Chapter 6: The Murphys' Home
The scent of pine needles still clung to their clothes, a fading memory of the lodge, as Jan parked her beat-up Subaru down the block from the Murphys’ unassuming bungalow. Godfrey sat statue-still in the back, a mountain of black, white, and rust fur, his dark eyes watchful. Bethany adjusted her charcoal wool jacket, the sharp lines at odds with her spiky pink hair, while Katie bounced on the balls of her feet, the silver rings on her fingers catching the afternoon sun.
"Right," Jan said, her voice low and intense, the crackle of untamed power still humming just beneath her freckled skin. "Remember, Inez isn't just some Consortium spouse. She proabably knows. She approves. And she’s got balls of steel hidden under that 'mom' vibe. Keep an eye on her while I deal with James, and watch out for the kids. They're innocents. Eyes open, brains engaged. This isn’t a social call. Be ready for anything. Katie, no accidental combustions. Beth, keep your wand holstered unless shit goes sideways. Godfrey... good boy." The dog thumped his tail once, a soft whump against the seat. His gaze, perpetually bored by human drama, scanned the quiet street.
They approached the neat front walk, lined with cheerful pansies. The air here smelled of cut grass and, faintly, warm cookies. Jarringly domestic after the primal chaos of the lodge. Jan rapped sharply on the door.
It swung open almost immediately. Inez Murphy stood framed in the entrance. She wore dark slacks and a cream silk blouse, her dark hair pulled back severely. No sign of the kids. No sign of James. Her expression was calm, expectant, as if she’d been watching them approach.
"Jan O'Connor," Inez stated, her voice cool. Her eyes flickered over Bethany, Katie, and lingered for a second on Godfrey. "And company. I wondered how long it would take you to show up. Come in. James is out. The children are with their abuela."
The calm certainty, the lack of surprise, was more unnerving than a squadron of Consortium goons. Jan exchanged a glance with Bethany, whose Agent Pendragon mask slipped for a microsecond, revealing sheer surprise. Katie just blinked.
"Expecting us, Mrs. Murphy?" Jan asked, stepping inside, the others following. Godfrey padded in silently, immediately finding a spot near the coat closet to lie down, observing.
The living room was a testament to suburbia: plump sofas, family photos crowding the walls, a basket of toys tucked discreetly in a corner. The cookie scent was stronger here, warm and sweet. Inez closed the door and turned, folding her arms. Her posture radiated defiance, not fear.
"After the… incident… at the mall?" Inez’s lip curled slightly. "And the scene at that disgusting lodge? Oh yes. We have ways of circumventing that little memory charm you people rely on. Technology is truly marvelous." She took a step forward, her dark eyes boring into Jan. "We remember. All of it. Your tricks. Your ‘magic’."
"The Consortium," Bethany stated, her voice firm, professional. "You’re part of it."
"James is," Inez corrected, a tight, unpleasant smile touching her lips. "He sees the bigger picture – the danger of uncontrolled power, the chaos of superstition masquerading as freedom. And I see it too. I see you, Jan O’Connor. The 'Red Tornado'. Spreading your filth, twisting people’s minds with your unnatural desires. Making them weak. Making them slaves to sensation."
Jan felt the power inside her coil, responding to the challenge, the insult, the sheer arrogant dismissal. It was a raw, hungry thing, still unstable after the lodge.
"We exist to bring order," Inez continued, her voice hardening. "To protect the world from abominations like you. You think your little Order of the Green Moon can stand against progress? Against science? You and your kind will be contained. Studied. Neutralized. You will all pay for the perversion you spread." She spat the last word. "Your 'gift' is a plague. And we will wipe it clean."
The hatred was a tangible force. Jan saw the flicker of unease on Bethany’s face, the spark of anger in Katie’s eyes. Godfrey yawned, a soft huffing sound.
This wasn't just defiance. It was a declaration of war. And Inez knew too much. About the mall. About the Lodge. About their memory vulnerability. Jan needed intel. Now. And the unstable power within her, still crackling from the last surge, found a target. A way to break the defiance, to turn the weapon of this woman’s righteous fury against her.
"Perversion, Inez?" Jan asked, her voice dropping, becoming low and dangerous. A faint crimson aura, barely visible, began to shimmer around her fingertips. "Let me show you what real perversion feels like."
She didn't shout. Didn't gesture dramatically. She simply unleashed the coiled power within her, directing the full, unfiltered force of her desire magic straight at Inez Murphy.
It hit the older woman like a physical blow. Her confident posture stiffened. Her defiant glare faltered, replaced by wide-eyed shock. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath that hitched in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest.
"No," she whispered, the word strangled. Her cheeks, moments ago pale with anger, flushed a deep, sudden crimson. "You... you bitch... what are you..." Her breath hitched again, becoming shallow, rapid pants. Her eyes, locked on Jan, now held a terrifying mix of outrage and a dawning, unwanted hunger.
"Tell me about the Consortium, Inez," Jan commanded, stepping closer. The air crackled with raw, sexual energy. "Tell me how you remember."
"Fuck... you..." Inez ground out, but her voice trembled. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. She took an involuntary step back, her hips giving a tiny, betraying jerk. Her hands twitched at her sides, clenching and unclenching. She was fighting it, teeth gritted, the tendons in her neck standing out. But the flush was spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath the silk of her blouse. Her nipples were visibly pebbling against the thin fabric.
The 'bleed-off' Jan had worried about manifested instantly. Bethany gasped, her hand flying to her own stomach. Her charcoal suit suddenly felt unbearably tight, constricting. A familiar heat, sharp and demanding, bloomed low in her belly. She shifted her weight, her professional mask cracking completely, replaced by wide-eyed, breathless need. "Jan... fuck..." she breathed, her gaze darting between Jan and the struggling Inez.
Katie whimpered. "Oh wow... oh fuck me sideways..." she muttered, leaning against the doorframe for support. Her knees felt weak. The scent of Inez's rising panic and arousal, mingled with the cookie smell and Jan's overwhelming power, was an intoxicating fog. Her fingers, usually itching to spark demolition magic, now itched to touch skin – any skin. Her own pulse pounded between her legs.
Jan ignored them for the moment, focusing entirely on Inez. The woman was losing the battle rapidly. Her breath came in ragged sobs now, mixed with tiny, choked moans. Her legs trembled. A dark patch of dampness spread across the front of her tailored slacks. The scent of her arousal, musky and intense, joined the other smells in the room.
"Tell me," Jan repeated, her voice a low thrum that vibrated in the air itself. She reached out, not touching yet, but letting her power intensify, a focused beam of pure, debilitating lust. "How do they remember? What's their plan?"
"T-tech..." Inez gasped, her body arching as if pulled by an invisible string. Her hips jerked forward again, more violently. "Implan... implants... neural... FUCK!" The curse ripped from her, raw and desperate, as the first wave of forced pleasure crashed over her. She stumbled, her hand flying out to brace herself against the back of the plump sofa. "Subcutaneous... monitors... block the... the forgetting... ah! Dios mío!"
Another wave hit her. Her legs buckled. She half-fell, half-sagged onto the sofa, her body convulsing. Her hands scrabbled at the button of her slacks, ripping it open, clawing at the zipper. "No... no... stop... please..." she begged, the defiance utterly shattered, replaced by primal, humiliated need. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with sweat.
Jan was on her instantly. She pinned Inez back against the cushions, her knee driving roughly between the older woman's legs. Inez cried out – a sound of protest that dissolved into a guttural moan of agonized pleasure as Jan’s hand plunged past the torn fabric, past the damp silk panties, and shoved two fingers deep inside her clenching, soaking cunt.
"Oh, fuck yes, you're dripping," Jan hissed, her own control fraying as the raw energy cycled back through her. She curled her fingers, finding the swollen, sensitive spot inside Inez and pressing hard. "Like a cheap fucking whore. Is this the order you wanted, Inez? This the science?" She started fucking Inez with her fingers ruthlessly, the obscene, wet squelch loud in the suddenly silent room except for Inez's sobbing gasps and moans.
Inez thrashed, her head thrown back, her back arching off the sofa. "Sí! Más! Oh God! Please! No! Make it stop! Don't stop!" Her words were a jumbled mess of English and Spanish, begging and denial tangled together as Jan's fingers pistoned in and out. "The Consortium... they... ahhh!... they monitor... anomalies... locations... gathering data... a plan... a purge... next month... FUCK ME!"
Beside the sofa, the bleed-off had consumed Jan's companions. Bethany, overwhelmed, had sunk to her knees, one hand shoved down the front of her own trousers, fingers frantically working her clit, her other hand squeezing her breast through her shirt, her breath coming in sharp, desperate whimpers. Her eyes were glued to Jan's hand buried in Inez. "Jan... fuck..." she moaned.
Katie staggered forward, her own need obliterating rational thought. She crashed down onto the sofa beside the writhing Inez. Not touching her, but needing contact, needing friction. She shoved her hand between her own legs, grinding the heel of her palm against her dripping pussy, her eyes wide and dark with lust, fixed on Jan's face. "Yeah, Red... fuck her... make her talk... oh god, I'm so wet..."
Jan added a third finger, stretching Inez brutally, fucking her with short, hard strokes aimed directly at that spongy spot. Inez screamed, a raw, tearing sound. Her body locked up, back bowing impossibly, then shattered. A gush of fluid soaked Jan's hand, the sofa cushion, Inez's slacks. Wave after wave of violent, uncontrollable orgasm ripped through her, leaving her trembling, gasping, utterly broken on the floral upholstery, tears streaming freely.
Jan pulled her glistening fingers out slowly, holding them up. Inez flinched, whimpering. "The purge, Inez," Jan demanded, her voice cold despite the heat radiating off her. "Details. Locations. Now. Or I'll make you come until your heart gives out." She lowered her hand, letting her fingertips brush against Inez's oversensitive clit.
The older woman flinched as if branded. "No! Please! No more!" she sobbed, her voice wrecked. "The docks... Warehouse District... Pier 17... hidden sub-level... they... they have containment units... suppressors... they're activating the network... next full moon... targeting loci... your Lodge... the Kaboom Foundry... please... I told you... I told you!"
She dissolved into incoherent sobs, curling in on herself, the scent of sex, sweat, fear, and shame thick in the cozy living room. Bethany slumped against the sofa leg, breathing hard, her own crisis passed for the moment, looking dazed and shaken. Katie was still frantically rubbing herself through her panties, moaning softly.
Jan stood up, wiping her wet hand absently on her jeans. The crimson aura around her had subsided, but the power still hummed, a low thrum in her blood. She looked down at the wreck of Inez Murphy, then at her friends. Godfrey watched from his corner, unimpressed. The smell of burnt sugar suddenly filled the air – Katie, in her distracted frenzy, had unconsciously sparked a tiny flame that singed the knee of her stockings before fizzling out.
Inez talked. Pier 17. Containment units. Suppressors. Next full moon.The Consortium wasn't just watching.They were moving. And they planned to cage the storm. Jan’s storm. The next full moon was in two weeks. Time was running out.
Godfrey leaned against Jan's leg, a solid, grounding weight, his rumble vibrating through her jeans, while Katie blinked rapidly, trying to extinguish the tiny sparks flickering at her fingertips, the singed nylon on her knee a stark reminder of the raw power spillover Bethany pushed herself up from the floor, her charcoal suit rumpled, her face pale beneath the pink spikes of her hair, wiping her sticky fingers discreetly on the sofa’s floral upholstery beside the trembling, sodden form of Inez Murphy. "Fuck, Jan," Bethany rasped, her voice hoarse. "Pier seventeen. We need to move."
"Yeah," Jan agreed, the word sharp, the humming energy within her coalescing into cold purpose. She nudged Inez’s limp thigh with her boot. "Keep an eye on her. If she moves, zap her, Beth. Katie, get your head straight. We’re blowing this joint." She scanned the cozy, violated living room – family photos watching their mother’s humiliation, the cheerful pansies outside the window mocking the darkness within. "Godfrey. Guard. Anyone but us comes near, you know what to do." The massive dog gave a low, definitive chuff, positioning himself squarely between the door and the ruined woman on the sofa, his dark eyes watchful, utterly uninterested in the sexual aftermath but fiercely protective of his human.
Katie took a shuddering breath, forcing the chaotic energy sparking inside her downwards, focusing on the practical. "Right. Blowing things up. That I can do. What’s the play, Red?" She flexed her fingers, small pops of energy crackling like static. Bethany had her sleek, official-looking Golden Wand holstered at her hip, but her hand strayed near it, a professional reflex battling the lingering tremors of arousal.
"First," Jan said, striding towards the kitchen, "we find out where James Murphy is." She yanked open drawers, searching with frantic focus. "He has implants too. He’ll remember. He’ll know we were here." Bills, coupons, crayon drawings. No address book. No planner. She slammed a drawer shut. "Think, Inez! Where does James play golf on Tuesdays? Where’s his mistress?" Her voice dripped contempt. Inez moaned, curling tighter into herself, a wet stain darkening the sofa cushion beneath her.
Meanwhile, Deep Below Pier 17…
The cell reeked of antiseptic, cold concrete, and a faint undercurrent of ozone. Shiv O’Connor sat ramrod straight on the unforgiving metal bench, her fiery red hair stark against the dull grey walls. Rebecca huddled beside her, knees drawn to her chest, her kind blue eyes wide with terror, silently weeping. Casey paced, her shoulder-length dark hair escaping its tie, fingers twisting the hem of her t-shirt – the comfortable, paint-splattered tank top she’d been snatched in. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows.
The heavy steel door clanked open. Two figures in sleek, grey uniforms devoid of insignia entered, flanking Mike. He looked rumpled – his shaggy brown hair messier than usual, his kind face smudged with dirt – but unharmed. Relief flooded Casey’s features, quickly chased by anxiety. "Mike! Are you okay? What happened?"
Mike gave her a tired, slightly goofy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, Picasso. Yeah, I'm alright. Bit dusty. They just... asked a bunch of questions." He shrugged, the movement awkward. "Lots of questions."
Casey stepped closer, her dark eyes searching his face. "About what? What did you tell them?"
Mike shoved his hands in his pockets, looking slightly sheepish. "The truth. About Glory. The museum gala." He glanced at the impassive guards, then back at Casey. "How that psycho fairy snagged us. How Fatima found that... thing. The ancient dildo weapon." He paused, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "How it needed us boning to work. Mid-air. We’d just gotten engaged, too."
"The resulting beam fried Glory," Mike continued, his voice regaining a bit of its usual cadence. "Jan figured later, 'cause we were plugged into that screwy metal thing, it rewired something. Made us remember magic. All of it. Even stuff before." He shrugged again. "That's what I told 'em."
Shiv, who had been listening with growing incredulity, finally couldn’t contain herself. "Ancient dildo weapon? Plugged into metal things? Fairy capture? Have you lost your bloody minds, Michael Williamson? That’s the daftest story I’ve ever heard!" She glared at him, her Irish brogue thickening with disbelief.
Mike and Casey exchanged a look. A weary chuckle escaped Casey’s lips, echoed by a small, genuine grin from Mike. "Mrs. O'Connor," Mike said gently, "honestly? That’s Tuesday for us. We’ve seen way crazier shit since hanging with your Jan."
"How are you doing, Case?" Mike asked, his gaze softening as he truly looked at his wife. "They didn't... hurt you?"
Casey shook her head, her pacing stopping. "No. They poked, scanned, asked weird questions... then stopped." She bit her lip, avoiding his eyes for a moment. "They... they decided to leave me alone. For now."
Mike frowned. "Why? That doesn't sound like their style."
Casey took a deep breath, her voice dropping low. She looked at the floor. "I... I didn't want you to find out like this, Mikey." She finally met his gaze, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "I'm pregnant."
Mike’s entire face transformed. The worry melted away, replaced by pure, unadulterated joy. His smile became blinding. "Casey... that's... that's amazing!"
Casey managed a small, shaky smile back. "Jan told me, actually. When she... uh... calmed me down after I freaked out about being late. She said..." Casey swallowed, her cheeks flushing slightly. "She said it was definitely yours."
Mike's grin widened impossibly further. He knew the chaotic currents of Jan's magic; the possibility that the baby might not be his biologically had fleetingly crossed his mind during their wilder escapades. But Jan's certainty, and Casey's relief in saying it, washed that tiny doubt away. "Hell yeah, it's mine!" he declared, stepping forward and pulling her into a deep, crushing hug. He buried his face in her hair. "We're having a baby!"
Casey clung to him, the tension draining from her body as the secret she’d carried finally broke free, even in this grim place. "Yeah," she whispered, tears welling, this time happy ones. "We are."
Rebecca, startled out of her miserable huddle, offered a watery, sincere smile. "Oh! Congratulations! That's wonderful news! Truly!"
Shiv, however, was a different story. Her eyes darted between the embracing couple, her expression shifting from bewildered annoyance to sharp maternal suspicion. "Hold on just a fecking minute," she commanded, her voice cutting through the moment. "Why wouldn't it be Mike's? And how could Jan possibly know that? Or even that you were pregnant? She directs plays for a living, for the love of Christ!" She fixed Casey with a piercing stare. "And have you told your own mother yet? At least someone's getting a grandchild out of this bloody nonsense!"
Mike and Casey slowly broke their embrace, exchanging another look – this one tinged with familiar apprehension. They knew Shiv. They’d seen her formidable temper and her relentless practicality over Sunday dinners whenever she was visiting from Florida. Explaining magical paternity tests and cosmic vibrations wasn't going to fly. "Uh, Mrs. O'Connor..." Mike began, scratching his head awkwardly.
"Ma'am, it's... complicated?" Casey offered weakly, simultaneously reaching for Mike's hand.
Before they could formulate a coherent lie or a partial truth, the cell door clanged open again. Two more Consortium guards stood there, their expressions coldly professional. "Shiv O'Connor," one stated flatly. "Interrogation. Now."
Shiv drew herself up to her full height, smoothing her practical skirt with a sharp tug. The confusion and annoyance vanished, replaced by a steely, indomitable glare. "I have absolutely no idea what this nonsense is about," she declared, her voice ringing with defiant certainty. "But I know this: my Jan is coming. And she'll burn this entire ridiculous place to the ground." She sniffed disdainfully at the guards. "Though how she'll manage it, I couldn't possibly tell you." She strode towards the door, head held high, leaving Mike, Casey, and Rebecca staring after her, a mixture of awe and renewed dread hanging in the sterile air.