudden failure on a 747 carrying a full complement of undead corpses.

Simon's, was a death which caused me an anguish I almost could not bear. The stories from Liz and Sara of his fierce defence of them made me realise how small-minded was my jealousy. It had blinded me to his fine qualities and I grieved that his life was given so selflessly for my children. Maggie begged me to bring him back, her love for him strong and glacial, but we have always been unable to do that sort of magic. I let her beat on my chest in her anger until she had cried herself dry.

Simon had loved her in every way except carnally. His companionship and 'joie de vie' met every requirement she had for a partner; something I had been unable to give her. When my life had fallen into the dull routine I had made for myself, she had found a reason to live her own life in Simon's. We attended many funerals in the short time after the battle and Simon's was perhaps the hardest.

I felt as if his friends and family were staring at me the whole time.

There was more to do to find rest for the souls that Shaw had only imprisoned like that poor woman: Debbie, and I realised that I would have my work cut out to 'repatriate' them.

Aiden and Aileen were buried at an intimate ceremony at the nearby church. The wake was a typical Irish affair. The bodies, freshly arranged in their coffins rested at the head of the large table. We began slowly, steadily greeting the visitors from the surrounding countryside and family members from further away.

The other members of the congregation found our presence slightly disconcerting at first but Karen and Jennifer couldn't let the sombre mood continue too long.

Their ability to put people at ease was soon shining around the room and people began to treat the funeral as a chance to celebrate life rather than mark death.

Whiskey began to appear from the farmers' pockets almost as magically as I could issue my own spells. A fiddle was brought out and the stepping soon began.

The young priest, sat in the corner with his obligatory bottle of stout, was suspicious and tried to pull the mood down but we soon overcame his dogmatic views. Jacqueline stepped up to deliver an impromptu eulogy to the couple whom she had only just met but had come to love so quickly. Her words buoyed everyone and left the black robed priest in no doubt that we were here to be good.

There's an old joke that the only difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral is that the funeral has one less drunk. Well, we had two less.

By the time the undertaker arrived to walk the cortege to the church we were all swinging between hilarious laughter and bawling tears. Only the young ones; My two daughters, the 'terrible trio:' Amy, Valerie, Angela and the teetotaller: Susan from our group and those in the visitors' parties, were sober when we lurched off to plant the two friends in the yew-lined cemetery. The adults were in their children's charge.

After the sobering ceremony at the church, the retinue returned to the house to continue the opposite ceremony. The old ways were certainly good at providing the living with a proper way of marking the passing of a loved one. I watched the activities from my chair at the cosy end of the warm kitchen and was amused to see the antics. It was certainly lucky that the coven members all found the effects of alcohol to be enhancing and pleasant rather than deadening. Only Jon of our group was on the edge of our abilities and as shit faced as the other lay-people. I watched as Amy and Valerie took Angela under their wing and began acting like generations of young teenagers at family gatherings before them.

Stealing little drinks when they thought we weren't looking and scoffing all the food they could get. There was a lot of sitting in a tight-knit group, heads bent close together as they discussed options. Their predatory watch on some of the young lads made me believe that Angela was surely on her way to a good integration. She laughed more and more often as the evening progressed and as the music was reintroduced, they all lead in the dancing. Some of their dance partners probably wouldn't know what hit them.

Sara, Maggie and I sat in surreptitious amusement watching them pair off with some boys and slip off for 'some privacy.' I allowed myself a quick check on their progress and was pleased to see the dynamics of the group outside, in the hay barn.

Angela and her partner were quietly and awkwardly attempting to kiss with the same sort of sophistication as the other two girls. Amy and Valerie seemed to be sharing the two farm boys between them. First sitting on one lap and then kissing the other. Both boys were bemused and a little amused at the idea that these two beauties would be quite so keen.

"<Play nice you two, watch your reputations!>" I let them know I was watching.

Valerie's sexual pulse back to me was almost palpable.

"<You dirty old man, spying on us teenagers like that. You should be ashamed of yourself!>"

"<Oh no, >" Amy cut in; "<He's trying to learn some new tricks, want us to show you some new ideas?>"

I laughed and caused Sara and Maggie to glance sidelong at me.

"<Just don't ruin them for the other girls.>" I shot back. They both blew me mental kisses and set to arousing their dates.

Of course, being me, I hung around a little longer to feel the emotions.

The three girls were working as a team. If you've ever seen a documentary of a group of lionesses co-ordinating their food gathering, you'll understand the sort of sight they made.

Amy and Valerie spent some time with Angela, whispering and giggling, the same way that the boys expected young girls to behave. The girls were more concerned however, to make sure that Angela was happy and ready to have a good time.

The bonds they were already forming, were strong and secure and she was enjoying the attention.

They arranged themselves in separate cosy places in the dim-lit barn and started to enjoy themselves.

Angela had her head bowed on her beau's shoulder as he was kissing her ear with adolescent fervour. She was washed in the delicious sensations of having someone love her (even if it was a little fickle at that age.) He was almost unable to believe his luck that he was being allowed to be so bold with a girl. She returned the kiss on his warm neck and hummed her approval as his fumbling fingers found her budding tit through the material of her dress. The little puffy nubbin of her juvenile nipple stood out strongly against his palm and he set to rhythmically rubbing his thumb back and forth across the bump.

They progressed to sloppily kissing, she, holding her lips soft against his and he, thrilling to the new sensation of a wet tongue sliding into his mouth.

I saw the little tendrils of her control beginning to infiltrate his mind.

Commanding, asking, showing. He found himself eliciting gasps of approval from her young mouth as his hands went to work on stroking and rubbing her. I smiled as I noticed she was not allowing him to register a hard-on. She began to use him for her own pleasure and I was impressed to see the skill with which she ensured he would learn and progress from her lessons.

The delightful awareness that he was finally going where his chums had only bragged about was joyful as Angela 'allowed' him to slip his fingers up between her legs and tickle the moist crotch of her panties, and then inside them. They sat together in the gloom of the barn and his fit young arm managed to bring her up and over the precipice of her orgasm. She cried softly into his collar and hugged him close as he continued to tickle her.