Chapter 1: Behind the Dance Hall
The bass from the hall thumped through the stone wall, a dull, rhythmic ache against Aliandra’s shoulder blades. Inside, the ceilidh was a riot of stomping boots and screeching fiddles, the air thick with sweat and beer. It was aggressively cheerful.
“I can’t smell anything but damp wool and regret,” Aliandra muttered, her breath forming a pale cloud in the cool, salt-tinged air.
Next to her, Jenny giggled, the sound barely audible over the music. “You’re the one who said we had to make an appearance.”
“Appearance made. Duty done.” Aliandra shoved her hands into the pockets of her thin jacket. The patch of grass behind the village hall was a soggy, forgotten margin, slick with recent summer rain and tangled with strands of coarse seaweed carried up by the wind. The smell of peat smoke from a nearby chimney clung to the muggy damp, mixing with the decay of the nearby estuary. A single, flyblown bulb hung above a rusted metal door, its light a sickly yellow puddle on the ground. The wire was frayed, ticking like a slow bomb in the wind.
Aliandra felt the Crow Spirit rustle at the back of her skull, a shadowy presence more felt than seen. It noted the desolation, the hidden things. It liked places like this.
Jenny’s hand found hers, fingers cool and hesitant. “Where are we going?”
“Away.” Aliandra pulled her gently, away from the puddle of light, into the deeper shadow where the hall’s wall met a older, rougher stone boundary. The music muted to a thumping echo here, replaced by the sigh of the wind through marsh grass and the distant cry of a bird. It wasn’t a bird. Aliandra knew the difference.
Jenny’s back met the cold stone, and Aliandra closed the space between them. In the dark, Jenny’s glasses were faint moons, her wavy strawberry-blonde hair a soft frame for the uncertain smile Aliandra could just make out.
“Hi,” Jenny breathed.
“Hey.” Aliandra leaned in, their foreheads touching. She could feel Jenny’s nervous energy, a hummingbird heartbeat. Her own pulse was a slower, deeper drum. The Serpent coiled within her, a line of heat down her spine, woke and stretched lazily. It liked Jenny’s warmth.
The kiss started soft, a question. Jenny’s lips were chapped from the wind, tasting of the cheap strawberry lip balm she always used. Aliandra’s hand came up to cradle Jenny’s jaw, her thumb stroking the downy skin of her cheek. The kiss deepened, turning hungry, a release from the stifling normalcy of the hall.
Jenny’s hands, which had been gripping the straps of her dress, slipped underneath Aliandra’s leather jacket, settling on the small of her back. Her touch was firm, sure. It was a new thing, this confidence. It sent a shock through Aliandra’s system.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Aliandra mumbled against her mouth, the words ripped out of her, raw and unvarnished.
Jenny didn’t answer with words. She made a small, desperate sound in the back of her throat and twisted her fingers in the fabric of Aliandra’s skirt, hiking the hem up. The cool summer evening air hit Aliandra’s thighs. Jenny’s palms were hot through her tights.
Aliandra gasped, the rough stone biting into her own back as she let Jenny manoeuvre them, reversing their positions. The Crow Spirit observed, a silent spectator. The Serpent thrummed with pleasure.
“Jenny,” Aliandra whispered, the name a plea and a command.
“Shhh.” Jenny’s glasses were askew. She took them off with one clumsy hand, letting them dangle from her fingers before they tumbled into the wet grass. She didn’t seem to care. Her mouth found Aliandra’s neck, her teeth grazing the tendon there, and Aliandra’s head fell back with a thunk against the stone.
The world narrowed to the points of contact: Jenny’s knee between her thighs, the press of Jenny’s body, the searing path of her lips. The distant fiddles sawed on, a manic soundtrack to the pounding in her ears. Aliandra’s fingers tangled in Jenny’s hair, holding her close, anchoring herself. For a moment, the unhappy ghosts of her family, the weight of the Crow, the constant coil of the Serpent—all of it receded. There was only this. Only Jenny, who was sweet but not soft, who was learning her own strength against Aliandra’s skin.
Jenny’s hand slid higher up her thigh, under the skirt, and Aliandra’s breath hitched. Her own magic, a wild and untidy thing, sparked in the air between them. A static charge. A feather, dark as a hole in the world, materialized from the gloom and drifted down, catching on Jenny’s shoulder.
Jenny froze. She pulled back just an inch, her breath coming in ragged puffs. “Ali… what was that?”
“Nothing,” Aliandra breathed, trying to pull her back down. “Just the wind.”
“It’s not windy.” Jenny’s eyes, wide and unguarded without her glasses, searched Aliandra’s face. She saw the feather. She plucked it from her cardigan, holding it up. In the murky light, it wasn’t just black. It drank the light, a shard of pure void. “This is yours.”
It wasn’t a question. Aliandra felt a spike of panic, sharp and cold. The moment was slipping, the real world flooding back in. She could lie. She had before.
But Jenny was still here, her hand warm on Aliandra’s leg, her expression not of fear, but of a dawning, profound understanding.
“Yeah,” Aliandra admitted, the word scraping her throat raw. “It’s mine.”
Jenny studied the feather, then looked back at her. The shy girl from three months ago would have flinched. This Jenny, her mouth swollen from kissing, her hair a mess, just nodded slowly. She tucked the feather gently into Aliandra’s coat pocket.
“Okay,” she said, simply.
The word was a balm. A redemption. Aliandra’s eyes stung. She was about to speak, to try and form a sentence that could contain everything she felt—the gratitude, the terror, the blinding love—Jenny made speech impossible by sealing her lips with her own. Aliandra knew the Crow was stronger now than it had ever been, and wilful, with a mind of its own. It often manifested feathers, or appeared as jagged shards in her silver eyes. But if Jenny could deal with it, then she could manage it too.
But if Jenny could deal with it, then she could manage it too. That simple acceptance unlocked something wild and reckless in Aliandra’s chest.It felt like permission.
“Okay,” Aliandra echoed, and then she was kissing Jenny again, harder, needier. She tasted of salt and strawberries and something uniquely, wonderfully Jenny. Her hands, which had been tentative, grew bold. They slid from Jenny’s back down to the curve of her ass, pulling their hips tight together. Jenny moaned into her mouth, a soft, broken sound that went straight to Aliandra’s core, waking the Serpent into a tight, demanding coil.
The fiddle music from the hall was a frantic, distant thing. Here, the only rhythm was their breath, the slick sound of their kissing, the rustle of clothing. Aliandra’s jacket was pushed off her shoulders. Jenny’s fingers, usually so careful with her library books, fumbled with the buttons of Aliandra’s blouse. "Just rip it,” Aliandra panted against her lips.
Jenny didn’t rip it. She got the last button open with a triumphant gasp and pushed the fabric apart. The cool air pebbled Aliandra’s skin, but Jenny’s mouth was hot as it traveled down her neck, over her collarbone, to take a nipple into the wet heat of her mouth. Aliandra cried out, her head thumping back against the stone, fingers clawing into Jenny’s hair. “Fuck, Jenny. Yes.”
Jenny shuddered at the words, encouraged. Her hands were everywhere, learning, claiming. One cupped Aliandra’s breast, thumb rubbing the taut peak. The other slid back down, under Aliandra’s skirt, past the waistband of her tights and underwear. Her fingers brushed over the smoothly shaved mound and found wet, swollen flesh. Aliandra gasped. “Don’t you fucking stop.”
Jenny didn’t. She pushed a finger inside, slowly, her eyes wide and dark as they watched Aliandra’s face. Aliandra’s knees buckled. She was so wet, so ready. The intrusion was exquisite, a perfect, stretching fullness. Jenny began to move her hand, a tentative in-and-out that quickly grew bolder as Aliandra’s hips started to rock against her. “Another one,” Aliandra demanded, her voice ragged. “Give me another finger, you gorgeous fucking thing.”
Jenny complied, adding a second finger, curling them just so. Aliandra saw stars, a galaxy bursting behind her eyes that had nothing to do with Crow magic and everything to do with the sweet, shy girl currently finger-fucking her against a wall. She was close, so close, the tension coiling tighter and tighter low in her gut.
That’s when the laughter cut through the fog.
Three figures stumbled from the direction of the car park, shadows resolving into young men—local lads, maybe a few years older, smelling of cheap lager. They stopped dead, their joking laughter dying in their throats as they took in the scene: Jenny, her hand buried under Aliandra’s skirt, Aliandra’s blouse wide open, her head thrown back in ecstasy.
“Bloody hell,” one of them breathed, a tall guy with a shaved head.
“The fuck is this?” another, shorter and stockier, mumbled, his mouth hanging open.
The third just stared, his eyes glued to Aliandra’s exposed breasts.
Jenny froze, trying to pull her hand back, to cover Aliandra, her face flushing a deep, mortified crimson. But Aliandra caught her wrist, holding her hand right where it was, buried inside her. A cold, defiant anger washed over the heat of her arousal. The Crow Spirit perked up, interested in the intrusion, in the threat.
Aliandra turned her head, fixing the three men with a look. Her silver eyes, she knew, would be catching the sickly yellow light in a way that didn’t look quite human.
“Enjoying the view?” Her voice was low, steady, dripping with a challenge.
The stocky one recovered first, a leering grin spreading across his face. "Didn’t mean to interrupt, like. We can, uh… we can give you your privacy.” He made no move to leave.
The Crow whispered, a rustle of dark thoughts. The Serpent tightened, not in fear, but in anticipation. Aliandra smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. She slowly, deliberately, used her free hand to gather up the front of her skirt and flip it up over her waist, exposing herself fully—the deep cleft in her flesh, Jenny’s slender wrist, the glistening evidence of her own desire. She kept her eyes locked on the men.
“Privacy’s overrated,” Aliandra said, her tone casual, inviting. “Why don’t you lads come join us? There’s plenty to go around.”
Jenny’s breath hitched, a tiny, shocked sound. But she didn’t pull away. Her fingers, still inside Aliandra, twitched. The three men exchanged a look of stunned, horny disbelief. The tall one licked his lips. The stocky one’s leer widened. The quiet one just stared, his hands moving to fumble with the fly of his jeans.
“You… you mean it?” the tall one asked, taking a tentative step forward.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Aliandra purred, arching her back slightly, a blatant, filthy display. “Come on. Or are you just going to stand there with your dicks in your hands?”
That was all the invitation they needed. They moved forward as one, eager, their earlier shock consumed by raw opportunity.
They moved forward as one, eager, their earlier shock consumed by raw opportunity.
Aliandra’s gaze never left them. The cold fury was a crystallizing thing inside her, sharp and purposeful. This wasn’t desire. This was alchemy. “Jenny,” she said, her voice a low command that cut through the men’s heavy breathing. “It’s okay. Stay with me.”
Jenny’s eyes were wide, frightened, but locked on Aliandra’s face. She gave the smallest nod, a tremble in her lower lip. Aliandra squeezed her wrist, the one still resting between her legs, a silent promise.
Then Aliandra looked back at the three men. The tall one, Shaved Head, was already unbuckling his belt. The stocky one, Leering, was licking his lips. The quiet one, Goggle-Eyes, just looked stunned, his hard-on tenting his cheap jeans.
“You’re going to be drained,” Aliandra stated, matter-of-factly, as if commenting on the weather. Her silver eyes glinted. “All that vital, stupid energy. You’re going to give it to me. And you’re going to fucking love it.”
They blinked, confused, but too far gone in their arousal to care about the words. The promise of her body, bared and willing, overrode all sense.
“Whatever you say, love,” Leering chuckled, stepping closer.
“On the ground,” Aliandra instructed, pushing herself away from the wall. She kept her skirt rucked up around her waist, a flag of defiance. The damp, mud-strewn grass was cold and slick beneath her bare legs as she lowered herself onto her back. The single bulb above the metal door cast its jaundiced light across her stomach, her breasts. She spread her legs wide, an open invitation, a blatant trap. “Take turns. Don’t be gentle. I don’t break.”
Shaved Head was on her first, fumbling his jeans down his thighs. His cock was thick and already leaking. He didn’t bother with foreplay, just guided himself to her entrance and shoved in with a grunt.
Aliandra gasped, the sudden, rough fullness a shock that sharpened her focus. She turned her head, her cheek pressed into the wet grass. “Jenny. Come here. Sit on my face.”
Jenny hesitated for only a second. Then, moving with a resolve that seemed to surprise even her, she shuffled forward on her knees. She hiked up her own dress, revealing plain cotton underwear. She hooked her thumbs into the sides and pulled them down, then straddled Aliandra’s face, lowering herself slowly until Aliandra’s mouth was sealed against her.
The world narrowed to sensation. The heavy, rhythmic pounding of Shaved Head fucking into her, a brutal, piston-like drive that pushed her body through the wet grass. The musky, intimate scent of Jenny, the taste of her, clean and faintly salty. Aliandra’s tongue found her clit, licking in slow, firm circles even as her body jolted with each thrust from above.
She reached out her hands, left and right. Leering and Goggle-Eyes were there, their cocks in their fists, jostling for position. Aliandra took one in each hand. They were different textures, different weights. She worked them roughly, her grip tight, her strokes synchronized to the violent rhythm of the man fucking her. It was a grotesque circuit. Energy, hot and stupid and male, flowed into her from the points of connection. She could feel it as a tangible force, a crude vitality. The Crow Spirit within her stretched its wings, drinking it in, turning their base hunger into something darker, sharper.
Shaved Head groaned, his pace becoming erratic, frantic. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” Aliandra snarled, the words muffled against Jenny’s flesh. She felt him pulse inside her, a wet, hot release that she drew into herself greedily. As he shuddered and collapsed to the side, she pushed his spent cock away with her foot.
“Next,” she panted, not missing a beat with her hands or her tongue.
Leering was on her before Shaved Head had even pulled up his pants. He was rougher, angrier, biting her shoulder as he slammed into her. Aliandra laughed, a ragged, breathless sound. Jenny, above her, was rocking against her mouth, her own breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Aliandra could feel the tension building in Jenny’s thighs, the delicious tightening. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue fucking into her, while her hands jerked the other two cocks with a brutal efficiency.
The energy was a flood now. It wasn’t pleasure; it was power. Raw, unrefined, and fucking filthy. It filled the hollow spaces inside her, the ones carved out by a miserable family and a whispering spirit. It felt good. It felt like claiming something that was owed.
Leering came with a shout, his release less a gift and more an attack. Aliandra took it, consumed it, sent it spiraling down into the dark well of herself where the Serpent coiled and the Crow waited.
Goggle-Eyes was last. He was trembling, overwhelmed. He entered her where she was wet and open and used, his movements shy at first. “Harder,” Aliandra demanded, her voice hoarse. “Give it to me. All of it.”
He obeyed, driven over the edge by her command, by the sight of his friends zipped up and watching, dazed, by the utterly obscene spectacle of Jenny grinding on Aliandra’s face. His climax was a whimper, a surrender.
As he pulled out, Aliandra finally let go of their softening cocks. She pushed at Jenny’s hips gently. Jenny climbed off, collapsing onto the grass beside her, chest heaving.
Aliandra sat up slowly. She felt electrified. Sated. The men stared at her, not with post-coital satisfaction, but with a vacant, drained exhaustion. Their eyes were dull. The Crow had feasted.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then looked at her own fingers, glistening with Jenny and the sweat of the grass. She looked at the three hollowed-out shells of men.
“Piss off,” she said, her voice quiet but carrying a final, absolute weight.
They didn’t need telling twice. They stumbled back, fumbling with their clothes, tripping over each other to get away from the patch of sickly light, away from the girl with the silver eyes who sat naked from the waist down in the wet grass, smelling of sex and salt and something ancient and terrible.
When they were gone, the only sound was the distant, cheerful fiddle tune and Jenny’s shaky breathing.
Aliandra turned to her. Jenny’s glasses were still lost in the grass. Her eyes were huge.
“Are you…” Jenny began, her voice a thread.
Aliandra crawled over to her. She didn’t try to cover herself. She cupped Jenny’s face, her thumbs smearing dirt and tears. “I’m sorry,” Aliandra whispered, and for the first time, her own voice cracked. “I needed it. Their… life. It’s fuel. The Crow is hungrier now it's whole.”
Jenny searched her face. She saw the power thrumming under Aliandra’s skin, the dark satisfaction. She also saw the shame, and the fear of what she’d just done, and the desperate hope for understanding.
Slowly, Jenny leaned forward. She kissed Aliandra’s lips, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of herself and forgiveness and something indefinably strong.
“I felt it,” Jenny murmured against her mouth. “The… drain. It was cold. I saw feathers in the dark behind my eyes.”
Aliandra shuddered, pulling Jenny into a tight embrace. They held each other in the dank grass, the music from the hall finally winding down to a last, wheezing note.
They held each other in the dank grass, the music from the hall finally winding down to a last, wheezing note. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the drip of moisture from the eaves and the distant roll of the tide. Aliandra’s skin was alive with static, the stolen energy a low current beneath her flesh. Jenny trembled against her, not from fear, but from the aftershock of what they’d done, what they’d witnessed.
Slowly, they untangled themselves. The air was cold now, biting through the sweat on their skin. Aliandra stood first, her legs unsteady. She offered a hand, pulling Jenny up. They dressed in silence, movements clumsy. Aliandra’s tights were ripped beyond repair, her underwear lost somewhere in the mud. She didn’t care. She pulled her skirt down, buttoned her blouse with fingers that felt thick and foreign. Her leather jacket was a disaster—smeared with dark earth, streaked with green, the hem caked in a thick paste of mud and grass.
Jenny found her glasses. She wiped them clean on the inside of her dress, her hands shaking slightly. When she put them on, she looked at Aliandra, really looked. Her eyes were clear, focused. There was no disgust there. Only a deep, weary understanding.
“Come on,” Jenny said softly, her voice hoarse. “Let’s go.”
They left the shadow of the hall, stepping out onto the gravel path that led back to the village. The night had deepened, the sky a wash of ink above the jagged rooftops. A salt wind kicked up, carrying the smell of the estuary and distant rain. Aliandra shivered. Jenny’s hand slipped into hers, their fingers interlocking tightly. The contact was a grounding wire, a tether to something real.
They walked without speaking for a while, the crunch of their footsteps loud in the quiet. The village was asleep, windows dark, streets empty. The occasional security light flicked on as they passed, casting long, distorted shadows.
Jenny squeezed her hand. “Your jacket,” she said, her tone shifting, trying for lightness. “It looks like you dragged it through a pig sty and then used it to clean a chimney.”
Aliandra glanced down. The mud was apocalyptic. She snorted, a genuine laugh tearing loose from her chest. It felt good. “Fashion statement. Post-apocalyptic bog witch. It’s a vibe.”
“It’s a hazard,” Jenny corrected, bumping her shoulder. “I’m not letting you on the bus like that. They’ll think you’ve murdered someone.”
“Only morally,” Aliandra muttered, but she was smiling. The tension in her shoulders began to unwind. They walked on, hands swinging between them.
“Simon messaged the group chat today,” Jenny said after a moment, changing the subject like turning a page. “He’s back from visiting his aunt in Málaga. Said he ate enough tapas to constitute a war crime.”
Aliandra felt a rush of fondness. Simon was their best friend and oft-times lover, they had spent the first half of the summer with him in Greece - and hadn't that been a handful! “God, I miss that idiot. Did he bring back those terrible fig candies he thinks are gourmet?”
“He said he’s got a stash for us. And a new, profoundly incorrect theory about the Bronze Age collapse.” Jenny’s voice warmed. “I can’t wait to see him. It feels like forever and it's only been a fortnight.”
“Next week,” Aliandra said, the words a promise. “Library. Terrible coffee. Him rambling about syllogisms while we actually try to study sorcery. Normal shit.”
“Just normal shit,” Jenny echoed, squeezing her hand. “It sounds like heaven. We don't get to enjoy a lot of normal shit, do we, what with one thing and another?”
They turned onto the lane that led to Jenny’s parents' cottage. The familiar sight of the crooked fence, the wild rosemary bush sprawling over the path, was a balm. Light glowed from the kitchen window, a golden spill across the damp flagstones.
As they pushed the gate open, the front door swung inward. Will, Jenny’s dad, filled the doorway, his broad frame wrapped in a chunky knit cardigan. Flour dusted his face. “There you two are. We were about to ring the coastguard.” His eyes twinkled in the porch light.
Samantha appeared behind him, wiping her hands on a floral apron. “You’re frozen through. It may be summer, but it gets wet here. Inside, now. I’ve just made cocoa.”
The kitchen warmth hit them like a physical embrace. The air was rich with the scent of melted chocolate and vanilla. Two large mugs sat steaming on the scrubbed pine table, each topped with a wobbling tower of cream and a drizzle of honey.
Aliandra shrugged off her filthy jacket, hanging it on the peg by the door where it dripped a small, murky puddle onto the tiles.
“Good Lord, Aliandra,” Will chuckled, eyeing the coat. “What have you been up to? Did you find a new archaeological dig site?”
“Something like that,” Aliandra said, her cheeks flushing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the room.
Samantha herded them to the table. “Never mind that. Drink this. You need warming from the inside out.”
They sat. The mugs were almost too hot to hold. Aliandra wrapped her hands around hers, feeling the heat seep into her bones. Jenny sat close beside her, their thighs pressed together under the table.
Will settled into his armchair with his own mug. “Ceilidh get a bit rowdy?”
“You could say that,” Jenny said, taking a sip. She closed her eyes for a second, savouring the sweetness.
For a long moment, there was just the comfortable sound of sipping, the creak of the house settling. Aliandra let the normalcy wash over her—the chatter about Will’s sourdough starter, Samantha’s plan to prune the roses, the simple, solid love in this room. It felt like a shield. Outside, the night held shadows and whispers and the memory of three drained men stumbling away. In here, there was only this light, this warmth, this girl beside her.
She took a long drink, the chocolate rich and dark on her tongue, and for the first time all night, she felt truly clean.