Chapter 29: Steam and Soul-Searching
The master bathroom of the beach house—the one Judy had renovated three years ago with money she'd made off a hedge fund manager who'd wanted to fuck her and settled for a commission instead—was all chrome and glass and the kind of lighting that made everyone look like they'd just stepped out of a magazine.
Mike stepped into the shower first.
The water hit him like a wall. Hot enough to sting. Hot enough to strip away the last hour of sweat and come and the memory of too many hands on his body. He stood there with his palms flat against the tile and his head bowed and let the spray pound the knots out of his shoulders.
Casey followed a moment later.
She didn't say anything. Just stepped in behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead to the space between his shoulder blades.
They stayed like that for a long time.
The steam rose around them. The water ran off their bodies in rivulets and pooled at their feet before swirling down the drain. Somewhere beyond the bathroom door, the house was waking up—footsteps on the stairs, the low murmur of voices, the clatter of someone making coffee in the kitchen.
Neither of them moved.
Casey spoke first.
"Do you regret it?"
Her voice was muffled against his back.
Mike didn't answer right away.
He reached for the soap—the good stuff, the lavender shit that Judy bought because she said it made her feel like a rich person—and worked up a lather between his palms. He turned around. Casey lifted her arms and let him wash her.
Her shoulders first. Her neck. Her tits, which were still heavy and full and tipped with nipples that had been sucked raw an hour ago. He soaped them gently, his thumbs circling her areolas, and she let out a breath that wasn't quite a sigh.
"Where'd you go?" she asked.
"Thinking."
"About?"
He moved down her body. Her stomach—soft and round from twenty years of good food and better wine and the kind of happiness that settled in the bones and stayed there. Her hips. Her thighs.
"About Rick," he said finally. "About Calista. About what we did."
"And?"
"I don't know yet."
She took the soap from him. Turned him around. Started washing his back—the same way she'd done a thousand times before, in a hundred different showers, in every apartment and house and hotel room they'd ever shared.
"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind," she said. "Don't edit."
Mike closed his eyes.
"The first thing that comes to mind," he said slowly, "is that I should feel worse about this than I do."
Casey's hands paused on his shoulder blades.
"Go on."
"I keep waiting for the guilt to hit. The disgust. Something. But every time I reach for it..." He shook his head. "It's not there. I watched our son fuck you. I watched you come on his cock. And all I felt was—"
"What?"
"Love."
The word hung in the steam between them.
"That's the part that scares me," Mike said. "Not the sex. Not the magic. The fact that when I saw you with Rick, when I saw Stacy riding me, when I saw Beth and Mandy and Felicity and everyone tangled up together—all I felt was love. Like the world had just gotten bigger and I was the only one who noticed."
Casey resumed washing his back.
"You're not the only one," she said.
"No?"
"No." She pressed her thumbs into the knot at the base of his neck and he groaned. "I felt it too. Still feel it. That's what I've been trying to figure out."
She rinsed the soap from his skin and turned him around again. The water was starting to cool—Judy's tankless heater could only do so much—but neither of them moved to adjust it.
"I think the magic didn't create anything," Casey said. "It just... amplified what was already there. The shards and Calista's glamour and whatever the fuck Jan's Green Moon was doing—none of it made us want things we didn't already want. It just convinced us we were allowed to want them."
Mike considered this.
"That's not better," he said.
"No."
"It's actually worse."
"I know."
He pulled her close. Her body fit against his exactly the way it always had—her round belly pressed to his, her tits flat against his chest, her cheek resting on his shoulder like it had been carved for that purpose.
"We shouldn't make a habit of this," he said.
"Fucking our adult children?"
"Yeah."
Casey laughed. It was a bright, surprised sound—the kind of laugh that had made him fall in love with her in the first place, twenty-three years ago, when they were both young and stupid and the world was simpler.
"No," she agreed. "We shouldn't."
"But we're not going to pretend it didn't happen."
"Hell no."
"And we're not going to punish ourselves for it."
"Also no."
Mike pulled back enough to look at her face. Water streamed down her cheeks. Her silver-streaked hair was plastered to her forehead. Her eyes—those dark, clever eyes—met his without flinching.
"We should probably call Dr. Nash," he said.
Casey snorted.
"Dr. Nash," she repeated. "The nude therapist."
"She's a licensed professional."
"She's a woman who has sex with her patients and calls it therapy."
"To be fair," Mike said, "that's exactly what we just did. Minus the license."
Casey stared at him.
Then she burst out laughing.
It started as a giggle. Then a chuckle. Then a full-throated belly laugh that echoed off the tile and brought Godfrey's ears perking up somewhere in the other room. She laughed so hard she had to brace herself against his chest, her body shaking, tears mixing with the shower spray.
Mike started laughing too.
Not because anything was funny—or maybe because everything was. The absurdity of the situation. The fact that they'd just spent hours in a magical orgy with their entire extended family and now they were standing in a shower discussing whether to book an appointment with a therapist who specialized in getting naked with her patients.
It was the most Williamson-Kapowski thing that had ever happened.
"I'll call her tomorrow," Casey said, wheezing. "Ask for an emergency session."
"Think she'll see us?"
"She'll see us." Casey wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "She's been trying to get us back into therapy for years. She'll probably do a little dance."
They stood there a moment longer, forehead to forehead, as the water ran cold and the steam began to dissipate. Mike reached past Casey and shut off the faucet. The silence that followed was sudden and sharp.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get dressed."
They stepped out of the shower together.
Casey grabbed the first towel off the rack—Judy's towel, actually, thick and fluffy and probably imported from somewhere expensive—and wrapped herself in it. Mike took the second one and did the same.
They stood side by side at the vanity.
The mirror was fogged over, but Casey wiped a circle clear with her palm. She looked at her reflection—really looked at it. The grey in her hair. The lines around her eyes. The mouth that had been kissed by half the people in the living room an hour ago.
"I don't look like a woman who just fucked her son," she said.
Mike glanced at her.
"What would that look like?"
"I don't know." She tilted her head. "Tired. Guilty. Something."
"You look like you."
She met his eyes in the mirror.
"Is that okay?"
Mike didn't answer with words. He turned, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.
It was the kind of kiss they'd perfected over twenty years of marriage—deep and slow and unhurried, the kiss of two people who knew each other's bodies better than they knew their own. His tongue slid against hers. Her fingers curled into the towel at his waist. The steam from the shower hung around them like a curtain, and for a moment the world beyond this bathroom didn't exist.
Casey pulled back first.
"We need to get dressed," she said.
"Mm."
"Jan's going to be waiting."
"Mm."
"And Mandy and the others—"
"Casey."
She stopped.
"I love you," Mike said.
She smiled. That crooked, lopsided smile that had never once failed to make his heart skip.
"I know," she said. "I love you too."
---
The bedroom was chaos.
Not the fun kind—the practical kind. Clothes everywhere. Shoes scattered across the floor. Someone had kicked a lamp over, and the shade was still slightly askew. The sheets on the bed were a tangled mess of cum and sweat and the faint, sweet scent of Calista's glamour.
Mike found his jeans under the bed.
His shirt was draped over the dresser. His shoes were in the hallway, which was weird, but not as weird as the strap-on harness dangling from the doorknob.
"Whose is that?" he asked.
Casey glanced at it.
"Katrina's," she said. "I think."
"You think?"
"I wasn't taking notes."
She pulled on a pair of jeans—hers, thankfully, not someone else's—and a t-shirt that said THE RAPTURE ISN'T COMING AND NEITHER ARE YOU in faded letters. Mike had bought it for her as a joke fifteen years ago. It had been funny then. Now it was just part of the rotation.
She sat on the edge of the bed to put on her socks.
Mike sat next to her.
"You ready for this?" he asked.
"Which part?"
"All of it." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the beach. "The Living Mountain. The team. Whatever's waiting for us out there."
Casey finished tying her shoe. She sat up straight and cracked her neck.
"I've been married to you for twenty years," she said. "I've raised four kids. I've been captured by more villains than I can count. I've watched Jan blow up a building with a sneeze."
"Percy's a demon, not a building."
"Close enough." She stood up. "So yes. I'm ready. Whatever's out there, we'll deal with it."
Mike stood too.
He grabbed his phone off the nightstand—three missed calls from Jan, one from Kim, a text from Mandy that just said "you okay?" with no punctuation—and shoved it in his pocket.
"Let's go," he said.
They walked out of the bedroom together.
---
The living room had been transformed.
Someone—Judy, probably—had thrown open the curtains and let the early morning light spill in. The mess from the night before was still there. The spilled whiskey. The discarded clothes.
But the people had changed.
Mandy was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and her favorite hoodie, her shaggy brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was sitting on the couch with her phone in her hands, scrolling through something with the focused expression she got when she was solving a problem.
Felicity was beside her, wrapped in a blanket, her blonde hair damp from a recent shower. She was reading something from one of her textbooks.
Mai stood by the window.
She was wearing a flowing sundress and nothing else, her feet bare on the hardwood floor. The morning light caught the gold in her skin and made her look like something out of a painting.
Ben was in the kitchen.
Mike could smell coffee. Real coffee, not the synth stuff—Judy must have bought it on her last trip to the mainland. Ben was pouring it into mugs and passing them out like he was hosting a brunch instead of preparing for battle.
Rick and Stacy sat together on the loveseat.
Stacy had dressed in a pair of black jeans and a tight tank top. Her dark hair was wet and combed back. She looked alert, focused, like a soldier waiting for orders. Rick looked... tired. But not unhappy. His shard glowed gently through his shirt.
Calista was in the corner.
She'd dressed in white. A flowing dress, sleeveless, simple. Her silver hair hung loose and shimmering. Her golden eyes were bright in the early light and her shard pulsed with a steady, patient rhythm.
Beth had gone.
Mike assumed she'd gone back to Shiv's to change clothes and check on Marty. He made a mental note to check on her later.
Katrina and Judy were sitting at the kitchen counter, both of them nursing mugs of coffee.
Katrina wore a simple black dress. Her long hair was braided. Her storm-grey eyes were clear and present—no trace of the haunted woman who'd spent thirty years in a timeless void. She looked at peace.
Judy still looked like she'd just finished getting fucked.
Her hair was tousled. Her makeup was smeared. There was a hickey on her neck. She was wearing a silk robe that barely covered her knees and she held her coffee mug with the two-handed grip of someone whose hands weren't quite steady.
She caught Mike's eye and winked.
Mike looked away.
Casey squeezed his hand.
"Hey," she said. "It's okay."
"I know."
"Do you?"
He thought about it.
"Yes," he said. "I actually do."
Casey squeezed his hand once more before letting go. She crossed the room toward the kitchen counter, where Judy was still nursing her coffee with that particular half-smile she wore when she knew something nobody else did. Mike followed a step behind, his bare feet cold against the hardwood.
"We good?" Ben asked from the kitchen.
He was holding two mugs. One for Mike, one for Casey. The kid looked like he hadn't slept—dark circles under his eyes, his hair still damp—but there was a steadiness to him that Mike appreciated.
"We're good," Mike said.
He took the mug. Black, no sugar, exactly the way he liked it. Ben had remembered.
"So what'd I miss?"
The front door swung open before anyone could answer.
Jan stood in the doorway with Godfrey tucked under one arm and a tablet in the other. She'd showered since the beach house—her red braid was wet and tight against her scalp, and she'd changed into cargo pants and a Green Moon t-shirt that had seen better days.
"We've got an hour," she said. "Maybe less."
She crossed the room and set Godfrey on the couch next to Felicity. The little dog immediately curled into a ball and closed his eyes.
"Where's Beth?"
"On her way," Judy said. "She called from Shiv's. Bringing the whole fucking cavalry."
Jan nodded. She set the tablet on the coffee table and tapped it twice. A holographic map bloomed upward—a topographic rendering of something that shouldn't exist.
The Living Mountain.
Mike had seen it before. He'd seen it in photographs, in surveillance footage, in the way Jan's voice dropped when she talked about it. But seeing it rendered in glowing blue light, rotating slowly above Judy's coffee table, made it feel more real than any of that.
"The mountain's visible now," Jan said. "Anyone within fifty miles can see it. That's new. That's bad."
"Why?" Felicity asked.
"Because it means the Consortium wants to be seen." Jan zoomed in on the map. "The mountain feeds on magic. It's been hungry for a long time. Whatever's inside—the Shine, the vault, the being that's been locked up in there—it's waking up."
She looked around the room.
"Here's the plan."
---
"Mandy, Beth, Rick, Calista—you four are going in."
Jan pointed at each of them in turn. Her voice was flat, businesslike. The voice she used when things were about to get bloody.
"The shards you're carrying? They're pieces of a key. A key that opens the vault inside the mountain. The Shine is fading—that's the magic that's been holding the whole thing together—and if it goes out completely, the vault's going to open whether we want it to or not."
"What's inside?" Rick asked.
"Don't know. That's the point of a vault." Jan shrugged. "Could be a weapon. Could be a god. Could be a very angry librarian. Whatever it is, we need to get to it before Inez Murphy does."
Mike frowned.
"Inez Murphy?"
"She's carrying a second key." Jan's mouth twisted. "She doesn't know it. The mountain gave it to her—or the thing inside did—because of what she is."
"Which is?"
"A woman who hates magic more than she loves anything else." Jan glanced at Mandy. "You four got your key because of your capacity for love. She got hers because of her capacity for hate. The universe has a sick sense of humor."
Calista stepped forward.
"What do we do when we reach the vault?"
"You reform the key. Use the shards. Then you make a choice—either you let whatever's inside out to do whatever it's going to do, or you lock it up tighter than before."
"That's not a choice," Calista said. "That's a coin flip."
"It's the only one we've got." Jan's eyes were hard. "You'll know what to do when you get there. That's not me being cryptic—that's just how these things work."
---
"Kim's leading the infiltration team."
Jan gestured to the map. A blue dot pulsed near the base of the mountain.
"She's got Maryam inside already—Maryam, Cody, and Amanda have been undercover for three days. They've got intel on the layout, the guards, the prisoners."
"How many guards?" Mike asked.
"Maybe two hundred." Jan zoomed in. "Plus something called the Branded."
Ben set his coffee down.
"The Branded?"
"Magical creatures. Magic users. People the Consortium caught and branded with their little pi symbol." Jan's face didn't change, but her voice dropped. "It makes them obedient. Mindless. They're basically attack dogs."
"Can we free them?" Felicity asked.
"Strong magic might break the branding. That's a maybe." Jan tapped the tablet. "But we're not going in with rescue on our minds. Priority one is getting to the vault. Priority two is getting Hank and Fatima out of the lower levels before Fatima's magic gets drained too much."
Stacy spoke up from the loveseat.
"Fatima's in there?"
"Undercover. Long story." Jan waved a hand. "Maryam turned her and Hank over to the Consortium as 'prisoners'—part of the plan. But that means they're actually in a cell. Actually getting drained. If we don't get them out soon..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
Nobody needed her to.
---
"Yukio's riding Flamewing."
Mike blinked.
"Flamewing? The dragon?"
"The she-dragon. Yes." Jan's grin was feral. "Yukio's still recovering, but Flamewing showed up last night. She can sense when her rider's in danger—and apparently she considers 'riding into battle against a mountain full of Consortium assholes' to be a danger."
"Who else?" Casey asked.
"Rainbor. Vivian and Dale. Jess—Agent Kay. Cameron's setting up a sniper position. Jenny's coming with illusions. Paulette's bringing her cosmic knowledge. Katie and Lena are on demolition."
"You're sending Katie to blow things up?"
"I'm sending Katie to blow things up." Jan shrugged. "The Order of the Glorious Kaboom has its uses."
"And Shiv?"
The front door opened again.
Beth walked in first, her camera bag slung over one shoulder. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and her eyes were bright with the particular energy she got when she was about to document something important.
Behind her came Shiv.
She was dressed in practical clothes—dark pants, a leather jacket, her red hair loose around her shoulders. She looked like a woman twenty years younger, and the smile she gave Mike and Casey was warm and sharp.
"Mam," Jan said.
"Jan Siobhan." Shiv's brogue was thick this morning. "I hear you've been swearing."
"I've been outlining a battle plan."
"You've been swearing while outlining a battle plan." Shiv crossed the room and kissed Jan's cheek. "There's a difference."
Behind Shiv came three more people.
Marty—tall, red-haired, awkward in the way of someone who'd spent most of his life in a timeless void and was still learning how to be human. He nodded at Mike and Casey with a shy smile.
Letta and Nikita came next.
They moved like soldiers—shoulders back, eyes scanning the room, hands never far from their weapons. Letta was younger, still carrying the ghost of her Consortium robes in the way she held herself. Nikita was harder, colder, her storm-grey eyes taking in everything.
And behind them—
An older woman stepped into the house.
She was Shiv's age, maybe older. Her hair was white as snow and her eyes were the same storm-grey as Nikita's and Letta's. She moved like someone who'd spent decades bending the weather to her will, and when she smiled at Jan, Mike felt the temperature in the room drop by a degree.
"Oksana," Jan said. "You’re still here.”
The woman nodded.
"I was in the neighborhood."
She had an accent Mike couldn't place—Slavic, he thought, but older. Something that predated the modern borders of the world.
Shiv gestured to Oksana.
"This is who I call when things get serious," she said. "And things are about to get very serious."
---
"Shiv's team does whatever the fuck Shiv wants to do."
Jan pointed at her mother.
"Which is—?"
"Whatever the fuck I want to do." Shiv's smile was sharp. "I've been fighting the forces of darkness since before you were born, Jan Siobhan. I know how they think. I know how they fight."
She looked at Mike and Casey.
"We're the big guns, darlings. Oksana can summon storms. I can level buildings with a thought. When the fighting starts, we're not going to be subtle."
Casey laughed.
"I've missed you, Shiv."
"And I've missed you, Casey." Shiv crossed the room and pulled Casey into a hug. "You look well. Bit tired around the eyes, but well."
"It's been a night."
"I can imagine." Shiv pulled back and glanced at Mike. "Michael. You've aged well."
"Thanks. I think."
The sound of a truck engine rumbled outside.
Bruce pulled up in his Mystic Gear & Gadgetry delivery van—the one with the cracked windshield and the rolling toolbox in the back. He hopped out, spotted Felicity through the window, and waved.
"Flick!" His Scottish accent carried through the glass. "Time to ride!"
Felicity stood.
She looked at Mandy. Mandy nodded.
"Go," Mandy said. "We'll see you after."
Felicity grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Bruce met her on the front steps and pulled her into a quick kiss before helping her into the van.
"Monitoring," Jan said. "They'll keep eyes on everything. If the shooting starts and something weird happens—and something weird always happens—they'll let us know."
---
Mandy turned to Mike and Casey.
"Mom. Dad."
She crossed the room, shaggy hair swinging, and stopped in front of them. Her expression was serious—the same expression she'd worn when she was eight years old and had decided to build a robot that could walk the dog.
"We need you to stay here."
Mike blinked.
"What?"
"Stay here. At the beach house." Mandy glanced at Casey, then back at Mike. "If things go bad, we need people on the outside. People we trust."
"This isn't about last night," Mike said slowly. "Is it?"
Mandy laughed.
"God, Dad. Only you would think that." She shook her head. "No. This is about logistics. If everything goes to hell, someone needs to call Aunt Callie. Someone needs to rally the Golden Wands. Someone needs to get more help here fast."
Casey nodded.
"We can do that."
"I know." Mandy stepped forward and hugged her father. "That's why I'm asking."
Mike hugged her back.
She was warm. She smelled like coffee and soap and the strawberry shampoo she'd used since middle school. She was his daughter. His little girl. About to walk into a mountain full of monsters.
"Be careful," he said.
"I'm always careful."
"You're never careful."
"Okay. I'll try to be careful." She pulled back and smiled. "That better?"
"Somewhat."
---
The living room emptied.
Mandy and Ben climbed into the van—Mike's old Chevy, the one he'd given her when she moved to Miami. Rick and Stacy took Rick's bakery delivery truck. Mai and Calista rode with Kim, who'd arrived in a sleek black SUV with Green Moon symbols etched into the doors.
Judy stayed behind.
So did Katrina.
So did Mike and Casey.
Shiv's team piled into a second SUV—Oksana driving, Shiv in the passenger seat, Nikita and Letta in the back with Marty. Beth rode with them, her camera bag clutched to her chest.
The vehicles pulled away one by one.
The beach house fell silent.
---
Mike stood on the front porch and watched them go.
The Living Mountain rose against the morning sky—a black silhouette against the orange and pink of dawn. It shouldn't exist. Florida was flat. Everyone knew that.
But there it was.
A mountain that had appeared overnight, looming over the Everglades like a fist raised against the sky. The cave at the top looked like an open mouth. The whole thing seemed to pulse with a slow, steady rhythm.
Mike counted the vehicles until they disappeared into the tree line.
Then he turned back to the house.
Judy was standing in the doorway.
She'd changed out of her robe into a silk dress the color of blood—deep red, sleeveless, hugging her curves in a way that was somehow both elegant and obscene. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders. Her makeup was fresh.
She was watching him with that half-smile.
"We need a distraction," she said.
Casey appeared behind her.
"A distraction?"
"Mm-hmm." Judy stepped forward and reached for the front of Mike's pants. Her fingers found his zipper. "Something to keep our minds off the fact that everyone we love is walking into a meat grinder."
Casey laughed.
"You were getting fucked all night, Judy. Just like the rest of us."
"That's true." Judy's fingers didn't stop. "But that was under some sort of magic spell. Shards. Glamour. Whatever." She looked up at Mike. "This time, I want to enjoy you both without any magical aphrodisiac doing its thing."
Mike's breath caught.
"You're serious."
"I'm always serious about sex, Michael."
Casey stepped off the porch and took Judy's hand.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go inside."
---
They didn't make it to the bedroom.
Judy pushed Mike against the hallway wall before they'd gone ten feet. Her mouth found his—hot, hungry, tasting of coffee and the mint she'd been chewing. Her hands worked his zipper down and her fingers curled around his cock through his boxers.
"Fuck," Mike breathed.
"You're already hard." Judy pulled back and looked at him with genuine surprise. "After last night? After everything?"
"He's always ready," Casey said.
She'd circled around behind Judy. Her hands found Judy's hips and pulled her back against her body. Judy's breath hitched.
"It's a gift," Mike said.
Casey kissed Judy's neck.
"He's not lying. Twenty years of marriage and I've never once seen him not ready." She bit Judy's earlobe. "It's honestly a little exhausting."
"You love it," Mike said.
"I do." Casey's hands slid around Judy's waist and up to her tits. She cupped them through the silk. "God help me, I do."
Judy moaned.
Casey's fingers found Judy's nipples through the fabric—already hard, already sensitive. She pinched them. Judy arched her back and ground her ass against Casey's hips.
"Bedroom," Judy managed. "Now."
---
They stumbled into the master bedroom.
The sheets were still tangled from earlier—from the shard-glamour orgy that had consumed the house. Judy didn't seem to care. She pushed Mike onto the mattress and climbed on top of him, her knees bracketing his hips, her dress riding up to expose her thighs.
Casey climbed on behind her.
She reached around and unzipped Judy's dress. The silk slid off her shoulders and pooled around her waist. Judy wasn't wearing a bra. Her tits—full and round and heavier than Casey's—swung free.
"Beautiful," Casey murmured.
"I work out."
"I can tell."
Casey's hands found Judy's tits again—skin on skin this time. She kneaded them, thumbed the nipples, rolled them between her fingers. Judy's head fell back against Casey's shoulder.
Mike watched.
His cock ached. His whole body ached. But there was something almost peaceful about this moment—watching his wife touch another woman, watching that woman's pleasure build, knowing he was part of it.
"Are you going to just lie there?" Judy asked.
"I'm enjoying the view."
"Enjoy it later." She reached down and pulled his cock free of his boxers. "Right now, I need you inside me."
She positioned herself over him.
He felt the head of his cock press against her entrance. She was soaking wet—dripping onto his shaft—and when she slid down, she took him in one slow, deliberate stroke.
"Fuck," she breathed.
"Good?"
"Shut up and let me ride you."
She started to move.
Slow at first—grinding, circling, letting him feel every inch of her cunt as it gripped his cock. Then faster. Harder. Her hips found a rhythm and her tits bounced and her fingers dug into his chest.
Casey knelt behind her.
Her hands roamed Judy's body—her stomach, her thighs, the place where Mike's cock disappeared into her. She found Judy's clit and started rubbing.
"That's it," Casey whispered. "Fuck him. Fuck my husband. Take what you need."
"Oh God—"
"You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?" Casey's fingers circled faster. "Wanted him without the magic. Without the shards. Just you and him and me and nothing else."
"Yes—"
"Then take it."
Judy came.
Her cunt clenched around Mike's cock like a fist. Her body shuddered. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream. Casey kept rubbing her clit and Mike kept thrusting up into her and the orgasm rolled through her in waves.
When it passed, she collapsed forward onto Mike's chest.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Mike held her.
His cock was still hard inside her. His own orgasm was building—close, so close—but he held it back. Waited.
Casey crawled around to face them.
She was naked now. He hadn't seen her undress, but there she was—her round belly, her heavy tits, the silver streak in her dark hair, the smile that still made his heart skip.
"Your turn," she said.
She straddled Mike's face.
He didn't hesitate. His tongue found her cunt—already wet, already ready—and he licked up the length of her slit. She tasted like soap and salt and something deeper, muskier. She moaned and ground down against his mouth.
Judy started moving again.
She rode him in time with Casey's grinding hips. The bed creaked. The room filled with the sounds of sex—wet, obscene, perfect. Mike's tongue worked Casey's clit while his cock worked Judy's cunt and his hands found Casey's thighs and held her in place.
"I'm going to come," Casey said.
Mike flicked his tongue faster.
"I'm going to come on your face. On your tongue. Right now."
She came with a cry that echoed off the walls. Her thighs clamped around his head. Her cunt flooded his mouth and he swallowed every drop.
Judy came again.
Casey slid off Mike's face and collapsed onto the bed beside them. She reached over and found Judy's hand and squeezed it.
Mike thrust up once, twice, three more times.
Then he came.
It crashed through him—white-hot and endless. He pumped into Judy's cunt with a ragged groan, his hips bucking, his fingers gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise. She rode it out with him, milking every last drop.
When it was over, they all lay tangled together in the wet sheets.
No magic. No shards. No glamour.
Just three people who'd spent the last twenty-four hours in hell and needed to remember what it felt like to be human.
Judy spoke first.
"That was better."
Casey laughed.
"Better than the shard orgy?"
"Yes." Judy rolled onto her side and propped herself on an elbow. "Because it was real. Because we chose it. Because nobody's magic made us do anything."
Mike stared at the ceiling.
He thought about the mountain. About Mandy and Rick and Beth and Calista walking into that vast black maw. About Jan and Stacy and Kim and all the others putting their lives on the line.
He thought about the phone on the nightstand, waiting for that emergency call.
And he thought about this moment—three naked bodies in a tangled bed, the morning sun streaming through the windows, the faint sound of waves on the beach.
"I love you," he said.
Casey turned her head.
"Me?"
"Both of you." He reached out and took their hands. "I don't know what that says about me. I don't know if it's healthy or fucked up or somewhere in between. But right now, in this moment—I love you both."
Judy squeezed his hand.
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Casey laughed.
"Give him time. He'll say better."
"No." Judy leaned over and kissed Mike's cheek. "That one was perfect."
---
The phone rang at 7:42 AM.
Mike was in the shower. Casey was making coffee. Judy was still in bed, tangled in the sheets, her mascara smeared across her cheek.
Casey answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"It's Jan." The voice was tense. Tight. "We're at the base of the mountain. The Consortium knows we're here."
Casey's blood went cold.
"How bad?"
"They've got the Branded. A lot of them." A pause. "We're going to need that cavalry. Call Aunt Calli. Call everyone. We need backup. Now."