The Book

Arthur Thelwell had dedicated his sixty one years of life to intellectual pursuits. By the age of thirty one he was an accomplished academic, speaking more than a dozen languages and possessing a doctorate in both archaeology and Eurasian history. He spent some years teaching at a prestigious university in England before travelling on the lecture circuit. He was also called in as a specialist on half a dozen archaeological finds in the Middle East. At the age of fifty four he was approached by representatives from a primarily fraternal order calling themselves the Disciples of the Hidden Path. The organization was clandestine in nature and secretly held significant sway in several fortune 500 companies. He was asked to conduct some research on their behalf. He hemmed and hawed, not giving the idea much credence until they revealed to him the existence of what they classified as arcanic lore – magic, real magic. The revelation and demonstration of ‘magic’ was enough to pique his intellectual curiosity and he was captivated by the prospect of delving into heretofore unknown arcanic lore. Within a year, he was formally indoctrinated into the group. His knowledge and keen mind allowed him to quickly ascend the internal hierarchy of the sacerdotal organization. The Disciples of the Hidden Path were ruled by founder Samuel Halston III, Grandmaster Thaumaturge. After him, the upper echelon of the group possessed three tiers of members called Adherents, each consisting of nine people, then there were nine orders or centuries of Dedicants, each comprised of one hundred members, and lastly there were Applicants and they numbered many. Arthur quickly attained the formal rank of Adherent First Tier (being the premiere rank), 8th Mantle (eighth in power on that tier). Of the over three thousand members, he was in the top ten and found himself part of the ruling inner circle. As such, he was afforded the latitude to develop his own society projects, always aimed at furthering the organizations understanding of the arcane as per Samuel Halston III directives.

For the last two years, Arthur had been in Ancyra, modern day Ankara, Turkey. Mainstream archaeological finds like the Res Gestae Divi Augusti, or The Acts of Augustus carved into the marble of the Monumentum Ancyranum he considered pedestrian and were of little value let alone interest. Instead, he wanted access to the artifacts warehoused in the store rooms of The National Archaeological Museum of Ankara. Subsidized by private grant (through the organization), he had offered his services to help identify and catalog the vast amount of archaeological materials stashed away in the repository. The curator of the museum was ecstatic at the opportunity to have someone of Arthur’s credentials lend aid to the methodical and meticulous task.

Arthur relished the prospect and the challenge to identify some of the historical finds, some even pre-dating Phyrgian rule circa 1000 BCE, and he attacked the task with zeal. In the two years of cataloging he had uncovered a handful of unusual articles, but nothing that captivated him so as the nondescript little book. Sixty-eight yellow vellum like pages bound in a leather cover. The cover was tooled but without identification or title. The pages were a mix of faded brown script and a number of illustrations. Instinctively he knew he had found something significant, something truly arcane, he just didn’t know what, yet.

He poured hours and hours into deciphering the faded brown symbols scrawled on the odd yellowed pages. He had been making limited headway because the script and text were largely unknown to him, and samples he shared with some trusted academic colleagues yielded similar results.

Then came the summons. There had been a situation within the organization. Accordingly to the imperative message, the majority of the organization’s upper circle had simply vanished, including Samuel Halston III and second in command Lucien Delacroix. Publicly there was a news report about a tragic plane crash taking the lives of the organization’s leader and two of his three children, but information and details were obscure. The internal directive was much more apocalyptic. The organization had been systematically attacked and mercilessly dismantled by forces unknown. There was nothing more other than the group at its highest level was in a state of utter chaos. If the summons hadn’t come from a superior, Arthur probably would simply have ignored it, but the call had come from Sebastian Vickers, Adherent First Tier, 5thMantle, 3 positions above Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur made the necessary arrangements for sudden departure from Turkey and within a day was on an airplane bound for North America.

Vickers was awaiting Arthur when the plane touched down at JFK airport in New York City. The two men were in stark contrast to one another. Arthur was reed-like and stood an unimposing 5’5” in height, while Sebastian, 25 years junior, stood almost a full foot taller and possessed a more portly physique, weighing more than double Arthur. Arthur maintained short neat hair and was clean shaven and of fastidious appearance, while Sebastian possessed a full beard and kept his hair long.

“I have a car waiting,” advised Sebastian in a rich baritone, leading the much smaller man out of the airport and to the waiting limousine.

“Any new developments?” asked Arthur as he took his seat in the back of the car.

“Fragments at best,” replied Vickers, climbing into the other side of the limo. “Samuel’s daughter, Abigail, is apparently still alive, no definitive proof of life yet though. Preliminary indications are his personal holdings will transition to her,” said the robust man. “The organization exists beyond the scope of his private estate, but our attorneys say there should be substantial resources bequeathed unto the organization.”

“Her disposition?”

“Unknown at this time. There are literally no details of what transpired except that Samuel made a direct move to acquire one of the fabled Lapidibus de Potentia, stones of power from the head of Heller International, Clarissa Heller. Then everything went dark, I’ve dispatched an investigative team out west to piece together details,” answered Sebastian.

“What about others in the First Tier?” Arthur inquired.

“They’re all just gone or have gone underground and aren’t responding, Lucien, Alastair, Edmund, Stavros, Xiang just gone, you were the only one to respond to the summons,” replied Sebastian with a shrug of his thick shoulders.

“Most assuredly unusual,” mused Arthur. “Has anyone attempted to make contact with Heller?”

“Not that I’m aware of, might be prudent, but could be dangerous too if there is something nefarious afoot,” answered Sebastian, helping himself to a glass of scotch in the back of the limo. He inclined the bottle to Arthur but the smaller man shook his head.

Taking the Belt Parkway out of the airport, the car drove east until they were on the West Sunrise Highway. The drive out to Southampton was subdued.

“I thought you were in the Yucatan, how did you come to realize something was amiss?” asked Arthur.

“Harald Axelson, Adherent 3rd Tier, 3rd Mantle, contacted me saying he couldn’t reach Edmund. Then he said he broadened his call and couldn’t connect with anyone except me. I found that very odd, so I tried making contact myself,” answered the big man, shifting slightly in his seat after returning the scotch to its holder. “The rest I’ve been gleaning via intelligence reports sifting in through both North American and European headquarters. Seems like business as usual in Africa and the southern hemisphere though.”

Nodding, “What was Axelson’s assignment that he needed to contact Edmund?” asked Arthur.

“He was in Norway, something to do with a Viking burial mound,”

“I thought the Vikings didn’t bury their dead, but burned them with their ships when they died?” remarked Arthur.

Sebastian shrugged, “Scandinavian funerary rights are not my purview. Regardless, he believed he found something of note and attempted to make contact with Edmund because immediately after the discovery he began experiencing what he coined was unusual dream activity and hallucinations. I re-directed him and the artifact here, he arrived a few hours ago and is waiting at the house.”

“What did he find? Did he say?” Arthur asked, curiosity aroused.

“A necklace he called ‘Brisingamen’. It’s impressive,” explained Sebastian. “He says it’s some type of torc or necklace that belonged to the Viking Goddess Freya. He seemed pretty excited but rattled by it.”

Arthur nodded. “An interesting bauble no doubt, I am keen to see it. I’ve not met the man, is he prone to histrionics?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Sebastian laughed. “Hardly, you’ll see when you meet him.” Broad smile on his thick face.

“Background?”

“I think he has a master’s degree in Northern European history or warfare. Something like that. He is most definitely a descendent of the Vikings.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Vickers laughed anew.

“I myself have unearthed something I believe to be of significant value and import while in Turkey. This,” he said using his hands in a circular motion, “situation has pulled my focus away from that pursuit.” His tone not masking the irritation he felt.

“What did you uncover?” asked the bigger man before draining his glass of the scotch.

“A tome, but I think it is a key of some type,” answered Arthur.

“To what?”

“Not sure. My efforts to unravel its secrets have been frustratingly futile thus far, every time I think I’ve found the cypher, I am proved wrong,” he replied, filling Sebastian in on the details of the unusual book and his attempts to decipher it.

“Once you are settled at the house, I would like to take a look at it,” Sebastian offered, though his expertise was Mesoamerican civilization.

“Certainly,” replied the smaller man.

Intellectual Curiosities

The house was more manor than modest dwelling, situated on a substantial plot in the prestigious Hamptons. Once inside the luxurious manor Sebastian introduced Arthur to Harald Axelson. At once Arthur understood Sebastian’s quip about Harald’s ancestry. The Norwegian seemed to resemble the Viking stereotype, standing an imposing 6’6” with broad powerful shoulders and a thick chest. He kept his lengthy blond hair pulled back and the beard and moustache on his youthful face were kept short and neat, bright blue eyes. His hand positively swallowed Arthur’s and even Vickers appeared diminished in the presence of Harald.

“It is good to meet you sir,” said Harald, voice holding a slight accent.

“And you Harald,” Arthur replied, allowing the big man to release him before pulling his hand back. He couldn’t imagine any form of physical threat that could possibly intimidate this man mountain.

Once Arthur had situated his luggage and gotten settled, he joined Sebastian and Harald in the parlor.

The huge Viking sat on one of the leather bound chairs, a clasped wooden case on his lap.

“Share with Arthur what you told me when you arrived Harald,” urged Sebastian.

Harald nodded. “We were on the fringe of Borre Park outside of Horten in Vestfold County with permission to examine a recent burial mound found there. At first we thought we had perhaps stumbled upon one of the local king’s tombs dating from the late Merovingian period, but instead it appears to have been a much older site containing the remains of a vp5;lva, or wise woman. There were many treasures, but one above all others caught my attention,” he said, lifting the case a few inches off of his lap. “‘Brisingamen’.”

“What made you think that you’d uncovered Freya’s necklace?” asked Vickers.

“As soon as I touched it I realized it was something transcendent, so much more than it appeared. Ever since I touched it, I have had the dreams every night,” explained Harald.

“Sebastian mentioned that, what kind of dreams?” Arthur asked, leaning forward in his own chair.

“It is the same dream or fragment of the dream. I am walking through a forest buried in the snow, a sword in left hand an axe in my right. I am covered in blood and the sky grows dark. There is something following me, crashing through the forest, something large, like Fenrir, but I can never turn to see what it is. Each night it is the same.”

“That’s very vivid,” nodded Arthur, it didn’t require much imagination for him to visualize Harald with a great axe in one hand and sword in the other wreaking havoc. “Did anyone else touch it?”

Harald nodded, “But no one else has had the dream, only me. That’s when I tried to contact my superior for direction, I thought maybe I had activated some latent spell or magic.”

“Prudent,” commented Sebastian with a nod, looking at Arthur then back to Harald.

“May I see it?” Arthur asked, extending his hand toward Harald.

Harald got up and handed the case to Arthur, who settled it on his lap and unfastened the clasp. Opening the lid, he felt his breath catch in his throat as the hairs on his neck stood upright. The necklace was a collection of white colored luminescent stones woven together with threads of gold attached to an ornately carved golden semi-circle. Arthur could feel power emanating from the stones as they scintillated. “Jesus,” he mumbled before closing the case and looking over to Sebastian.

The portly man smiled. “Impressive piece of jewelry, predating Hardrada by centuries,” he commented.

“Truly,” acknowledged Arthur, holding the case back toward Harald. “I will examine you later to see if there is any malignant magic attached to you, but for the moment could you give us some privacy?”

Harald retrieved the case and bowed in acquiescence before leaving the parlor.

“He’s a good chap,” said Vickers after the huge man had departed.

“Very unusual adornment,” remarked Arthur, nodding slowly. “But nothing compared to what I’ve got,” he added, tone borderline gleeful.

“I did look at him earlier, to see if anything might have attached itself to him, but I found nothing,” added the bigger man.

“I’ll look anyway, couldn’t hurt to be too careful, especially given our recent circumstances,” stated Arthur, eyes darting over to the desk.

“True enough, but now I want to see your mystery book you’ve been on about,” said Sebastian rising to his chair and rubbing his big hands together in anticipation.

“It’s on the bureau,” Arthur said climbing up out of his own chair, slender arm pointing to the wrapped parcel atop the desk.

Walking over to the fancy hand-carved piece of furniture, the tome sat atop the surface, wrapped in a protective cloth. Arthur carefully unfolded the cloth to reveal the prize concealed within.

“You found that in Ankara?” asked the rotund man, leaning in closer to get a better look, frowning, disappointment on his rounded face. “Given all you made it out to be, seems rather unremarkable,” he commented.

Arthur, never one prone to emotional display, appeared positively giddy. Removing a pair of gloves from the front pocket in his trousers, he carefully opened the cover of the book revealing some of the faded script scrawled on the first page.

“It looks like some type of bastardized Enochian script or some derivative,” advised Sebastian, scrutinizing the markings.

“You recognize it?” Arthur asked.

Sebastian nodded, “It looks very similar to Enochian,” he said.

Arthur suddenly frowned. “Dee and Kelley’s angelic writing? I’m certain Laycock debunked it as rubbish so I discounted the notion.”

“It possess similar characteristics, though this looks older by a fair margin. I’m certainly no expert on the subject, but I do know someone who is though,” he offered. “If you’re amenable?”

“If it will help me get to the root of this mystery, then by all means,” answered the smaller man, hoping for any type of insight that might help him decode the script.

Unraveling the Mystery

Within an hour Sebastian has set up a video conference in the manor’s well equipped meeting room. Walking into the room, Arthur saw the image of an attractive mature woman, dark hair drawn back into a utilitarian bun and a simple white blouse on the big screen television mounted to the wall. Behind her were rows upon rows of books.

“Arthur Thewell, this is Vivienne Grace, she is a literary scholar and idiolect currently in Washington,” introduced Sebastian.

“Vivienne,” Arthur acknowledged with a bob of his head.

Vivienne’s face spilt with a smile, “Nice to meet you Arthur, I hope this find of yours is as exciting as Sebastian says it is,” she said.

“I certainly hope it is,” he replied with a smile. Walking to the camera, he held the book before the lens, slowly turning pages for her to see.

She analyzed the pages, nodding, jotting some notes. By the time Arthur had turned all of the pages, she smiled. “This manuscript of yours appears to be not entirely unlike the 15th century Abramelin, though I believe this one to be much, much, older. I would absolutely love to get my hands on this and do some testing. Is that possible?”

“Could you do the testing here?” asked Arthur.

“I have access to all my resources here. Why don’t you bring it down?” she suggested.

Arthur looked to Sebastian, the larger man nodded assent.

“I could be there tomorrow,” offered Arthur. “Do you have any preliminary inclination what it might be?”

“I cannot say with degree of certainty, but some of the symbols suggest this may be a summoning manual,” she replied. “I have come across one or two similar works in the past.”

“When you say summoning manual, are you saying like summoning a Djinn or something, I mean, their lore stems from that part of the world?” asked Sebastian.

“Or something, at this juncture I don’t know. Djinn maybe, Rakshaha, until I have a chance to properly examine the book it’s all speculation.” she replied.

“Tomorrow then,” said Sebastian, disconnecting the call.

“Can she be trusted?” asked Arthur.

“She has handled sensitive work for us in the past,” replied Sebastian.

Sebastian made a few calls within the organization to make the necessary arrangements to accommodate Arthur’s journey for the following day.

Arthur was thoroughly impressed with Vivienne’s facility. Working off a private grant (notably the organization), the building was a cutting edge, state-of-the-art research lab. He was able to witness her examination. He assented to removal of binding material as well as sample of the pages and ink.

The pages are human skin, dating anywhere from about 50CE to 150CE, hereditary markers suggest of European descent. The blood is similar but the genetic code is too degraded to be of any definitive value,” Vivienne provided.

“During the influence of the Roman Empire,” Arthur said. “Translation?”

Vivienne nodded. “Some mystic somewhere wrote down what he believed to be a means of binding power or summoning forth a powerful being and containing it. There are very rudimentary elements of an early form of angelic script amongst others and there are several variables I can’t translate,” she said. “Given more time…” she left the rest unsaid but raised a hopeful eyebrow.

“Time is not our friend,” Arthur replied. “If I wanted to perform this ritual, can you provide me a phonetic translation?” Arthur asked, excited by the revelation.

Vivienne laughed softly. “I suppose I could, but you do realize this is no more than fanciful nonsense? Man has been drafting similar texts for years with the hope of calling forth some enchanted being to do their bidding. Like Sebastian said, Djinn or magical lamps with genies go all the way back to mythical Scheherazade and her tales of fancy. ”

“Please, Vivienne, humor me,” replied Arthur, a wisp of a smile on his face, he was familiar with the heaps of lore attached to such things, but his instincts told him he held something different, that this tome might in fact be the real deal.

Despite Vivienne’s hesitance, she did as bade when he reminded her of the fact the book and all it contained were more than likely ‘claptrap’ and probably not authentic.

She provided a phonetic translation, she also identified specific material components and a fairly clear step-by-step process for undertaking the ritual.

It took Vivienne only three days to complete a rough phonetic translation of the book. She also identified the specific instructions related to carrying the ritual out, including the necessity to find a convergent intersection of ley lines and a grocery list of exotic items. She made mentioned to him about an unspecified price quoted in the book.

With the phonetic rendering in hand, Arthur wanted to conduct the ritual.

A Bargain Struck

Sebastian wanted Arthur to stay to help provide support until a temporary framework of leadership for the organization could be implemented, but the smaller man was stubbornly intent on undertaking the ritual in the book. Sebastian decided to allow Arthur the opportunity to attempt, under the condition he be escorted by a protector.

Arthur argued against any such necessity but realized Sebastian would not yield, so he capitulated. The man selected as escort was Oleg Grigori, a Dedicant of lesser standing within the organization. A former Spetnaz operative with front line combat experience in Chechnya, he was highly trained and capable in his role as escort/bodyguard.

Arthur’s location was a confluence of ley lines in a remote and unpopulated area in Colorado west of Denver. There were utility roads off I70 that would allow them to get close to the location.

Arriving near the GPS location, Arthur instructed Oleg to help carry the materials for the ritual, nearly a quarter mile from the road to an area suitable to complete the task. The Russian did as bade and being younger, bigger, and stronger was able to get the materials to the site in a single trip.

“Return to the car and wait for me, I’m am uncertain how long this may take,” ordered Arthur.

Oleg nodded compliance and left.

The location was ideal. Secluded and sheltered from prying eyes, Arthur would be able to complete the ritual without fear of witnesses. The directions provided by Vivienne required him to construct two circles each encompassing another smaller circle. The first circle was to be eight feet in diameter, the other thirty five feet in diameter. Each to be laid out using a granular mixture of specific ingredients mixed in a very particular order. In the space between each of the circles, he was required to construct several sigils. He meticulously followed out the instruction laid out by Vivienne. Evaluating his handiwork as compared to the illustrations, he smiled, he was ready to begin the ritual.

Walking into the smaller circle and closing it behind him by connecting the broken edges with the mixtures of powder and sand, he opened the book and began to intone the spell. Almost immediately, the line work of the larger circle began to glow, a pale incandescence in the dusk night air. He watched in fascinated awe as the ground around the clearing began to alter, like another place was superimposed over top of this reality, two places juxtaposed and co-existing simultaneously. A figure began to manifest inside the larger circle, as if taking form from some amorphous cloud. As more and more of the figure began to take shape, he realized it was a female of utterly gigantic proportions. She appeared very humanoid, except for her dimension. She had long dark hair, held back from her oval face with multiple braids. Her eyes glowed a golden yellow and appeared featureless without iris or pupil as she seemed to be looking down on him. She possessed a small button nose over a plump set of cherry stained lips. Her body was exceptionally shapely, large perfect breasts with small erect ruby nipples prominent on her chest. Her narrow waist flaring out curvaceously into her hips and long shapely legs.

Interlocking her fingers, she raised her arms over her head and stretched languidly. He was bereft of words, gazing up at this stunning woman. Unclasping her hands she brought them down and crossed her arms in front of herself. He noticed the nails on her hands, each at least the size of the spade on a common shovel, appeared to be lacquered a glossy black. He wasn’t certain what type of entity he had imagined would have responded to the summons, but he definitely was not expecting anything like her.

She examined the markings of the circle bordering the perimeter of the circle she was within, then she looked at the circle he was standing in, finally her golden eyes fell on him, lips parting into a smile that revealed perfect white teeth except for two small slightly elongated canine teeth. He felt as a mouse might in the presence of a lioness, he was grateful for the power of the protective circle.

Crouching down low, she spoke. “Who is it that would summon me?” she asked in a voice seductive and alluring, something out of an adolescent male’s fantasy.

“I have summoned you. I am Arthur Thelwell, you may call me Master. Hereto and forthwith you are bound by this intonation to do my bidding, lest I cast you back from whence you came,” he commanded, voice measured but calm.

Hearing the words, she nodded, smile still on her beautiful but large face.

“You will supplicate yourself before me,” he ordered authoritatively.

“Go on,” she encouraged, reaching toward him and placing her left index finger, slightly longer than he was tall, on one of the symbols in the circle protecting him and wiped it and the edge of his circle away.

He frowned. “Give me your name,” he demanded.

She smiled anew. “My formal name is Za’harina Adzera, but you can call me Zara,” she answered, then rubbed out another mark in his circle.

“Stop that,” he directed.

She leaned back slightly and put a mock serious expression on her face, “Stop that,” she parroted.

“I command you to swear an oath of fealty to me, pledging your will to mine,” he instructed, following the directive laid out in his translation.

“No,” she replied, turning her right hand over to examine the ebony color of her nails.

“But I, as your master, command it!” he barked.

“So,” she replied nonchalantly, lowering her hand and looking back to him.

“You must submit to me!” he yelled, growing increasingly frustrated.

Leaning forward, she swiped away the front edge of his protection circle, clearing both outer and inner lines and the protective devices between. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“That shouldn’t be,” he commented, almost absently. Thumbing back through Vivienne’s pages, he re-read the instructions. “I did the spells exactly as the book directs,” he said, looking up at her.

She stood upright again, twisting and stretching.

Arthur remained frozen, looking up the length of her svelte body. To his estimation, she must have been at least 130’ tall. Stretch finished, she looked back down on Arthur, still inside the remnants of his protective circle. Stepping almost directly over him, she knelt down and set her bottom on her heels, a knee to either side of his tiny circle. Putting her hands on her knees, she fixed him with her gaze.

The Fine Print

Positioned between Zara’s parted knees as he was, Arthur could feel warmth emanating from the skin of her legs.

He paused, looking directly ahead at the smooth crease in her pubis, shaking his head and taking a step backward.

“Don’t be shy,” she teased, tracking his gaze to her femininity.

He took another step backward involuntarily, pausing to look down to make sure he hadn’t wandered outside the perimeter of the protective circle. He paused momentarily, wondering now if this tactic of hers might be some cunning ruse to get him to abandon the protection of the circle of his own accord by fleeing. He smiled. “Very clever,” he said, shaking an admonishing finger at her. “You’re trying to trick me to leave the circle of my own volition,” he stated, tone smug.

She chuckled. “Silly little Arthur, your tiny circle protects you from nothing.” Removing her left hand from her knee, she reached in and prodded his chest with her forefinger, causing him to take several steps backward and outside the circle.

Panic gripped him. “But...” he blurted.

She made a sad face and tilted her head to the side, “Oh no,” she said in mock sympathy.

He took another step back, mind reeling. Flight crossed his mind, but the car was at least a thousand feet away, no more than a few steps for her.

“The book…” he babbled, almost incoherently.

Rolling her eyes, “The book, the book, the book,” she said, tilting her head from side to side each time she repeated it. Pausing, she looked down upon him and smiled, tone growing dangerous, “Means absolutely nothing.”

Arthur had lived his life according to a very strict and regimented code of conduct. He had always carefully anticipated every plausible variable and built an appropriate contingency. He understood now he had become blinded by his passion. He had become reckless, his desire to unravel the book let him away from his usual course and now here he stood, exposed and vulnerable before this creature of titanic proportions.

“What happens now?” he asked, voice full of uncertainty.

“There is the matter of price,” she replied, looking around the dual environment a moment before settling her eyes back on the slender man.

“What price?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“The sacrifice silly,” she replied with a soft laugh.

“Sacrifice?” he asked, Vivienne had only made mention of a price, not the nature of the price.

“Seeing none other, I must presume it to be you,” she replied, eyes alight with hunger.

“W-what?” he stammered.

Her smile grew, “Your essence. I could just take it, but where’s the fun in that. First, I think will use you here,” with her right hand she pointed to her vagina, “then, when I am finished, I will put you here,” she answered, opening her mouth and pointing at it.

“You can’t be serious,” he commented, shaking his head in denial. “That’s preposterous!”

“It is the price you must pay for opening the conduit,” she said bluntly.

“No,” he denied, unwilling to acknowledge the information.

“Enough of this idle banter little Arthur, my yearning grows with each passing moment, it is time for you to sate my hunger,” she growled, golden eyes blazing as she spoke.

Filled with dread, he turned quickly to run, but he turned too fast causing him to stumble forward. Using his hands, he regained his balance and continued to run.

Reaching down, she easily collected him in her hand, her skin was silky as she pulled away his suit and underclothes.

Lifting him to her face, she evaluated his aged slender nude body. Bringing him closer, she opened her mouth, snaked her long tongue out and licked him. Her tongue was raspy, like a cat’s. A single pass drew small blood dots to the skin of his chest and face. “Mmm,” she purred appreciatively. Her saliva was hot but not scalding. Arthur tried to twist and thrash against her vice like grip but to no avail, she was just too strong. He was helpless to resist her. She lowered herself to the ground and lay back. Slick with her saliva, she moved him over the spot between her legs, parting them to provide better access for her tiny toy. The closer he got, the hotter her flesh seemed to be, and her musk was strong and potent. Pressed against the moistening flesh, he was grateful the skin of her genitals was soft and supple. She used him expertly, deliberately teasing and titillating her huge pussy. As her passion mounted and her lust increased, she began to grind him harder against her pleasure center, bucking against the pressure. Biting her lower lip, she felt her first orgasm explode through her body, followed closely by a second wave of intense passion. Lying back, she allowed herself the luxury of enjoying the wonderful sensations coursing through her body. Looking at the tiny limp form in her hand, she reached down, and drew him through the slippery inner part of her vagina, through the milky pleasure nectar drooling out, and into her most sensitive opening, inserting him as far as she could without letting go. She let him remain there a few moments before begrudgingly pulling him free and bringing him up to her mouth. She sucked the tiny man into her mouth, tasting the mixture of his flesh and her passion. He began to rouse, coming to inside her mouth. She felt the fire in her loins re-ignite as he struggled. She started to finger herself again, furiously, forcing her body to respond to the urgency of her touch. She could feel the climax impending, getting closer and closer and at the exact moment her body exploded, she swallowed him, feeling him sliding down inside her as her body convulsed with pleasure. She lay there for a moment, allowing the delicious sensations to subside. Already she could feel the rift between planes closing, pulling her from her world into his, her body shifting and changing in accordance with the covenant. Rearing her head back, she howled.

Oleg

Within the structure of the organization, Oleg was several positions down from Arthur in the hierarchy of the Disciples. He was leaning against the side of the car near the front end over the driver’s side tire having a cigarette, the sky darkening as twilight slowly faded to night. The sound of a shrill scream ripped through the air, distinctly feminine and very loud, and coming from Arthur’s direction. Oleg cursed and dropped his cigarette before reaching inside his suit jacket and withdrawing the Glock 9mm from his shoulder holster. There was still enough light lingering in the sky that he was able to navigate back up the trail back toward Arthur. Coming out of the bush at a near run, gun poised, he was surprised to see a beautiful nude woman smaller than himself, back to him, kneeling alone in the clearing. Of Arthur there was no trace, save for the tattered remains of material similar to the color of Arthur’s suit lying in pieces about the clearing. She turned her head to face him, hands covering her naked breasts but nothing else. Her eyes appeared normal but the irises were golden and held him fast.

He muttered the words, “Sweet mother,” in Russian as he looked at her.

She replied in Russian, “Help me,” her voice melodically sweet, though contained an edge of panic.

“Where is Mr. Thelwell?” he asked, still speaking in his native tongue, pistol aimed at the woman.

“I don’t know anyone named Thelwell,” she replied in Russian, turning her head to look back toward the center of the clearing.

“Who are you?” he demanded in Russian levelling the gun at her as he circled around to her front, close enough to ensure a kill shot but far enough away to get the shot off.

She paused a moment, as if she were looking for the answer. “I don’t know,” she answered again in Russian, lower lip starting to quiver. “Where am I?”

He frowned. “You speak English?” he asked in English.

“Yes,” she replied, on the threshold of tears, eyes fixed on the weapon pointed at her.

“Where are clothes?” he asked in English

She shook her head from side to side.

He took a couple steps closer, stopping a dozen paces from her. Reaching into his pocket with his free, he pulled out a cell phone and checked for reception. There was no signal. He muttered.

She brought her hands to her face and looked as if she might weep.

He had seen enough atrocities and brutality toward innocents during war to be unmoved by sympathy for her situation. He cursed softly to himself. He wished he had been better briefed on the mission, the parameters and variable outcomes. Because he didn’t know what the mission was, didn’t know what to expect, he wasn’t prepared for this outcome. He closed the distance between them, removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. At 6’2” his suit jacket easily wrapped around her. She pulled it close to protect against the cool night air.

“Thank you,” she said in English, grateful for the kindness, moist eyes wide

His instincts told him to put two bullets in the back of her head and be done with it, but because he couldn’t reach anyone and didn’t know what to do, he decided to take her back to the car. Placing her in the back seat, “You wait with car, I will return shortly,” he said in accented English, closing the door behind her. He tucked the pistol back into his hog-leg holster before grabbing a flashlight from the glove compartment and walking back down to the clearing and exploring it thoroughly. Elements of the two circles were still visible, and there was an odd scent he couldn’t place hanging in the air, but Arthur Thelwell was gone. Pulling a cigarette out of the foil package, he lit it and took a drag before gathering up the clothing remnants and returning to the car.

She was still sitting where he left her in the back of the car, enjoying the scent in the jacket wrapped about her, it smelled masculine and virile. The driver had surprised her, caught her unawares after her tryst with Arthur. His body was lean, but nicely muscled. He moved with an animal grace, a predatory litheness. Much had changed since she had been here last, and as eager as she was to play with him, at present he might be better suited helping her adapt to this new environment. When he returned, he dumped the remnants of Arthur’s clothing in the front passenger seat before circling around and climbing into the driver’s seat. Starting the car, he smelled faintly of smoke.

He turned in his seat to look at her. “Oleg,” he said tapping his chest with the index and middle finger of his right hand.

She smiled, “Oleg,” she repeated.

Putting the car in gear, he began the drive back to the hotel called The Rocky Mountain Lodge where he and Arthur each possessed a room interconnected via a doorway.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“You are quiet now, we will talk later,” he advised, refusing to engage in conversation. She frowned, leaned back in the seat, and remained quiet for the journey back to civilization.

Back at the hotel, he bade her remain in the car. Climbing out of the sedan, he pulled out his cell phone and checked the signal again, strong, three bars this time. Dialing Sebastian’s number, he put the phone to his head.

“Mr. Vickers, this is Oleg Grigori. Mr. Thelwell has vanished, in his place, a young woman.”

On the other end of the phone Sebastian frowned. “Vanished? What happened, be detailed,” he instructed.

“I helped bring materials to clearing, Mr. Thelwell tells me to go to car. I go and wait. Maybe one hour passes, I hear lady scream, when I get there, he is gone, only girl. From him, I see only pieces of clothes, but no blood. There is smell in the air, how you would say, yedkiy, strong maybe?”

“Describe the woman for me,” ordered Sebastian.

“Pretty girl, Caucasian, maybe 170cm, 55 kilograms, long dark hair, strange yellow eyes, late teens early 20’s. She says she doesn’t know her name or how she got to clearing, she appears uninjured, no clothes, and she speaks Russian and English.”

“Are you still at the site?” Sebastian asked.

“No service for phone, outside the hotel right at moment,” replied Oleg.

“What about Arthur’s book, did you find the book at the site?” Sebastian asked.

“No, just torn clothes, two circles, symbols in circles,” replied the former Russian commando. “I think book might be in room, I do not remember seeing it when Mr. Thelwell was setting up.”

Sebastian didn’t like it. “This woman is to be considered an Alpha level priority for the moment, exercise extreme caution, she may be a significant threat,” advised Sebastian.

“Alpha? Girl was naked,” replied Oleg, looking at the woman through the windshield of the car.

“Until I can figure out what happened to Arthur, she will remain Alpha. I want you to secure any materials from Arthur’s room. I am sending additional resources to your location to provide assistance, they should be there within the next fourteen hours or so. Reporting protocols are in effect,” added Sebastian.

“I understand and comply,” replied Oleg, ending the call and putting his phone back inside his jacket.

Connection severed, he walked around the car and opened her door. “We go into hotel now,” he advised.

Sebastian

Strummed his fingers across the top of the desk. This was not good. Arthur vanishes replaced by some strange girl, who speaks English and Russian. Definitely odd. He checked his wrist watch and cursed quietly. Picking up his cell phone he called Vivienne.

“Hello?’ she said, voice tired, as if woken from a slumber.

“Did I wake you?” asked Sebastian, an apologetic tone in his voice.

“It doesn’t matter. What can I do for you?” she inquired, scrubbing at her face with her free hand.

“Arthur performed the ritual from the book tonight,” he supplied.

“I told him it was nonsense, that I couldn’t guarantee the translation,” she explained, sitting upright in her bed and clicking on her bedside lamp. Her husband stirred, but she shushed him and waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

“He vanished,” Sebastian provided. “In his place, a young woman appeared claiming amnesia like symptoms. The only other person there was not in a position to observe what might have transpired.”

She chuckled. “That’s impossible. The book is a load of rubbish, some fancy concocted by some deranged mind who was probably overexposed to lead.”

“Apparently not,” countered Sebastian. “I was hoping you could provide me with a copy of any of your data to see if there is something there that might give me a clue as to what might have happened.”

“I turned all of my data over to Arthur, hard copies and electronic, he was most insistent,” she replied.

“Dammit,” vented the big man. “Was there anything in those notes or data that might have given you an inkling of what happened?”

“What do you mean? Are you asking me if this girl is really some being from an alternative plane of existence and maybe she somehow traded places with Arthur, Sebastian please,” she said, tone admonishing.

“There’s something else, his clothes were found at the location where he performed the ritual. According to my man there, they were shredded,” he informed.

“Jesus Sebastian,” she said.

“So if there’s anything you can think of that might help me figure this shit out, I would be appreciative,” he added.

“If you think your man is in over his head, get him out there,” Vivienne advised.

“Oleg is exceptionally talented and can handle himself in a tight situation, Arthur on the other hand…” he left the rest unsaid.

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” replied Vivienne.

“I apologize for rousing you at this hour, thank you for taking the time,” expressed Sebastian.

“No problem Sebastian, sorry I couldn’t have been of more help. If there’s anything else, please don’t hesitate to call, good night,” she offered.

“Good night,” he replied and disconnected the call.

Pausing a moment, he stared at the phone. Bringing up a contact, he called. “Vickers, Sebastian. Authorization 0799. Yes. Three man extraction team, Alpha priority. Contain if viable, extreme measures authorized, but only as a last resort. One asset on site.” He went on to provide location details and the nature of the target.

There was a rapping on the door. Sebastian terminated the call. “Enter,” he said.

It was Harald. The big powerful man looked haggard, worn. The dream had continued to plague him. Sebastian had suggested Harald might want to try and see if there might be any identifiable landmarks in the terrain or configurations of stars, anything that might provide an indication of a possible location.

“I have been doing as you suggest, I believe I have identified a location that matches elements of the dream,” Harald said, entering the room and slumping into one of the chairs across from the desk.

Leaning back in his own chair, Sebastian rested his elbows on his rounded stomach and tented his fingers. “Where?” he asked, curious.

“Jotunheimen, Norway,” he replied. “I’ve used the computers to help isolate the spot I believe to be the one in my dream,” he said. “I want to go to the place I’ve been seeing in my dreams,” Harald said, a determined expression on his face.

Sebastian nodded. “Our group is currently in a state of upheaval at the moment. I would recommend delaying your journey just until we’ve restored some degree of order.”

Harald frowned. “I appreciate the current circumstances, but I feel I must do this if I am to be free of this dream,” he asserted.

Sebastian nodded, realizing under the circumstances there was no point of deterring the huge muscular Viking from his intended course. He had the authority to order Harald to remain, but decided to assent. “Very well,” he said.

Sebastian left Harald to make his own arrangements. Closing his eyes, only for a moment, just to rest, he dozed off.

Zara

She got out of car and followed Oleg up to his room. Swiping his card, he held the door for her to enter the room. Once she was inside, he followed her and let the door close behind him. She sat on the corner of the king sized bed, the only bed in the room. His luggage and personals were all very neat and ordered and on the small couch near the window.

“You want maybe a drink?” he asked, bending down and opening the mini fridge and offering her a bottle of water.

She smiled and accepted the plastic bottle. “Thank you,” she said.

“Yes, no problem,” he replied, taking one for himself and sitting down on the small couch in the room. “How do you know Russian?”

She unscrewed the cap from the bottled water, took a small sip and shrugged. “I don’t know, I just do. This water is cold,” she said, a quizzical expression on her face.

“Yes, cold, from refrigerator. Is very strange for young beautiful woman to be wandering in forest alone, yes?” he asked, taking a belt from his own water, eyes studying her intently.

She nodded and smiled, setting her bottle on its side on the bed. “You think I am beautiful?” she asked coyly.

“Yes, very pretty,” he acknowledged with a nod.

She smiled demurely.

“You watch television, I will go for cigarette,” he said, clicking the TV on and tossing the remote beside her on the bed before walking to the door.

She watched in mute amazement as the television came to life and pictures crossed the screen. He stepped outside. There was a text message from Sebastian waiting on the phone. There was an extraction team coming to ‘bag’ the girl in the next 14 hours. Putting his phone away, he pulled out a fresh smoke and lit it.

She watched the images on the television screen intently, voraciously consuming every detail from the TV. She was riveted to the screen when Oleg returned.

“This device is absolutely amazing!” she said, big smile on her face.

“Television?” he asked, looking at the screen.

“Did you know that for only $9.99 you could get a large four topping pizza, delivered right to your door?” she asked.

“You are hungry?” he asked.

“There is so much information here,” she breathed, eyes returning to the screen.

“You want pizza? I don’t know if this little town has pizza place,” he said.

Getting up off the bed, she removed his jacket and handed it to him. “I want clothes like the ones on the television,” she said.

“It’s too late, no clothes places open until tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head. “I will get you robe from bathroom, you should not be naked.” He turned and started to walk toward the bathroom.

“Until this Sunday, if we buy one dress at regular price, we can get another one for half off,” she said enthusiastically after him.

Grabbing one of the white robes from the bathroom, he came back and handed it to her. “Yes, we will need to get you some clothes, for now, you wear this,” he said.

She looked at the plush robe and rubbed its softness against her face.

“You still want pizza?” he asked, taking a step toward the hotel phone on the desk, thinking he too could go for a pie.

She let robe fall to her feet and walked to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug, crushing her breasts against his muscular chest.

“No,” he said, disengaging himself from her arms and gently pushing her backward by the shoulders. Bending down, he picked up the robe and handed it back to her.

She frowned.

“Put robe on,” he said firmly.

She sulked a little, but put the robe on.

He nodded. “Pizza?” she shook her head. He frowned.

Opening the doors between the rooms, Oleg walked into Arthur’s room. Aside from Arthur’s luggage, there was also a brief case and a laptop. She followed behind. Oleg gathered up Arthur’s possessions and brought them back into his own room.

“Tonight, you sleep in other room, tomorrow we find you clothes,” he advised.

“Can you make the pictures on the TV?” she asked.

He shook his head ever so slightly before walking over and picking up the remote. “This,” he said, showing her the device, “is for TV,” he added, clicking the power button causing the 32” flat screen to come to life.

She took the remote from him and climbed on the bed, eyes glued to the dancing images on the screen.

“You stay in room, I will see you in morning,” he said before leaving Arthur’s room and closing the door behind him without locking it. He set up a ‘tumbler’ against the door, an anti-intrusion device wirelessly connected to his phone to alert him should it be disturbed. He turned the chair so it was facing the door, sat down, and threaded silencer onto his pistol before laying it on his lap.

He hadn’t intended to sleep and woke with a violent start. She was sitting on the end of his bed looking at him. He flicked a glance at the tumbler, but it was undisturbed.

“My name is Zara,” she said.

“Zara,” he repeated. “Good, maybe memories start to return. Good,” he repeated, nodding his head.

“That for me?” she asked pointing at the pistol.

“For anybody who might break in. Protection,” he replied, leaning forward and stretching the muscles in his back.

“Clothes?” she asked.

He looked at his wrist watch. “First I piss, then we see if little shop downstairs is open,” he said, grabbing the gun and standing up and moving toward the bathroom, removing the silencer as he walked. After emptying his bladder he returned.

“You must tie robe, you cannot go out with,” he pointed to the smooth hairless crease in her sex, “Your pussy. You must cover,” he said.

She half smiled, amused by his mannerisms. Pulling the robe closed, she tied it off. “There, now my pussy will not offend people,” she said in a thick mock Russian accent.

He scowled.

In the lobby of the hotel, there was a little clothes boutique.  The female store clerk thought it odd that Oleg’s companion was only attired in a bathrobe, but two crisp one hundred dollars bills made her very helpful.

“Lady will help you find clothes,” Oleg said, nodding in the direction of the store clerk.

The woman offered Zara a friendly smile, “Nadine is my name I’m here to help you in whatever way possible,’ she advised.

“Zara,” she replied.

Oleg took a chair while the women set about outfitting Zara. After an hour, he got up paced around, then went outside for a cigarette. When he returned, she was wearing a floral print knee length dress, with matching shoes. Behind her on the counter and beside the till were numerous bags of what Zara had selected.

“I love shopping!” she exclaimed, a big smile on her face. “Do you like my dress?” she asked, twirling around so he could see.

“Yes, very nice,” he remarked, looking passed her at the mountain of clothes she had picked out.

Nadine smiled.

Oleg handed over his credit card. “Fortunately, I have expense account.”

After shopping they ate in the hotel restaurant before heading back upstairs. Once in the room, Zara pulled the dress over her head.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She smiled, pulling down lacy red underpants and stepped out of them. “Don’t you want to play with me?” she asked seductively.

“No,” he said strongly.

She moved forward and pressed herself into him, straining her head up for a kiss while groping him with her right hand. He pushed her back, firm.

“I want to play,” she said, brow furling.

“No,” he repeated.

She scowled at him. “Wait a moment, I just remembered where Arthur went,” she said, a look of feigned surprise coming over her face.

“You remember? Where is Mr. Thelwell?” Oleg asked.

She pointed her right index to her stomach. “Here,” she said.

“He is in your belly?” he asked, shaking his head.

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and held it with her teeth before nodding.

“What does this mean? Is not possible, you are too little,” he scoffed.

Releasing her lip, she asked, “Would you like to see?”

“Yes, show me Mr. Thelwell,” he said, placing his hands on his hips.

“Are you sure?” she asked, eyes dancing with mischief.

He held his hands out, “No more play, you show me where is Mr. Thelwell,” he challenged.

A half smile crossed her face. “Remember, you asked for this.” She puckered lips, touched them with her right hand and blew him a kiss.

It’s the Little Things in Life

Immediately, he staggered backward, as if physically struck in the center of his chest. She sat down on the edge of the bed to watch, a wide smile on her face. Dropping to his hands and knees on the hotel room floor, he began to shrink in on himself, diminishing rapidly. In less than fifteen seconds, he had vanished into the pile of his own clothes.

Scrambling through the heaps of material, Oleg finally emerged. A baffled look of bewilderment on his face as he tried to process what he saw. Everything was monstrously huge. He looked at his clothes then to her. He was confused.

Still sitting on the corner of the bed, looking down upon him, like an eagle watching a field mouse, she had a big smile on her pretty face. He lifted his hands and looked down his body then back up at her. “What is this thing you have done to me?” he demanded, tone hostile.

Shifting off the bed, she crouched down near him and gathered his tiny little frame in her left hand. To her, he wasn’t more two or so inches in height. “You said you wanted to know where Mr. Thelwell went. When he opened the portal, he was little and I was big, like you and I are right now. He had to pay the price for opening the conduit. First I used him for my pleasure,” she smiled wickedly, “And then I took his life spark inside of me,” she said, rubbing her free hand across her tight stomach.

“No this is wrong thing, you fix me,” he said firmly, an element of panic in his voice.

She favored him with an over-exaggerated pout. “You still don’t want to play?” The pout turned into a broad smile. “The things were are going to do.”

“No,” he replied emphatically. “This is not funny!”

Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, “You said you thought I was a beautiful woman,” she countered.

“Yes, I say you are very beautiful, but you are giant now. How are you so big?” he replied, shaking his head in utter incredulity.

She giggled, then brought him closer to her body, near her smooth round left breast. Tracing his tiny little body around her stiffening nipple, she felt a tingle of excitement ripple through her flesh. He fussed and tried to push away, but his protests only served to heighten her need. Bringing him to her mouth, she kissed him on his face, then licked him from his navel up over his face. Slick with her saliva, she traced the aureole of her right breast slowly with him, taunting the hardening flesh. Further down over her tight stomach, she dragged him. Parting her legs wide, she exposed her swollen vagina, slick with anticipation.

Her feminine essence was strong, potent, almost intoxicating. A beautiful pussy, the sheer magnitude of which was daunting to him. Separating her lips with her free hand, she showed him the succulent pink within. She pressed him against the moist flesh, circling him around her exposed clitoris before dragging him up and down the length of her sweet place. Shifting her hold of him and tilting her pelvis, she pushed him feet first into her pussy until he was in her up to his armpits, the muscles trying to tug him deeper inside the delicate folds. She continued to massage herself while slowly sliding him and out of her hole. As her rhythm increased, so too her breathing, soon she was bucking, suddenly her vaginal muscles clamped down repeatedly around his chest as her pussy convulsed with orgasm. Over and over the contractions occurred, squeezing the air out of his tiny lungs. She let out a low moan of ecstasy as the last of the delicious sensations passed through her body. Still embedded in her swollen vagina, Oleg pushed against the delicate flesh in an effort to get himself free but everything was so slippery. Pearlescent secretions seeped out of her and over him. Inadvertently he pushed against her clitoris. Suddenly she shuddered and brought her legs together, “Nerves are still a little raw,” she teased playfully, though he barely heard as her labia majora folded over him, smothering him in her sex. After a few moments, she parted her legs again. Reaching down, she grabbed him by the head and shoulders and drew him out of her greedy pussy, his lower body slick in her milky expulsion of pleasure. Shifting her grip around his chest, she brought him level with her face.

“That was delightful,” she complimented, rewarding him with an appreciative smile. “Now to show you where Arthur is,” she brought him closer and opened her mouth wider.

“No!” he shouted as her tongue snaked out and he was sucked into her mouth.

“Mmm,” she cooed as she moved him around the inside of her mouth with her tongue. He rolled and flailed, desperately trying to find purchase, something to grab ahold of to prevent being drawn down her throat.

She pinned him to the roof of her mouth and swallowed, releasing him, she played with him some more. She pushed him to her lips and plucked him from her mouth. Sitting upright, she placed him on the bed. “You wait right here, I’m going to pee, and when I get back we can go some more,” she said with a wicked grin.

Looking up, he watched her hips sway as she walked toward the bathroom. He staggered a couple of steps across the blanket toward the pillows, but his unsteady legs seemed to be made of rubber and he collapsed to his knees. Crawling, forward, he pulled himself upright and continued onward.

She emerged from the bathroom after only a minute with a capricious smile, “Next time I think I’ll leave you there so you can watch me pee.”

 He didn’t bother looking back, he just kept trying to get to the pillows.

Oleg’s cell phone began to ring.

Takedown

Zara looked at the curious little device creating the buzzing sound on the table then quickly back to Oleg, who had almost reached what he hoped might be the sanctuary of the pillows. There was a soft knocking at the door. “Room service,” said a female voice.

Taking a couple of steps in that direction, she paused and frowned, “What is room service?” she asked, curious. The phone started to vibrate again.

“Room service,” replied a female voice.

Zara frowned, but opened the door, unabashed about her nakedness. The woman at the door was dressed in a browned colored uniform with the name of the hotel embroidered on her breast. She was smiling and holding the handle a cloth covered cart with a steel colored dome on its top.

Zara look at the woman and smiled. “What is this?” she asked, looking down at the metal dome.

The women smiled as a man dressed entirely in black suddenly appeared at the doorway. He stepped into the room and aimed a small device directly at Zara’s torso, pulling the trigger and deploying two small electrodes attached to wires embedding in the flesh of her chest. Simultaneously she heard a sound from behind her, and as she was turning, she another heard the snap and felt two more prongs hit her in the back. She frowned, then her world went white with electrical overload, dropping to the ground as both men jolted her with their tasers.

“Do it!” growled the man who had followed the room service woman into the room.

While aware, Zara was astonished because she was powerless to move. The woman with the room service cart dropped down beside her and pulled out an autoinjector from her apron and slammed it into Zara’s smooth milky thigh. Everything went blurry for Zara as the sedative in her blood stream took hold and she succumbed to darkness. Moving quickly, the man who had come into the room via Arthur’s suite, pulled a dress over the unconscious Zara before pulling her arms across her chest. The other man knelt down and tied first her hands then her feet with zap straps.

The man who had entered from Arthur’s room scooped the unconscious Zara up into his arms, the other man looked at the woman, holding up a hand. Picking up Oleg’s cell phone, he answered it by swiping the green arrow on the screen. “The operation has been successful, we have the package.”

“Cole?” asked Sebastian.

“Affirmative,” replied Cole.

“This is Oleg’s phone, is he there with you?” inquired the large man.

“Negative, there is no sign of the asset,” he replied, looking at the other two members of the extraction team. Almost in unison the two both shook their heads to indicate a negative.

“Repeat, did you say there was no sign of the asset?” asked the big man, brow creasing as he ran a hand over his head.

“Copy that, there is no sign of the asset,” repeated the operative.

“But you have the girl?”

“The package has been acquired, repeat, the package has been successful acquired,” Cole answered.

“Dammit,” cursed Sebastian, “Make sure you sanitize the room of all material possessions and I want all of those materials here as soon as you can courier them to me.”

“Understood,” confirmed the man, disconnecting the call and sliding the phone into one of the pockets in his black combat pants.

“Sweep and sanitize of property. Bleach any surfaces for prints, I’m not concerned about biologicals in the bedding,” he instructed.

The woman returned to the cart, flipping up the sheet and getting out a spray bottle and rags while the other man began preparing luggage.

Every trace of both Arthur and Oleg were systematically removed from the room, including the newly purchased clothes for Zara. Arthur’s materials were also carefully bundled and everything was placed on the cart.

Laying out one of the hotel blankets, Morgan put Zara on it, bound hands down over her tummy and rolled her into it. Picking her up, the man who had entered through Arthur’s room hoisted her up over his shoulder.

“You got her?” asked Cole, looking at the other man.

The other man nodded, “She’s pretty light,” he said, smacking her bottom through the blanket.

“Keep it tight,” Cole cautioned.

“What about the asset?” the woman inquired, looking around the empty room.

Cole shrugged, “Intel suggested he was supposed to be here. He’s not. That’s on him. We have the package, so now we leave,” he replied directly.

“Don’t you find it odd that he’s not here?” asked the unnamed man, “We’re talking about Oleg Grigori here,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I know who he is Morgan,” replied Cole, “There is nothing I can do if he’s not here. We have the girl, we head back to the airstrip and we leave.”

“I just find it pretty fucking strange is all, Oleg is no slouch,” countered Morgan.

“He knows what the procedure is. He’s not here when we are, we leave him behind, plain and simple, now I suggest we move,” he said, motioning the woman toward the door.

“Roger that,” replied Morgan stepping in behind the woman as she hurriedly pushed the cart down the corridor.

Moving ahead of the two men to ensure the hall was free of possible witnesses as Zara was brought down to the elevator, the woman signaled the all clear, and both men joined her in the elevator. Once in the lift, Cole keyed the console and took the elevator down to the parking garage where the van was parked.

Stepping out first, Cole scanned the area, then opened the side door of the van.

Morgan put the bundled Zara in the seated, pushing her to the window before climbing in and pulling the door closed behind him while Cole climbed into the driver’s seat, the woman the front passenger seat. Morgan buckled his seatbelt before drawing the other one across the unconscious woman.

Charlotte

The plan had been simple, she would follow Troy to university where she could get a part time job and work on her tan while he studied and played ball. His scholarship would cover the majority their expenses. They would get married, he would get drafted in the first round and together they would live happily ever after. That had been the plan, until he fucked that stupid whore Ami Mills the night of the grad party. When Charlotte confronted him, he said they should see other people. She said no, so he dumped her. She scoffed, no one dumps the prettiest girl in school the day after graduation, and she was the prettiest, standing 5’6”, svelte body with firm perky breasts, long blonde hair, brown eyes that could melt you, she was a picture of perfection. She was the queen bee, head cheerleader, arm candy to the Westmount’s all-state quarterback. Every boy wanted her, every girl wanted to be her and now for the first time in four years, she was nobody.

Instead of moving to sunny Florida, she was now stuck in Colorado. Not the wife of a future NFL star, just a hotel chambermaid in the Rocky Mountain Lodge cleaning up after other people.

She pushed her cleaning cart up the hall, stopping in front of the door and knocked. “Housekeeping,” she said flatly. No response. “Housekeeping,” she repeated, again devoid of anything resembling enthusiasm. Still no answer. Taking out her key card, she inserted it into the lock and the little light flashed green. Pushing open the door, she entered the room. She wrinkled her nose, there was an odd smell lingering in the air. “Hello? Housekeeping,” she announced, but the room was vacant.

Letting out a sigh, she pulled the blanket off the rumpled bed. Something moved and scurried back between the pillows. She caught the flicker of movement, shrieked and jumped backward. She didn’t know what she had seen, a mouse, a spider, but there was definitely something there. Hustling back to her cart, she grabbed the aerosol can of mold and mildew remover. Thinking about it made her shudder. Cautiously she approached the pillow from the side of the bed, can poised to deliver a lethal dose of chemicals to whatever creepy crawly thing might be lurking underneath. Reaching out, she carefully took hold of the pillow. Two quick breaths, she flung the pillow back, and fired a healthy stream of fungicide all over the now exposed area, but there was nothing there. She looked at the other pillow. She was about to circle round the bed, when from around the back near the headboard, a little figure emerged, walking on two legs. She jumped and aimed the can, but stopped when her mind registered what it was she was looking at. It looked like a child’s toy but in actuality it was a tiny little naked man.

“OMG!” she exclaimed, mouth hanging open, doe eyes wide, mind trying to wrapped itself around the absurdity of the situation

At first when he heard the feminine shriek, he thought it might be Zara returned. When the blanket was pulled away, he was surprised to see someone different. This young woman looked like she worked for the hotel, dressed in a chambermaid uniform. There was no trace of Zara. He knew at some point he had lost consciousness and wondered how long he had been out. Everything in the hotel room had been sanitized, it must have been the support Vickers said he was sending he surmised. Holding his hands up toward the frightened young woman, he took a couple of tentative steps forward. “Is okay,” he reassured, accent thick.

She leaned in closer to look at him. “What are you?” she asked, scrutinizing him. He was leanly muscled, short brown hair on his head.

“My name is Oleg,” he replied, “I need to make phone call,” he said, “Is very important.”

She reached down tentatively and touched him with her left index finger, as if to reassure herself he was indeed real. He remained still. “How? How is this possible?” she asked, him being no longer than her index finger. He was warm to her touch, flesh soft. She pulled her hand away, gawping.

He shook his head but remained still, fearing any sudden movement might encourage her to unleash another potentially lethal torrent of mold and mildew cleaner.

“Are you human?” she asked, can of noxious spray still at the ready.

“Yes, human, just very small,” he answered.

“How did you get this way?” she asked, amazed.

“I don’t know,” he replied, unsure of how Zara had indeed rendered him so tiny. He did now believe her in regards to the final resting place of Arthur Thelwell. He desperately needed to call in, to warn Mr. Vickers of her unusual power and penchant for diminishing. “I need to make phone call. You have cell?” he asked.

She shook her head, blonde ponytail swaying back and forth. “We’re not allowed to have our phones with us during non-break times,” she lamented.

“Maybe you could get phone, I wait here” he added.

She considered it for a moment, but was reluctant to leave him unattended. “No,” she said, “It’s in my locker and I’d have to pass by the head housekeeper’s office, she’s a real bitch and I don’t want to get into trouble.”

He nodded. If only the extraction team had left his clothes and phone, this wouldn’t be an issue. “I cannot remain in hotel room,” he said.

She smiled warmly. She didn’t know what to make of the unusual circumstances that had put her in this situation. She had been having the shittiest week of her entire life and now she finds a little tiny man. As she stood towering over this little man, she felt a surge of empowerment. He was so tiny, so vulnerable and fragile, like a baby bird fallen from its nest. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” she assured.

She looked at her cart, then down at him. She didn’t want to try and hide him there, what if one of the others chambermaids found him? A smile touch her pretty face again as she thought of the perfect place to conceal him. Unsure of how delicate he might be, she gently picked him up and brought him to her chest. Pulling back her the cup of her bra on her left side, she slid him inside between the fabric and the smooth flesh of her breast. Usually this was where she kept her cell phone safe.  He moved about in the bra, tickling her some, but it also tingled in a much more delightful way as her nipple began to stiffen.

Troy had left her, but this one couldn’t leave, he needed her for everything. He would be hers, forever.

Rude Awakening

Zara opened her eyes, everything was bleary. The motion of the vehicle made her stomach turn. She had to blink several times to clear her vision. She realized she was in the rear seat of a vehicle and rolled in fabric. She frowned. Out of her periphery, she could see a man seated beside her and two people in the seats ahead of her. Looking down, she recognized the blanket from the hotel. Trying to move her hands, she could feel the zap strap, plastic biting into her skin. Her control over her voluntary muscles was sporadic as she rolled her head to the side to look at the man seated there. The motion caught his attention, he turned and met her gaze.

“She’s coming to,” said the man. She frowned.

“Hit her again,” said a male voice from the front seat. A woman in the passenger seat turned and handed the man beside her a tube of some type.

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate, to summon her power but the fog in her brain prevented her from unleashing a spell as focus eluded her. She struggled against the zap straps holding her wrists, snapping the plastic. Wrapped as she was in the blanket, she snaked her left arm out and grabbed the man with the autoinjector by the arm

“She’s got her hands free!” he cried, desperately trying to jab her with the autoinjector. The woman undid her seatbelt and clambered over the console to get into the back, trying to help the man subdue her. Zara got her other arm out of the bed cover and slapped the woman, momentarily stunning her.

The man with the needle tried to punch Zara in the face as he fought to regain control of the sedative.

Zara growled, pushing the man back with force. The driver stomped the brakes causing the van to screech to a stop, pitching the combatants forward. In that moment, the man sitting bedside Zara wrenched the autoinjector free and stabbed Zara in the shoulder. She looked at where she had been hit, then the man, her vision began to swim.

“Jesus!” said the man, “She’s fucking strong.”

Senses regained, the slapped woman pulled herself back into the front seat, hand to the stinging side of her face.

“You okay Lori?” Cole asked. The woman with the fresh crimson handprint on her face nodded. Cole looked over his right shoulder. “Morgan?”

The man in the back nodded. “She fucking broke the zip tie holding her hands,” he said.

Cole frowned as he checked the watch on his wrist. “The shot should have kept her out for twelve hours, she was out just under four,” he said.

“Did you hear what I said, she broke the bloody zip tie,” Morgan said.

“That’s not possible,” Lori commented.

“Give me a break,” said Cole. “You’ve both seen things that defy explanation, stop acting like imbeciles,” he chastised. “Just keep your eyes on her Morgan, there is a reason she is listed as an Alpha level threat. Christ.”

Morgan sat back, a sullen expression on his face. Taking her hands in his own, he re-strapped her wrists.

Putting the van in gear, Cole said, “Make sure she’s settled, we are going to need fuel pretty soon and I don’t want another incident like this.”

“Yeah, I got it,” snapped Morgan.

Pulling in at the gas station less than a quarter of an hour later, Cole parked beside a pump.

“I’m going to the little girl’s room,” Lori said, exiting the van.

“I got to take a squirt too,” Morgan said.

“She out?” Cole asked, looking at Zara.

Morgan rolled her toward him, then back, prying her eyelids open, before he replied. “Yeah, the ketamine has her out like a light,” he answered.

“Okay, go ahead,” Cole said, getting out if the van and walking to the pump. Morgan got out and crossed over the filling station lanes to the gas station’s convenience store.

Cole pumped gas, whistling a tune. Inside the van, Zara’s eyes flicked open. She still felt groggy, but she was rapidly regaining her faculties.  She saw there was another plastic band around her wrists. Through the tinted window, she could see the one called Morgan returning to the van. Turning her head, she closed her eyes letting the fog clear, soon she thought, soon.

The sliding side door opened and Morgan climbed in, a bag of potato chips in his hand. Slamming the door, he dropped back into the seat beside her. Lori retuned a moment later, the smell of coffee, filling the interior of the van as she set paper cups into the preformed holders built into the console between the front seats.

Cole finished gassing the van and replaced the nozzle. Taking out his cell phone, he fired off a two word text message, ‘condition green’, before hopping back in the van. Fastening the safety belt, he started the van and pulled out.

“How’s she doing back there?” Lori asked.

“There was enough in that to drop a rhino,” he chuckled, rolling her head back toward him with his free hand, bags of chips in the other.

Zara opened her eyes.

“Jesus!” a startled Morgan exclaimed, dropping the bag of chips.

Zara pulled her hands apart, breaking the plastic tie easily. She struck Morgan square in the chest, instantly he began to vanish, shrinking into his clothes.

“Fuck!” yelled Lori, flinging herself over the console herself at Zara, but the latter taking both of Lori’s arms in her hands and pulling her back onto to the seat where Morgan had been only a moment earlier. In the melee, no one heard the sounds of his bones compressing and cracking under the massive weight of Lori’s bottom as she landed directly on top of his tiny little body, crushing the life out of him before he even had a chance to scream.

Zara shifted, bearing down on Lori, unleashing more magic. Cole slammed on the brakes, causing Zara to hit the backs of the front seats while Lori’s clothes slid of the seat onto the floor of the van, her caught inside the fabric.

Rising to her knees, Zara watched as Cole pulled out his gun. She held her palm toward him, and like his two companions, he was reduced to miniature is mere moments.

Zara checked the clothing beneath her knees, finding the form of an unconscious Lori amidst the folds of clothing. Curling her hand around the tiny woman, Zara, opened the van door and circled around to the driver’s door. Pulling it open, she seized Cole in her other hand.

“You!” she said, holding his tiny body in front of her face, “Can you teach me how to operate this conveyance?” she demanded.

Cole nodded, having trouble breathing because of the strength of her hold on him/

She tucked him into the space between her breasts and tossed his clothing into the passenger seat, before climbing into the driver’s seat. Closing the door, she studied the controls. Watching others do it seemed so simple.

“You know what all these things mean?” she asked, setting Lori into one of the cup holders in the console.

“Yes,” he managed, struggling against the firm flesh.

“What now?” she asked of the little man wedged into her cleavage.

“Put your right foot on the brake, the pedal on the left,” he clarified, pointing. “You will need to turn the key to the right to start the engine. Next you pull the gear shift down so that it indicates the D.”

Following his instructions, depressed the brake, started the van and set it into gear.

“Slowly remove your foot from the brake and very gently put your foot on the accelerator, the tall skinny pedal. Remember, the wheel steers the van,” he reminded.

Abiding by his instruction, she started driving. “I’m doing it!” she exclaimed, happy with her accomplishment. Initially, her efforts were jerky and the finer nuances of driving required additional instruction from Cole.

The more she drove, the more exhilarating the sensation, the speed. Despite Cole’s objections, she drove faster and faster. The cell phone amidst Cole’s discarded clothing began to ring.

She released the wheel to get to the phone.

“No!” screamed Cole, “You can’t let go of the wheel!”

Panicked, Zara reached out and grabbed the wheel, jerking it hard to the right, causing the van to careen right and directly into a rocky embankment. There was a loud noise and a flash of white as the airbag deployed directly into her upper torso and face. She sat dazed for a moment, ears ringing, she could feel the sensation of something trickling down over her stomach. Looking down, she could see the impact of the airbag had crushed Cole, his tiny little ruined body mangled between her globes. She frowned. She tried to start the van, but the engine never turned over.

Pushing open the car door, she plucked Cole’s remains from betwixt her breasts, and flung the body further up the ditch. She pulled the fabric of her dress forward to see the crimson bloom Cole made and shook her head. Circling around the van, she opened the sliding door and climbed in. Rummaging through the bags removed from the hotel, she found some of the other clothes Oleg had bought for her. Stepping back out of the van, she removed her soiled dress, using the cloth to cleanse her flesh of Cole’s blood. Now cleaned, she put on underpants, a bra and a different clean dress. Shoes completed her attire. Walking back to the open driver’s door, she leaned in to see if she could find Lori. Somehow, the unconscious woman had remained in the cup holder, curled around the shaped plastic in such a way she appeared undamaged. Smiling, Zara picked her up and placed the tiny woman inside the cup of her bra. Looking the way she had come, and the road ahead, she paused a moment to consider. Shrugging, she started walking in the same direction she had been traveling.

Abigail Halston

Abigail was the youngest of Samuel Halston III’s three children, and his only daughter. Her father’s relationship with his daughter was acrimonious from the moment of her birth when complications took the life of Abigail’s mother Lorraine Halston.

Samuel Halston III built an empire and amassed significant wealth, but had little use for his daughter. An ill-fated attempt to secure a legendary magical artifact cost not only Samuel his life, but the lives of Abbie’s two older brothers Samuel IV and William.

Sebastian first met Abigail when she was probably eight or nine, at home from some boarding school. She had always been a small delicate child, diffident. As a fully grown woman, she stood only 5’1” and was slender of build. Her ash blonde hair parted in the center framed her delicate pretty face.

When Abigail came into his office at the manor house, there were two other young women with her, an amazing looking blonde and an equally as attractive browned haired woman. The blonde was a hair taller than the brunette, but both were significantly taller than Abigail.

“Hello Sebastian,” Abigail greeted warmly, friendly smile.

Rising, Sebastian nodded. “Abigail,” he said, taking her hands in his much larger ones. “My condolences on your loss, we are all left poorer by your father’s passing and the loss of your brothers,” he said, finding it difficult not to look at her two remarkably pretty companions.

She nodded. “Thank you,” she replied, “This is the reason I’m here to see you today, to discuss some of my father’s affairs,” she said.

“Where are my manners?” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “Please, have a seat,” he said, pointing at the two chairs across from his desk. “I’m one short I’m afraid,” he added apologetically as he circled back around behind the desk and sat.

The blonde smiled, “It’s alright, I’ll stand,” she said, a sexy little southern drawl in her voice.

Abigail and the brunette each took a chair.

“Something to drink?” Sebastian asked cordially.

Abigail shook her head. “I suppose I should be direct, it’s probably easier that way. I am assuming my father’s mantle,” she said.

Sebastian smiled warmly. “As his lone surviving heir, that stands to reason,” he concluded.

“I’m referring to the Disciples of the Hidden Path,” Abigail added straight forwardly.

“I am not sure to what you refer,” Sebastian replied.

“For the sake of brevity, let’s not play this particular game. We both know he founded the Path, and we both know you are part of the inner circle. That said, your feigned ignorance is duly noted, so let’s move on,” she said, giving him a smile.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Your father was a man of some very specific talents, capable of miraculous things. He spent a lifetime refining his gifts. Both of your brothers were ascending the hierarchy of the Path, though he made no mention of you in this regard. Said you possessed no value. No offense.”

“None taken. My father was a rank amateur whose grasp for power exceeded his reach,” she replied causally. What she didn’t explain, was she was the one responsible for her father’s demise. To his last breath, he belittled and derided her, then she swallowed him.

“Nevertheless, he was without peer in the organization,” he countered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the names of your two lovely companions,” he said, looking at the other two women.

Abbie smiled. “My apologies, Angelica,” she indicated the blonde, “And Marissa,” she introduced, turning her head toward the brunette.

He smiled. “Sebastian,” he replied, inclining his head. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“I will be taking over the leadership of the Path,” she said.

Sebastian frowned. “What makes you think you have the requisite skillset to assume that particular position?” he challenged.

Focusing her will, Abigail extended her hand toward Sebastian palm up. His chair began to shake, then lift. Sebastian gripped the arms of the chair as it rose a few inches off the ground before settling back on the floor. Abbie let out her breath, beads of perspiration forming on her brow.

“An impressive cantrip, levitation no less, a feat worthy of third tier status, not Grandmistress Thaumaturge,” he remarked, brow raised.

The woman identified as Angelica, raised her hand, Sebastian was immediately lifted into the air several feet from the floor. She twirled her fingers and he spun, the contents of his stomach threatening to spill out. Flicking her fingers nonchalantly, he was unceremoniously dumped back into his chair.

Sebastian, eyes wide, stared dumbfounded at the blonde woman while she seemed to be examining her nails. “How?” he babbled.

Abbie raised a calming hand. “She is gifted in the way of power. She is my tutor.” Angelica tilted her head to the side and smiled.

“Effortlessly,” he mumbled, stunned by the demonstration. “Is this what happened to the others?” he asked, voice small and quiet for such a large man.

“Yes, my father put elements in motion that put him in opposition to some extremely powerful people. He overestimated his own abilities and that of the organization, and because of that arrogance, now they’re gone,” Abbie said.

 “Gone?” he asked.

“Gone.”

“The plane crash?” he asked.

“There was no plane crash,” she replied.

“What then, what happened to all those that are missing?” he inquired.

“My father was captured along with my brothers and myself, other high ranking members of this organization and co-conspirators were also rounded up. We were shrunk to a few inches in size and placed into a hunting environment where we were systematically hunted down and eaten for sport,” she paused to look over her shoulder at Angelica. “She devoured me. Fortune smiled upon me due to latent ability hidden somewhere in my genetic code. Angelica recognized it and regurgitated me back into the world of the living where I was restored to my former stature.”

Sebastian sat with an incredulous look on his face. “Honestly, you mean to tell me-“. He was cut off when the brunette simply smiled.  Sebastian began to shrink back into his large chair. Panicked gripped him, he yelled as his world expanded outward around him. No magic he knew could make something like this happen. In moments he was tiny, trying desperately to crawl out from the tangle of his clothes. Standing atop the massive heap of fabric he had been wearing, fear stabbing his insides.

The brunette appeared over the edge of the desk. Looking down at him, she smiled. He felt himself expanding, growing. Marissa returned to her seat.

Fully restored, Sebastian tried to speak but only unintelligible sounds came out of him.

“You can take a moment to get your clothes back on,” Abbie said. Sebastian, eyes wild and round, scrambled off the chair and hastily re-dressed.

“I trust the demonstration was sufficient to convince you of the veracity of my story?” Abbie asked.

Sebastian bobbed his head.

“Good. Now you are the ranking surviving member of the Path, and my sources tell me behind you by a few places is an Arthur Thelwell. My intent is not to dismantle this organization, on the contrary, I want to extrapolate on my father’s work, rebuild the organization with a broader focus. I want you to act as my direct representative in this matter. Mr. Thelwell can continue to serve as your second,” Abigail stated.

Sebastian shook his head slightly.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Uh, there has been an incident involving Arthur,” Sebastian explained, “He attempted some type of ritual and now has vanished.”

Abigail looked over her shoulder to the blonde.

“What type of ritual?” Angelica asked.

“A book he found in Turkey, according to a woman I know, it was like a summoning ritual. He made the necessary arrangements and performed the ritual but has since vanished. There was a young woman in his place at the site of the ritual,” he told. “The man I had watching the girl also vanished, but we have her now and she is en route as we speak.”

Abbie looked to Angelica, then Marissa.

“Some type of summoning ritual? I think maybe we should contact Hilde,” Angelica said, looking at the others.

Marissa nodded, “to advise her of the situation at the least.”

Turning back to Sebastian, “Regardless of Mr. Thelwell, I trust we have an understanding?”

Still shaken, he nodded.

Charlotte’s pet

The day seemed to last forever for Charlotte as she moved from room to room, giving each only as much cleaning as necessary to meet the threshold to make sure she wouldn’t get fired. At long last, her room schedule cleared, she clocked out. Sitting in her car, she opened her shirt enough to peek in on Oleg to make certain he was still inside the cup of her bra. She could barely contain her giddiness as she drove home. Still residing with her parents, she pulled into the wide driveway and parked before racing up the stairs to her bedroom. Even by normal sized standards, Charlotte’s room was quite spacious, burdened perhaps with an overabundance of stuffed plush toys ranging in size from slightly larger than him to almost her size. The color palette was hues of pinks mingled with ivory. There was a door to her walk-in closet and another door that led to the bathroom she and her younger sister shared between them. Sitting down on her four poster bed, she carefully pulled her bra forward and fished him out.

Setting him down on her pink and white quilt, “We’re home now,” she said, big smile on her pretty face.

“Now, maybe a phone?” he asked, grateful to no longer being smothered by her ample breast flesh.

She frowned and shook her head slowly from side to side. “There will be no phone. You belong to me now,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.

“See, I’ve been thinking about this, I mean, like totally a lot. I think I found you for a reason,” she said.

“The reason is because other girl made me small, now I need to make phone call to tell my people what has happened,” he said, voice impatient and tinged with a hint anger.

“And then they’ll come and take you away. That’s not going to happen,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re mine now,” she added, beaming smile.

“No,” he said, crossing his arms.

She laughed, a pleasant sound. “Yes,” she replied.

“Listen, stupid girl,” he started. She raised her hand up and slapped the bed near him, the force of the blow on the mattress strong enough to throw him off his feet.

“It is unacceptable for you to talk to me like that and I will not tolerate it!” she said vehemently. “If you misbehave, there will be consequences,” she warned with a slight cock of her head, a serious expression on her face.

Climbing back onto his feet, he favored her with a menacing look. She raised her hand again.

He let out a breath and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you want to own me, what good is having tiny little man?”

She smiled. “There are all sorts of things we can do and that will be part of the fun, trying to figure those things out.”

“Please, just let me make phone call, there are people concerned about me okay?” he asked, hoping to make an emotional appeal.

Still smiling, she shook her head. “Sorry.”

He frowned and shook his head. Taking his penis in his right hand he began to urinate on her quilt.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, a horrified look on her pretty face as his pee splashed down on her favorite blanket. Reaching down she picked him up around his torso and hurried to the door leading to the bathroom she shared with her sister, dropping him in the deep end of the toilet. He puckered at the cold water. Moving toward the front of the toilet into the shallower water, he pulled himself to standing and looked up at her.

“You will not pee on my bed!” she said angrily, wagging an admonishing finger at him.

He smirked, “Cyka!”

“What did you say?” she asked, not understanding the Russian word, but knowing the tone was certainly not a friendly one.

“I call you bitch,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

“Bitch?” she repeated, frustration evident by the flush in her cheeks. Standing up, she lifted her skirt and lowered her panties before plopping her shapely rump down on the toilet. “How’s this for bitch?” she asked as she began to empty her bladder. Hot urine splashed down all around him, the smell of urea strong in the confines of the bowl, it seemed like a torrent was pouring out of her, causing a foam to develop on the surface of the water. He pushed back into the deeper water, but there was no escaping the pee. Looking up passed her tight little crinkled anus, he watched the thick stream gush out of her urethral opening for what seemed like an impossibly long time. Finally, it stopped, she dabbed herself with a tissue and dropped it into the water with him. Pulling her panties up as she stood, she turned and leaned over the toilet, hand on the handle.

“How do you like that?” she said, tone challenging him to just try and defy her again.

He pushed passed the dissolving tissue and through the froth to stand up again at the fore of the bowl. He raised his hands palms up toward her, coughing up some of the pee he had inadvertently ingested, “No more,” he said between hacks.

She smiled. “Good,” she said. “Remember who is in charge. If you want to test me there are worse things I could do. Do you understand?”

He nodded, still coughing.

“Who is your mistress?”

He pointed at her.

She smiled. “And you are my slave.” Grabbing another piece of paper off the roll, she draped it over him and removed him from the toilet and put him into the sink. Turning the faucets on, she pointed, “Clean yourself off,” she said.

Stepping under the weak stream of warm water, he rinsed himself off, enjoying the sensation.

“You see,” she said, “When you behave I can be nice. From now on I will make sure there is a place for you to do your business.”

He ignored her, letting the water wash away the remnants of Zara’s dried saliva and Charlotte’s piss. She turned the taps off. Picking him up, she wrapped him in a face cloth and dried him off.

Suddenly the door opposite the one they’d entered clicked and started to open, but Charlotte pushed it back closed, twisting the small lever to lock the door. “I’m in here Virginia!” Charlotte barked.

“Hurry up because I got to go!” said a female voice from beyond the door.

Taking him out of the facecloth, she dropped him back into the cup of her bra before going over and unlocking the door.

Virginia pushed her way into the bathroom, a surly expression her young pretty face. She was blond like her sister, though steaked with green. Leaner and a couple of inches taller than Charlotte, she possessed similar features and it was easy to tell they were sisters.

“What were you doing in here?” challenged the younger sister, hands on hips. Charlotte snorted and turned to leave.

Looking at the toilet, Virginia said, “You forgot to flush. Gross!!”

The Clubhouse

The Knights of Death Motorcycle Club was created in the late sixties, early seventies by vets returning from Vietnam. Over the years, the organization evolved, branching out and creating a number of affiliates throughout the southwestern United States. As they grew, they developed a reputation as a motorcycle gang with fingers into several illegal activities ranging from drugs to prostitution to murder.

Zara wasn’t sure how far she had traveled from the van, walking along the side of the asphalt. Her feet hurt from walking in shoes not designed for distance. A single vehicle passed her, driving back the way she had come.

In the distance, it sounded like rumbling thunder. She turned to look back down the road, in the distance she could see a few two wheeled vehicles approaching, the sound getting louder. As they neared, she could see there were three motorcycles, each carrying a single rider. She watched as they approached, slowing as they neared.

The lead rider, a scruffy looking man of around six feet, a thick moustache framing his mouth and down his cheeks, pulled his 1968 Harley panhead up beside her, a smile on his moustachioed face. “Hello darling,” he said, voice friendly.

She smiled. The three men were all dressed similarly in motorcycle riding leathers, an identical crest emblazoned on the backs of each of their vests as the other bikes came to a halt near her.

“Hello,” she said, returning the greeting.

The man who had spoken eyed her up and down. “What’s a little dish like you doing all by yourself out here?” he asked, looking to the other two men. One sniggered, a relatively short young man with a fairly prodigious belly hanging over the front of his blue jeans.

“My ride broke,” she answered.

“I’d give you a ride,” said the hefty man with a lecherous chuckle.

“Easy Wills, there’s no need to scare her,” said the man with the horseshoe moustache. “What’s your name sweetness?” he asked.

“Zara,” she replied. “What’s your name?”

He smiled. “I’m Drake, this is Carl,” he pointed to a clean cut man who nodded, “And that’s Wills,” he introduced, indicating the rotund man. “Where are you headed?” he asked.

She looked in the direction she’d been walking, “That way I guess,” she answered, pointing an index finger.

“Somewhere in particular?” he asked.

She shook her head. The three men exchanged glances.

“It looks like you’re traveling pretty light, maybe we could help you if you’d like to come with us?” Drake offered.

She seemed to think about it a moment. “Where are you going?”

“Back to our clubhouse, a few miles up the way,” answered Drake.

“Not the clubhouse, fuck. Tiny gets one look at her he’s going to call dibs,” lamented Wills.

“Tiny?” she asked, yellow eyes bright with intrigue.

“Tiny,” nodded Wills. “He’s our sergeant-at-arms,” he explained dourly.

“I am keen to meet this Tiny,” she confessed, more than her curiosity getting aroused. “How tiny is he?” she queried.

They all laughed, “Oh he’s tiny alright,” Carl commented.

“You’ll have to ride with Carl,” Drake said, pointing at the clean cut rider.

He patted the seat behind his own. Hiking up her dress, she slung her leg over the bike and wrapped her arms around Carl.

The ride took about three quarters of an hours, twenty minutes of that on a road off the highway. During the bouncy ride, she felt movement within her bra from her tiny little female captive. As they pulled onto the property, more ranch with several buildings than just a single house, Zara squirmed against Carl, trying to get off the bike. Pulling to halt, she quickly got off the bike, immediately pulling out her top and bra to check on Lori. The tiny woman was unmoving but still alive and breathing. She let out a sigh, she yet had plans for her little female prisoner.

“You okay there?” Drake asked, looking over at her.

A wide set of stairs led up to a double set of doors. The same ghoulish skulls on their vests adorned the glass in both double doors. Drake went ahead, she walked up the stairs with Carl and Wills in tow. Beyond the double doors opened into a wide room with several doors and hallway to the left.

“He’ll be right out,” Drake said entering the room through one of the doors, beaming smile on his face, as if he were privy to some inside joke.

When the door pushed open further, the man she saw was anything but tiny. He stood there, all 6’8” of him. At 340 pounds, long silver hair was pulled back into a braid and a full beard fell down onto his massive barrel chest. He took a couple of steps forward, the others shuffled quickly out his way, like chickens parting for a grizzly bear. He moved with the confidence of an alpha male. He stopped to look down at her. She could feel his cold steel blue eyes move up and down her body. She knew she had to have this one, her plans for Lori momentarily forgotten.

“Why do they call you Tiny?” she asked, puzzled by the deceptive name.

He frowned, “Cute but dumb as a plank. Drake tells me you’re looking for some fun,” he said, voice deep and gravelly.

“Seconds,” Wills said hastily.

“Fuck that,” said Drake, “I’m next.”

She smiled, moving in close to the big man, inhaling his scent. “Yes, I would like some fun,” she said. She wanted him so bad, she could practically feel the ache between her thighs.

He half chuckled. “If you want some of this little girl, hustle your tight little ass in there,” he instructed, pointing back at the room he had come out of. He smiled broadly, “I am going to split you like a cheap piece of pine,” he boasted with a broad grin.

“I don’t want some of it, I want all of it,” she said, hunger raging within her. She walked into the room, he pointed at. Essentially a square, a desk under a window directly ahead, a chesterfield along the wall to her right.

Following her in, he closed the door behind him, and circled around her. “How do want to get this party started?” he asked, putting his hands on her sides. She thrilled to the sensation of him touching her.

“I have to warn you, I’m a swallower,” she said playfully, winking an eye at him.

“My favorite kind of girl,” he answered gruffly.

Suddenly she pushed him squarely in the chest, the force sufficient to dislodge his hands from her and make him move back several steps toward the chesterfield.

“Easy darling,” he said with a half-smile, a little taken by the sudden strength she showed.

She stepped closer to him and pushed him onto the chesterfield. Dropping to her knees, she parted his legs. Unbuckling his jeans, she pulled out his prodigious member. She let out a little squeal of delight as she took ahold of his thick manhood and stroked it slowly, marveling at how it responded to her touch.

“You got some magic hands there little lady,” he groaned, his cock at full attention.

Standing, she hiked up her dress, removed her panties and straddled him. Grasping his cock, she guided it to the entrance of her sopping pussy and slowly lowered herself on it, feeling the length of him as his engorged tool stretched her inner folds and sunk deeply into her. Once he was rooted, she leaned back, reveling in the delicious sensation of his fullness.

Rising up, she began to fuck him, gliding slowly up and down his tool.

After only a couple of strokes, he grabbed her shapely hips to try and stop her. “I don’t know if I can, hold it, wait,” he grunted and suddenly she felt a torrent of cum erupt deep inside of her.

“No,” she said vehemently, “we’re not done!” She continued to ride him, impaling herself with each downward stroke but already he was beginning to soften. She slapped his shoulders, causing him to wince.

“It’s going take a bit to reload,” he said. A little breathless, surprised how quickly he had released.

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. Leaning forward, she kissed him, snaking her tongue into his mouth. Disengaging their coital connection, she climbed off of him and took a step back.

Putting his big arms to either side of him, he tried to push himself up off the couch. Sitting forward, he wobbled a little bit before falling back against the back of the chesterfield. He lifted a big hand to his head. “I feel strange,” he said in his raspy voice.

He watched in mute amazement as the entire room seemed to grow larger all around. His legs pulled up off the floor and toward him as he continued to shrink. He shook his head in confusion. She remained standing where she was, now looming over him.

“Now you will finish what you started!” she stated, stepping forward.

He pulled himself up on unsteady legs, desperately trying to comprehend the situation. From his vantage, he had full view of her drooling naked sex, immense and hungry.

She scooped him up in her hand, and dropped on to the couch with her back on the armrest. Lifting one leg onto the back of the couch, she bent her other leg at the knee. Reaching down, she pushed him against the opening of her pussy. He slid easily into her lubricated cunt, everything made slippery by the mixture of her secretions and his copious ejaculation and her excitement. He struggled and flailed his arms against her insides as she drove him in all the way. With him inserted as far as she could push him, she began to stroke her clitoris, small tight circles against her pleasure button until she erupted. As she lay there, a sheen of perspiration on her naked flesh, there was a rapping at the door.

Where’s Tiny?

“Clyde is here,” announced the voice of Drake through the door. After a moment of silence, “Tiny did you hear me? I said Clyde is here,” repeated Drake, opening the door to peer in, a sour look on his face.

Zara still lay on the couch, eyes closed, waves of pleasure subsiding slowly as she continued to touch herself in ways that made her flesh tingle.

“Where’s Tiny?” Drake asked licking his lips, eyes lasciviously roaming over the exposed flesh between her legs.

Opening her eyes, “All used up I’m afraid,” she lamented, swinging her legs over and off the couch and sitting upright, hands on her lovely thighs.

Drake continued to stare. He’d seen chicks before, but this one was something special.

“What’s the fucking hold up?” asked an unfamiliar voice as another man pushed passed Drake and stepped into the room. He was 6’2”, lean, clean shaven and probably in his middle years. He was dressed in business attire and did not look like the other bikers she had met. However, like Tiny, this man possessed an air of confidence and command.

“He was in here with her,” explained Drake, confused, jabbing a thumb in her direction, eyes still lingering on her natural assets.

The new man gave the room the once over then looked at her. “What’s your name honey?” he asked, unmoved by the allure of her beauty.

“I’m Zara, and who are you?” she asked, a playful smile on her face.

“Clyde. Where the fuck is Tiny?” he asked assertively, face stern.

She leaned back putting her arms up on the back on the chesterfield and parted her legs slightly, then shrugged her shoulders. “Around I guess,” she said.

Clyde took a step forward. “I’m not interested in playing stupid games with you little girl, do you or do you not know where Tiny is?”

“He never came out. Me and Wills were out there the whole time,” interjected Drake, trying to be helpful, but only irritating Clyde.

Clyde turned to him Drake. “Those his clothes?” he asked, pointing to the pile.

Drake nodded.

“So that don’t make a whole lot of sense does it? A dude that size doesn’t just vanish, does he?” Clyde asked. “And buck ass naked.”

Zara chuckled.

Clyde turned his gaze back on the girl, “You got something to add there darling?” he asked.

Standing up, she pulled down her dress. “I have to pee,” she said.

“To the right, down the hall, first door on the left,” answered Drake, stepping away from the door.

Bending down, she picked up her panties and straightened her dress before exiting the room. There were four other men standing in the area in the other room outside the door, Wills and Carl she knew, but the other two were people she had not met before.

Finding the bathroom, she pulled up the dress and sat down on the toilet and peed, cleaning herself with a tissue when she was done. She slipped her panties back on in the bathroom. When she emerged, all of the men were gathered in the open room, the man named Clyde was on a cell phone, back to the others. A couple of the men watched her as she sauntered up.

 “Oh wait, I just remembered where Tiny is,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh?” asked Clyde, covering his cell phone with his hand.

“I made him small,” she said, holding the thumb and forefinger of her right hand a few inches apart to indicate size, “then stuffed him in my pussy and masturbated until I came,” she concluded with a smile.

“What?” Clyde asked, a sour expression on his face as he turned to face her.

“Whatever was left of him I think probably just dribbled out of my pussy when I had my pee, but I didn’t look under the tissue to check,” she confessed with a slight shrug to her shoulders.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Clyde asked again, then lifted the phone to his head and said, “I’ll call you back.”

She shook her head again. “Here,” she said, clapping her hands together and spreading her arms outward. She watched with mirth at the startled and confused expressions on the faces of all the men as they each began to diminish.

Dropping to her knees, she made ready to catch those nearest her.

During the first few seconds, she able to quickly scoop up three men of the men in her hands, Carl and Drake in her left hand, the man she didn’t know in her right. Bringing her right hand to her face, she put her lips around his head and torso and let him go, holding him now between her teeth. His legs protruding from her mouth for the others to see, she slowly sucked him into her mouth and swallowed. Chaos erupted as the Clyde and Wills tried to flee. The two still in her hands started to frantically thrash about, but she quickly swallowed them in rapid succession. Seeing her other two targets trying to run triggered a primal predatory instinct in her and she quickly pounced on another Wills, devouring him, shaking her head from side to side to help get his little but wide body down.

In her haste and frenzy, she lost count of how many she had consumed. She did a mental calculation trying to remember if she had gotten all of them. A slow smile spread across her face, there was one missing, Clyde.

Searching around, she finally found him huddled in the toe of his expensive shoe.  Turning it over, he toppled into her left hand.

“I’ve got room for one more,” she said, licking her lips and looking down at him.

“No please,” he begged. “I can give you anything you want,” he offered, trying to bargain for his life.

“Anything I want?” she asked.

He nodded vigorously. She seemed to consider a moment. Reaching toward him with her right hand, she grabbed him by his right foot and lifted him aloft. Dangling him over her head. “I accept, and right now I want you in my tummy,” she said, releasing him and opening her mouth wide.

Sebastian

Abigail looked at Sebastian. “Is there someplace we could make a call?” she asked.

He nodded, pointing at the door, he motioned right, “Second door on the left,” he said.

Abbie nodded, then looked at Angelica. The pair exited the room. The brunette, Marissa leaned back in her chair, elbows on the armrest, hands together, fingers interlocked. She bore a friendly smile on her face.

The meeting with Abigail had left Sebastian unnerved, the cubes clinking in his glass as he raised the scotch to his mouth. He had been around magic in some way or another for most of his life and had never before witness such a raw demonstration power. The brown haired woman Marissa had stripped him of all of his protective wards and reduced him to the size of a mouse without so much as blinking an eye. There was a pistol in the top drawer of his desk. He considered it for a split second, thought better of it. Setting the glass down, he smiled back, a nervous expression. “Are you from the area?” he asked.

She arched an eyebrow. “I have a residence in the city,” she replied. “Nothing quite so, ostentatious as all this,” she added, separating her hands.

He nodded.

“You seem a little, nervous shall we say?” she asked.

He laughed. “More than little. There is no shame in admitting I am utterly and completely out of my depth here. Had someone told me that a young woman such as yourself might unman me without a thought, I would have called them mad. I have seen a fair number of inexplicable things in my life, but never have I seen power used as easily or as effortlessly as you did,” he confessed, feeling no shame at deferring to her superior mastery of the power.

She chuckled softly. “A lifetime of practice,” she replied, bringing her hands back together.

He laughed, “To my eyes, I doubt there would be thirty candles on your next birthday cake,” he said.

She smiled. “You made an assumption of my abilities based on what you saw, do not make the same mistake again,” she cautioned.

He nodded and cleared his throat. “What do you do in the city?” he asked, trying to prevent an awkward silence by filling it with more idle banter.

“Couples therapy, of a sort,” she replied. “Helping redefine boundaries and priorities for husbands experiencing, shall we say, distance in their appreciation of their significant others.”

“Oh,” he acknowledged, nodding his head.

“What is you do when you’re not masterminding a secret international organization?” she asked, turning the questions back on to him.

“Hardly a mastermind, with everyone else gone, it just sort of fell on my shoulders by default,” he replied. “I was content to sit on a beach in Chetumal drinking scotch and unearthing Mayan treasures.”

She smiled. “Sometimes we a thrust into situations or circumstances beyond our control,” she sympathized, eyes sparkling.

Grabbing his glass off his desk, “I’ll drink to that,” he said, elevating the glass toward her before bringing it to his lips and draining it.

The two blonde women returned.

“Everything okay?” Angelica asked, looking from Sebastian to Marissa.

“We were just bonding,” answered the brunette, smile etched on comely her face.

Angelica looked to Sebastian, saying, “I need to know more about this book. This woman you mentioned, who is she, where can she be reached and did she have access to it?”

He nodded. “I can try to set something up, Vivienne and I go back,” he said.

“Good. I would like to ask her some questions. I also want to know about the woman who appeared in place of Arthur Thelwell, what can you tell me of her?”

“When Arthur let it be known he would not be swayed in his pursuit of performing the ritual, I assigned a man to him, a very capable man in most any situation, Oleg Grigori. When Oleg phoned in to report his findinds, he said when he inspected the ritual site, there was no trace of Arthur, just shredded clothes consistent with Arthur’s. In his place there was a nude girl, young, teens, early twenties, long dark hair, strange, that was his word, strange yellow eyes-“

“Did you say yellow eyes?” interrupted Marissa, expression serious, an intensity in her eyes as she leaned forward.

Sebastian recoiled slightly and nodded. “That’s what Oleg said. ‘Strange yellow eyes.’ Does that mean something?” he asked, curious at the sudden change in her disposition.

Marissa knew her two companions were young and inexperienced and maybe wouldn’t understand the significance of Sebastian’s statements about the eye color of the woman who had appeared, but she knew. Yellow eyes on a hominid were very specific to only one type of being in creation, a voracious creature called a Soulreaper, also called a Harvester.

Angelica looked in askance to Marissa, a puzzled expression on her flawless face,

Marissa shook her head, a quick motion from side to side. “Not here,” she said, rising from her chair.

“Is the team bringing her in in some type of danger?” Sebastian asked, pulling out his cell phone and frowning. “They are overdo to report in by almost an hour,” he said as the women were leaving the room.

“It is not for me to say at this moment,” Marissa replied curtly from the door. “I want to know where that team is, and every other possible thing you know relating to Arthur Thelwell’s mysterious disappearance,” she commanded, her tone brooking no compromise.

He nodded meekly.

Taking out her cell phone, Marissa called up the contact for Hildegarde and looked at it a moment. For all the world to see, Hildegarde Helvet was nothing more than the very efficient personal assistant to Clarissa Heller of Heller international. What all but a very select few knew was that Clarissa Heller was the physical incarnation of the Dark Goddess herself, one of twelve extremely powerful divine entities who collectively created the Covenant or Divine Contract. The Covenant provided very specific rules and guidelines for comportment for beings of power interacting with lesser beings gifted with free will. The Covenant was structures in such a way that even the deities themselves were bound to it. Transgressions against the Covenant were dealt with strictly and harshly by the twelve. The only being seemingly exempted from the rigid laws of the Covenant was Chaos himself, who more oft than not took the form of an adolescent boy delighting in making mischief.

Soulreapers were throwback types of beings, lurking deep in the shadowy recesses of an earlier more primordial time, when the universe was young, hot and predatory. They were harbingers of death, destruction, and mayhem. Years gone by, The Goddess of Death, called the Pale Queen, cursed all Soulreapers to have golden yellow eyes so that all would know their true nature, so that all might recognize them no matter the face they wore.

The appearances of Soulreapers on this world were few and far between, no more than a dozen instances in last several thousands of years. How humankind stumbled upon the power to summon such creatures has remained a lingering mystery. Frenzied creatures upon arrival, wreaking havoc, most were destroyed or banished back to whence they came, but once in memory has a Soulreaper been subdued and salvaged, the savage beast yoked in, only once.

Marissa touched the phone icon.

“Yes?” answered Hilde.

“I have reason to believe these fools may have unleashed a Soulreaper on the world,” Marissa said, tone calm despite the concern she felt.

In her home on the opposite side of the continent, Hilde leaned back on her couch, running her free hand over her forehead and through her honey colored hair, her yellow eyes glowed menacingly. 

Tiny

When he awoke in the constricting wet darkness, unable to tell up from down, he had no clue of how long he had been unconscious. He wondered for a moment where he was. Recollection came roaring back, she had pushed him up inside herself, he was still deep inside that woman’s vagina. How could he possibly have survived? When she climbed onto him, did he somehow push some air inside her when he stretched her cunt out with his cock? He sensed motion by the movement of her slippery muscle tissue undulating around him. The rushing sound of blood coursing through her body and the rhythmic beating of her heart loud in his ears. He found the velvety prison slowly growing ever tighter around him, the air thick and acrid, hard to breathe. He needed to escape. Trying to find a way the out, he squirmed and wriggled, trying to re-position himself. In the sticky gooey darkness, he found a small nub of firm flesh, a prominence nestled in amongst the inner folds of her pussy, something he could grab hold of. Grabbing it, he pulled himself closer. The nub seemed to stiffen more under his grasp. The tissue around him seemed to swell, crushing in on him, making it even harder for him to move and maintain a channel to the air.

Zara paused a moment, looking down toward her vagina. The sensation titillated her again, then a third time. She found herself starting to become aroused again. Could it be? She wondered, was he still alive down there, bringing this surprise gift of pleasure? As the pleasure intensified, she giggled. Returning to the room where she and Tiny had originally coupled, she leaned her ass back against the desk and began to caress her breasts through her dress, kneading them and flicking hardening nipples, but being careful not to damage Lori. The sensations in her pussy were intensifying, sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she could feel another orgasm building within her.

The crushing darkness was almost more than he could bear as he was assaulted again and again and drenched anew in a fresh gush of her juices. He burrowed his right arm through the path in the dark and found what felt like the edge of the opening in her vagina. He slithered his left arm next to his right, reaching for the exit of his fleshly confinement. There was a sudden rush of air around him as it rushed out of her, the walls closed in. There was no longer any air, he fought and tried to claw for the opening with all the strength he could muster. Desperately he kicked and thrashed and he was rewarded with a fresh breath as his face breached her opening. He surmised her legs were together, but he was able to draw another lungful of oxygen from between her lips. He figured he was inverted inside her, with his head and shoulder out of her body but still within the moist confines of her labia.

Climax subsiding, she made her way to the bathroom. Hoisting her dress and dropping her undergarments, she sat on the porcelain toilet, parting her legs to examine her vulva. Barely visible was a tiny hand peeking out from between her labia majora. Reaching down, she took the hand between her thumb and forefinger and gently pulled him free. His hair and beard were matted with remnants of their earlier union and his flesh looked prune like and wrinkled but otherwise he seemed unhurt. Still holding him by the hand, she raised him up to her face level.

“Imagine my delight that you have managed to survive Tiny,” she said with a big beaming smile. Taking him over to the sink, she set him in the basin and turned the handles of the faucets. Testing the water for temperature, she also made sure the force would not be too much for him.

“Where’s my boys?” he croaked hoarsely, standing unsteadily in the sink and coughing up ingested fluid.

She put a finger to her lips and said, “I ate all of them. I can still feel them in my tummy,” she moved her hand down and over her flat stomach. “Now I want you to clean yourself up,” she instructed.

He wanted to sob, burying his face in his hands, shuddering.

“You’ll have to admit, there is a certain irony to being called Tiny as now you truly are tiny,” she said with a grin, nudging him with her finger toward the stream of warm water spilling out of the tap.

“Please, just fix me and let me go,” he pleaded, reaching a hand toward her.

“No silly little one, there are still so many pleasures we’ve yet to explore and think of the fun we’ve yet to have,” she said.

Charlotte

“We are going to need to make a place for you to sleep. While I would love to have you sleep with me at night, I’m pretty sure you would get crushed,” Charlotte said.

He looked at her, eyes cold and calculating. I survived Chechnya, I’ll get through this girl he mentally assured himself.

“Unless,” she tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. A slow devious smile crossed her face. Looking down at him, she nodded. “I could keep you in my panties for the night, all snug and cozy next to my vagina. I bet you would like that,” she said, grinning. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Sounds like party already,” he said sarcastically. The idea being locked up tight in this girls panties would definitely make escape mush more difficult. The initial strategy he was developing would be to get the girl’s code for her phone and once she was asleep, make an attempt to call to Mr. Vickers. They could triangulate his location tapping into the GPS locator on the phone.

She frowned, “I don’t think I like your tone,” she commented dryly.

He rolled his eyes, “Maybe I use wrong words, my English not so good,” he said, making an effort to appear contrite.

She nodded, “That could be,” she seemed to accept, forgiving the transgression, “But be careful, my tolerance for your insubordination is very small,” she warned.

He nodded. He wondered if he might have better success approaching the sister. If he cooperated with this girl long enough to escape her clutches, maybe the younger girl would be more receptive to providing aid.

“What about during day, where am I to go?” he asked.

She beamed, “You’ll be with me,” she replied.

He frowned, “Not all the time. Sometime you go to shower or make bathroom, where am I?”

Pausing, she nodded, “Good point,” she said. “Probably don’t want you down there when it’s that time of the month too,” she conceded as she contemplated what she might use as a means of shelter for her pet.

The smile on his face was not reflected in his eyes as he tried to fathom ways to escape. If he could get away from Zara, this little girl should be no problem.

“Hmm,” she noised aloud, looking at her makeup case before shaking her head.

“It does not matter where you put me, I will escape,” he stated, crossing his arms.

“You will never escape,” she said with a chuckle, eyes alive.

He snorted, “Only matter of time. You will make mistake, and I will be gone,” he avowed.

She frowned, and shook her head, “I won’t allow it!” she stated.

“And when I escape, I will be made tall again and then you and I will settle accounts,” he promised, eyes cold and merciless.

“Oh yeah?” she countered.

“I promise you I will come back here, before you die, I will fuck you in the ass!” he cracked, angry and frustrated.

“You want to fuck my bum, fine, let’s see how you like it being in there,” she spat verbally, grabbing him roughly around his torso and lifting him in front of her face.

He cursed, but her grip was ferocious, making it difficult to breathe.

With her free hand, she reached up under her skirt and pulled down her panties, kicking them off with her feet.

Bringing him under her mouth, she puckered her lips and drooled a massive quantity of saliva onto his head. He sputtered and tried to wriggle, but her grip was secure and there was no escape. Flopping onto her back atop the bed, she brought her legs up, lowering him down between her thighs.

He could see where he was head through the thick slobber coating his face. She meant to insert him in her rectum.

“You want to be in my ass so bad, well, here you go!” she grunted, as she pushed his spit covered head hard against the tight rosebud of her starfish, reluctantly opening under her forceful pressure.

The sleek channel was incredibly hot, the tissue moist and dank as it closed around and held him fast. Somehow, he could still breathe, though just, the air foul. The pressure around his ankles suggested she had not pushed him all the way in, leaving his feet outside of her.

He could feel pressure along the length of his body through the thin membrane of tissue separating her vagina and anus and knew she was playing with herself, pushing fingers into her vagina.

The muscles seemed to contract around him as she shifted her weight and hips in the pursuit of climax. There was nothing he could but endure. It felt like he was being crushed.

He could hear the sound of her blood rushing more quickly as she reached climax, the muscles again clamping all around him. He could feel her pulling at his feet, the force causing him pain as she slowly extracted him from her bottom, the delicate lining of her ass clinging tenaciously to him before surrendering him.

“Mmm, that was amazing,” she cooed, body glistening with perspiration from her effort to come. “That’s twice now you’ve forced me to discipline you,” she cautioned, the blush of color from her orgasm still coloring her cheeks as she put him down on her taut stomach.

Pulling himself into a seated position, he sat there quietly, full of rage. In the course of his employment, both in the military and with the Path he had hurt people, deriving no particular enjoyment in it. When the opportunity came, he would hurt her, and he would enjoy it.

Hildegarde

Seated at the table in the dining room of her home, Hilde stared at the cell phone in her hand. The news from Marissa was unexpected. There was a Soulreaper loose on the world. Another creature just like her. Her mind reflected back to the time she had crossed over into this world.

She had been drawn from her own plane of existence and forcibly brought forth to this world through the agency of a rite of summoning. Bound by a shaman of the Alemanni Tribe, the one who had summoned her nearly two thousand years ago, they had called her Hildegarde, the name meaning ‘battle maid’ in the local tongue. They were so insignificant and small, but the strength of the spell was such, she was bound to the will of the shaman. They had summoned her to combat the rise of the Alemanni enemies, namely the encroaching Roman Empire. They had no idea of what exactly she was or was capable of, but intended to use her to their own advantage, but the Alemanni were careless and in no time she had undermined the spell binding her, turning on her would be masters and unleashing mayhem, killing and devouring hundreds.

If not for the arrival of both the God of War and the Dark Goddess, her rampage would have killed thousands. The battle was ferocious, but she was undone, defeated. As a reapers of souls, she knew her fate, death. She neither complained nor begged for mercy, facing oblivion stoically.

Impressed both by the battle and the Hilde’s comportment, the Dark Goddess, in an uncharacteristic move, provided Hilde a provisional offer of clemency predicated by several conditions, though chiefly adherence to the Covenant.

Hilde refused, saying she would bow to none other than the aloof Pale Queen, Goddess of Death.

The Dark Goddess offered the opposite, life, as well as liberty, and tutelage alongside divine progeny. A chance to become more than any of her kin.

She assented. That was a score of centuries ago.

In the time between then and now, she had proved her capabilities, surpassing all expectations and rising in position to govern her own conclave of divine daughters, called a circle. Her circle was one of the most powerful in the world, possessing fifteen fully fledged members including the women she had dispatched to investigate the Disciples of the Hidden Path affair, Marissa, Angelica, and the newly recruited Abigail Halston.

And now, one of her kin was loose on the world, though the identity of the Harvester was unknown to her as of yet.

Her duty was simple, report it to Clarissa and tell her there was a Soulreaper loose on the world, leave it in the hands of the divine, but she felt conflicted. Telling her would be more than likely akin to signing a death warrant for the newly arrived Harvester.

Hilde wondered if maybe she could take it upon herself and rehabilitate the Soulreaper as she herself had been so many yes ago. Could she sway her? If not, then she would have to destroy her.

Not one given to indecision, she made the choice, she would track down her sister Soulreaper and one way or the other, deal with the situation.

Letting out a slow breath, she contemplated possible courses of action. Given all of the recent happenings involving not only her circle but several others, she thought it prudent to resolve the situation as quickly and as quietly as possible and with minimal collateral damage.

Strumming manicured French cut nails across the surface of her kitchen table, there was little doubt as to which of the women in her circle she would bring along to assist her. Serah and Selene. Almost polar opposites. Perhaps the strongest of all her circle, possibly even stronger than herself, snowy haired Serah was the only known offspring of the Pale Queen, just a child when Hilde had first met her so long ago. Misfortune had turned her aloof and cold, transforming the innocent child into a ruthless hunter without peer, without mercy. Selene on the other hand was a gregarious playful woman possessed of hair so dark it was considered blue-black, bright violet colored eyes full of whimsy. Disposition aside, she was also very adept at the use of power. One would never suspected she was a child of the God of War.

In less than two hours, the three women were in the air aboard one of Heller International’s private Gulfstream G650ER S/N 6105 jets destined for Colorado.

Hands folded in her lap, Serah sat quickly at the rear of the opulent cabin passive expression on her exceptionally pretty face, except for her frosty blue eyes, they were alert, focused, reminding Hilde of a raptor waiting for prey.

Selene reclined in her leather seat, eyes closed, mischievous smile on her lips as they traveled.

Hilde exchanged communication with Marissa getting all of the pertinent details about the entire situation, locations, involved parties, including the support team. She also made contact with the local authorities, able to get information about the discovery of the team’s abandoned rental van.

By the time they landed, she had significantly narrowed down their search parameters.