Chapter 5

The waitress called it the "red room," but only the upholstery was red. Everything else was white and black. Our silver was real silver, arranged precisely around bone white china in what I supposed was the proper arrangement for knives, forks, and spoons. Our table was round with a starched white tablecloth and three chairs. It was too small. At least we were set apart from the next table, which held a fat, noisy French couple, who seemed not at all pleased with their meal.

"Can we afford this place?" Lauren asked.

"I hope."

I pulled out the ornate wooden chair and plopped down. I picked up one of my spoons and fiddled with it. The waitress gave me a dim look, waited for Fi and Lauren to sit, and handed us our menus.

I took a quick glance. Cappuccinos were only two-euros-fifty. "Don't go anywhere yet," I said to her, in Italian, "We just want three cappuccinos, extra sugar in mine."

"There's sugar on the table," she said, pointing to the obvious little jar of sugar.

"Ah, Fine."

I gave her a big fake smile. She gave one back. Then she spun around in place and headed out of the room.

"Nice service," I said in English.

"I think she has a nice ass," Lauren replied.

She smiled. I hadn't noticed the girl's ass.

Lauren scooted her chair. She got close and took my hand, resting her head on my shoulder and letting out a sigh.

"So," I said, back to Italian, "What's the big deal about this place? It's nice enough, I guess."

"It's a famous cafe," Fiorella said, "A historic spot in Padua. A revolution started here, or something. My aunt recommended it." She shrugged.

"Ah." I looked around. Whatever it had once been, now it was full of tourists.

I listened to a trio of Americans in polos jabbering about the differences between Italian and French wines. Italian wines were "earthier," or something. I expected them to yank out their dicks, or their Amex cards, or both.

"Everyone's pretending to be sophisticated," I said.

Fiorella smiled. "And we aren't?"

"Hah!" I pretended to launch something at her with my spoon. I turned and kissed Lauren's mouth, then looked around to see if anyone had a problem with that. Nobody seemed to.

"So," Fi went on, "What's our plan?"

"Hmmm. Well, we head down to the museum for a look-see."

"So soon? Isn't that risky?"

"I guess, but I don't know what else to do. Anyway, I've always favored the direct approach."

Our coffees arrived. This time, I noticed the waitress's little pencil skirt. It was black with a thin white stripe up the back. She must have caught me looking -- she surely saw me holding Lauren's hand -- in any case, she bent over, slow and obvious, and placed our coffees down. Then she gave me a smile, and asked, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I glanced at Fi and Lauren. Their faces were open and happy. Fi gave me a look. "You mentioned the direct approach," she said.

I looked at the waitress, letting my eyes drift up and down. She looked right back. She stood posing, holding her tray in front of her chest with both hands. She arched her brows.

"I wanna eat your pussy."

I said it pretty loud. I heard the French lady gasp. The Americans shut up. Somebody dropped a spoon.

She sneered and said, "You wish." Then she turned in place again and sauntered out of the room.

"Ha! What a tease," Fi said.

"Yeah. Pity too. She did have a very nice ass."

I looked around. The French lady looked away. The Americans just stared, leering with big stupid grins. I made a face at them, then turned and kissed Lauren again. She pressed in her tongue.

"This place kinda sucks," I said, "Let's get outta here."

We drank, paid, and left. We went north up a narrow street and past a little piazza with a garden and a fountain. Lauren walked close to me. She held my hand, leaning into me. When I stopped, she turned to me, nuzzling her head against me, and we kissed. I stopped several times.

"So," Fi asked after the third such episode, "Why don't you two just fuck already?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb the lovebirds."

Fi stood there. She crossed her arms. She shifted around, scraping her heel against the pavement.

"What's wrong with Fi?" Lauren asked.

"I dunno. Maybe she's feeling left out?"

I looked at her. She looked back, then turned and continued walking up the street. Lauren and I released our embrace and followed, still holding hands.

We entered a large piazza with modern glass storefronts and brick pavement laid out in an elaborate curved pattern. There was a raised pedestrian area with tables, benches, and trees in cement planters. Dozens of bicycles were parked here, and a big group of students in identical blue t-shirts milled about, avoiding the gaze of their chaperones.

Fi strutted out among them, right through their center. The boys all stopped to look at her. Some of the girls did too. Then Lauren and I came through. They shifted their attention to us, the boys, and the very same girls. Lauren smiled at them.

"Wait up, Fi," I said.

She stopped. She turned, crossed her arms again, and waited.

The street ended here. On the opposite side of the piazza two streets exited. They were both large and clogged with cars.

"I think we want to go to the right here," I said, "Up the Corso Garibaldi."

"OK," Fi responded.

She turned again.

"Fi, wait."

She turned back. "Yeah?"

I released Lauren's hand.

"Lauren."

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna walk with Fi for a bit, OK?"

"Yeah. Of course."

I walked up to Fi. I took her hand. "Let's walk together."

She smiled. "Sure," she said. She took my hand and shot a little smile to Lauren. Then she looked back at the students. She pulled me to her and kissed me. She squeezed my ass. I heard the the boys, and those few special girls, murmur and gasp.

We walked up the wide boulevard. I saw green ahead, a park with trees, only a hundred yards away. We drew close. Back, at the end of a long footpath, among the trees, nestled in their shadow, was a tan church, quite tall. We left the boulevard and walked up the footpath toward the church.

"We're going to the church?" Lauren asked.

"It isn't a church anymore," I said, "Now it's his museum."

A warm breeze blew, tossing dried leaves across our path. We walked over them, crunching them beneath our feet. We heard the laughter of children. There was a field to the right, beyond the trees. A group of boys were kicking a ball. I saw one break free, running full tilt, kicking the ball again and again with practiced motions. The other boys chased, but fell behind. He passed from our view.

We walked straight on, up the path.

The door to the museum was black with white trim. As we approached, it opened and a girl came out. She turned and closed the door behind her, then scampered down the steps.

We all stopped and looked.

She had thick black hair and a black dress, buttoned up the front, with a white collar. Her skin was a delicate cream color, not at all Mediterranean, except her knees, which were cherry red like she'd been kneeling. She had pink, pouty lips and wide dark eyes. She carried a little red clutch bag and a small leather bound book. She wore leather flats, tied in big, elaborate bow knots.

She neared the bottom of the steps. She took the last three at once, hopping off and landing, squatting a bit, with her arms outstretched, balancing. She got a big grin, and twirled about.

"Oh my god she's pretty," Lauren said.

The girl must have heard. A huge smile crossed her face.

"Thank you," she said, in English with a British flair. She stood still for a bit, getting her balance. Then she walked toward us at an angle, sort of catlike, still smiling. She stared hard at Lauren. Then she laughed. Her body relaxed. She stood on one foot and said, "You're very pretty yourself."

"How like an angel," Fi muttered.

I didn't say anything.

"Honey, What's your name?" Lauren asked.

"Sophia."

"Hi Sophia. How old are you?"

"Fourteen. And you?"

"Seventeen. I'm Lauren.

"Hi Lauren."

Lauren gazed at her. The girl gazed back, for a bit, then dropped her eyes. She shifted her feet. Then she got a big grin and looked back up.

"You're Americans?" she asked.

"Well, I am, and Rachel. Fiorella is Italian. She's from Milan."

"Hi Fiorella," the girl said, in perfect Italian.

"Hi," Fi responded.

"So..." The girl said, shifting her balance to one leg, "Nice to meet you."

She spun about and began to walk away.

"Wait," Lauren said, "Let's do something together."

"Oh? Like what?" She turned back.

Lauren stammered. "Oh, anything."

"What book is that?" I asked.

She looked down at it. "The Enneads, by Plotinus. It's a boring old Greek thing."

"I know what it is." I wondered, was it a translation, or did she read Greek?

We all looked at each other. I tried to think of a way to keep her around.

"We could get coffee and discuss Plotinus," I said.

She pinched her face. "I think I'd rather -- uh ... well ... I can't think of anything more boring. That's it! That would be the most boring thing we could do!"

Lauren laughed. "We could kiss."

Everyone got quiet.

"OK," the girl said.

We passed through a hole in a hedge into a garden. A ring of trees surrounded a little pond. An old bench was set against it with tarnished bronze fittings and sun bleached wooden slats. In one direction, a bridge was visible, where the boulevard crossed a canal. In the other, just above the foliage, I could see a corner of the museum's roof. The sun was high, casting small shadows. A warm breeze blew. We were alone.

Lauren and Sophia walked directly to the bench.

"Sometimes a tourist will wander back here," Sophia said, "But if your friends keep an eye out, we should be fine."

Fi and I followed close behind them. I had no intention of keeping an eye out. I was going to watch nothing but them.

They sat side by side. Sophia set her book and clutch down, opposite Lauren. Fi came up and squatted behind them, leaning against the back of the bench. I walked around, just to the edge of the pond, gazing.

Lauren sat back and looked at Sophia. Sophia sat straight and stared ahead. Her eyes were wide. She rested her hands on her knees. They both smiled. I smiled. Fi had an intense look.

"So," Lauren said, "Shall we?"

They turned to each other and kissed, at first little pecks with puckered lips. Sophia giggled and squirmed. Lauren stroked her and nuzzled in close. She kissed the girl's neck. She kissed her ear. Then apart. Then together again, heads slanted, arms wrapped, lips locked in a deep kiss.

Sophia's eyes got huge. She released her embrace. Her arms shot out and her whole body squirmed. Even with lips pressed tight, I heard her squeal. Lauren held her, and kept kissing, just for a bit. Then she let go. Sophia shot back, quivering as if stunned. Just for a moment, then forward again. Another deep kiss. More squirming. Another squeal.

They released again. Sophia panted and twitched.

"Oh my god oh my god!" she said, "What was that?"

I smiled. I smiled huge. Only the gifted could feel the recharge.

Fi reached around and stroked Sophia's shoulder. I went and sat next to her, pushing aside her book and clutch. I kissed her cheek.

"Sweetie," I said, "Are you into magic?"

She turned to me. "Yes. Well -- my father is. I've done a few little tricks, but he won't let me learn real magic. Girls aren't allowed."

I kissed her again. I cast illumination -- it worked so well for this. Her eyes widened, even bigger than before. She gasped. She watched the little speck flicker and flit. Then she looked back at me.

"You dear thing," I said, "You precious thing, girls are allowed to learn magic."

Lauren kissed her face, down her cheek, and along her neck. Her eyes fluttered, and she reached up, cupping a hand against Lauren's head. She scooted back, slouching. I kissed her other side, her face, her neck. The Fi came forward, reaching across and stroking her chest. I sat back, giving Fi room. Sophia turned, her face transfixed. They kissed, on the mouth, deeply. Then Lauren again. A long deep kiss. A tremor and a squeal.

Lauren and I squeezed her between us, pressing in, embracing her, kissing, Fiorella too, wrapping her arms and nuzzling in. We kissed. All of us kissed. We kissed and kissed and kissed.

"Would you like to come back to our room, sweetie?" I asked, my heart pounding, "I wanna fuck you. I wanna watch Lauren fuck you ... then, I'll teach you your first spell."

She sat breathless. She twitched.

"Oh yes!" she said, "Oh god yes. Please."

One wall of our hotel room was white. The opposite was a deep, rusty orange. It had a polished parquet floor, two big fluffy beds -- set abut against each other, two windows -- also side by side, two chairs -- soft black vinyl, and two lamps -- which gave off a harsh, antiseptic white light. There was only one bathroom, but it had two sinks.

The four of us entered. We strolled in, except Sophia, who came in slowly, looking around at everything with wide eyes. She seemed very nervous.

As soon as we closed the door Lauren grabbed her and sat her on the bed. She started petting the girl. She held her close.

"Lauren, sweetie," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Let's give Sophia some time to relax, OK."

"Uh -- sure."

"Sophia, how do you feel?" I asked. I sat next to her and put my arm over her shoulders. Lauren's was around her waist. Fi pulled up a chair and sat.

"I'm fine," Sophia said.

"What spell will you teach her?" Fi asked.

"Illumination I suppose, but first -- her recharge. Are you ready, sweetie?"

She looked at me, wide-eyed. She nodded her head.

Lauren went down. She pushed up the girl's dress. Sophia adjusted her butt so we could pull the hem up and bunch it around her tummy. Her panties were white cotton. They came off. Lauren kissed. Lauren licked, just her thighs at first, then -- there.

I watched her face, watched the pleasure spread. I heard the wet sounds. I smiled, gazing into her eyes. I kissed her. "Isn't it wonderful?" I whispered in her ear.

"Oh yes," she muttered, "Yes."

She lay back, shutting her eyes. I kissed them on their closed lids. Her mouth opened. I kissed that too. Her body tensed. She moaned, long and deep. She grabbed the fabric of her dress and pulled hard. She twisted and squirmed.

The basic illumination spell was only three simple words, but it was so much more than words. She uttered them, again, perhaps her sixth try. Nothing happened.

"Why doesn't it work?" she asked, "Maybe I'm not really a witch."

She was dressed again, sitting on the bed, my arm around her waist, hers resting on her knees. Lauren and Fi lay together on the other bed, naked, kissing and petting.

"You're definitely a witch, sweetie. Only witches can feel the recharge."

"Oh."

"So, let's try again. When you speak the words, relax and let you mind flow. Feel the connection with the goddess."

"I've never worshiped the goddess. My father is Catholic. We worship God, Jesus, and Mary, and the saints and sometime the decans."

"Yes. I know. Try to feel her with your spirit. Trust me, she's there, and she loves you."

She spoke the words. Again, nothing.

"Did you ever meditate on the spheres?" I asked.

"Girls aren't allowed."

"But you tried anyway, right?"

She nodded her head.

"Did you see them? Did you feel them?"

"Yes, a little."

"The goddess is like that, but she comes from here." I motioned to her tummy. "And here." I ran my hand down -- there. I began to rub her. She leaned forward. She parted her legs.

"Alright," I said, "Feel inside yourself. Meditate the same way you did with the spheres, but don't go out. Stay in your body. Feel what it's doing. Feel the flow."

I kept rubbing. Her eyes fluttered. She closed them. Her body tensed up, then relaxed, then tensed again.

"Picture her, lit by the moonlight with her hunting dogs around her barking. She's running through the forest, her bow and arrows in her hands. She's beautiful. Do you see her?"

She moaned. "Yes. She has black hair. The dogs are gray. I can barely see them through the trees."

"Good. Feel the surge of the hunt. Her prey is there. See him running, desperate. What does she do?"

"She fires the bow. The arrow hits his leg. He falls. He cries out and the dogs are on him."

"Yes. Now cast the spell."

She did. A little mote of light appeared before her. For a second it hovered completely still. She opened her eyes and gasped. She giggled. It danced about. She reached to touch it. It disappeared. She looked at me, beaming.

"Wanna try again?"

"Yes!"

She closed her eyes. She cast again. When she opened them, she saw another mote of light.

"Soon you'll learn to move it with your thoughts. You can even make it quite bright, as you learn to control your power."

She stared at it, wide-eyed, smiling. I pulled her to me and kissed her cheek.

"See sweetie. You really are a witch."

She turned to me.

"Thank you Rachel."

I looked at her, such a sweet thing. I reached out and caressed her face, running my finger down her cheek. She sighed. She reached and caressed me back.

"No problem dear," I said, "Now, to celebrate, I'm gonna eat your pussy, then you'll eat mine."

She smiled. She lifted the hem of her dress. I ate slowly. Her pussy was beautiful, her labia swollen and pink, like petals. When it was my turn, I lifted my skirt. Her tongue was soft and wet. It moved in interesting ways. The whole time, through all our moans and cums, we were lit by a tiny, dancing speck of light.

"Sweetie," I said to Sophia, "The museum you were in, how much do you know about the place?"

"A lot, why?"

We were still in our room, all dressed, all happy, as recharged as witches could be, thanks to our sweet wellspring. Lauren lay back in the bed exhausted and with Fi curled next to her. Sophia sat upright in the other bed. I lounged back in a chair.

"Well -- Have you ever seen a mask there? An old African looking mask, with maybe some burn marks?"

She looked at me. "Yes."

I sat forward. "I'm gonna steal that mask."

"Oh."

She squirmed a bit. She seemed to be thinking, real hard. Something became obvious to me.

"Who's your father, Sophia?"

She just looked. She lowered her head, but turned up her eyes and kept looking at me. She stayed quiet.

"Is your father the Curator?"

A pause. "It's supposed to be secret."

"I would expect."

We stared at each other. Fi gasped. Lauren sensed something, and sat up. We'd been speaking Italian.

"What's up?" Lauren asked.

"Sophia is the Curator's daughter."

"He has a daughter?"

"Evidently."

"Sophia, my dear," I said, back to Italian.

"Yes?"

"If you want, you can leave now. I'm going to steal the mask. Your father and I will probably fight, and I'll probably beat him. He might get hurt real bad. If you want to go to him, or warn him, or whatever, you can."