Chapter 59

Jason closed the door to his room and pulled the Book out from under the bed. He let his mind drift and avoided focusing on any one thought for too long. He believed that the Book could read only his "surface thoughts," things strong enough to occupy the forefront of his mind to the exclusion of all else. So long as he did not dwell on an idea too long or too hard, he could keep it private.

He sat down on the bed, the Book weighing on his lap. He flipped through the pages once but found nothing unusual. He suspected as much; the Book had proven before that it could conceal its contents to casual observation. Even the same spell would often appear in a different part of the Book each time he called upon it, as if the pages were just for show and their contents conjured as needed.

Jason tried a few more times, flipping the pages more slowly. Still nothing.

If you are looking for a particular spell, you need only ask.

Jason closed the Book. "Show me the spell that taps energy from the lines, the one we cast--"

Flipflipflipflip...

"--on Saturday."

The spell was displayed before he finished his statement. The pages appeared intact. He tried a few more of the line manipulation spells. All were present and pristine.

He had the Book revert to the mind control spells. He could find all the ones he remembered. All were perfect, as if the ink had only just dried upon fresh parchment.

As a thought exercise, Jason presented himself with the same challenge that had faced the Book: he had to select a spell to damage without revealing what he had done. Known spells were out. Spells related to known spells were out, as they could be stumbled upon. It would take a spell that he knew his owner would never want to use.

"Show me the Rite of Power."

The Book did not move.

Jason's heart thumped. "Show me the Rite of Power," he repeated in a louder voice.

Why do you wish to see that spell?

"Why do you feel you need to ask?"

The Book remained silent and still.

"You need only to provide me the spells I want," said Jason. "I want to see the Rite of Power."

It is not appropriate for your battle against Victor.

"I didn't ask if it was appropriate," Jason said, gripping the cover of the Book. "And I don't recall you ever questioning what I want. Show me the spell."

A pause for what seemed like eternity, then...

Flipflipflipflip...

The Book opened to the Rite of Power. Jason's eyes scanned the two pages facing him. Both appeared flawless.

You see? It's not what you need. It would take far more preparation than you can do in the limited time you have.

Jason ran his fingers down the second facing page. At the bottom it described the last of the preparation tasks. The rest of the spell was on the next page. He thumbed the corner and started to turn the page.

The underlying page came into view. Not far from the edge, the cursive script vanished into a splotch of scorched black.

The Book suddenly wrenched itself from his grip, snapping shut a hair's breadth from his fingertips. Jason jumped to his feet, the Book falling to the floor with a jarring thump at his feet.

"Jason!" his mother shouted from below. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing, Mom!" Jason yelled back. "Just dropped some schoolbooks on the floor!"

Jason stared at the Book. It lay still, its cover closed. He reached down to pick it up and thought he felt it shudder as he touched it.

You do not need the Rite of Power, the Book told him. I will not show it to you.

He didn't need to see it anymore. He had seen enough to prove his hypothesis. Victor wanted to destroy the Book, and the Book knew it. Now it would do anything to prevent its own destruction.

Melinda sulked as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Behind her, Heather struggled not to giggle. Off to the side, Armando peered over his glasses with restrained impatience. "Is the young lady satisfied?" he finally prompted.

Melinda's head snapped towards him. Her antennae swayed and bobbed, and Heather snorted once. "You really want me to answer that?"

Armando let out a slow sigh and folded his thin arms across his chest. "I suppose not. It is perhaps a moot point, as I have nothing else for you."

"Don't remind me!" Melinda looked at herself in the mirror again and frowned at her sparkling silvery outfit. "Shit, I look like I was dipped in a vat of glitter!"

Heather clamped her hand over her mouth and snorted louder.

Melinda whirled around, her translucent wings wobbling. "Shut up, bubblehead!"

Heather lost what little control she had and let out a gale of laughter. Armando raised an eyebrow. Melinda balled her hands into fists and stamped her foot. Heather laughed even harder.

"I hate this costume, I hate this party, and I hate you!" Melinda shouted.

Heather managed to stop herself, though her voice was still shaky with mirth. "You don't mean that last one."

"Fine, I guess I didn't," she said in a testy but lower voice. She folded her arms and glanced down at her swelling breasts. "Jeez, this thing is tight! I feel like my boobs are being strangled."

Heather stepped forward. "Here, let me see."

Melinda hesitated, then lowered her arms. The costume did indeed seem a size small. The glittery fabric was stretched tight around her breasts, squeezing a bit of the flesh over the edge of the cups. Even unaroused, her nipples were visible as faint bumps.

"The young lady is more... endowed than I had been led to believe," said Armando in a dry voice. "Unfortunately there is not enough material for me to let it out any further."

Heather smirked. "You're bustin' out all over I guess."

"Oh shut up," Melinda muttered. She faced the mirror again and turned herself to one side and then the other. She let out a small, distressed sigh. The costume somehow reminded her of the incident in the hallway and the unwanted feelings it had triggered towards Kelly and Lynn which had yet to fade.

She tried to think of something else. Her thoughts turned to her fellow Harbingers and their plans that evening. She thought about Mrs. Radson, and how she might join the fray, her legs spread, her pussy wet and willing, her...

Melinda suddenly shivered and clamped her hands around her arms.

"Hey, you okay?" Heather asked, all trace of amusement gone.

Melinda blinked. "Huh? Yeah, why?"

"You kind of zoned out there for a minute." Heather's eyes flicked up and down her sister's body. "Are you trembling?"

"I'm cold!" Melinda lied and gestured towards her legs. The skirt came down to mid-thigh, her legs clad in black and silver striped hosiery. Her nipples had risen to hard points. "You would be, too, wearing this damn thing."

The costumer sniffed. "I assure you the thermostat reads seventy-six."

"Yeah, whatever," Melinda muttered. She stepped away from the mirror, antennae and wings bobbing. "Just show me back to the changing room and hand me a crowbar so I can get myself out of this thing."

Heather giggled again as Melinda disappeared into the back under Armando's lofty gaze.

Debby Radson could not help but be in good spirits.

It had been a long time since she had hosted any children for a gathering at her house. Susan's friends had always shied away from invites to the Radson household. Debby had never glossed over her religious beliefs, and her very obvious Paganism and witchcraft were too much for many parents to handle.

Halloween, especially, was a social dead zone. Debby refused to festoon the house with the more "traditional" (she would use the term "bastardized") symbols of Halloween, many of which had little or nothing to do with the Pagan celebration of Samhain.

Everything was ready. Her daughter Susan was spending the afternoon with her girlfriends and would be out on a date that evening. That would put her as far away from both the house and the school as possible. Her husband had chosen to work late so he would not be present for the other activities.

Debby visited the room that she had set aside for that purpose, a guest bedroom that otherwise saw little use. She wished she had something larger. She had burned some candles in the room earlier that day and left them in place unlit, each with flecks of ash from burned incense gathered about them. She had hoped to shield the room from evil influence, though she doubted that her feeble attempts at magic could stand up against the Darkness.

She let out a slow sigh, a hand draped across her bosom. She had wrapped herself in a long, flowing robe of deep blue and nothing else. For the first time in a long while she felt uneasy about her state of undress, despite the lack of titillating purpose. Her attire was born of practicality; the closer she was to nudity, the easier her magical energies flowed.

Debby still could not shake the feeling that this was wrong. Debby Radson the parent balked at the idea of providing a place for underage sex, let alone participating, and felt a twinge of guilt when the thought sparked a tiny flame of desire.

The doorbell mercifully interrupted her thoughts.

She dashed downstairs and checked that her robe was closed. The last thing she needed was to broadcast her intentions to the neighborhood. She opened the door and smiled. "Hello, Jason."

Jason managed a ghost of a smile in return. A long, flat box was tucked under one arm. In his other hand he held the handles of the plastic bag that contained the Book. "Hi, Mrs. Radson. Sorry if I'm kind of early, but I thought you might want me to catch you up on what's been going on."

"Yes, Jason, I would appreciate some more understanding about what the Harbingers will be doing at the party, and if I can help in any way." She tilted her head. "You didn't come in costume?"

Jason glanced at the box under his arm. "Um ... I did try it on at the costumer, so I know it fits. I just thought I would wait until some of the others got here before I changed."

Debby nodded and gestured for him to enter. She restrained herself from prodding him for more details. While she did not hold to the trick-or-treating concept, she did enjoy seeing the costumes. It at least distracted her from the other item he carried.

Jason took a seat at the end of the sofa and dropped the Book to the floor. He bumped it with his heel and tucked it under the sofa. As Debby joined him, he reached under his shirt and pulled out the pendant. Before Debby could ask him what he was doing, he removed it and placed it on the coffee table.

"I found out something about the Book, Mrs. Radson," Jason said. "And I don't want it listening in."

This statement alone was enough to rattle her, and when Jason explained how the linked pendant operated, it became clear that there was more to it and the Book than her mother had ever led her to believe. "It makes sense, Jason. Anyone who possessed that Book would find such communication useful."

"It allowed me to find out what Victor really wants with the Book," Jason said.

"But wasn't that obvious? From Heather's visions as you described them, he wishes to give it to the Darkness."

"Yes, but not to use it. The Darkness wants to destroy it and absorb its energy."

Debby stared, stricken. "I-Is that even possible? My mother assured me it was impossible to destroy the Book!"

"I know, but everything must have a limit. Or the Darkness knows of a special spell or rite. In either case, I think the Book knows, and it's as desperate to keep it from Victor as I was."

Debby folded her hands and stood up. "I had feared that the Book would attract people to Haven who knew of its existence and could sense it had been uncovered, but I never thought in terms of its raw energy potential. Goddess, it must have an enormous amount of power locked within its pages!"

"That's what we're afraid of."

Debby glanced up the stairs. "Jason, this ... this ritual you and the Harbingers will be doing, do you think this will really gain you enough power to stop Victor?"

"I don't know. I just have to hope it will."

Debby sighed. This made it harder to resist joining them. She had hoped to restrain herself, as her motivations were too tangled with her raw sexual desires. The fear that her run-in with Melissa had left lingering effects hung over her like a weight on a frayed string, waiting to drop and shatter her and her daughter's fragile recovery.

Debby wondered if that was the real reason behind encouraging Susan to socialize more. It kept Susan out of the house and removed a source of potential temptation. Perhaps she had simply transferred her lingering desire for her daughter to the Harbingers.

"I'm really glad you agreed to help, Mrs. Radson," said Jason. "I know this is difficult for you."

Debby turned towards him and forced a faint smile. "Perhaps in more ways than you realize."

Richie's wide grin greeted him in the mirror above his bathroom sink. This was the first time he had worn his costume. He had refused to try it on at the costumer's store, mumbling something about Armando looking "too gay" for his comfort. It had not mattered, as the fit was perfect.

It didn't even look like a costume. He swore it was bona-fide New York Yankee pinstripes. The Yankees were not his favorite team by any means, but he thought they had some great players over the years.

He put on the cap and looked at what he hoped was his future. Playing major league baseball was a secret ambition he had voiced to no one, not his mother, not Jason. He was not sure he would tell even his father if he were there.

But first he had to get the hell out of Haven, and that wasn't going to happen until the Darkness was gone and he hit eighteen. He was not sure which would come first.

His grin faded. The costume was not quite complete. There was one item missing.

Richie tugged on the brim of his cap and marched out of the bathroom, through his bedroom, and into the hall. "Mom! Where the fuck are you?!"

"In here, Richie," came her low, sultry voice from the master bedroom.

"Yeah, that figures," Richie muttered.

Richie stepped into the doorway of his mother's bedroom but went no further. His mother sat up on the bed and gave her son a lusty smile. She slipped a thumb under one of the straps of her lacy black bra and gave it a snap. Her breasts jiggled. "You wouldn't want to head off to the party without giving your mother a goodbye fuck, would you?"

"I gotta help with the setup, so I gotta get goin'," Richie said. "So I want my fucking baseball back."

Sandra stretched her bare legs before her and crossed her ankles. She leaned to the side so her breasts weighed against the cups of the bra. "I can't do that for nothing, Richie," she cooed. "First fuck me, then we'll see."

"I. Don't. Have. Fucking. Time. I want the baseball back now."

Sandra uncrossed her ankles and spread her legs. She slipped her fingers under her panties. Richie heard them squish into trapped moisture. "Even if I'm already so very wet for your cock?"

Richie clenched his teeth. His cock rose to attention, but he ignored it as if it were not even part of his body. "Mom, you said you would let me have the baseball for the party!" Richie shouted. "Give it back!"

"I can't, Richie," Sandra said in a more serious tone, though her voice remained breathy and wanting. "I'm too horny."

"Bullshit."

"Then I'm being made horny. Does it really matter? I still can't cum unless you fuck me."

Richie was again tempted to tear the house apart. For once he wanted to use his ability to see the past. Yet he thought the only thing that would tell him where she had hid the ball was the ball itself.

Sandra crawled to the foot of the bed, her breasts dangling into the cups of the bra and tugging the straps into her shoulders. "Richie, I really am so very hot and wet. Fuck me, and I might be able to give it back to you."

He wanted to tell her what she could do with her half-baked promises.

Sandra sensed his hesitation and drew herself forward. She paused, then smiled and turned herself around. "I know what you want, Richie." She lay her head against the pillow and thrust her ass into the air. "You want me from behind. Go ahead. Pull down my panties and slide it inside me. Fuck me nice and hard."

Richie's cock jumped. He stared at his mother's rear, his eyes tracing the patterns of black lace stretched tight over her buttocks. They were the same she had worn when she had first offered herself to him after stealing the ball.

"Richie?"

Richie blinked. "Huh?"

"Your mother's pussy is waiting."

Richie was silent for another few seconds. "Um ... yeah, okay. Yeah. But ... but I don't wanna do it here."

Sandra turned over and got out of bed. "Where do you want to do it?"

"My bedroom. Get yourself there now. I, uh, gotta use the bathroom first."

Sandra smiled. "Anything you want." She started for the door.

"Oh, uh, wait!" Richie called out.

Sandra turned at the threshold. "Yes?"

"Take your underwear off here. I don't want you wearing anything. You, uh, should be naked so I can see your pussy and boobs all the time."

Sandra shivered with induced delight. She shed her bra and panties, tossing them onto the bed. Richie could not resist a glance between her legs. Her pussy glistened, moisture smeared along the insides of her thighs. Sandra fingered her wet slit and moaned. "Please, don't keep me waiting."

"Just as long as it takes me to take a dump, that's all."

Sandra nodded and left the room.

Richie waited until he heard Sandra's footsteps leave the hallway. His heart thumping, he snatched the panties and bra from the bed and grasped them in his hands. Reality shifted, but all he witnessed was a replay of his last tryst with his mother. He gripped the underwear tighter, and it shifted again. Now he spied her mother masturbating at night.

Richie dashed into the bathroom, but nothing came to him. He closed the bathroom door loud enough for his mother to hear, then eased himself out of the room.

Reality shifted again for him, and he saw his mother emerge from the master bedroom. Water from his bathroom shower whined through the pipes. She padded to his room, then emerged a few seconds later, holding the baseball. She headed down the stairs, and the image from the past dissolved back to the present.

Richie had to pass the door to his room to reach the stairs. He crept up to the open door, his mother's soft moans drifting from within. He peeked around the door frame and saw his mother lying on his bed, her legs spread, her fingers massaging her folds. Her eyes were closed.

Richie leapt past the door.

"Richie?"

Richie froze at the top of the steps and held his breath. After a long pause, he heard a wet sound and escalating low moans.