Trick Or Treat

By

J. Jenkins

Smashwords Edition

(Revised November 06, 2010)

****

Published By: J. Jenkins on Smashwords

Copyright © 2010 by J. Jenkins

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free e-book. You are welcome to share it with your friends.
This novella may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided
the book remains in its original form. If you enjoyed this story, please return to Smashwords.com
to discover other works. Thank you for your support.

A Note From The Author

This short story is intended to be a blending of fantasy, romance and erotica. The story is the
product of my imagination, and while some detailed locales and referenced material truly exist,
main characters, and events are completely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or
occurrences is entirely coincidental. Please be advised that this book contains ‘Adult Reading
Material’: graphic language and descriptions of sexual encounters between adult characters that
some readers might find offensive.

Persons under the age of 18 please do not venture beyond this page.

Acknowledgements

As always, I dedicate this story to everyone who gives the words and characters a chance to
come alive in their imaginations. Thank you for investing your valuable time in downloading
and reading my work. Without you, my story would never have an end.

The cover image ‘Red Eat Woman’ is the work of photographer Andrejs Pidjass, © Andrejs
Pidjass / www.photoxpress.com, and appears in accordance with outlined terms of usage.

****
Chapter 1

In a Mediterranean estate, having panoramic ocean and citywide views of Palos Verdes, Reglan
Paraquat occupied a white master suite, resting beneath luxurious linen and lace bedding.
Feeling the heat of passion raging inside his deprived body, he tightly pressed his torso, hips and
throbbing erection against the warm softness of his wife’s graceful back and rounded bottom.
Stroking aside the long, silken tresses of her midnight-black hair, he kissed her neck, then slowly
slid his tongue along the satiny skin to her sensitive nape, where he licked and sucked with
purposeful intent. Yet she didn’t stir.

He groaned in frustration, keeping his lips pressed against her neck. Months had passed since
they’d last made love and that encounter had been rushed and unsatisfying, taking place up
against the wall of their downstairs racquetball court. She’d come in to tell him lunch was ready
and seeing her in that white, ruffled, mid-thigh dress had made him rock hard.

Capturing her hand, he’d claimed her lips before she’d finished her sentence. Pulling her further
into the room, he’d hotly kissed her all the while steering her back into the far corner of the
court. Never taking his lips from hers he’d looked into her eyes, reached beneath the flouncy
hem of her dress and pushed the crotch of her panties aside. She’d busied her hands freeing his
aching length from his white shorts, had held, and stroked him at her leisure, as if his root was
the most delightful and precious prize she’d ever unearthed. Fearing he’d come in her palm,
he’d brushed her fingers away, then wedged her body between his and the white wall, while still
thrusting his tongue in-and-out of her mouth. He’d placed her palms on his shoulders, then
positioned his hands behind her thighs, beneath the billowing fabric of her dress, to lift and wrap
her legs around his hips.

As soon as he’d felt the slick silkiness of her wet pubic hair and the heat of her lubricated labia,
he’d shoved into her, continuing to make love to her mouth with his insatiable tongue. He’d
pumped into her once and she’d whimpered. The second plunge had been harder and she’d
rewarded him with a passionate moan. The third slide, deep into her vagina, had her rapidly
clenching her muscles around his cigare and she’d smoked him with her tight, grasping and
unclenching vaginal mouth. With the fourth thrust, he’d felt his balls begin to vibrate and the
lower part of his spine start to throb, her highly combustible juices coating him until they
reached the part of him that was already red-hot and flaming. He’d made his fifth lunge, a
forward movement of hips so powerful that their bodies hitting the wall made it shake, and at
that point, he’d spent his load, their time apart making him ejaculate too soon, his eagerness not
affording him the opportunity to bring her to completion while he’d been inside her.

Still in the throws of his orgasm, he’d withdrawn from her. Lowering her legs to the floor he’d
knelt, readying to lift her dress over his head and lick her clit and lips clean before bringing her
to satisfaction by loving her with his tongue, inserting his oral spear into her tasty vagina, while
his lips and teeth ate at her sultry lips and sensitive button, when he’d heard the children calling
down to her from the top of the stairs. Brushing his hair from his forehead and leaning down to
kiss his lips apologetically, she’d then hurried off to take care of whatever problem the twins had
been having.

His sweet wife had left him craving her desperately, which lately had become the norm. He
couldn’t confide his frustrated yearnings to his siblings, because he’d never felt close enough to
them for such a level of disclosure. Not a fool, he wouldn’t voice his unhappiness to any of his
male associates because he knew they all desired her for themselves. For him, mediocre solace
had come in the form of his office manager, Mirabelle Richards. She was a sounding board, a
morsel of companionship for his scared and lonesome little boy self, an unequal substitute for the
woman he desired more than his next breath, his fragrant French Mulberry, his wife.

Lightly kissing her shoulder, he stroked his fingertips along the line of her collarbone. The need
he had wasn’t solely sexual, no not even close; his desire was for her, everything that made her
who she was. As far as sex was concerned, watching her orgasm was his ultimate pleasure,
seeing her eyelids flutter close and her mouth form its perfect, kissable pout, as she came and
came and came, her body covered with an opalescent glimmering. Many times, he’d climaxed
just watching her achieve her own release.

Closing his eyes he recalled the many times he’d coaxed her into touching herself so he’d see her
expressions as she stroked her clit, inserted her fingers into her wetness, and loved herself. Back
then, he’d been allowed to witness her pleasure and hear the thrills she’d experience at the feel of
her excitement-lubricated body, as her vagina clenched tightly and held her digits with feminine
might, as she’d frequently done to his engorged penis. She’d milked him dry on occasions too
numerous to count, times when they’d played the French dairy maid and the grateful farmer.
Special occasions when she’d lifted the long folds of her skirt and apron to climb across his lap
begging him, her lord and master, to take her with forceful thrusts. His rampant enthusiasm,
repeated lunges up into her creamy center, as he’d lustily called her his sweet, tart, wench, had
always dislodged the cute white cap from the inky blackness of her hair. Passionately she’d
urged him to touch her breasts that spilled over the top of her bodice, pinch her nipples that stood
red and erect from wanting, and she’d moaned, sighed and squealed when he’d hungrily taken
her into his mouth, sucking and pulling forcefully as he’d blasted inside her. Within his frisky
Matagot, he’d always felt like the strong, successful man she’d assured him he’d one day be, not
the last born, sickly, accidental runt, of a thirteen child suburban family, who’d graduated
medical school before he’d been old enough to attend a senior prom.

Deprived of her for months, years frankly, he’d begun to feel like the isolated geek who hadn’t
kissed a girl, her, until he’d returned home to begin his medical practice. After that first touching
of his lips to hers, mouths clinging until they’d both been breathless, he’d talked her into
marrying him that same evening at the Little White Wedding Chapel in Vegas. On their
honeymoon, they’d made love so many times the physical, emotional and spiritual acts had
seemed endless, equating to one seamless union of his body with hers. He’d been hooked from
the start and for ten years, every night, had been the same. Now, at times, he missed her so much
his hands shook like a chronic alcoholic’s. As a surgeon, such an affliction, if permanent, would
be the professional kiss of death. As a scared little boy, hiding inside a man’s body, his
unsatisfied needs were making him resent their current relationship. Long gone were their
cerebral talks, handholding and walks along the beach. He’d been forced to say ‘au revoir’, to
their romantic nights at La Rive Gauche, where they’d frequently shared a dish of butter and
Gruyère creamy scallops, followed by Bordelaise sauced filet mignon and the pièce de résistance
had been the Coffee-Brandy Crême Brûlée they’d gotten to go.

At home, they’d slathered the crunchy, caramelized brown-sugar topped custard all over each
other, licking and eating it off their aroused bodies until only a smidge of sweet stickiness
remained. Then they’d made love for hours, with deep eye gazing and slow sensuous touches.
Slightly before dawn, they’d bathed each other in warm water infused with oils of lavender and
geranium. Those had been great times.

Nowadays all he got in the early mornings were solo and freezing showers, precursors to his
endless days of loneliness. However they, no she, had what she’d wanted, their progeny, four
rambunctious and precocious children. Additionally they had a monster of a cat, their black,
silver-tipped Chausie named Pandarus, Pan for short, who’d materialized the same day her
twenty-two year old, African Jungle Cat decided he needed a change.

The kids and their pet were her world while he was relegated to the position of peripheral
dressing, plenteous breadwinner, loving husband, outwardly doting father and responsible,
pseudo pet pal, except, he’d never approached the issue of Pan getting snipped. Approximately
three years into their marriage, he’d once mentioned the idea of having a vasectomy and she’d
cried for weeks. During that time, the city had set the standing record high for precipitation
since nineteen-forty-nine. He’d never again broached the topic of anything being fixed, which
meant that since he couldn’t have a vasectomy and be happily childless, then Pan wasn’t off the
hook either. But to date Pan had never knocked up one of the purebred, persnickety felines of
Palos Verdes. That cat was very discriminating, smart and careful.

Reglan was also selective in his choice of mates, she was his one and only, but he’d stupidly,
gotten his beautiful wife pregnant with twins, twice, two years apart, although he’d never wanted
children. He’d wanted a vasectomy and her all to himself. Admittedly, he’d liked kids well
enough, nieces and nephews spilling out of the house when the relatives had gotten together.
However, in his immediate life, he’d only ever wanted the girl who’d approached him on the
elementary school yard, with her pet cat in tow. She’d advised him to ignore the bullies and
teasers because she could tell he was going to be a great healer one day.

He hadn’t loved her then because he’d been terrified of his own shadow, intimidated by the
knowledge that effortlessly came to him. Years later when he’d been less afraid and more
relaxed with his intelligence, feeling he was finally good enough for her, sharing his black-haired
beauty, with anyone else, had never been a thought in his mind. Yet, for eight years, from the
moment she’d told him excitedly that they were having baby boys, he’d been living on tiny
rations of her, feeling increasingly invisible in their relationship, crumpling under the weight of
resentment he had for his sons and daughters.

Today he felt especially bitter toward them. This was his special day with her, both of their
birthdays, the day of their first kiss eighteen years ago, their wedding anniversary and the
commemoration of their joining for the first time. It was Halloween and if he couldn’t feel she
wanted him in her life equal to the kids and Pan then he didn’t see how he could spend their day
with her, correction, them.

Sundays were family days, a tradition she’d adopted because his well-meaning mother had told
her all good parents spent the Lord’s Day with their children. His wife didn’t have any relatives,
except Pan, so she hadn’t a clue about the over flowing crock of beans his mother had been
feeding her. Growing up in his family, he’d been invisible on the Sabbath, lost in the mass
grouping of immediate and distant family members. Sometimes he hadn’t eaten and no one ever
noticed and dog gone if it hadn’t been the same for the past eight years.

She’d set the table for her and the kids, have Pan’s dishes over in the corner so he could chomp
away at his leisure and then he’d walk in to find no place setting for him. It happened at
breakfast and dinner, sometimes weekend lunches too. Then there’d been the times, every time
to be precise, when she’d forgotten that he’d made dinner reservations for the two of them. They
hadn’t been to a restaurant, and no, Jack in the Box, McDonald’s and Chuck E. Cheese’s didn’t
count, since she’d been in her first trimester of the first pregnancy. On that last occasion, as
they’d sat awaiting their salads, all of a sudden she’d hopped up from her seat at their Lunada
Bayhouse table as if someone had prodded her with a hot poker. In her low, sultry voice, she’d
told him they had to leave because the babies wanted to go to Roscoe’s House of Chicken’ N
Waffles for candied yams, greens, corn bread and of course, fried chicken. Even then, the kids
had ruled the roost and with every passing day, he fought the ever-growing urge to flee the booby
coop.

The feelings he was having were wrong, unnatural, and he knew deep down he ought to man-up,
but he’d never been a child, not in the normal sense, so how and when had he grown up to be a
father of four. He’d wanted his childhood with her, still did, fun and frolicking, when he wasn’t
curing people who’d given up all hope. Nowhere in his vows or on his marriage license had
there been stipulations that he’d be expected to attend parent conferences, meetings with the
school principal, child psychologists, family counselors and definitely not members of the local
police department because the kids had been found atop a neighboring three-story estate,
prepared to toss the owner’s two cats over the side. Their excuse had been that they’d wanted to
know if the Maltese and Angora could fly like their Chausie, Pan. Reglan had defended the five
and three year old pairs of twins, their thirst for knowledge, interest in animal science and
aerodynamics, to the property holder and law enforcement. Hence, they’d been referred to the
best family counselor in the area.

No, he hadn’t wanted kids, but Reglan cared for and supported his children. He’d learned to love
them conditionally, and most often, he wished they and his family would disappear, so he could
go back to playing with his bosom buddy, loving his adorable wife with all his heart.

For now though, he’d settle for a synchronized orgasm followed by forty minutes of hugging,
touching, and talking with a few tender kisses offered up as intoxicating Maraschino cherries
atop their perfect sundae. Looking across her still sleeping form to the bedside clock, he saw the
time was approaching six in the morning. If he were very lucky, the kids wouldn’t wake for
another hour. Resuming his kisses along her neck, he slid an insistent hand along the line of her
hip, up and around, to caress her gossamer covered stomach and into her ear he whispered, “I
need you.”

Savina Paraquat opened her eyes and senses to the feel of her husband behind her. His desire
was apparent, not overly thick or long, but his glans had a unique upward tilt that enabled him to
constantly contact her G-spot and what a wonderful pleasure that had been. More satisfying was
most times when he came, his penis expanded, filled her, holding them together so his amazing,
slanted tip could tickle and rub her pleasure place until she was crying out from the sheer
magnitude of her climax. She missed their passion, missed him and their lovemaking, admitted
to herself that she’d not been as attentive of late, truthfully in a very long time, as he needed or
deserved, but he was always understanding and patient, never angry or resentful. He was a
wonderful man, a great friend, loving husband and protective father.

Reglan allowed her the time with their children that they desperately needed. He never pushed
or questioned as to why she wanted to do everything for them herself and if possible, she loved
him even more because of his acceptance. In the beginning years, he’d offered her nannies,
housekeepers, private tutors, au pairs, the occasional Friday night babysitter, and weekends for
the kids with his parents. She’d refused them all. He made certain they could afford everything
they needed, had people across the globe seeking out his medical and surgical services because
he’d never lost a patient. Her responsibility was to do the rest, everything for her family that her
feral, fierce tempered and unscrupulous parents hadn’t done for her.

She pressed her body back into him, spreading her thighs as his hand worked its way up beneath
her gown to stroke her thighs, before his expert fingers moved on to her mound. Rocking her
hips into his palm, she exhaled her pleasure. It had been too long since they’d been together and
she’d missed him with a fervor that she’d been able to excuse because she’d chosen for them a
higher order task, beneficial parenthood. She’d had no mother or father after she’d been
abandoned and left for dead, unless you count the homeless couple who’d found her and Pan in
the trash while dumpster diving. After that it had been just her and Paraquat until she’d found
her healer, Reglan.

The first day she’d wandered onto the schoolyard and gazed upon his horn-rimmed spectacles
and thick lenses, obscuring eyes the color of potency, prosperity, comfort, and restoration, Savina
had decided she’d one day have him as her husband, lover and life-long partner. Even as a
harassed boy, she’d seen the greatness in him. He hadn’t been drop-dead gorgeous and still
wasn’t, but she’d always known he’d be her world, a place that was bright and breezy, where
children didn’t die from hunger and neglect, or get beaten to death because they were intrusions
on their parents’ good times. Yes, that scrawny, bespectacled, runny-nosed little boy had made
her see and feel all that when they were seven and she’d waited patiently for him to return home
from his studies, fellowships and initial years in practice to make her his bride.

After they’d married she’d set her mind on becoming a model wife like his mother. She’d pretty
much achieved her goal with glowing success; except she’d wanted a dozen children and he
hadn’t desired a single one. But, possessed with the need to give life to vessels of his intellect,
his great healing talent, she’d birthed two sets of twins, two years apart and they made her
realize, every day, that motherhood wasn’t as easy as she’d believed nurturing their offspring
would be. Yes, they were brilliant, like Reglan, having intrinsic desires to restore health,
thirsting and hunting for answers to questions as yet unspoken, but they were also mischievous,
opinionated, volatile and sometimes rather vindictive. She’d wanted to give him the perfect
family to make up for the childhood he’d sacrificed when he’d gone off to college at such a
young age and she’d tried her best, had done everything she could to assure his children wouldn’t
be akin to her sires. For the most part, she felt successful, even though there were days when the
hard work and utter time consumption threatened to break her resolve, but to the minute she’d
not ever faltered or given in to the temptation of a quick fix. Every night she could fall
exhaustedly asleep in her husband’s arms knowing she’d done a good job. Her tireless efforts
were paying off; the three eldest children loved him in theory, the youngest adored him
absolutely and Reglan cared for them in return, in his way. She and Reglan, along with the
twins, plus Pan, were a family that nothing would divide.

Soon the passionate life she and Reglan both missed would be available to them once more; the
romantic pattern they’d enjoyed before the additions to the family would once again wrap around
them like the most splendid silk. After tonight, this Halloween, there’d only be two more years
of her required diligence and then she and Reglan could make love endlessly, without
interruption or fear of the unexpected. In the future, if he wanted, they’d have two more pairs of
little ones.

Placing her hand over his that was leisurely caressing between her slick folds, Savina pressed his
fingers further into her. Peering over at the bedside clock, she declared raggedly, “If we hurry
and are really quiet we won’t wake the children.”

Reglan slowly withdrew his fingers from inside her and applied pressure to her hip, signaling her
to face him. When his eyes met hers that revealed her need for a simple life, security, and her
stubborn strength he begged, “Please give me this hour, no matter what happens beyond our
bedroom door.”

She reached out and stroked strands of thick brown hair from his forehead, tracing her finger
along the scar that marred his dark, heavy eyebrow. Searching his gaze for a time she leaned
forward to first kiss her way down the length of his nose, before moving on to trace his well-
defined lips. He had a beautiful mouth, which she now took the time to paint with her tongue.
When she heard him groan, felt his fingers on her hip tighten to pull her closer, she inserted her
tongue into his mouth, making love to him, as hopefully he’d do to her in a short while. When
his eyelids fluttered and his silken lashes met, she ended the kiss to reply, “I’ll try Reglan, really
I will. But, it’s Halloween and the children are always full of energy, especially this day.”

Reglan’s eyes opened and his hands quickly divested her of the white lace and chiffon gown.
The room was still in shadow and though he’d have liked to see her, he knew that turning on the
light could mean the end of their time together. However, he remembered every detail of her
body, her unblemished white skin, full D-cup breasts, tiny eighteen-inch waist, thirty-two inch
hips and a mouth the color of eroticism. He captured those lips and immediately rammed his
tongue into her mouth, ferociously mating his with hers until her tiny delicate hands were
clinging to his shoulders and she was whimpering. Never releasing her mouth, he rolled on top
of her and settled his hips between her thighs. Reaching between them, he released his erection
from his pajamas and began stroking the sensitive head along the outer lips of her labia,
stimulating the apocrine glands so more of her sexually attractive odor could intoxicate him.
Already he could feel her natural lubricant seeping from her vagina and coating her entire
entrance. Ending his kiss with bruising pressure, he demanded, “Savina, this was our day before
the kids came along. I want our time together, you and the kind of love we shared before you
decided to have the children.”

Her head was still reeling from his sensuous attention but she wasn’t so swept away that she
couldn’t tell he wasn’t pleased. Flexing her fingers on the subtle but defined muscles of his
shoulders she murmured, “These years have been hard on you, but you’ll soon see the sacrifice
was well worth the making.”
Capturing her chin between his fingers, he made certain she saw what was in his heart:
annoyance. “I won’t play second fiddle any longer. You will get a sitter for the children and
tonight we’re going to dinner at an adult, five-star restaurant.” Removing his fingers from her
face, he pushed her hair away from her ear so he could trace the line of the perfect seashell
shape, licking at the lobule, before capturing it between his teeth and biting down just as he
pushed the head of his cock between her wet folds and held still waiting for her response.

She shuddered and swiveled her hips against him trying to get him to go deep so she could be
thrilled by his upturned magical wand. It had been a terribly long time since she’d been blessed
to quake beneath him and she wanted the release he could give her. But not at the price he was
asking her to pay. Sliding her hands from his shoulders down to his lean but impressive biceps,
she punishingly dug her fingers into his smooth skin. “We’re spending the day here and later
we’re taking the kids out for trick or treat.” She forcefully shoved him backwards and used his
momentum to bring her atop his prone body. With natural precision, she fully impaled her
aching vagina onto his throbbing shaft, rocking and lifting her hips in a determined rhythm,
desiring his change of mind and heart.

Cupping her buttocks, he was sexually incensed by the pull and slide of her tight opening on his
iron hard length. Gritting his teeth, he held back a shout of pleasure, gripping her hips to slow
her rhythm. Breathing heavily he advised, “I don’t like what we’re becoming. When we married
this isn’t what I envisioned.”

Pushing his hands away she resumed her hips rocking and rolling, gaining points and making
headway as determined hands moved up her torso to knead and fondle her breasts. He pinched
her sensitive nipples and she lowered them to his mouth so he could taste her. With his tongue
bathing her breasts, she stroked his chest and shoulders, allowing the strands of her hair to slide
seductively across his skin. “In a couple of years we’ll have our romance back.”

He stopped licking around her areola to pull her torso flush against his, cautioning her, “I don’t
have two minutes left in me for the way things are now, so two years is out of the question.”
Running his hands down her sides to her hips, and then up over her buttocks, he massaged the
tight, rounded flesh. Easing one hand between the divide of her cheeks, on betwixt her legs and
around his engulfed penis, Reglan applied corkscrewing, circular pressure to her clit as his hips
repeatedly surged upwards and back, wrenching from her unrestrained cries that grew in volume
and intensity. “Be dressed and ready to leave by half past five. I won’t accept any excuses.”

With her head pressed against the side of his, the slight point of her chin resting atop his
shoulder, she breathed hotly along the sensitive skin at the side of his strong neck. The feeling of
his amazing tip rubbing against the front wall of her vagina was weakening her and to counteract
the erotic spell he had her under she cried out, “It’s only Halloween. Nothing special to you.
We’ll go out when-”

“What did you say?” Reglan Paraquat’s question of disbelief cut across her exclamation and he
grew very still, awaiting her response.

Savina scrunched up her face and pressed her body closer into the warmth of his. Tentatively she
continued rocking her pelvis against him, trying to coax him into movement but he didn’t budge
an inch. With her lips pressed against his throat, she spoke quietly, “This day is meant for our
children. We’re adults; dinner will have to wait until another night.”

Gripping her upper arms, he pushed her back a few inches, making her lift her head so that he
could vaguely see the expression in her dark eyes, within the shadowy confines of their unlit
bedroom. “Savina, what is today?”

She felt the coolness of the room now that he was denying her his warmth. “It’s October 31st.
You know, Allhallows Eve, ghost and goblins going door-to-door collecting sweets and-” Her
explanation was halted by a loud yell of ‘Mama! Mama!’, coming from beyond their bedroom
door.

Reglan’s hold on her arms tightened when he felt her move to draw away. “No, Savina. Leave
them and stay here. Are you kidding me about what today is? Is this your idea of a trick?”

More shouts came from beyond the door, growing insistent, followed by steady knocking upon
the wood requesting permission to enter. Leaning forward she pressed a chaste and trembling
kiss upon his gorgeous mouth that didn’t show sternness or meanness even though she could tell
he wished he could convey both. “Check the calendar if you don’t believe me.”

He felt as though she’d kneed him in the nuts. Thoroughly wounded, he released her, watching
as she hurriedly climbed from the bed to don her gown and robe. Rolling onto his side, he
reached to the nightstand, retrieving his glasses and had them on his face before she flicked on
the overhead lights. As she reached the door, he called out to her, “Are you playing a joke on me
or is that what you believe the only thing today is?”

She spun around to face him, though walking backwards toward the impatient knocking. “Why
would I mess around about the date?”

Reglan watched her continued movements away from him and when her hand grasped the
doorknob, he slid from the bed, righting his pajamas and shrugging into his robe. “Hold on.”
When he was certain she wasn’t about to let the children and Pan tear into the room, he walked
over to her, sandwiching her body between his and the door. He gazed upon her blue-black hair,
brown eyes, milky complexion and strawberry-red lips, giving her one more chance to correct
her statement, to stop the hemorrhage she’d started in his heart. When all he got from her was an
impatient smile, he leaned into her, lowering his head a few inches to place his lips against her
ear, whispering, “Happy first kiss, birthday and anniversary Mrs. Reglan Paraquat.”

Savina let out a tiny mortified cry of pained disbelief, shocked and wounded by her own cruel
forgetfulness. In the native broken French of her mother, she earnestly begged of him, “Cher
mari, ma vie et le coeur, accorde-moi le pardon?

Yes, he was her husband. However, he seriously doubted that he was her love or life. “If you
don’t open the door we can kiss, make up and get back in bed to finish what we started.” More
cries and shouts from the children intruded on his time with her. He watched the movements of
her eyes as she tried to think of ways to make everything right for them all. However, he knew
someone had to loose in this battle for her attention and affection. When he saw her lower her
eyes from his to look sadly at the floor, he knew he was the odd man out. Reglan Paraquat
turned and walked away, his gait heavier than a zombie’s.
Chapter 2

Savina anxiously addressed her four children who were sitting around the dining room table as if
butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, “Which one of you has caused your father’s breakfast to be
unseen?”

Flint, the older of the eight-year old twin boys, lowered his bowl of hot chocolate from his lips to
smile thoughtfully at his mother. “I don’t know. But, you can whip him up another plate of
something with a flick of your wrist if you cut yourself a little slack. You have maybe four or
five minutes before he gets down here.” Once again lifting his bowl to his lips, he resumed
sipping his standard morning beverage. The rising steam from the large mug fogged his
tortoiseshell-framed glasses, his black and white Tinctorious popping its head up and out of the
boy’s breast pocket. The little poisonous dart frog, not content with his temporary home inside
the red cotton compartment, hopped onto the dining table before jumping onto his owner’s thick
pad of jet-black hair and sat scrutinizing Savina.

The younger of the male twins, Terry, brushed a lock of thick brown hair off of his forehead
before taking a bite of his holiday spice cake then lifted his pet Brazilian Black and White onto
the table to feed the eight-inch wide Tarantula a gut loaded cricket. As he watched the arachnid
devour the orthopteran he suggested, “I could help you, but we still won’t have enough time if
you’re determined we work in a conventional fashion. Maybe papa would like some of those
sugared, soggy circles you tried to get me and Flint to eat that one time when we were three.”
Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, he scowled at his mother.

Leaning back against the mirrored wall, Savina gave her sons a firm look, “Let’s not wake the
dead again over that tiny issue. I was trying to give you an idea of what other children eat for
breakfast. It was sort of an experiment,” a nerve-jangling trial she hadn’t dared repeat with their
sisters.

Capturing a huge black and white bumblebee within her palm and then sitting the lazily buzzing
insect atop her black hair, Marie-Soleil, the eldest daughter blamed, “Perhaps if we weren’t so
insignificant in his life then his food would be waiting. His work is more important. You’re
more important, but if you keep forgetting your anniversaries that tune just may change.” She
removed the spectacles from her face, polished the lenses with her white linen napkin, before
pushing the brown-wire frames back into place, the thick lenses making her green eyes appear
very small, her skin having an unearthly glow in contrast to her coal-black hair. Not pleased that
her father was late to the family meal once again, she pouted and pushed her barely eaten plate of
Banana Orange Crepes aside then sat with her hands folded atop the table.

Dulciana, the youngest of the Paraquat children, flipped her long brown braids over her
shoulders and straightened her black framed glasses on her face before she briefly pointed to
each of her siblings and knowingly addressed her mother, “Those three think papa is constantly
late because he doesn’t care. However, I know he’s reluctant to come to meals because he’s
frustrated. He feels you spend too much time on us and are neglecting him. This morning you
allowed us to interrupt your private time, you always do. We’re not going to kill one another.”
She paused for a moment to take a bite of her Mushroom-Shallot Quiche and then released from
her small-embroidered purse, her pet Zebra Swallowtail Butterfly. She watched as the beautiful
but deadly original papaw dweller flitted about and then circled her body twice before landing on
her left shoulder. Dulciana then returned her attention to her mother, observing matter-of-factly,
“According to some experts, most married couples close in age to you and papa, make love an
average of eighty-six times per year. The two of you aren’t close to that mean by any stretch of
the imagination. For once, stop trying to be an average housewife. Use your gifts and take
control of your marriage and us. Hurry and prepare papa’s meal. Take him a tray; he’s in his
study. Stay there with him, be with him mama, before he starts working the day away.”

Feeling uncertain, Savina studied Dulciana who was so like Reglan. Her last born seemed
sincere enough, but with the four of them, she could never be certain. From the youngest to the
oldest, she met each of their gazes with a clear warning in hers, that she’d try her best to have
little compassion if one of their experiments went awry while she was upstairs with their father.
Pushing herself away from the mirrored wall, she walked around the circular dining table placing
kisses on both cheeks of each child, before glancing in the corner of the room at the untouched
dish of scrambled eggs and caviar. She walked over to the French doors and peered across the
immaculate green lawn, asking the children, “Where’s Pan?”

Chewing on a piece of brioche, Flint replied, “After Mr. Gomez left this morning, I saw Pan
strolling in the direction of his house.”

Through one of the panes of glass, Savina frowned her displeasure. Pandarus’ tomcatting was
bound to get him hurt one day. He needed to find a good mate and bring her home to the family,
not constantly infringe on another males territory. If Mr. Gomez returned home and found Pan
mounting his Devonshire chatte, the resulting scene wouldn’t be pleasant. Heaving a sigh, she
straightened the silver-framed oil painting of a white vase, filled with white flowers on a
background of black, which hung to the left of the French doors.

Satisfied with the position of the canvas, she turned to her right and her eyes met her husband’s.
Reglan stood in the room’s entryway staring at the empty place on the table where his meal
rarely sat. In an appeasing tone she addressed him, “Cher, to make up for my horrible
forgetfulness I’ve prepared your favorites, eggs with black truffles, chocolate-filled croissants,
honeyed fruit salad, and café noisette. Would you like to eat with the children or shall I bring
your meal to the study?”

Reglan walked into the room and kissed each child on the cheek, taking a bit of extra time to
tweak Dulciana’s braids before coaxing her pet swallowtail onto his finger. His voice was tepid
as he addressed his wife, “In the study, if it’s not a bother. I need to make some calls, so I’ll get
started while you ready the cart.” Returning the butterfly to his youngest child’s shoulder he
then addressed his children, “I know that you’re fond of your pets, but they shouldn’t be in the
dining room. In future, be sure you leave them in your rooms at mealtimes.”

“Yes papa,” the children chorused and the little dart frog also chirped in agreement.

“Very well then. Mes enfants, I was thinking we’d visit the Redondo pier later this morning and
afternoon. We’ll have lunch there and you can eat as much ice cream and candy as you each
want since your mother and I won’t be taking you trick or treating tonight.”

Marie-Soliel’s voice was even toned as she asked, “Why not?”

“I’m taking your mother out for the evening. I’ve arranged a sitter for the four of you,” he stated
giving his wife a take-charge look. “We’ll be back by half-past eleven.”

“Alright papa. May I be excused?” Flint’s tone was pleasant as he lifted the tiny frog from the
top of his head and awaited his father’s permission to depart from the morning meal.”

“Of course,” Reglan said and watched his child start out of the room with a jaunty step.

Savina paid close attention to her eldest son’s departure and just as he passed the silver sideboard
that held a tall black vase filled with double Dahlias of brilliant white, a small petal began to fall
in a spiraling pattern. When the serrated-tip touched the polished, black and white marble
flooring, it turned deep red. In a low voice that hid her concern, she instructed Flint, “I want you
and your brother to change out of those inflaming polos into white ones. Both of you hurry
along and do as I say. Then meet your sisters in the library and study until it’s time for us to go.”

Terry rose from his seat and lifted his big tarantula against his chest with the eight legs hugging
him close. “Sure mama. You’d better hurry into the kitchen I think I smell the croissants
burning,” he said with a mischievous chuckle. “Papa, I’m disappointed that we won’t be
spending the evening with you and mama. But enjoy yourselves.” Carrying his tropical hairy
companion, the boy met his brother at the door and stood waiting.

Savina pursed her lips in disapproval at Terry’s sauciness. “Trust me young man, I have full
control over the goings-on in my kitchen. I haven’t burnt a meal in my life. But if you’re
concerned about the quality of my food then I’ll buy plenty of syrupy-sweet Gloomy O’s and
Rice Soggies just for you and you can eat them at every meal,” she challenged testily with her
forehead slanting forward and her head lowered, displeased that the little thaumaturge was trying
to expose the situation to his father.

Reading the uncommon disapproval in his mother’s posture and tone, combined with seeing the
unfamiliar shifting of her eye color from brown to violet, Terry knew that she was serious. He
shuddered inwardly at the thought of such torture. With a great show of his natural acting ability,
he sniffed the air and proclaimed, “Oh it’s not the pastries I smell. I think that cricket has given
Tar a gassy stomach.” Terry’s siblings chuckled at his antics and he grinned slightly, hoping to
coax his mother into a better mood. When she nodded at him slightly, he knew he was saved
from a figurative death by cold breakfast cereal.

Reglan, who’d grinned at Terry’s outlandishness, stopped smiling to survey his sons dressed in
their matching red polos, black twill pants and white sneakers, Flint resembling Savina in
coloring and Terry looking much like himself. Seeing their adorable faces and evident genius
behind their specs had the paternal part of him wanting to say he and Savina would take them
door-to-door after all. However, the attention deprived, sex starved portion of him was ruling his
actions so he wouldn’t change his mind although he could try to make them understand his
decision. Hands at his side with the palms facing forward, the corners of Reglan’s mouth were
turned down in apology, as he spoke to his sons, “Flint, Terry, I know you enjoy Halloween and
will miss wearing your costumes, but hopefully you’ll understand, if not now, then maybe when
you’re older, that husbands and wives need alone time for the benefit and betterment of the
family.”
“Don’t worry father,” Flint said in an assuring tone. “We’ll find some way to occupy ourselves
and we can wear our costumes for the sitter.”

Smiling thankfully at the boys, Reglan’s stance settled into a palm-in-palm, behind-the-back
posture, a little more relaxed, as he shifted his study to his daughter’s who’d joined their brothers
at the door. Marie-Soliel, was dressed in a black jersey skort, red black cat graphic tee and white
no-lace slip-ons. Physically, his eldest daughter was the spitting image of her mother, except
behind the child’s thick-lenses her eyes were the green of his own instead of her mother’s
beautiful brown. He marveled at the genetic wonder of all the children being born with his eyes,
studious, answer-seeking orbs that held the promise of benefit to humanity. Again, he felt
inclined to change his decision about trick or treating, especially when he looked upon Dulciana,
the feminine version of himself, with brows and jawline not quite so heavy. She even preferred
nature color tones as he did. Today she was dressed in a kiwi skort, matching black cat graphic
tee and chocolate brown no-lace slip-ons. Her long braids were even adorned with coordinating
ribbons. As he studied her, his youngest child smiled broadly at him, her eyes shining jewel
bright with the love she held for him and he felt worse than solid waste tossed out of a bedpan.
He needed time with Savina and when he wasn’t in the presence of his children, he could remain
resolved to the fact that the state of their marital relations was dissatisfactory. However, in their
presence he felt obliged to acquiesce. He always did, because as much as he hadn’t wanted to be
a father, he had to admit that there were plenty of times when he’d enjoyed being the papa of
these four.

Without speaking a word, he held out his arms to Dulciana and she rushed into them to be lifted
into his embrace. Giving her a tight squeeze and a peck on the cheek he assured her and her
sister, “Dulciana, Marie-Soliel, you too both will understand one day.”

Pressing adoring kisses on both of his cheeks, Dulciana guaranteed her father, “Papa, I already
know how important time alone is for you and mama. Perhaps after tonight you’ll be more
willing to be on time to meals.”

Reglan met Marie-Soliel’s knowing gaze with a guilty start and said to her sister, “Maybe it will
be as you say. We shall see how the day and evening progress.” Still holding his daughter in his
arms, Reglan informed Savina, “I’ll walk the children to their rooms and then I’ll be in the
study.”

With a mother’s trained eyes, she scrutinized her three eldest children. Although on the surface
they appeared resolved to the change in plans, subtle alterations in the room told her otherwise.
More of the dahlia’s white petals had fallen to the floor, now scattered bits of red atop the black
and white marble, like droplets of heart’s blood. The chandelier, hanging overhead, had begun to
sway slightly, its circular crystals tinkling softly, though the air in the room was still. Most
concerning was the transformation of their pets, all of which had been black and white earlier.
Now their familiar spirits were gradually taking on the outward appearance of total gloom.
Against her own daily practices, and the rules she worked at instilling in her children, she
touched the wavy strands of her black hair at the shoulder of her white dress and simultaneously
cast two spells. The first involved visualizing Pan being drawn home by the strength of pure
white light, of love’s brilliance, to comfort and watch over the children. Secondly, and most
painfully, because after the way she and Pan had been tossed away, her other siblings murdered
at the hands of her Creole mother, she’d sworn to be a good, loving and respectful parent if she
were ever blessed with children; instead Savina now bound the ones she had sworn to shield.
She visualized her sons and daughters standing harmoniously, perfectly poised atop the same
wheel of fortune, each precisely balancing a pair of judgment scales. Finally, in her mind she
voiced an incantation that would set into motion the change that would have happened of its own
accord that night during trick or treat for the boys and in two years for the girls. For her children
this day and night wasn’t simply about decorating, dressing-up and collecting goodies. This was
their time of passage, coming of age and the marking of their New Year. To facilitate a trouble
free time, she wordlessly called for improvements in her children, changes in their attitudes,
which would garner good results. She wanted them to have new outlooks, act more positively
and treat others better, especially their father.

Regretful, but realizing it had to be done, Savina hardened herself for the remaining task, the
ultimate closing of the spell, when the wills of her children would no longer be their own. For
such life-altering power, she required Reglan. “Cher, I’ll prepare the cart and meet you in the
study.” Still concerned that the encroaching blackness had not halted on her children’s familiars
she spoke to them softly, beseechingly, “Little ones, don’t fret over tonight. Your father deserves
time alone with me. We’ll have other Halloweens together.”

The children looked at her in understanding and chorused, “Of course, mama.”

Suddenly, the door behind the three eldest Paraquat children was pushed open and the family’s
huge black and silver-tipped Chausie rushed in, his golden eyes meeting those of Savina’s in
concern and silent understanding. Walking over to brush himself against Reglan’s green pant
legs, the knee-high tall feline was treated to scratches behind his ears. Deliberately, he did not
greet the children and after Reglan had finished stroking his fur, Pan hurried over to his silver
dish of cold eggs and caviar. With a lazy feline blinking of his amber glowing eyes, he caused
the food to heat up, then began eating with much gusto, his crystal bowl of Perrier, which the
children had caused to disappear because of his absence, he easily summoned to his side.

Savina relaxed a bit now that Pandarus was back and because her children’s pets had returned to
their original coloring. Smoothing her palms against the full white skirt of her dress she
instructed her twin girls, “Marie-Soliel and Dulciana, I want you to change into your new white
blouses before you go into the library.” Seeing her daughters quickly incline their heads in
understanding, Savina felt less guilty about altering their free will, which was only temporary
until she had time alone with Reglan. Then and only then would he have what he wanted in the
immediate stage of their family, her to himself as it had been during the beginning years of their
marriage.

Sensing a slight change in the room, an underlying current between the three eldest children, Pan
raised his head from the scrumptious dish. Licking his whiskers clean, he canted his head to one
side, then hurriedly turned in time to watch Savina take Reglan’s free hand, his other still filled
with precious Dulciana, and the three of them walked over to and out of the room following
behind Flint, Terry and Marie-Soliel. With his ears twitching, Pan watched as the petals of the
white Dahlias began falling the mid-distance to the floor, in a steady pattern of white, at which
point they changed into sparkling liquid droplets and as each plopped onto the marble, low sobs
and cries filled the room.
Chapter 3

Reglan, who’d been sitting behind his desk, hastily got to his feet as Savina pushed the breakfast
cart into the room. She’d changed from her white, nineteen-fifties style dress into his favorite
corseted violet and black dairymaid outfit, with its off-the-shoulder white blouse and matching
cap. In a millisecond, he was hard and throbbing.

Walking over to where she was arranging silverware and plain white china on the black marble
coffee table that was positioned in front of the kiwi green sofa, he removed from her hand a plate
of aromatic chocolate croissants and placed them back on the tray at her side. “I want and need
only you, my sweet maid. Now kiss your lonely farmer,” he enjoined lustily, pulling her flush
against him.

Savina flowed into her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck as his lips captured hers in a
passionate but tender kiss, their tongues touching, lips moving slowly. When the embrace ended
her breathing was shallow and she felt as light as a feather. Applying pressure to his shoulders
she urged him to sit upon the sofa then promptly pushed the coffee table aside so she could kneel
before him. Taking his hand, she looked up into his eyes and declared, “Before I make love to
you, we must talk.”

Reaching out he stroked his index finger down one of the Shirley Temple Curls that brushed the
slant of her cheek, then took the trail along her silken skin, down to the upturned corner of her
mouth, where he stopped and requested sultrily, “Open for me.”

Savina parted her lips and felt him slowly tracing their outline before he eased the tip inside.
With her tongue, she licked and played with him, then closed her lips around his skin, before
beginning her slide up and down his length. He tasted of an Old Green Gage, succulent and
candy sweet. Moaning, she twirled her lingua around his pointer, leaning closer into him, her
short, unpolished nails digging into his kombu green pants. She wanted their role-playing to
carry on to its historic conclusion, her lifting her long skirts and climbing across his lap where
he’d make love to her for hours. Instead, she pulled away, his finger leaving her mouth with a
wet ‘pop’. Retaining her deferential posture, she brought his palm to her lips, “Reglan, please, I
don’t want to visit Redondo Beach. I need for us to spend today, tonight and the next two
Halloweens with our children.”

He wasn’t listening. With wandering fingers, Reglan explored the swelling fullness of her
breasts through the peasant’s blouse, above the outer worn corset that highlighted her charming
bosom and further cinched her narrow waist. The thought of gripping her tapered expanse filled
his head, imaginings of her bouncing up and down, skillfully riding him until he was ringing wet
and fountaining forth his organic fluid, made his hands shake. Eagerly, he anticipated their
coupling, his release, and with labored breathing, he asked, “Are you wearing those sexy,
crotchless, pantalets?”

“Yes,” she replied, placing his hand against her billowing bosom. She wanted to undo his belt,
release the engorged shaft from the seaweed colored pants and taste his virility. Instead, she
stopped his fingers from undoing her laces, holding onto each of his hands, forcing him to keep
still and listen. “Please tell me you’ll change your mind.”
Extricating his hands from her hold, he grasped her around her upper arms and hoisted her onto
his lap. With minimal motions, he reached between them and took out his steel tool, at the same
time stroking and patting her beneath the long folds of her skirt. Separating the lips of her labia,
he circled his finger around her clit, watching as she shamelessly threw her head back. “I need to
be inside your hot, wet chatte, my sweet maid. Forget about your responsibilities and the
children. Make love with me until we can’t move,” he said, pushing two fingers into her
clenching vagina.

Savina held onto his shoulders, the feel of him repeatedly prodding her sensitive region had her
nearing the pinnacle and she clutched at his wrist not wanting to climax yet, wanting him to stop
so they could talk, but she was too afraid to say so. She’d never flat-out denied him. The only
times she’d ever drawn away from him were because she felt compelled to put the children’s
needs before their own, to be a good mother, not the type of woman who would bind her
children, rendering them defenseless, so she could surreptitiously slaughter most of them. That
was the kind of mother she’d had. Savina believed she too might carry the gene, viewed her
earlier actions against her children as a dark omen.

With a horrified cry, she jumped off his lap and darted around the sofa, knowing she couldn’t
complete the spells. Her children needed support and freedom to grow, especially her sons this
night, who’d each face their individual right of passage. Feeling trapped and torn, Savina did
something she’d never done in eighteen years of marriage, she yelled at her husband, “By the
thirteenth path, Reglan, I’ve nearly wronged and ruined our children for your sake. But I’ll
never become my mother; I’d rather suffer decapitation, and then be drawn and quartered.”

Reglan looked over his shoulder, demanding, “Come back here. In ten months, I’m lucky if I’ve
made love to you a dozen times. I tired of being frustrated. Not having you is affecting my
ability to function throughout the day. So, we make love first, and then talk.”

Immediately responding to his command she slowly walked back to him. His erect penis was
engorged, red and thickly swollen, appearing irritated as it awaited her feminine salve to soothe
his ache. Once again straddling his hips she was shocked when he didn’t resume their foreplay,
but immediately rammed his burning length into her. Stunned by his unfamiliar forcefulness she
didn’t respond to his thrusts. She sat limply, sadly allowing him to use her for what he needed.

Reglan released her bare breasts from her blouse and began lapping at them with his tongue,
pinching the nipples, squeezing the white orbs together around his face, burying his sorrow
within her cleavage. Continuing his upward and back motions within her silken cocoon he
beseeched her, “Sweet mulberry, sway with me, love me back. Don’t sit still to punish me
because I’m taking a position and standing my ground. I won’t continue to be bullied by you
and the children.”

Finally, she rotated her hips in gradual spheres, locking her arms around his neck and lowering
her forehead to his. She’d never considered her and the children’s actions as being like those
he’d endured prior to his professional success. She’d never intended to browbeat him, had only
wanted their children to feel safe and loved, as she hadn’t as a child. How did she decide wisely
on conflicting issues between her husband and their children? Who should hold the utmost
importance in her heart?
Savina knew who her own mother had chosen, had barely survived, with Pan, the blood-soaked
decision that had been made by a woman determined to have the nightmarish man of her hellish
dreams. She felt what she’d done in the dining room had been horrendously wrong, though
nowhere near the crimes her mother had committed. She’d cast the spells, wanting to protect
Reglan and their children, keeping the twins from unintentionally harming him, themselves or
anyone else. However, by not following through with the spellcasting, she’d now have to pay in
spades for the attempted infringement upon her children’s rights and of course, she’d have to tell
Reglan particular facts about them. Perhaps then, he’d reconsider taking them out for trick or
treat. However, she’d first finish loving him, not to gain advantage, but because he was her life.
Leaning to one side she began their shift in position, sighing out, “I need you on top of me.”

Reglan finished situating them on the sofa, her flat on her back with him positioned between her
thighs, her skirts bunched up to her waist. Without consideration for her vintage bloomers, he
ripped them apart, until her mons pubis and other sultry, feminine pleasure spots were easily
available to him. “I need to be deep inside you. Open up for me, dark splendiferous maid,” he
commanded, pushing her knees out, splaying her thighs wide, feeling her heels resting against
his buttocks.

Savina reached up and removed his glasses, then stretched towards the coffee table to place them
safely aside. When she couldn’t achieve her desired destination, she told him, “Kiss me, my
forceful farmer.” At the precise moment of his tongue entering her mouth, his eyes closed and
she visualized the power of gravity in her hand that held his glasses, causing them to float over to
the table, landing safely.

Physically unencumbered, Savina slid her palms up the swell of his pecs, then unbuttoned his
shirt to kiss his chest, lick and bite at his sensitive nipples. When he shuddered in response, she
used the heels of her feet to urge his hips forward, her womanly juices flowing faster when his
tip rubbed her the right way. Stopping the slip and slide of her lips against his chest, she let her
head fall back on the cushions sighing, “Plant yourself deep inside and heal me with the power of
your love. I’ve been sick with want, suffering terribly without you.”

Reglan kissed her passionate red lips, awed by the feel of her tight wetness that engulfed him.
He stroked within his maid, his wife, his heart and love, asking, “Is this where you hurt?”

“Oh yes. Right there. Right there,” she moaned lustily, raising and lowering her hips with him.

Pressing his chest to hers, he engaged her lips and tongue in ceremony as his hips led her in a
sensual dance they’d first choreographed years ago. Ending the kiss he breathed against her lips,
“I want this always, just the two of us, me deep inside and you all around, holding each other,
loving one another.”

Though his words hurt, she didn’t stop the rocking of her hips beneath him. “Faster Reglan,
plough me harder, deeper. Make me come. Make me scream.” Lifting her hands to the sides of
his face, she held him captive, her lips contacting his, her tongue distinguishing a hint of green
apple in his mouth and she was filled with hope, was rewarded by the urgent change in pace of
his strokes. He pushed forward, drew back, ground himself against her, within her and she tore
her mouth from his to bite her lip, holding back the feral growls and cries of passion that
frightened her.

Reglan was bathed in her scent and wetness as he moved in and against her, his thrusts becoming
more urgent. Her vagina began drawing on him, opening and closing, her lubricated labia
kissing him repeatedly. He grit his teeth, trying to hold back his climax. “Not so soon my
miraculous Matagot,” he rasped against her throat before clamping his teeth and lips onto the
sensitive line of her neck beneath her ear, where he began to suck on her in time with his thrusts.

Savina’s response was a cross between a moan and a scream, as she frantically pushed the shirt
from his shoulders, sliding her palms all over his torso before finally clawing at his back,
begging, “Give it to me. Give it to me. Oh yes, my skillful healer, masterful stockbreeder, take
me, have me, tame me, fu-” She cutoff her own heated cries, not wanting to debase their union.
Today she’d already slipped; Savina did not intend to fall further into the lowly side of her
heritage.

Reglan, now pumping in to her so hard that the sofa squeaked for mercy, incited her with
breathed words into her ear, “Say it Savina, just this once, be my wicked milking wench, as I fill
you with my cream.”

He was pounding her, his length throbbing and thumping within her, the retroussé tip of his
phallus jabbing at her most sensitive spot, prodding her to respond. She knew he was close to
squirting his prized protein shake, guessing she’d only have to voice the phrase once and he’d be
pumping ounces upon ounces of his warm double crème within her parched chatte. She owed at
least this to him. Positioning her lips at his ear, her heels maintaining their position against his
firm buttocks she started “I want, need you to-”

Hoof beats pounding and clopping across the marble floor, just beyond the study door silenced
Savina. A loud high pitched whinny, followed by a blood chilling squeal made her shove at
Reglan’s shoulders as she tried to get away, go discover what atrocity had come for her.
However, Reglan held her in place, trapping her with the lean strength and weight of his body,
his fully expanded and engorged penis jealously, spitefully, locking them together. Another shrill
squeal, the sound of metal contacting wood with unbelievable force, and Dulciana’s loud quoting
of Joan of Arc’s, ‘I am not afraid… I was born to do this,’ had Savina pushing and beating at his
chest, trying to force him out and off her body. “Let go of me. I have to go to them. This is my
doing, all my recidivistic fault,” she declared brokenly.

Reglan grabbed her wrists and easily controlled her, shaking her roughly in his long pent up
sexual fury. “You’re staying here, opened for me to enjoy, allowing me my rites as your
husband.”

The sound of the angry horse, wildly moving up and down the passageway, made her look
through the wall to see her children in harms way, a satanic steed with fiery eyes and a headless
rider dressed in purplish-black, signifying its rise from black magic, closing in on them. Doubly
her efforts to be free she struggled violently within his hold, crying out, “You don’t understand. I
have to go to our children. They’re in danger and they need me.”

In spite of his lean and defined body type, he effortlessly held her in place, informing her “I need
you. This is another one of their tricks to come between us. I’m sick of their nonsense. They
don’t get to go out for Halloween so the world has to come to an end.”

Savina felt cold, more frozen then the nights she’d slept in alleys with only newspaper for
covering and Pan at her side for warmth. An inattentive mother had been the cause of their
misery. Her own death was more desirable than leaving her children to fend for themselves.
Coldly and unthinkingly, she told him in a hard unloving voice, “Reglan Paraquat, you will not
come between me and my children.”

He recoiled from her as if she’d slapped him hard across the face. She’d clearly made her
decision. Yanking his swollen member from inside her, he heard her pained cry but didn’t
attempt to comfort her. Rising to his feet, he hastily jerked his clothes into a semblance of order,
forcing his erection into his pants and fastening them with hands that shook. Another habitude of
the children’s raucous horsing around and the loud sound of galloping and shrieking made him
snap at her, “Their brats, even little Dulciana when she’s with the other three can’t refrain from
devilment. But, what can I expect; they’re your children after all…” He allowed his words to
trail off, leaving her to draw whatever interpretation that came to her mind.

Savina got to her feet, allowing the long folds of her skirts to hide her ruined pantalets from sight
before she thought them away to be replaced by her standard, conservative white cotton briefs.
From beyond the door, she could no longer hear any movement and she sighed thankfully.
Mentally scanning the area, she saw that all was peaceful. Unwilling to meet her husband’s, eyes
she focused on the ecru vase of yellow-green ‘Envy’ Zinnias that adorned the corner of his desk.
“Yes, they are my children and perhaps you’re right that they are a bit overenthusiastic to have
what they want, however, I can’t choose between you or them.”

Grasping her chin between his fingers, he forced her to meet his eyes. “You do everyday. Time
and again, you put them before me, our marriage. For what Savina?”

Her eyes held his. “To be a good mother and wife.”

He laughed bitterly. “You haven’t been my wife for years.”

Placing her palm over his heart she stated, “I’ve been your wife from the moment we met.”

He stepped away from her touch, releasing the hold he had on her. “Then why can’t I feel you
anymore? Why is it that every time I need you, your not there.”

“That’s not-” A man’s loud threatening bellow, followed by rapidly spoken Creole coming from
the hallway made Savina interrupt her statement with a gasp. The misleadingly friendly purr of
an all too familiar woman’s voice started her shaking in fear. Hearing the beginning of a
powerful incantation that would divide her from Reglan for all eternity, the cackled out words of
Monsieur Sorcier and her estranged mother’s voice filled her with dread, “As we puncture this
pink candle representing pure human love, we prove thee, brokenhearted you two shall be.”
Terrified, Savina immediately cast a protective shield around Reglan, seeing in her mind’s eye a
large circle of sea salt steadily raining down upon him. Only then did she look at him and was
prepared to explain but noting the disgust on his face, she lowered her head in shame. “Reglan
please-”
“Don’t you dare ask me to understand why you have to go to them. They’re messing with your
mind, playing on your fears. Their blatant and tasteless pranks, because I dared put my foot
down, shows they have absolutely no respect for me and very little for you. Those kids you love
so much are ruining us Savina. I’m asking you to realize what’s going on before it’s too late.”

Savina’s tone was grave, “Maybe you need a big dose of reality Reglan. Your children want a
father, who cares enough for them that he’ll be on time for meals. Our kids need a little more
attention and care than average children, from me and from you. Your sons need you to be by
their side tonight, for rites of passage they’ve eagerly awaited all year, instead of your pouting
and lording your will over everyone.”

Reglan crossed his arms over his chest with his hands gripped tightly into fists, clearly hostile
and defensive. “What you need, Mrs. Paraquat, is to realize that I will no longer put up with this
madness. I’ve long had justification to hire a resident specialist to show you how to manage
those four little radicals you’ve unleashed on society and if after tonight you don’t get them
under control, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

When an entitled rat-a-tat-tat was tapped out on the door, and her mother’s malevolent voice
called out to her and Reglan, Savina steeled herself, preparing for the inevitability of facing the
worst waking nightmare she’d ever known, while inwardly trying not to fall apart because of his
threat. “Reglan I’ll not have a stranger into our home, telling me how to raise our-” The loud
screams of her children stopped her dialogue and started her running toward the door to save
them. Beyond the wall she could see her mother’s tall black-haired figure, attired in a blood-red,
purple and black scarf dress, looming over her babies prepared to devour them. Heedless of
Reglan still behind her, Savina thought herself into her good mother clothes. She burst through
the door, into the hall, with a spell of white magic on her lips, hearing her children’s laughter
overhead filling the air. The hallway before her eyes was empty, though she could still see in her
mind the image of the four of them standing helplessly before that murderous beast. Realizing
Reglan had been right she turned back in time to see him standing in the doorway with a tired
and defeated expression on his face. Pan strolled by, brushing up against her, before moving on
to bestow similar affection upon Reglan, then he entered the room with a swish of his tail.
Savina took a forward step with pleading in her voice, “Reglan, cher, I’m sorry.”

He stared at her, watching as she drew near. When she reached him, he looked down the three
inches that kept them from being the identical height and frowned at her, shaking his head in
disapproval. Her lips were moving in some standard apology, but he couldn’t listen to her
anymore, didn’t want to see the woman he loved but couldn’t have. He watched her reaching out
to him and he quietly closed the door in her face, whispering, “Trick or treat Savina.”

****

Reglan could still hear her talking, trying to persuade him into kowtowing before her children,
when he walked back to his desk, picked up the phone and dialed a number he now knew by
heart. As he waited for the friendly, comforting voice to answer on the other end of the
connection, Pan jumped up and positioned himself across the desktop. Reglan was scratching
him behind the ears when a familiar soothing voice spoke a greeting and his response was, “I feel
like my marriage is over. Can I come and talk to you?”
Pan cocked his head in the direction of the phone, listening intently to the conversation,
familiarizing himself with the feminine voice that was full of excitement and expectation as she
told him she‘d be waiting. Reglan’s tone was comprised mostly of sadness and loss as he told
her he was on his way. Pandarus could tell this was a recipe for disaster, part cosmic payback for
magic unfulfilled and fifty-percent the outcome of a marriage that had been starving for years.

Ending the call, Reglan placed the phone aside. Reaching for paper and a pen, he started to
compose a note, but without his glasses, his efforts were pointless, just as meaningless as he felt
his marriage was becoming. Tossing the scribbled upon paper aside, he picked up the car keys
from his desk butler, scratched Pan once more then walked to the coffee table to retrieve his
spectacles. Placing them back on his face, he walked out of his sanctuary, out of his home, away
from his family, with every intention of spending as much time as he could with Mirabelle
Richards.

****

Pandarus ran into the library with the sheet of paper Reglan had set aside hanging from his
mouth. Savina was busy scolding the children who sat on the long white leather sofa looking as
genuinely apologetic as he’d ever seen them. Terry and Dulciana both had tears in their eyes,
while Flint and Marie-Soliel visibly jumped on occasion as their mother’s voice periodically
rose, letting loose her uncommon fury into the room.

Pan approached Savina from behind, butting his head up against the back of her leg several times
before he could get her attention. He sat down on his haunches, with the offered note still
dangling between them. When she took the white paper with its neat black inked penmanship of
a single sentence he watched her with concern.

Savina read the sentence and then interpreted the words. Her hand began shaking and the
movement soon claimed her entire body. With her fingers unable to hold onto the document the
note-sized sheet began to spiral downward, turning red, then black before it landed on the floor.
She would never touch the paper again, had no reason to because the words were burnt into her
eyes and mind. ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ Reglan had written. She turned from her children and
Pan, wanting to conceal from them her misery. She took one step, then another, needing to get
away, be alone so she could privately lick her wounds, when she felt stabbing pains in her chest,
the room beginning to spin.

The children and Pan watched her skin turn whiter than the rare French stone that dominated the
room. Cries of concern flew from the children’s mouths as she began to crumple lifelessly.
Before her body could contact the hard surface, Pan took on his human form, scooping her up
into his arms and with a pained roar, he sent the children running for the safety of their rooms.
He sank down, lower than he’d ever been, with his beloved and lifeless sister in his arms, tears of
blood streaming down his face.
Chapter 4

Within the bedroom of her exclusive Wilshire Boulevard condominium, Mirabelle Richards
stood in front of a floor to ceiling black framed mirror carefully brushing her long blond hair.
She smiled widely at her reflection, knowing she was beautiful, drop dead gorgeous to be exact
and finally, Dr. Paraquat, Reglan, realized she was too. He was on his way to be with her, had
finally left his miserable wife and her troublemaking kids.

Placing the brush atop the side table near the mirror, she groomed her brows with her fingers,
and patted her cheeks to infuse them with a bit of natural color. She’d stopped wearing heavy
layers of makeup when Dr. Paraquat had commented on how beautiful his wife looked without
cosmetics; she’d taken his words as a hint that he didn’t want her to wear any either. He was
subtle that way, always talking to her about his marital problems, wanting her to feel sorry for
him, when what he really desired was to get in her pants, all men wanted to and she made them
pay dearly for the pleasure, especially those she singled out as husband material. Dr. Paraquat
was definitely a keeper. He was richer than Croesus, had a multi-million dollar estate near the
ocean and vacation homes across the globe. The net assets of her six previous husbands
combined didn’t amount to a tiny fraction of what he was worth. She always did the math,
deciding before entering the game if a prospect was worth her time and trouble. If the
probability of hearing a whopping ‘cha-ching’ at the end of a relationship was slim then she
never bothered dirtying her hands. Dr. Reglan Paraquat was going to be the easiest and biggest
fish she’d ever reeled in and took as a trophy.

Stepping back from the mirror, she surveyed her appearance. The designer, leopard print silk
dress and black patent leather pumps might have been a tad seductive if not for the dress having
a full-skirt and ruffled detailing. The soon to be former Mrs. Paraquat had been wearing a
similar cut of dress, of all white, in a picture he kept in his wallet. However, Dr. Paraquat didn’t
want a chaste wife. He was always talking about their lack of intimacy, feeling frustrated, what
the good doctor needed was to be bad, dirty and downright raunchy.

Smiling broadly, her plump sapphire-pink lips shimmered pearlescently from her application of
sheer, high-end lip-gloss. Her face was one of the best pieces of art she’d ever invested in, as
were her triple D breasts. Turning to get a better glimpse of her side view, she wiggled her tush,
enjoying the sway of the silk fabric that cascaded over an ass that could make a man weep.
Damn she was hot, ready for her four-eyed little doctor to come over and extinguish her flame.
Then they’d plan for the future, his divorce, their marriage, and she, as always, would resolve
herself to the time when she’d have to excavate her widow’s weeds from the bottom of her keep
chest, because all good things ended.

Twirling around before the mirror, Mirabelle gloried in the brightness of her future. At thirty,
with six, marriages and as many widowhoods and aliases behind her she felt number seven was
going to be her lucky break. Coming to a halt in her excited spinning, Mirabelle darted over to
the bed to straighten the fresh earth-toned linens. Then she all but flew out of the room, down
the hall, through the living and dining rooms and into the kitchen to stand before the large
stainless steel refrigerator. Squatting down, she opened the freezer compartment and unloaded
endless varieties of frozen meals, until she came to a large plastic freezer safe container.
Removing the lid, she fingered the six foil-wrapped frozen hearts, hoping for Dr. Paraquat’s sake
that the number seven really was blessed. Hurriedly, she reloaded her treasures back into the
freezer, shielding them from view by a wall of colorful paper and plastic cartons.

She had just closed the freezer when she heard a light, hesitant knock on the front door. With
soundless steps, she hurried over to the entrance and welcomed her long awaited guest with a
playful cry of, “Trick or treat.”

Reglan took two steps into the room and immediately started blubbering, huge teardrops falling
from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, the lenses of his glasses quickly becoming spotted, then
fogged over. He sniffed and hiccupped as he allowed himself to be directed into the room and
pushed down onto a cushioned piece of furniture. “Miss Richards, I’m sorry I can’t seem to
control myself. During the drive over, I felt such pains in my chest that at first I thought I was
having a heart attack, then I realized I was simply missing my wife and kids. It’s crazy, when I
left the house I was livid, then the further I was away from them, the more I realized I couldn’t
live without them, no matter how infuriating they can be. Give me a moment to compose myself
and I’ll leave you to your afternoon.”

Mirabelle pulled several facial tissues from a box on the coffee table and began cleaning his face,
drying away the horrid memories of his family. “Dr. Paraquat, Reglan, we both know you can’t
go home. It’s too late for you, that woman and her monstrous offspring,” she snapped.

He immediately sobered, gently pushing her hands away from his face. “What are you talking
about Miss Richards?”

She tossed the used napkins carelessly aside and immediately reached for his shirtfront, trying to
undo buttons as he swatted her hands away. Frustrated that he wasn’t cooperating, she slapped
him across the face, setting his frames askew. “Listen up. You don’t want your wife and family.
If you did then you wouldn’t have been badmouthing them to me all these months, dropping
hints that you’d like to be with me.”

Reglan jumped up and tried stepping away from her, but she too was soon on her feet and had
pushed him back onto the sectional where she promptly covered him like a low-lying fog over
the Pacific Coast. He gingerly pushed at her shoulders, kept his legs pressed tightly together as
he felt her trying to force her thigh between them. “Miss Richards, please stop this. I thought
you were my safe sounding board, a friendly shoulder to cry on. If you have another impression,
I can’t be responsible for your feelings or beliefs because I never did or said anything to give you
any form of hope. I’ve always loved my wife, no matter how frustrated I’ve been. Why I-”

Mirabelle stuck her tongue into his mouth and began gyrating her hips atop his flanks, humping
and thrusting. She felt him gagging and cringing from her touch and she increased the ardency
of her kiss and embrace, caressing his chest then pinching his nipples that seemed to shrink
beneath her fingers. Releasing his lips to gulp in air, she told him breathlessly, “You love me.
We’re going to be married. It’s all decided.”

He wasn’t a fighter, had lost every time a bully had cornered him, but he wasn’t that same little
boy anymore either, not in reality, though internally he was certain he’d always be a bit immature
and needy. However, he only wanted Savina, her happiness, their family and he’d fight to the
death for it all. With unrestrained force, he pushed her off him and she landed on the floor.
Quickly rising to his feet he told her, “I’m sorry you’ve had the wrong impression and I think it
best I no longer employ you. Don’t bother returning to the office I’ll have your belongings and
severance pay sent here.”

Mirabelle advanced on him. “No, that just won’t do Dr. Paraquat. I’m a wife, a widow, not a
whore to be paid off and dismissed just as soon as you get your rocks off. Now get over here and
fuck me, then well talk about how to break the news to your former family.”

Flinching at her free-flowing vulgarity and feeling cornered, Reglan agilely jumped over the side
of the sectional and sprinted for the door. Mirabelle tackled him and sent Reglan staggering into
the wall, slightly left of the floor to ceiling windows. He felt her push him face first against the
white painted surface, grinding her lower body into his. Trying to fuse his molecular structure
with those of wood, plaster and paint, Reglan pressed himself further against the wall. “Miss
Richards, I’ve told you in all the polite ways I know that I don’t desire you.”

She forced her hand between his legs and rubbed roughly, trying to gain some form of response
from him and when none came her way she balled up her fist and punched him in the region of
his kidneys. His harsh intake of breath and shudder excited her, made her wetter. “Is this the
treat you have in store for me? You want me to dominate you, bend you to my will. I can, you
know. By the time my previous husbands died, I’d twisted and contorted them like pretzels.”
Reaching around to the front of his waist she tugged at the fastening of his pants and when the
button wouldn’t give she began massaging his crotch only to have him grow smaller and smaller
beneath her hand, like a frightened tortoise hiding within its shell. “My God, that witch you
married really did a number on you. I’ll just pop into the bathroom and get you a few of those
magic erection pills and some X. There’s nothing like sextasy to kick off a round of Halloween
clubbing. I was thinking that after we’ve spent a few hours in bed, we’d take in the downtown
party scene. She spun him around and threw herself into his arms. “What kind of ring are you
going to buy me?”

Reglan peeled Miss Richards off him like wet suit that was two sizes too small and pushed her
away. “I can call my wife a witch, but don’t you ever refer to her as such. Additionally, I’m not
taking any drugs, going anywhere with you nor am I buying you anything. Our business is done.
I’m returning to my family.”

“Are you now?” Mirabelle stepped back until her calves contacted the side of the TV stand,
placing her hands behind her back, she idly caressed a large paperweight of solid pewter.

Feeling violated and wanting to escape, Reglan began taking small crabwise steps in the
direction of the entryway, his glasses still sitting crookedly on his face. “I’m sorry for the
misunderstanding Miss Richards, please believe I never meant to delude or hurt you.”

Mirabelle’s fingers closed securely on the round top of the sculpture. “Nor I you, darling,” she
said and swung the heavy globe around bashing him in the side of the head. With a satisfied
smirk, she watched him fly sideways into the narrow entryway, landing in a lifeless heap. “Well
that was a fine trick wasn’t it Reglan? This could’ve gone much easier for you if we’d done
things my way.”

Putting the paperweight back beside the plasma television, she grabbed him by the heels and
drug him into the bedroom, all the while talking to herself, “Run and do this for me Miss
Richards. Dash off and do that for me Mirabelle. My wife won’t fuck me; so sit through lunch
holding my hand and listening to me whine. Those badass children, of hers, tried to murder the
neighbor’s cats and we’ve been seeing a shrink because of it for years. Dry my eyes and wipe
my nose because I was too stupid to get snipped while my wife was sitting on her ass waiting to
lock me into years of child-support. You are my savior, my blond goddess, do you think you can
assist me with a lifesaving procedure, me performing surgery on myself so I’ll finally have a
damned backbone. My God, After all this time of listening to me bitch and moan, dear heart, I’m
leaving that worthless woman and her passel of booger pickers for you, I’ll be right over so we
can run away together. Oh, I’m sorry Miss Richards, you’ve misunderstood me; I have gastritis
and my eyes are leaking at the idea of giving that bitch half of everything I’ll ever own, so I’m
going to leave you high and dry with a few dollar bills that won’t buy you a decent meal, but you
understand don’t you?”

Mirabelle backed into the room, in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, still dragging him along.
When they were far enough into the small space, she let his legs fall to the floor and since his
still form blocked the only available walk path, she climbed atop the bed and bumbled across the
mattress, mucking up the new comforter she’d bought in anticipation of the time when they’d be
together. When she was on the far side of the bed, closest to the exit, she disappointedly climbed
down to the floor, kicking him hard in the shoulder as she yelled out her frustration, “Reglan, the
only thing I know is that I’ve earned and will have you.”

Taking a deep breath, she clenched her fists at her sides until her nails dug into her palms. She
mentally counted until she felt a bit less excited, wedding jitters and all that were getting the best
of her. Standing over him she thought how peaceful he looked as he slept soundly. He must
have been exhausted after fighting with that hellcat of a former wife. In a sweet tone, she
promised him, “I won’t be long dearest. I’m just going to dash out and get a few things we’ll
need to prepare for our lives together.”

Marching into the living room, she collected her black Prada tote and the keys to the black
Mercedes she’d bought with her last husband’s money. Stomping into the kitchen she swung
open the refrigerator to make sure she’d put the bottle of champagne in to chill. Seeing that the
sparkling wine was exactly were it was supposed to be, she stomped her way back to the
bedroom, a gentle gust of air passing by her face as she banged the door shut, then locked the
double-keyed deadbolt to secure her precious Reglan within their honeymoon suite.

God, being in love was hard work, she thought and with a giggle, she put the key she’d used to
lock the door, back into her bag. Turning on her heel, she imagined being catered to by a staff
that would jump at her call, envisioned being plied with gourmet meals, and anticipated all of the
wonderful treats, Harry Winston jewelry especially, that awaited her as the future Mrs. Paraquat.
Mirabelle sashayed her beautiful rump throughout the condominium, flapping her arms like a
praying mantis, wiggling and gyrating in anticipation of her sextasy fueled grinding atop Reglan
when she returned. As she thought of their impending hours, days and nights together, she
remembered the air that had stirred so near her face, it had been a moth, no a butterfly, a black
and white butterfly that had come to keep Reglan company while she was away and that was
alright, what harm could a little butterfly do?
Chapter 5

Few people would consider impending death as a rhapsodic occurrence, but when Reglan
crossed over from the realm of the living, that Halloween afternoon, into the stopgap where his
fate was to be decided, the comfortable familiarity of his Royal Street row house bedroom
greeted him. Pushing open the ornate golden doors, he was immediately treated to the site of his
sweet naked Savina resting on her side, facing him, atop a green, white and gold comforter. She
smiled invitingly and as he stepped into the grape vine colored room, he began removing his
clothing as he went, so when he climbed onto the bed beside his beautiful black-haired wife, he
was also naked.

Not wanting to risk an argument or waste what precious little time together they had left, he
rolled her on top of him, to straddle his hips. Keeping their mouths fused he stroked her sides,
from shoulders to hips with his fingers, before running his palms over her swelling derriere,
stroking, cupping, then separating the cheeks of her bottom. He felt her sliding beneath his
touch, undulating to voice her need for him inside her, and he obliged without delay.

Taking his erection in hand, he stroked his length up into her silken center, continuing to mate his
tongue with hers, their lower bodies copying the unhurried pace of their mouths. They were
torso-to-torso, breaths, hearts and hips united. Behind his closed eyes, he saw brilliant yellow
light as he continued to sail within the waters of her fervency. With trembling fingers, he
touched her face, pushed back long strands of dark hair so he could have better access to the feel
of her perfect flesh and still they continued their slow steady rocking of hips and mouths.

When he drew his lips from hers it was to whisper, “I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to
come home.”

Savina raised her torso away from his, the waves of her black hair falling around her like a thick
ominous veil. Lightly scratching down his chest with her nails to her thighs, she allowed her
fingers to blaze a trail to her center, rubbing on her mons as she bounced up and down for their
mutual pleasure. She watched him, watching her intently as she rubbed her fingers between the
lips of her labia, touching him as she caressed herself, the direction of her strokes becoming
more focused as pressure built within her body. She rocked faster, as he stroked harder, the
swirls becoming tighter, the pressure of his hands on her thighs more insistent and she groaned
out, “Watch me Reglan. If this is our last time together I want to give you every sweet treat
you’ve ever wanted.”

Gripping her hips, he repeatedly pushed upwards into her, faster and harder, watching the
insistent movements of her fingers palms and hands all over her body, especially, between her
thighs, where he could feel her fingers running along his shaft as they also played a wicked game
of hide-and-seek within the lower region of her body. When she took one of her lubricated
fingers and began teasing his lips and mouth with it he was lost. With a groan and a tightening
of his grip on her hip, he released within her a steady hot stream, his organic love and he was
rewarded in kind by her clenching little chatte stretching and rubbing all around him. Her voice
was a steady hiccupping of his name, as she had consecutive, colossal climaxes, which were so
intense and stirring that when he finally captured her feminine mulberry wine slick finger and
sucked it into his mouth, she climaxed again, then fainted away, falling forward atop his chest.
Reglan continued to pump into her, his arms tightening around her back, pulling her into him,
fearing that at any moment their time together would end.

He called to her in a low, caramel-coated voice, “Savina, lovely matagot, sweet mulberry, return
to me.” Still clutching her, while prodding his primary reason to live back to the temporary
reality they were both sharing with the strength and power of his passion, he felt her stirring and
he sighed. When he felt the gentle brush of her lashes against his cheek, the small but powerful
movements of her pelvis atop his hips, he came inside her for the second time, crying out,
“You’re my life.”

Savina fought to return to him fully, clawing her way back to the place where she was happiest,
safest, in the arms of the man she loved and who loved her too. She opened her eyes, her lashes
caressing his skin, to be treated to a prime view of the side of his face, the prominent slant of his
jaw and she immediately picked up his rhythm, whispering, “And you’re mine Reglan Paraquat.”

They came together again in a low intensity release of emotion and bliss. She kissed along the
smooth skin of his face and neck. He nuzzled the side of her neck and tickled the tip of her ear
with his tongue. Both of them thinking that if this was their end then indeed the union, their
joining had been the best treat of their lives.

****

From far away Savina could hear Pan, Flint, Terry and Marie-Soliel calling to her, trying to draw
her back, as they’d done earlier, but she didn’t want to leave her husband. Her body had ceased
its tremors, so she calmly lifted her head to say, “Reglan, my heart couldn’t go on after you left
me. That’s how I came to be here, but why are you here with me?”

Brushing her hair back over her shoulders he replied, “My office manager Miss Richards had
some sort of a breakdown and bashed me over the head when I told her I’d never desired any
woman apart from you, and of course there’s no other place I’d rather be, in life, death, or
anywhere in between. Yet, I was too jealous and small-minded to realize that truth earlier.” He
traced the length of her torso, along her side, and then wedged his hand between their bodies
where their abdomens met. “Our children are the personifications of the love you dreamed
existed in the world despite the brutality you suffered as a child. My sons and daughters are the
gifts you gave me to show you loved and trusted me, that I was the most important element in
your life. They’re not perfect and neither are we, nor are the feelings we have for each other.
The challenge for me is to be as selfless in our relationship as you are. If I’m allowed to come
back to you and the kids I’ll put their and your needs first sometimes if you’ll do the same for
me.”

“I will,” she pledged, snuggling closer to him. “Reglan, although I’ve tried to be a good wife
and mother, you’ve always known about me and our children haven’t you?”

“And Pan too,” he replied stroking her back. “I’m nearsighted dearest, not completely blind.
Being different, having enhanced abilities, doesn’t make you or our children bad Savina. It’s
how and when the skills are used that reveals the true nature of the person. Take me for example.
When I was young and initially started conceptualizing and structuring answers to medical
issues, at first I thought I was loosing my mind. However, there’s nothing magical about what’s
inside me. I am and have always been a timid bookworm, scientist, and geek. As I learned to
accept my abilities, studied and practiced to become proficient in their practical application I
realized that the power I was acquiring could be foremost beneficial to others, though I’d been
approached by many to use my combined knowledge for war. Governments throughout the
world offered me grotesque sums of money to devise formulas for mass destruction. Granted I
make a lot of money for what I choose to do, but more than half of the cases I accept are free and
none of them involve murder. I don’t take for granted the ability to heal people, nor do I abuse
the privilege of caring for others. If you elect to use the gifts you have for good, and teach the
children to do likewise, as Pan does, then I believe you’ll be happier and so will the children.
My staying silent on the subject all these years was because I didn’t want to risk alienating or
loosing you, and in doing so, I actualized my own fears. In hindsight, I think Pan knew we were
headed for a separation. Whenever I’d be on the phone with the office manager Mirabelle, he’d
appear and sit listening and watching me.”

She kissed his chest. “He’s cared for me our entire lives and he’ll watch over the children if you
and I can’t go back. If we are both allowed to return, I’ll help the children with their skills by not
stifling their desires to practice spells of white. However, I can’t allow them to dabble in the
black arts and I’ve tried to keep them from using that side of their natures. I really want them to
focus more of the natural healing powers they’ve inherited from you, but they seem reticent to
use them.”

“We, along with Pan, will help them find balance. I’ve shirked my paternal responsibilities long
enough. I’ll arrange time to educate them, learn from them in return and I won’t ever be late to
another family meal,” he promised kissing the top of her head. Starting to feel cold, Reglan held
her tighter, and then realized she was the reason for the lowering of his body temperature.
Rolling them so they’d be enveloped within the warmth of the heavy white, green and gold
bedcover, he whispered into her black silky hair, “Don’t fall asleep Savina. Our children are
waiting at home for us to take them out for trick or treat.” He held her, stroking her hair, telling
her of his love and how he’d be an adult husband and father when they got back.

The icy stillness of her body told him that she’d already gone and still he held on to the girl, the
woman, the wife and the witch that he’d loved more than he’d ever thought possible. Closing his
eyes against the pain, he held her closer and tighter as he felt her physically dissolving beneath
his hands, returning to whatever elements that had given her form and by the time the last tiny
speck of his love was gone, so was he.
Chapter 6

Mirabelle considered herself very lucky. When she arrived at her new home in Palos Verdes
Estates, the former residents were already vacating the premises. One black-haired boy was
furiously ripping down all of the Halloween decorations that adorned the yard, stuffing the torn
and destroyed remnants in large black plastic bins that sat scattered around the large lawn.

As if to the manor born, she parked her car in the open garage and walked out to address the brat
that was now kicking a black pumpkin across the ground. Just as she reached the all black-
attired little delinquent, he picked up the pumpkin and hoisted it at a giant black and white jack-
in-the-box that sat at the center of the lawn. Not astoundingly, the little nearsighted twerp missed
his target completely as a gust a wind picked up, causing the clown’s head to blow out of the line
of fire. Apparently further incensed, the ragamuffin, set his fury upon a life-size, stuffed figure
of Pierrot, its floppy white outfit constantly billowing out of the boy’s grasp. Still undeterred the
little monster ran over to a giant, inflated black and white mouse that seemed to be grinning
down at the destructive terror, swishing and swaying away from the boy’s fury. Mirabelle
counted her blessings that Reglan didn’t want those kids. If that one was so hideous, she could
only imagine what hell all four of them could raise.

Standing at the edge of the lawn, she cleared her throat to get the boy’s attention. But he was too
engrossed in his tantrum to hear her so she shouted, “Hey you. You over there. When will you
all be finished clearing out? Dr. Paraquat said he told your mother to pack and hit the road. In
the mean time, he asked me to come and pick up some of his clothes. We’re going to get
married.”

Though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, there was an ominous clap of thunder overhead as Flint
stopped charging at the figures Pan had arranged on the lawn to help him blow off some steam.
Straightening his glasses, he turned to the woman who’d dared show her face at their home. She
was the reason his father was gone. Walking over to her he extended his hand politely and along
with his lawn companions Jack, Pierrot and Mighty they greeted her in an ominous quartet of
voices, “Welcome Miss Mirabelle Richards, we’ve been waiting for you.”

****

Within the black and white living room with its long white leather sofas and harlequin patterned
rugs, Flint, along with his mother and father sat across from the shocked, shaking and red-faced
Mirabelle. On the cushion to one side of Miss Richards sat three humongous male tarantulas,
ready to run for cover; to them she seemed the type that killed after she mated. To her other side
sat several very hungry poisonous dart frogs, their eyes trained on her as if she were the tastiest
cricket they’d ever seen. Unable to resist the huge treat that was before their eyes, three of the
largest frogs hopped on her and Mirabelle jumped up with a shriek. “Reglan, you said you’d left
them. Why are you back here?”

Reglan clutched his wife’s hand while giving the interloper such a heated look of hatred that the
white and red flower’s, arranged in large black vases, wilted. “I never told you anything of the
sort. I love my family and they love me. Now leave my home and never come near us again.”

Cringing away from the feel of the frog that had hopped down onto her foot, Mirabelle took a
step backwards and plopped back down onto the sofa. She wasn’t going to be made a fool of
again. Glaring at the woman sitting so close to Reglan that a molecule couldn’t come between
them, miss Richards shouted, “You stupid idiot, he hates you and your kids. For months we’ve
been planning to run away and when he finally did you’ve apparently called him whining about
something else those little bastards have done.” Grabbing her handbag up from the sofa, she
made to kick at the frog that was getting all too familiar with her eight-hundred-dollar pumps
when the black and white freak of nature disappeared. “Eek,” she cried and stumbled away from
the advancing, black-eyed anurans.

Flint smiled at his pets and with a show of great hospitality, advanced, extending a crystal bowl
of fat crickets to Miss Richards. “Here, have a treat Mirabelle,” he cackled, accosting her with
the noisy and animated insects.

Glaring down into Savina’s green eyes, Mirabelle humphed then stated, “It’s no wonder he wants
to leave you.” The outraged blond, swatted at Flint’s hand, standing her ground. “Look here,
Mr. Quincy Magoo, I eat grown men for snacks, so you better not mess with me.”

He laughed in her face, really huck-hucking and hamming it up, careful not to tip over the bowl
he held. When he’d regained his composure, Flint informed the blonde murderess, “That’s
hilarious, or better yet poetic, because I too have a taste for human flesh.” With that being said,
he tossed the bowl of crickets into her face. The hungry frogs attacked her from every angle and
Flint took the form of a large and menacing North African Leopard ready to leap on her when the
entire room went black.

Mirabelle, scared witless, ran through the darkness, stumbling over furniture and smacking into
walls until she could feel her way to the door. Once there, she jerked and jangled the doorknob
trying to escape. When she felt the abrasive licking of a prickly tongue on her calf and sharp
claws testing the plumpness of her too cute rump, she doubled her efforts to leave the lying Dr.
Paraquat to his fate. She heard the silk of her dress ripping across her buttocks and felt a trickle
of leopard saliva plop onto her skin just as she broke through the door, with the knob still
clutched in her hand.

****

Pan had sat beside his sister’s still figure on the bed she’d shared with Reglan, wondering what
would bring her back. He’d tried every spell of white that he knew and still something held her
between the two worlds. At first, he’d thought she was refusing to return because she’d tried to
bind the kids and because Reglan had walked out on them, so he’d frozen her will, her powers,
and tried again, along with the help of her three eldest children to bring her back, but she
remained beyond the reach of their collective powers.

In despair, he’d sent the children to find their youngest sibling, who’d taken the departure of
their father and suspended state of their mother so hard that she’d been inconsolable, flying off to
areas unknown. For the other three children, the additional separation from their sister, mounded
on top of the loss of their parents had been too much for them to adjust to. The results had been
the unleashing of anger in degrees unparalleled by any mortal children he’d ever encountered
and Pan had used a good bit of empathy, skill and ingenuity to redirect their energies, especially
Flint’s, so when he heard the croaking, raised voices, shrieks, lethal growls and roars rising up
from the living room, he flew down to the area, covering it in total darkness and learned the sad
fate of his brother-in-law, the whereabouts of his youngest niece and the truth of why he was
having such difficulty getting his beloved sister back.

Once the blond woman was tearing out of the driveway, Pan flowed not into a single solid shape
but halves of the whole man only his sister knew. Years of abuse and a close encounter with
death, at his mother’s hands, had left him preferring the safety of his feline form most of the
time, though he reverted to human form when he worked, mated, or needed to give specific
attention to Savina and the children, like now. Therefore, he stood before his nephews and niece
as Pan and Pandarus, one part committed to the dark and the other half dedicated to the light,
both entities needing the Paraquat family unified this Allhallows’ Eve.

Dressed in white jeans and a long-sleeve dress shirt, handsome clean-shaven Pan of ochre skin,
big golden eyes and long textured hair, that symbolized his African heritage, addressed Marie-
Soliel who’d temporarily progressed her age to pass herself off as Savina to Reglan’s former
office manager, “You are so like your mother that you bring joy to our hearts and tears to our
eyes. However, change back to your rightful age so that you can appropriately be at your
mother’s side.”

Marie-Soliel, seemed to implode in response to his words, drawing the figure of the woman
she’d one day be back inside, outwardly assuming the appearance of her six-year-old little girl
self. Sadly, she inquired, “How is mama?”

Pan’s look was hopeful, bright and reassuring. “She continues to rest.” Drawing Flint and Terry,
who each respectively appeared as a huge leopard and Dr. Reglan Paraquat sitting on either side
of Marie-Soliel, into the conversation he suggested, “Switch back now and come along with me
and your sister to your mother’s side. Don’t worry about Dulciana and your father; I have a
strong feeling they’ll be home soon. And as for Miss Mirabelle Richards, my darker half will
make sure she is made to face what she’s done.”

“Thank you Uncle Pan,” the children chimed as Flint and Terry transformed, in a similar fashion
to their sister’s physical conversion, back into twins of eight.

“Not so fast,” interjected Pandarus who was gothically white of skin, with long lustrous black
hair that waved well past his broad shoulders. He was an imposing figure, sporting a neatly
trimmed chin strap style beard and moustache. His attire was pitch-black form-fitting jeans and
shirt, topped with a long black leather duster, the attention-getting ensemble completed by boots
that were polished to an eye aching brilliance, but his eyes were the heart-stopper, glowing gold
and onyx, inhuman. Standing beside Pan, he glared at the children. “The three of you would
allow that office manager to take the full blame for what’s happened between, and to, your
parents. However, we all know their, as well as your own, actions over the years have truly been
the cause of this mess we find ourselves knee deep in. When your parents get back, your
behavior will completely change for the better, you will grant them time together and you will
refrain from the endless mischief that doesn’t allow my sister a moment’s peace or I will be your
consequence. A binding spell will be the very least of your worries,” he warned forbiddingly.
The children sat wide-eyed in fright. They’d never seen this side of their uncle though they’d
always sensed a darker part of him existed. This wasn’t the relative that treated them to lunches
at Roscoe’s or took them to the old neighborhood to watch pick-up games of hoops, and knowing
that part still existed, even the tiniest bit, within the brooding, black clad figure looming over
them made the deeply wounded, and ever-testing trio begin to whine, “But, uncle Pandarus-”

“Shut your crafty and cantankerous mouths,” he warned with such intense heat that the
containers of flowers Terry had caused to wilt earlier, flash burned, vases and all, leaving behind
billowing plumes of black smoke. Pandarus took a step toward them threateningly, “Though
your parents are hovering between the worlds of the living and the dead, you take the time to
engage in more pranks and tantrums instead of concentrating on positive ways of getting them
back. Despite your full knowledge that you aren’t to wear purplish-black, because within our
group the color draws forth the power of necromancy: black magic, all of you sit there draped in
the color, flagrantly showing your leaning toward negative mindsets and the negation of life.
What color are you supposed to be wearing and why?”

“We should wear white, or purplish-white. The colors of triumph over darkness, purity,
wholeness, sincerity, divinity, perfection and leucomancy: white magic,” they recited in unison
the teaching their mother had constantly preached to them.

Pandarus snapped his fingers and the tinkling sound of tiny bells filled the room as the entire
interior took on a purplish-white glow. Sternly he continued addressing his nephews and niece,
“Your mother has chosen this life for you all. You will become the obedient children your
mother and father deserve, accepting her decision and embracing the parts of yourselves that are
your father equal to your fascination with the traits you inherited from your mother or I’ll take
you in hand. I assure you that if I have to mold you, you’ll take no pleasure from the
experience.” Pandarus watched fear pass over the children’s faces and sought clarification from
them in a deep, reverberating tone, “Is there any part of what I said, that you don’t understand?”

“No, uncle Pandarus,” they replied, sitting rod straight on the white sofa, as the black attire they
were normally forbidden to wear was unceremoniously replaced. Through actions akin to the
petals of a flower unfurling, they were redressed in unisex styled clothing: light greenish-brown
twill pants reflective of their father’s thirst for life, energy, vitality and balm for nervous energy,
paired with white shirts and white sneakers.

“Good. Now go be at your mother’s side. I’ll be back shortly,” he finished and with a swirl of
his coattails, he was gone.
Chapter 7

Reglan awoke to severe pounding pain in the side of his head. He could feel the hardness of a
floor beneath him and when he tried to move his arms and legs, the narrow space he was wedged
in didn’t permit the motion. Focusing his gaze to the right he was treated to the sight of his
youngest daughter attired in a pretty white dress with pale lavender flowers and she wore
coordinating ribbons on the ends of her braids. His heart beat faster, uncertain what to make of
the vision before him.

Seeing the confusion in her father’s eyes Dulciana assured him, “I’m alright papa and so are you.
We’re still in Miss Richard’s bedroom.”

He cleared his throat noisily and tried to sit up but had no success, feeling weighted down and
lethargic. Groggily he asked, “Where’s your mother?”

Dulciana leaned forward and placed kisses on each of his cheeks. Sitting back, she smiled
affectionately at her father and in a compassionate voice told him, “Mama is waiting. It’s nearly
time for dinner. You mustn’t be late.” Placing her palms over his eyes, she bade him to rest.
When his breathing grew deep and regular, she extended her hands above him and summoned
her globe. Pointing to one of her parent’s favorite places, she released her casting object
allowing it to levitate over her father’s body. Removing the lavender ribbons from her hair, she
knotted them together and placed them over his heart. She visualized him encased in purple-
white light, saw him in the place she needed him to be with her mother, a place they both adored,
one that held wonderful memories for them. In a strong, commanding voice, she performed her
holiday treat for her parents, “I wish you away, on this enchanted day. To be at the side, of your
beautiful bride. On your special day, so you two can be alone. I wish you love, peace and
happiness in Mont Boron.” With a flashing of tiny white lights above his body, Reglan Paraquat
disappeared from her sight.

****

Having materialized in a suite suited for royalty, Reglan couldn’t take his eyes off the huge white
satin covered bed that was partially obscured by sheer white curtains hanging from ornate golden
ceiling rods. Through the diaphanous fabric, he could discern the figure of a costumed woman
facing him. She was kneeling on the center of the mattress, waiting.

Walking to the bedside, he drew the delicate fabric back to see a closed-eyed Savina fancied up
in a sexy, lotus and white Marie Antoinette costume, the hem barely skimming her upper thighs.
Covering her beautiful midnight dark hair was a high styled white wig, having a small cascade of
curls swept over one shoulder. As always, her skin was a beautiful alabaster and her smiling lips
red. When she raised her lashes to look into his eyes, he caught his breath at the radiance of
emotion he saw there, passion altering their color to one he could not name but which drew him
to her like a moth to a flame. It was when he was taking a kneeling position on the bed before
her that he noticed her cupped and outstretched hands. They were filled with his favorite
diminutive, yet plump red fruits, which reflected the beautiful color of her mouth. He was going
to have strawberries on their special day and in France, no less. He said a silent ‘thank you’ to
his little Dulciana for giving them their magical night together and proceeded to sample the too
tempting fruit his wife offered him.

Savina silently watched as he picked up one berry after another, popping them in his mouth,
avariciously devouring the variety of sweet smelling delicacies. “If I didn’t know how much you
loved strawberries, my pride would suffer a humongous blow,” she teased as he popped the last
edible red jewel into his mouth.

Savoring the perfectly ripened juice flavor that coated his mouth and clung to his lips, he inhaled
deeply the sent of the sea that filled the room. Through the curtains behind her, he could see the
night sky of Nice and a romantic, candlelit dinner for two awaiting them on the balcony. He was
torn. Should he make love to her again, not knowing how much time they had in this magical
place or should they sit and talk, catching up on conversations they’d missed over the years?
Fingering the white curls that brushed against the shoulder of her brocade and lace dress, Reglan
asked, “What would be your pleasure my little matagot?”

Savina reached out and removed the powered wig from his thick brown hair, ruffling the strands
with her fingers. “I say, my king, that we make love first, then eat, drink and talk,” she purred,
all the while undoing his brocade and lace jacket.

Reglan leaned into her, capturing her lips in a kiss, giving her a sampling of strawberry flavor.
Ending their embrace he apologized, “I’m sorry for eating all the berries.”

She smiled at him as she undid his pants, allowing them to pool around his knees. Freeing his
erect penis from his linens she assured him, “That’s okay dearest; I have goodies of my own.”
Savina pushed him back onto the pillows and immediately took him into her mouth. Licking and
tasting him until she heard him groaning out in pleasure. Deliberately she slowed her
movements wanting to prolong their time together and concentrated on stroking his length
between her palms, then applied a little old-time butter-churning wrist action that made him call
out her name and grip her arms to halt her motions. Feeling too hot in the heavy fabric and wig
she begged, “Take my clothes off. Take me, Reglan.”

Breathing heavily he informed her, “I was thinking of loving you with your irresistible gown on,
my queen, except for whatever conservative under things you have beneath that scandalously
short dress.”

Savina blushed and lowered her lashes confessing, “My lord, I seem to be without my drawers.”

Reglan growled lustily and had her beneath him in a blink of an eye. Kicking his legs free of his
pants and thankful that he wasn’t hindered by hose or footwear, he was quickly beneath her skirt,
his hands stroking the silken skin of her thighs. Walking his fingers up along her mons, he
dipped his middle finger into her warm pool, stroking and flexing until she was undulating her
hips unrelentingly.

“You feel so good inside me,” she panted hotly, trying to draw his body over hers so he’d enter
her, reward her hungry chatte with a taste of his sweet meat. Emboldened by never before
reached heights of need, she pursed her lips to let fly the phrase he’d frequently tried to coax out
of her when he covered her mouth in a tender, sweet and passionate mating of tongues and lips.
When he was seeing stars and hearing ‘La Vie En Rose’, he released her lips to whisper into her
mouth, “You were right to never say such a thing. The statement isn’t for us, doesn’t nearly
represent you or I.” One day he’d tell her about Miss Richards, he thought, but not tonight, now
was the time for him to demonstrate how much she meant to him.

Savina felt his wonderful and warm hardness pressing at her entrance, wanting to enter to push
her love button until she was weak and trembling. Spreading her thighs, she urged him on,
“Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Reglan thrust into her, while keeping his torso elevated so he could watch the changes in her
expression. She tossed her head from side-to-side, pouted, and then bit her lower lip as he
rammed repeatedly into her clenching wetness. He lowered his chest just long enough to kiss her
lips, trail along the definition of her jawline, before he resumed his position above her, watching
as his energetic strokes caused the curls of her wig to bounce quickly and repeatedly in time with
his robust movements that were quickening. “God, you’re so beautiful and good Savina,” he
cried, feeling her nails dig into his hips as she threw back her head and came with a low moan.
He watched the sexy roll of her eyes, and the enticing purse of her lips as the climax took her far
beyond the surrounding picturesque hills of France. With a few more strokes, he followed her
into their private paradise, blanketing her with his torso just as his seed shot forth and he
exclaimed, “Happy anniversaries, Mrs. Paraquat.”

****

Replete from their lovemaking, and redressed in whatever items of costume that had been shed
earlier, they walked out onto the covered terrace and sat having dinner, marveling at the beauty
of the night and the wonderful child that had made the evening possible. The blue-black sky
silently lit up and rain began to fall over the hills and homes. Candlelight flickered in the breeze
as they talked about the children and Pan, reminiscing about funny and happy times. Over the
main course of Filet Mignon with Truffled Mushroom Ragoût, they occasionally held hands
across the table, recalling the day they met, each admitting their lives would’ve been dismal if
that day hadn’t occurred. Between sips of sparkling water, they vowed to set aside time regularly
to talk and hold one another, even if it were just for five minutes, because they both needed the
connection, the magic that existed between them. When it was time for dessert, Reglan got up
and walked around the table to lift her from the chair. Taking her place, he positioned her on his
lap and they cuddled and smooched while sharing chocolate dipped strawberries, making plans
for a reduction in his work schedule and discussing different ways of helping the children
harness their talents. Wanting to stretch their legs after such delicious loving and food, they rose
to their feet, flowing into each other’s arms. Bodies pressed closely together, they danced and
swayed to the music of raindrops pouring down and plopping all around them. Foreheads
touching and lips caressing, they fell in love all over again.

Feeling a tingling in the region of her heart, she drew away from him whispering, “I love you
Reglan Paraquat.”

Holding on to her hand, he felt her dissolving beneath his touch and responded, “And, I you,
Savina. Trick or treat, my little matagot.”
Blowing him a kiss she replied, “Always a treat, my skillful healer.”

Unable to resist each other they came together for another soul-searing kiss. Reaching up he
removed the white wig from her head to allow the dark beauty of her tresses to blow in the sweet
salty sea air of Mont Boron. Savina tossed his hair covering over the terrace railing and latched
on to his neck, jumping up to wrap her legs around his waist clinging to him as if this was her
last time to see him.

Feeling scared and uncertain, he closed his eyes begging of her, “Be home, waiting for me when
I get back Savina.” He held his wife tighter, feeling her slipping away. Reglan willed his love to
answer, but he could no longer feel her heartbeat or catch the sweet music of her breathing.
Silence and the steady pattering of heavy raindrops were the only sounds that still filled the
room. With sad eyes, he watched as the scene before him grew dim and he prayed he’d have
memories of this time with her, hoped she was already home with their children preparing for a
night of Halloween happenings. Starting to feel heavy, drifting off to sleep and up into the air,
his last conscious thought was that he hoped his children had used up their lifetime quota of
tricks.
Chapter 8

Dulciana was in the kitchen cleaning out the freezer when Mirabelle arrived home. Her father
was still resting on the bedroom floor, but they’d be leaving soon. She just wanted to have a chat
with Miss Richards. Getting to her feet, she stood with arms at her sides waiting to give the
woman, who’d hurt her father, a piece of her mind. With her familiar spirit alight upon her left
shoulder, she was in the process of retying her lilac ribbons, in her now blond hair, when
Mirabelle stormed through the living room, stopping abruptly when she saw her.

Tossing her Prada bag and car keys onto the sectional, Mirabelle, approached the little girl that
seemed vaguely familiar. Seeing the freezer’s contents piled neatly on the floor and the
container that had housed her treasures standing empty, she shouted, “How did you get in here?”

Taking off her glasses and resting them on the grey granite counter top, Dulciana stepped toward
the woman. Her face was somber, her voice chastising as she spoke, “Their hearts never
belonged to you, so I gave them back to the men you stole them from. Finally, they’re at peace
and now you can rest as well. You haven’t slept in years. Aren’t you tired Miss Richards?”

Mirabelle widened her eyes in disbelief. Was this day never going to work out for her? After
escaping that circus act of a family, all she’d wanted to do was come home, pop a few pills, and
have several stiff drinks in preparation for her night on the town. But no, she was being robbed
by a pint-sized Heidi. So what if she’d thrown those stupid hearts away. Her actions only saved
her the trouble. She’d been dumb to keep them in the first place and wouldn’t make the same
mistake in the future. Pushing disarrayed strands of hair off her face she addressed the little girl,
“Look, I don’t know who you are, or what you’re talking about but I suggest you hightail it back
to wherever it is you came from. I’ve had my fill of tricks for the day. So run along home.”
Mirabelle stepped aside, motioning with a sweep of her hand for the child to scram.

Dulciana stood her ground. “What did you do to that man who’s in the bedroom?”

Mirabelle’s ears pricked up at this question. Could it be that Reglan had come back to her?
Patting at her hair and trying to camouflage the claw-shredded condition of her dress across her
rear, Mirabelle asked in a hopeful voice, “Did you see a brown-haired, little man in there, with
tortoiseshell framed specs?”

Dulciana imperceptibly wiggled the fingers of her left hand that hung at her side, causing her
black and white butterfly spirit to flutter up into the air. She watched the swallowtail as it flew in
a lazy pattern over to Miss Richards, then hovered within inches of the woman’s face. “Yes.
He’s on the floor resting. Did you mean to hurt him Mirabelle? Did you mean to hurt the
others?”

Mirabelle narrowed her eyes and took a step toward the child, batting the butterfly out of her way
and being cut on the back of her hand for her trouble. “Ouch,” she muttered, shaking her
stinging and bleeding limb. “What business is it of yours?”

Dulciana flipped her golden braids over her shoulders, summoning her pet back to its resting
spot. “Because you’re what I become and if you deliberately hurt people I choose not to be
you.”
The woman stood very still, staring at the child’s golden hair and cornflower blue eyes.
Frightened, Mirabelle took a step backward. With her legs feeling like overcooked spaghetti, she
lost her balance and went tumbling to the floor. Seeing the little girl approaching in her white
leather Mary Jane’s, lace ruffled ankle socks, and white dress with lilac flowers, Mirabelle
scooted on her plump rump away from the approaching child until her back was pressed against
the wall. “Stay away from me,” she cried, holding her hands above her face as if to ward off a
blow, tiny droplets of blood dripping from her wound onto her already ruined dress. “You died a
long time ago. Don’t come near me,” she whimpered, trying to press herself further into the
wall.

Standing above the shaking woman, Dulciana waved her hand and her butterfly fluttered over
and nicked Miss Richards other hand. The woman’s cry of pain was lost in the low sounds of
agony she was already making. “Tell me the truth. Is your insatiable desire to hurt people for
possessions and things or is their some other force that compels your hands?”

Mirabelle continued to shake with fright. She’d long known she was walking a fine tightrope
above a straight drop down into madness. Too many years of abuse, countless numbers of
faceless and nameless male associates of her mother who’d sneak into her room, offering trinkets
and treats for the chance to touch and hold her. At some point during that time she’d vowed to
use men for what she could get from them and the drug and alcohol fueled decision had taken a
toll on her from the start. The initial marriage had been to escape her poor life circumstance.
The first taking of a life had been justified, because she’d had a bad upbringing. Subsequent
name changes, marriages and murders had been to get what she felt she deserved. The cold hard
truth was that she didn’t care about anyone but herself and the self-satisfying hunger that
consumed her was a beast that devoured everyone in its path, including the child she’d once
been. That was the crazy, insane truth and she wasn’t going to hide from it or the thing that stood
before her trying to make her feel guilty. Lowering her hands, she glared at the girl and through
gritted teeth hissed, “Go away pest, I don’t want you here.”

Unafraid, Dulciana caught the woman’s fingers and drew her up onto her knees, to transform
from the blond, damaged girl of Miss Richard’s long buried past into the bespectacled daughter
of the man that would have been victim number seven. “You never cared for my papa. If you’d
shown me that your heart had ruled your pursuit of him, I would’ve allowed you to leave here as
you are. However, the glimpse you just allowed me into your soul has shown me that you have
no intention to be other than what you are and I believe, if given the chance, you’ll try to hurt
him in the future because he rejected you.”

Glaring into eyes that were so like the deceptive Dr. Paraquat’s, Mirabelle tried yanking her
hands out of the girl’s tight hold, but found herself unable to garner the strength. “Let go of me.”

Smiling kindly at the woman who was growing flushed from the toxins the Swallowtail had sent
into her bloodstream, Dulciana assured her, “Fortunately for you, today is Halloween, the New
Year for my mother’s ancestors and though I’m more my father’s daughter than hers, I will grant
you dispensation this day by not turning you over to the police. So that’s your treat for this
holiday. However, you’re still due a trick from me and since my uncle stopped my siblings from
effectively dealing with you I’ve decided you need a change of life, of attitude, perhaps a bit
more altitude.”
“Freak, get your hands off me,” Mirabelle screamed, feeling paralyzed over most of her body,
only her eyes were now able to dart back and forth.

“Sticks and stones, Miss Richards. Sticks and stones.” Hearing her father calling to her from the
bedroom, Dulciana leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on the woman’s forehead before
calling back to him, “I’ll be right there papa.” Releasing Mirabelle’s hands, Dulciana traced the
outline of the woman’s figure with her hands and chanted, “By day you’ll sleep. At night, you’ll
sweep. Across the sky, your wings shall span. On the ground you’re feet will rarely land. Your
beauty will be no more. Eyes that fall upon you become sore. This Allhallows’ Eve I take my
most impressive trick from my box and turn you Miss Mirabelle into a flying fox.” Dulciana
clapped her hands together noiselessly and gone from in front of her was the paperweight
wielding, blond office manager and in her place was a miniature fruit tree with its resident
sixteen-inch, fox-faced black bat.

Walking over to the large kitchen windows, the little girl closed the blinds to make the room
more pleasant for its new inhabitant. She repeated the action throughout the condominium until
she found herself in the living room standing toe-to-toe with her father. Jumping up into his
arms, she hugged him fiercely. “Papa, how was dinner?”

“Being with your mother in Mont Boron was a wish come true. Thank you, my little butterfly.
Now let’s hurry home,” he said, standing her on her own two feet.

Hand-in-hand, they were on their way to the exit, when Pandarus materialized against the
backdrop of the white front door. “Welcome back Reglan,” he said in greeting, hoping his
brother-in-law wouldn’t be spooked by his sudden appearance.

Reglan picked up his pace, hurrying Dulciana over to the apparition in black. Eagerly, he
grasped the figure’s hand, pumping it vigorously several times, before ending the burning
contact. “I’m pleased to finally meet you after all these years and under different circumstances
I’d want to sit and chat with you like I do with Pan. However, right now I need to get home to
Savina. How was she when you last saw her?”

He focused his sight on his niece, though he spoke to Reglan, “She was still between the two
worlds. Hurry home to her. I’ll be along shortly.” Walking forward he lifted his niece into his
arms and studied her eyes for a long time. When the child kissed him on each cheek, then on the
forehead, he smiled for the first time since his coming forth. In a low, probing tone he requested
of Dulciana, “Where is Miss Richards?”

Innocently, the little girl replied, “She’s hanging out in the kitchen eating fruit.”

Releasing her to stand once more at her father’s side, Pandarus said to them, “Well, be on your
way. If I’m lucky I’ll be home before the two of you have gotten onto Hawthorne Blvd.”

Despite Pandarus’ imposing figure, at the thought of encountering Miss Richards again, Reglan
began to shake with fear. Grabbing Dulciana’s hand, he hurried her out of the condominium,
calling back over his shoulder, “Be careful of her. She was behaving very oddly earlier today.”
Not waiting for a response, he closed the door behind him with a decisive click and hurried
Dulciana to the elevator.
Once they were inside the mirrored compartment, Dulciana reached into the pocket if her dress
and palmed an item before tapping her father on the arm. When he looked down at her with
glowing-green eyes, she extended her hand to him to reveal his caper-green Volvo Crossover in
miniature, saying with a giggle, “Just one more trick papa?”

“Sure my little ringlet,” he replied, tapping the tip of her nose with his index finger as he
chuckled heartily. Thinking how clean the environment would be if everyone could zip about at
the flick of a wrist and before he could allow the thought to take on other dimensions, they were
home.

****

Within the family room, Savina sat on the white leather sectional adding finishing touches to
Marie-Soliel’s simple and consistent themed costume. Last year she’d been a doctor. This year
she was dressing up in orchid colored scrub pants, coordinating Hello Kitty scrub top, lilac
stethoscope and Crocs to spend the evening attired as nurse. Glancing over to where Pan, still in
his human form, sat in a white leather chair, helping Terry with his white lab coat and green
stethoscope to complete his doctor’s ensemble of apple green scrubs, and white Crocs, she
couldn’t help but hope that the cosmic payback for her attempted binding of the children was
finally over. She calculated the threefold cost of that horrendous act as Reglan’s walking out, her
death when she learned of his departure, and lastly his demise at the hands of his office manager.
The spell she’d cast, to bring her brother home to watch over the children, seemed to be working
to counter negative ramifications of the other magic. Her casting out for her beloved sibling had
been completed, beneficial and judging by the improved behavior of her three eldest offspring,
very successful. For a threefold positive payback, she’d already mentally checked off her return
to life, now what remained was for her to know that Reglan was back amongst the living and on
his way home, with Dulciana in tow.

Giving her daughter a final once over, she drew the giggling and squirming little girl into her
arms for a quick embrace, before the child darted away to flop into the chair next to her uncle.
At the sound of hurrying sneaker shod feet squeaking across the marble floor of the hallway she
turned to see Flint racing into the room, his black judge’s robe tangling about his rapidly moving
legs, sending him tumbling noisily to the floor in a frustrated heap. Before she could rise to
assist her eldest son, Pan’s ever present feline reflexes had him sitting Terry in the chair he’d
vacated and at Flint’s, flushed-faced, side.

“Savina, I think the white lining you’ve sewn into his robe is hindering his movements,” Pan
voiced in a concerned tone, as he helped Flint to his feet, flipping up the end of the long black
material to inspect the stitching and the weight of the heavy white lining. Casting a glance over
his shoulder to his sister he suggested, “I could change out the inner material for something more
befitting an active boy, more of a sports material and in the same color of course.”

Savina reflected for a moment on the activities she’d learned her eldest child had engaged in
during her time of suspension. He’d already suffered two parts of his threefold payback, as had
Terry and Marie-Soliel, for the magic they’d used against Miss Richards. She didn’t think the
additional punishment of hindering his natural feline grace with the heavy church choir gown
sewn into the already weighty judge’s robe was necessary. In addition, she didn’t want him to be
seriously injured. He’d already fallen a dozen times. Anymore crashes to the hard floor and he
was bound to break something and then they’d be spending the night in the emergency room
instead of celebrating. “Alright Pan, do as you will, but don’t blame me for the repercussions
that come your way. I rushed through hand sewing those garments together and have the poked
fingers to prove it. You’ll have to use magic to get the job done.”

“I’m a big boy sis,” he said with a wink. Brushing his hands along the sides of the black
material, Pan murmured a few words to himself then stepped away from his nephew asking,
“Doesn’t that feel better?”

Flint took a few tentative steps and when he managed to retain his upright position he beamed at
his uncle, “It’s great. Thanks Pan.” Ever full of energy, he sprinted toward the sofa and bounced
into a seated position beside his mother, straightening his glasses that had been knocked askew
when he fell.

Draping an arm across Flint’s shoulder, she drew him closer to her and pressed a kiss on top of
his head. If he or any of the other children hurt themselves, she or Pan could heal them, but they
wouldn’t unless the situation was absolutely life threatening. Old habits were hard to break.
She’d cared for her offspring their entire lives as a regular mother and even though she could
hear Reglan saying they could use their powers for good, the whole of her being enjoyed the
hands-on dealings she had with her kids.

Pan walked over to stand behind his sister’s seated figure. The familiarity of her ultra-
conservative white dress gave him an immense sense of comfort. He was glad to have her back.
Stroking her hair, and then massaging her shoulders he leaned down to whisper into her ear,
“Reglan and Dulciana are home.”

Feeling more nervous than she had on her wedding night, Savina sat for a moment, beneath the
warmth of her brother’s touch, pressing into the affectionate embrace of her eldest child and,
vowed to have a more naturally balanced family life. She didn’t ever want a repeat of most of
today’s events, although there had been several wonderful surprises along the way, what her
heart recalled most were the feelings of betrayal, fear and loss.

Kissing the top of her head Pan assured her, “Everything will be fine. Go to him. I’ll take the
children out tonight.” With a quick and silent snap of his fingers before his sister’s face, he
caused the angel costumed Dulciana to appear upon her mother’s lap. He watched their joyous
reunion, the child’s halo being knocked off as the other children piled around and on top of
Savina. Walking around to the front of the sectional, he playfully lifted his nieces and nephews
off his little sister, drawing her to her feet. For long moments, he stared into her eyes, assessing
the lessons she’d learned. Satisfied by what he saw, he lowered his forehead to hers, their hands
joined at their sides. “There’s no need to be afraid. Go to him,” he said again, his voice breaking
with emotion.

Savina squeezed his hands tighter, holding on for a few seconds more. She released them as she
stepped aside, their fingers trailing apart as she backed away calling out to him, “Thank you for
everything Pan and happy new year.”

“No sweat sis,” he assured her. Turning to recapture her gaze his tone was lovingly playful as
she voiced his wishes for her, “Happy new year on this Halloween night and happy birthday to
you and Reglan, little Savina.” With a lazy blinking of his golden feline eyes, he crafted his gift
for them and with a broad sweeping of his arms caused himself and the children to dematerialize
just as Savina’s backward steps brought her into contact with Reglan.

****

Holding her tightly against him, he knew that upon the sunrise he’d sit Pan and Dulciana down
for a discussion on behavior modification. Why would any man be loathe to repeat passive-
aggressive actions, having a bad fit of temper that resulted in his refusal to speak to his family
and running away from home to a false sense of security, where he was groped then knocked
lifeless, when he was rewarded for doing those things? Dulciana had given him, well, really
them, those magical hours in France. A time packed with all the things he’d felt had been
missing from the last eight years of their marriage and his precious daughter had even added the
special treat of those delectable strawberries, which he could still taste and smell. He wished
he’d been able to bring some back with him and no sooner had the thought entered his mind than
a large silver dish, overflowing with the plump, red, fruits appeared on the grass before them, as
did a large bowl of whipped cream sitting upon a big block of ice. Reglan tried pulling Savina
closer and realized that excluding getting inside her body, there was no greater physical intimacy
they could achieve, and thanks to Pan’s quick slight of hand he knew his claiming of his wife
was but a few moments away. His brother-in-law had transformed their family room into a
miniature jungle with tall trees for climbing, lush grass for frolicking, and a waterfall that
cascaded down into a pool of crystal green-blue water; he’d frequently confided to Pan that he’d
longed to take just Savina on safari one day, so they could have time alone to rekindle their
relationship and now he was being afforded the opportunity in brief, with the added pleasure of
his little matagot being encased in a form-fitting vinyl Catwoman costume à la Michelle Pfeiffer,
with Savina’s enticing tail swishing back and forth across his burgeoning erection. Sliding his
hand down her stomach and on between her thighs he discovered that her costume did not cover
her hot, wet chatte. Inserting his pointer and middle fingers into her tropical forest, he purred
into her ear. “This is no way for a bad boy like me to be punished for his abysmal actions
Mistress Matagot.”

Rocking her pelvis in time with his pushing and prodding fingers, she flicked her wrist to crack
the whip she held against his leg. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his hips surge
forward against her bottom, the fingers that were pleasuring her pressing against the spot that
longed for his caress. “Before I take you in hand Dr. Paraquat and instruct you in the ways of a
good husband, first recall for me the lessons we’ve both learned today.”

“We should discuss our issues and concerns, really work together to have balance in our lives,
time for us as a couple, intervals devoted to parenting our children so that neither of us begins to
feel overwhelmed or undervalued,” he informed her while nipping at her ear that was concealed
beneath the head mask of her costume.

“Excellent, Dr. Paraquat,” she commended him, dropping her whip to the forest floor and falling
forward onto her hands and knees, the motion of her body pulling Reglan down with her.
Spreading her thighs, she jiggled her hindquarters, against his aroused member, felt him pulling
his fingers from inside her to undo his pants, when she said in an ominous tone, “Not so fast
Reglan.”

Uh oh, he thought, this didn’t sound like a treat was coming his way. Kissing the side of her
neck, massaging her shoulders, then stroking her back, he asked cautiously, “What is it kitten?”

Gracefully, slinking from beneath him, she turned and asked testily, “Exactly what lesson have
we learned about people like Miss Mirabelle Richards?”

On his hands and knees, Reglan stalked over to his little matagot and sat back on his haunches.
After a few moments of silence, time that he used to study her and reflect on the issues that had
culminated with the day’s events he honestly answered, “She and those like her are but minor
symptoms hinting at a more serious disease. That I chose to confide in her instead of finding a
way for us to communicate effectively about the problems within our marriage is no fault of
Mirabelle’s. We’ve been in therapy with the children for years, the wrong kind of treatment for
them and us, but we both just plodded along, never talking about the real problems because we
thought we were protecting our children, thinking that our relationship was safe from destruction
because we love each other. That we care so greatly means we need to work harder at preserving
what we have instead of engaging in magical thinking, where every situation ends happily. Not
even the most powerful wish- or witchcraft can ensure such never-ending happiness.”

She reached out to stroke his cheek, “Very nicely stated, my wonderful healer. Tomorrow, I’ll
call around and find a therapist who specializes in blended families and non-traditional belief
structures.”

Reglan captured her hand and brought the palm to his lips. “So are we done with our lessons for
this Allhallows’ Eve?”

Falling backward into the thick grass, she pulled him down on top of her, wrapping her legs
around her husband’s hips, the open crotch of her catsuit inviting him to teach her a few lessons
of his own. Taking him in hand, she positioned his upturned tip at her entrance and when she felt
his push forward, she disappeared from beneath him with a giggled out, “Trick.”

Hearing her behind him, Reglan spun around to find her crouched before him with a large dollop
of whipped cream on her finger. He watched as she slathered the cold, rich, dairy product onto
his throbbing penis, and he heard the deep purr vibrating between her chest and throat. His gaze
was locked onto the motion of her head as she lowered her mouth to lick him, taste him then
suck him until he was absolutely clean. When she raised her head, giving him that sensual
matagot smile, all he could say was, “That was one heck of a treat Savina Paraquat.”

Again, she presented her posterior to him, swishing her tail and arching her back. Glancing
invitingly over her shoulder at him, she promised, “I’ve got a kitty style routine in mind Reglan
that will change your definition of the word.”

“Oh frisky chatte, you know what I like,” he growled and made to hastily mount her.

Savina leapt from beneath him teasing, “But you have to catch me first.”
Chapter 9

Pandarus stood in the darkened kitchen watching the little bat happily munching away on one of
the plums it had picked from the tree Dulciana had thoughtfully provided. Pulling from the air
the spell his little niece had cast, Pandarus repeated the words in reverse, freeing Miss Mirabelle
Richards from the child’s enchantment, to stand before him as an outwardly beautiful woman
once more, although seemingly a bit mangled and tattered around the edges. Cautiously, he
approached her, his figure still as one with the darkness. With a slow outward slide of his hands,
he made the blinds throughout the condominium part, allowing her to distinguish him from the
shadows.

Mirabelle’s first human memory was of that spooky little girl who’d been ransacking her kitchen.
The next thought that entered her mind was of collecting as many of her possessions as she could
fit into her car and drive as far away from that mad Dr. Paraquat and his freak show of a family
as fast as humanly possible. Then she remembered being swaddled in a nice black fur coat and
she smiled, liking that recollection as well as the plenteous amount of tasty plums that she’d had
stored in the kitchen as a healthy snack. Heaven forbid she should pork-up and have to date men
sporting bad toupees and wearing polyester leisure suits. She may not have gotten Dr. Paraquat
as her Halloween treat but she was sure that before midnight she’d be in some handsome man’s
bed making him promises she had no intention of keeping.

As her eyes adjusted to the light filling the room, she saw the tall, black-clad man standing
before her. He was a handsome devil with the most astounding eyes she’d ever seen. Placing the
plum she’d still been holding aside, Mirabelle stood a little straighter so that he could fully
appreciate the fine specimen she was and asked in a voice filled with temptation, “What can I do
for you?”

“Nothing. I’m here to do something for you Miss Richards,” Pandarus advanced on the
cornflower-blue eyed woman, holding her captive with his gaze. When not even an inch
separated them, he saw her for what she was, not the image she put forward for people to behold.
To him she wasn’t comprised of golden hair, big breasts and a too cute tush. He saw her as an
abused girl, a desperate woman and a person barely clinging to sanity. Yes, she’d murdered
before, had taken his brother-in-law’s life for a time, but he could see the next life to be lost
would be her own in a meeting with an acclaimed, but twisted psychologist, who’d tell her
everything she wanted and needed to hear, then figuratively peel her fingers off of the tenuous
grip she had on reality, so she’d end her own life. The deed would be over quickly, would
happen that Halloween night.

Touching his fingers to her forehead, he spoke sincerely, “Miss Richards, this is a special time
for my people. A period of renewal, so to speak. I’m going to offer you a choice only once so
think clearly and carefully before you decide. Reflect on your past and tell me now, with the
utmost honesty, whether you’d elect to return to that false existence, or would you like to have a
simple life, where you’d be whole, cared for as a person and regarded with respect?”

Mirabelle felt the warmth of his touch, pleasing, assuring, caring. He reminded her of the weird
little girl from earlier and the kiss she’d given her on the forehead before she’d wrapped her in
the beautiful fur coat. She couldn’t remember another time when anyone had given her anything
without wanting something in return. “Do I have to sleep with you or anyone else to have either
choice?”

“No, Miss Richards, you don’t,” he assured her.

Mentally clutching at the edges of clarity that the golden-eyed man’s touch brought to her mind,
Mirabelle inquired, “With which choice do I get to keep that fur coat I was wearing?”

“Neither,” Pandarus told her in a voice that let her know the topic wasn’t negotiable.

“Well that’s too bad. I really liked the feel of those silken hairs. But with all things being as they
are, I’d take the second choice,” she assured him and felt unfamiliar wetness on her lashes.

“As you wish,” he granted her desire, because he saw in her now semi-lucid eyes, the
genuineness of her choice. Stroking his fingers across her forehead, he continued the motion
until she fell backwards onto his arm he was using to brace her. Scooping her up into his
embrace he declared, “This will be a new year for us both, the start of a better life especially, for
you Mirabelle,” with the uttering of those words Pandarus projected them home.

****

Flint left his sisters, brother and uncle Pan sitting at their usual table, in their favorite Jack in the
Box. He hurried toward the front counter, past the many unmasked, costume-clad patrons who
were also ending their night of trick or treating by consuming some of Jack’s quick and tasty
food. This establishment was especially appealing to him and his siblings because the happy,
ping-pong ball sized, clowns’ heads that were on display and given to customers as freebies,
were always a hoot to make talk when people didn’t expect any sound to spring forth from their
little red mouths.

Feeling disappointed, Flint walked along scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor. Earlier
he’d had his heart set on drinking a large chocolate shake, but his horsing around at the table
with Terry had sent the cup tumbling to the floor and now he had to clean up the huge spill.

He was a few feet from the counter, where he hoped to get a bunch of napkins or better still, a
hot soapy towel, when he observed the employee behind the cash register shifting her eyes
nervously toward him. A burly, masked customer, dressed in a dark blue hooded sweatshirt and
jeans was agitatedly motioning toward the female crewmember, one hand threateningly
positioned in the side pocket of the loose fitting jacket.

Flint instinctively knew this event would mark his transition in life. A positive outcome meant
he’d matured to a greater degree and as a result, his mother and Pan would teach him more
powerful white magic. He considered the situation for a moment, the potential danger to the
employees and customers and the need to deescalate the situation in a way that didn’t draw
attention to himself or his family as well as teaching the probable robber a lesson.

Eyeing the sweatshirt pocket, all the while steadily and calmly walking forward, Flint focused
his attention on the hand that was concealed from sight and caused the pocket to seal tightly
around the person’s wrist, not allowing for any level of movement. He heard a pained cry come
from behind the mask, watching as the bandit tried unsuccessfully to get free of the material that
was now glove tight. Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, Flint blinked lazily behind
his thick lenses causing the gun, real or fake to become inoperable.

Finally, reaching the counter, Flint stood beside the would-be robber, who wasn’t smart enough
to flee, but stood, comically trying to yank free of the fabric. Focused on following through with
his original task, he politely asked the stunned employee for a wet towel to clean up the
chocolate shake from the floor. The frightened teen stared blankly at him for a few seconds then
came to her senses and possessed by emotion akin to what he saw in his sisters when he or Terry
swiped their favorite spellcasting items, leapt over the counter and proceeded to pummel the now
backward stepping robber, who had the ever increasing bad luck to bump into a pair of police
officers just entering the establishment.

Flint was watching one officer try to subdue the female employee, when the other ordered him to
get out of the way. Quickly doing as he was told, Flint hurried away with his judge’s robe flying
out around him, looking back when he heard one officer’s call of, ‘show me your hands’. Under
his breath, Flint voiced simple, yet powerful words, “So it shall be…”

****

Thankful that very little notice had been given to him, Flint was hurrying back to his family
when he realized the reason why. Terry, in the midst of a crowd was performing the Heimlich
Maneuver on an elderly man who, unable to speak or breathe, was clutching his throat, his eyes
wide in distress. Flint watched his brother deliver a series of fast and forceful thrusts of his
cupped fist, which was centrally placed directly below the senior citizen’s rib cage, to the
octogenarian’s abdomen, when a glob of something flew from the man’s mouth and landed a
distance away. With his breathing restored, the grateful man shook Terry’s hand vigorously.
Flint watched as a gentle-eyed, white-haired woman kissed his siblings and Pan in gratitude. He
couldn’t wait to tell their mother the news, that he and Terry were both ready for the next step in
their lives and after everything that had happened today he thought the information would be a
wonderful treat for his parents. Only, he had the messy matter of that tipped-over shake to clean
up first or assuredly have to face Pandarus later and that meeting would undoubtedly be very
unpleasant for him.

****

Halloween was coming to a close. In the drawing room of the Paraquat home, Reglan sat on the
sofa as close to Savina as he could get, without climbing onto her white robe covered lap and
wrapping his arms around her, frightened by the vision that sat directly across from them. On the
loveseat to his right sat his wonderful children dressed in their pajamas, but no longer were they
excited over their evening of candy collection and good deeds. They were unhappily staring at
Pan who, having reunified with Pandarus, now stood behind the huge white chair that supported
a creature they wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

Massaging the tense shoulders of the woman who sat before him, Pan calmly addressed his
family, “I’ll be solely responsible for her. We’d like to remain here with you, but I have a home,
a short distance away that Mirabelle and I could reside in and only occasionally visit with you
all.” Having said his piece, Pan looked toward the children first, who wouldn’t meet his eyes,
then at Reglan who, appearing whiter than a ghost, sat dumbstruck and staring goggle-eyed at
Miss Richards. When his gaze met his sister’s, only then did he know all would be well.

Patting Reglan’s hand reassuringly, Savina lovingly spoke to her brother, “You have always been
supportive to us all and we’ll be likewise of you. If you’ve helped Miss Richards back from
whatever dark place she’s been in, then on this Allhallows’ Eve, I’ll forgive and welcome her
into our home and family.”

Pan felt Mirabelle’s shoulders slightly shake, her soft sobs filling the room and said, “I know this
isn’t ideal and as the last portion of a threefold payback, the going won’t be easy, but I feel she’ll
be an exciting addition to the family. Next Halloween you’ll all be thanking me.”

Savina got to her feet, tugging a very reluctant Reglan along with her. She watched as the
beautiful blond, attired in a simple white frock, moved to stand at Pan’s side. “Children please
say goodnight to your uncle and Miss Richards.”

The twins, all thinking they weren’t going to stand for that woman living in their house with their
uncle, obediently chorused, “Sleep well Pan and you too Mirabelle.” Not waiting for a response
they hurried out, trying to decide how many days to give her before they let loose all manners of
beasts upon her conniving head.

Still dragging Reglan along, Savina strolled over to Miss Richards and extended her hand in
welcome. When the brief and charged contact ended, Savina declared, “Let’s all turn in. Pan,
Miss Richards can have the large bedroom down the hall from yours if that suits you both.” At
her brother’s nod, Savina, feeling that all was well, turned with her husband’s hand still grasped
in hers, ready to lead the way to the upstairs quarters.

Mirabelle clear of mind, for once in a very long while, placed her hand on the lovely black-
haired woman’s forearm to keep her from leaving. In an emotion fueled, but sane voice, she
spoke to both Reglan and Savina, “Thank you for taking me in. I’m sorry for the way I behaved
earlier today, for attacking you Reglan. I plan to never make you regret the graciousness you’re
extending to me.” Stepping forward she kissed each of Savina’s cheek then offered her hand to
Reglan, swearing, “This isn’t a trick.”

Reluctant to have any contact with the woman, Reglan only did so after Savina elbowed him in
the side. His hand was unsteady in Miss Richard’s grasp as he spoke with more self-possession
than he felt, “My wife and I received second chances to be united with Pan and our children, so
we could work at being better partners and parents. That you be afforded an opportunity to
change and grow, is befitting on this holiday. Happy New Year, Miss Richards.”

“The same to you, Reglan and Savina,” Mirabelle wished them in return, appropriately releasing
his hand and inclining her head respectfully to his wife.

Savina and Reglan watched Pan usher Mirabelle from the room, neither entirely sure what to
make of this final occurrence on their special day. Hand-in-hand they strolled along the
darkened hallways of their home, enjoying the stillness, the absolute quietness of their
surroundings, neither fearing that tomorrow morning would bring a return of the frustration and
overwhelm that had previously hindered their marriage.

As they stepped across the threshold, their familiar white bedroom greeted them. Now, it was
solely their responsibility to make their love thrive in their primarily non-magical world. They
leisurely walked to their bed, climbing upon the cool linens. Reglan cradled his beautiful wife in
his arms and Savina placed her ear atop her healthful husband’s heart. They each silently
anticipated their next special day, wondering what types of tricks or treats were likely to come
their way.

The End

Connect With Me Online:

Smashwords:http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/visitor0766

My blog :http://www.jjenkinsbooks.blogspot.com/