Chapter 14: The Nexus Arrival
The contract Mara delivered was not paper. It was vellum made from the skin of a creature that had never lived, inscribed with ink that pooled and moved like liquid starlight. The moment the Merlin’s gloved hand touched it, back at the smoldering Lodge, the world contracted to a single point of pressure behind Jan’s eyes, and then—
They were falling.
Not through air, but through layers of intention, through the strata of sworn oaths and ancient agreements. Jan tasted copper and old roses. Bethany, clutching her TARDIS handbag, let out a yelp that was swallowed by the roar of metaphysical wind.
They landed not with a thud, but with a chime, as if they were two notes played on a crystal piano.
The Nexus wasn’t a place. It was a diagram of power given form. They stood on a translucent walkway that spiraled into a forever distance, surrounded by floating geometric solids—pyramids, dodecahedrons, perfect spheres—that pulsed with internal light. Below was neither ground nor sky, but a churning nebula of emerald and gold, the raw stuff of contractual magic. The air hummed, a constant, sub-audible note that vibrated in Jan’s teeth. It smelled of burning sage, ozone, and something eerily clean, like sterilized metal.
A hundred yards away along the central spindle, the battle was a silent, violent ballet.
Johnny was a blur of red hair and rumpled clothing, not fighting, but stepping. He’d be in one place, then another three feet to the left a microsecond before a beam of corrupted gold energy seared the space he’d occupied. He was pulling moments apart, stretching time like taffy for his own narrow escapes.
Percival, his charcoal suit immaculate even here, dueled two rogue Wands with precise, golden bursts from his own weapon. His face was a mask of furious betrayal. Gregor the goblin wasn’t using magic. He was using a stun-prod modified from Golden Wand tech, scurrying between the taller combatants’ legs to zap ankles with vicious glee.
And in the center of it all was the Merlin.
The heavy magical camouflage that usually rendered the Merlin’s form and voice indistinct was flickering, destabilized by the Nexus’s energy or by sheer strain. For a fraction of a second, Jan saw a silver-streaked knot of hair, a sharp jawline, before the shimmering haze reasserted itself. The Merlin fought defensively, weaving shields of complex, interlocking glyphs, holding a position in front of a vast, obsidian plinth where the foundational laws of the Orders were meant to be inscribed.
Opposing them was Bedivere.
He looked like a distinguished gentleman who had stumbled into a brawl. His grey hair was perfect, his features arranged in an expression of profound disappointment. He didn’t wear armor. He wore a tailored suit. His weapon was a simple, brass-headed cane. He pointed it, and a whip-crack of black-and-gold energy, studded with stolen flickers of Green Moon desire and Crimson Heart vitality, smashed against the Merlin’s shield. The shield spiderwebbed with cracks.
“He’s not trying to kill her,” Bethany hissed, pulling Jan behind a floating, rotating cube. “He’s trying to exhaust her. To force her to sign a new compact on that plinth. His compact.”
“Where’s the contract we brought?” Jan asked, peeking around the corner. A stray energy bolt sizzled past her head.
Bethany patted her bag. “In here. But we need to get it to her. Percival and Johnny are pinned. Gregor’s causing chaos, but he can’t clear a path.”
Jan watched the flow of combat. The rogue Wands—a dozen of them, their loyalty to Bedivere absolute—moved with cold coordination. They were herding the Merlin, constricting the space. Johnny’s time-steps were getting shorter, his breathing ragged. Percival had a nasty burn across his cheek.
“We’ll never run that gauntlet,” Jan said, her mind racing. “They’d cut us down or grab the contract before we got halfway.”
“So what’s your play, Red?” Bethany’s voice was tight. “Another dragon? We’re fresh out.”
“A distraction. The one thing his perfect, calculating brain won’t have a protocol for.” Jan’s hands went to the hem of her smoke-stained shirt.
Bethany’s eyes widened. “You are not serious. The Power of Exposure? Here? Jan, this isn’t a bunch of horny college kids or tech-soldiers. These are fanatics. It might not even work.”
“It’s not about making them horny,” Jan said, her gaze fixed on Bedivere’s poised, arrogant figure. “It’s about making them stop. Just for a second. To look. To be awed by something messy, and beautiful, and completely fucking human in the middle of all this… legalistic bullshit. That’s your window.”
“And what about you? You’ll be a naked target!”
“I’m used to it.” Jan flashed a wild grin. Then her expression sobered. “Get ready to run, Pendragon.”
Before Bethany could utter another protest, Jan stood up. She didn’t just take her clothes off. She shrugged out of the narrative of the battle. The stained shirt went over her head, tossed aside to drift slowly into the golden mist. Her bra followed. She kicked off her boots, shimmied out of her jeans and panties, leaving them in a heap on the crystalline walkway.
She closed her eyes, reaching for the core of her Green Moon power—not the subtle influence, but the foundational truth: the vulnerable, glorious fact of the body.
She opened her eyes and stepped forward, into the open.
The Power of Exposure unfolded from her not as a wave, but as a sudden, profound silence.
It hit the battlefield like a sonic blanket. A rogue Wand mid-cast faltered, his intricate gesture falling apart, his eyes glued to the sight of Jan’s pale, freckled skin glowing against the nebula’s light, her small breasts, the fiery triangle of hair at her thighs. Another simply lowered his weapon, his mouth agape. For them, raised on rigid Golden Wand doctrine and Bedivere’s surgical ideology, this was anarchy made flesh. It was a stunning, incomprehensible variable.
Even Bedivere paused. The disdain on his face morphed into genuine, flummoxed shock. “What… is this infantile display?” he spat, but the words lacked their previous force. His gaze, against his will, was dragged to her. The sheer, brazen tactical nudity of it broke his rhythm.
That was all Bethany needed.
She was already moving, a pink-haired blur in a charcoal suit, her feet sure on the glassy path. She darted past a stunned guard, spun around another who was shaking his head as if to clear it. She ran not like a soldier, but like a courier with the last message on earth, the rolled contract held out before her like a lance.
“Now, Bethany!” Johnny yelled, his voice strained from temporal manipulation. He stepped, blinked, and appeared directly in front of a recovering Wand, tackling the man sideways.
Percival, seeing the opening, redoubled his attacks, forcing his two opponents back.
Gregor shrieked, “For the dental plan!” and jammed his prod into the thigh of a Wand who was turning to aim at Bethany. The man convulsed and dropped.
Bethany slid the last few feet on her knees, skidding to a halt before the flickering form of the Merlin. She thrust the scroll upward. “From Mara Henderson! Invoked under the Clausewitz Protocols for temporal sovereignty and non-interference!”
A gloved hand snatched the contract.
The Merlin’s camouflage stuttered and died.
The shimmer vanished. The figure standing before the obsidian plinth was a woman in her late fifties, her hair a elegant sweep of dark grey tied in a severe knot, her face handsome and sharp with intelligence and immense fatigue. Her eyes, a piercing grey, scanned the moving ink on the vellum.
Aunt Calista.
Casey’s aunt. The suit-wearing, frighteningly competent relative who always asked Mike about his latest IT projects with genuine interest.
For a single, frozen heartbeat, Jan saw the woman beneath the title. Then Calista’s gaze lifted, finding Bedivere. Her voice, now clean and unmistakable, rang through the Nexus.
“Bedivere. You are in breach of foundational compact seven-alpha, regarding unilateral alteration of ordained magical practice. You have employed proscribed experimental amalgamations on members of protected Orders. This contract, signed by the duly appointed representative of the Order of the Perpetual Sunrise” —she glanced at Johnny, who gave a weary thumbs-up— “and witnessed under the authority of a Legally Recognized Arbiter, suspends your access to the Weave pending a full adjudication. Effective now.”
She didn’t shout. She pronounced.
She slammed the base of the scroll against the obsidian plinth.
The Nexus screamed.
The golden-green mist below boiled. The floating geometric shapes flared with actinic light. Lines of power, like neon-blue legal text, erupted from the plinth and lashed around Bedivere. They didn’t burn him. They unwrote him. Or rather, they unwrote his stolen, patchwork magic. Jan watched as the black-and-gold energy around him unraveled, strand by strand, like a sweater caught on a nail. He screamed, a raw sound of utter fury, as the Crimson Heart vitality bled away in a puff of red mist, and the lingering Green Moon influence evaporated like cheap perfume.
His cane clattered to the walkway. He fell to his knees, held upright only by the binding legal coils. His own pure Golden Wand power remained, but it was diminished, cut off from the source, a flashlight in a vast darkness.
His rogue Wands stood frozen, their will to fight extinguished as their leader’s grand design publicly disintegrated.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
Calista—the Merlin—sagged against the plinth, breathing hard. The camouflage did not reassert itself. The secret was out.
“Aunt Calista?” Jan called out, still naked, her voice small in the vast space.
The Merlin turned her head. The severe lines of her face softened, just a fraction. “Hello, Jan. Thank you for the… vivid diversion.” A faint, tired smile touched her lips. “And please, for heaven’s sake, put some clothes on. It’s drafty in here.”
A hysterical giggle burst from Bethany, still on her knees. It broke the tension. Percival slowly lowered his weapon, staring at his revealed supreme leader with stunned awe. Gregor cheered, doing a little jig.
Johnny walked over to Jan, shrugging off his own flannel shirt. He handed it to her without a word, his asexual disinterest a comforting anchor. “Good play,” he said quietly.
Jan wrapped the soft fabric around herself. It smelled of time-travel and her brother.
The Merlin straightened, lifting her chin. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a weary authority. “Percival. Secure Bedivere. Take him and his loyalists to the Silent Chapter. No one speaks to them until I do.”
“Yes, Merlin,” Percival said, his voice thick with emotion.
She looked at Bethany, then at Jan. “You two. You brought the contract. You held the Lodge. You understood the assignment when even I did not see the full board.” She took a deep breath. “The Golden Wands are in civil war. My cover is blown. The Consortium saw a dragon today. The world is cracking.”
She paused, letting the immense weight of it settle on them.
“It’s time for a new compact. And I’ll need everyone to write it.” Her grey eyes pinned Jan. “Starting with the one who knows how to break the rules to save the game.”
Jan buttoned the flannel, meeting her gaze. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a deep, singing certainty in its wake.
“Okay,” Jan said, simple and clear. “Let’s go home and figure it out.”
Below them, the emerald and gold mist swirled, waiting for the next words to be written.
A deep, grinding tremor shook the crystalline walkway. It wasn’t a sound, but a sensation in the gut, a wrongness in the foundation of reality itself. The floating geometric shapes shuddered, their light stuttering. A spiderweb of cracks appeared in the air, leaking a cold, grey void.
Calista’s eyes widened. She clutched the obsidian plinth as another sickening lurch made the whole structure groan. “The contract was a stopgap. A surgical fix.” Her voice was tight, clinical even in panic. “The underlying consensus is shattered. The Nexus itself is rejecting the old framework. It’s becoming unstable.”
“What does that mean?” Bethany asked, scrambling to her feet as another shard of something that wasn’t glass spiraled past her head.
“It means if this place tears itself apart, magic tears itself apart with it. The Orders, the boundaries, the rules that keep a Crimson Heart from accidentally merging with a squirrel—it all goes fuzzy. Then it goes bloody.” Johnny’s explanation was rapid, his eyes tracking the spreading cracks in the firmament. “We need a new anchor. A temporary stabilizer while the new accords are forged.”
Calista looked from him to Jan and Bethany, her sharp gaze calculating. “The Nexus was built on unity. On agreement. To hold it steady now, we need a living representation of that principle. Two magicians. From opposing Orders. Their energies woven together, acting as one sympathetic anchor.” She paused, the implication hanging in the ozone-thick air. “A deep, consensual confluence. Metaphysical and… physical.”
Silence, for three thunderous heartbeats.
Jan blinked. She looked at Bethany in her crisp, damaged Wand suit. She looked back at Calista. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face. “You’re kidding.”
“I am famously not a kidder,” Calista said dryly, bracing herself as another quake hit.
“So, what, we need to… harmonize?” Bethany asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“I need you to be as one,” Calista stated. “Your distinct magical signatures need to be temporarily fused. In my experience, and in every historical text referencing Nexus stabilization, the most effective… catalyst… for such a fusion is profound, mutually agreed-upon somatic union.”
“She means we have to fuck, Beth,” Jan said, her grin turning wolfish. “She’s using her fancy Merlin words, but she means we have to fuck. Right here. Right now.”
Bethany stared. Then she let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course. Of course that’s your solution. Not a coordinated spell matrix. Not a dual-channel harmonic. Fucking.”
“It gets results,” Jan shrugged, already reaching for her discarded carry-all bag.
“The rest of us must return,” Calista said, her voice gaining authority. “We have hours, maybe less, before the instability becomes catastrophic. We will convene a conclave at the Lodge. Every Order present will draft the new accords. You two will hold the door open.” She gave them both a look that was part order, part plea. “Do not stop.”
Johnny gave Jan a two-fingered salute. Percival, looking deeply uncomfortable, averted his eyes and began rallying the prisoners. Gregor just cackled.
In a pulse of golden light, they were gone. The Nexus was empty, save for the two women, the terrifying beauty of the crumbling vista, and the deep, threatening hum of unraveling law.
The walkway vibrated under their feet. A chunk of a floating pyramid the size of a car broke off and tumbled silently into the mist.
“Well?” Jan said, unzipping her bag.
Bethany took a long, slow breath. She looked at the chaos, then back at Jan. She shook her head, a wry smile finally touching her lips. “Fuck it.” Her hands went to the buttons of her charcoal suit jacket. “We just saved the world with a legal document and your tits. Might as well save it again with this.”
She stripped with efficient, deliberate motions. The suit jacket, the blouse, the sensible slacks, the plain underwear. Each item folded neatly and placed on the still-intact section of walkway. Her body was paler than Jan’s, her figure curvier, a riot of colorful tattoos—Annette Funicello, intricate roses, celestial patterns—standing out against her skin. She stood facing Jan, naked, her spiky pink hair the only accessory.
Jan had already retrieved the enchanted strap-on from her bag. It was a simple harness of dark leather, the dildo itself a realistic, thick length of flesh-toned silicone that shimmered with a subtle inner light. She stepped into the harness, pulling the straps snug over her hips, settling the weight of it against her. The enchantment hummed to life, and she gasped softly as the neural link established. It felt like a live nerve, an extension of her own desire. She could feel the ghost of pressure, the potential of touch.
“You sure about this?” Bethany asked, her voice lower now.
“Are you?” Jan countered, stepping closer. The air between them crackled, a mix of residual magic and fresh, sharp anticipation.
“We’re not going to get a better reason,” Bethany said, and closed the distance.
Their first kiss was not gentle. It was a collision of necessity and pent-up adrenaline, lips and teeth and shared breath. Bethany’s mouth was hot and demanding. Jan’s hands found the swell of Bethany’s hips, pulling their bodies flush. She could feel Bethany’s heartbeat hammering against her own chest, could taste the remnants of smoke and ozone on her tongue.
Bethany broke the kiss, her breathing ragged. “How do you want me?”
“However you’ll feel me the most,” Jan murmured, her hands sliding down to grasp Bethany’s ass, squeezing the full, firm flesh. “This thing… I can feel what it feels. I need you to make it feel good.”
A shiver ran through Bethany. She turned, presenting her back to Jan, and looked over her shoulder. “Then fuck me from behind. I want to watch the world break while you’re inside me.”
Bethany braced her hands on a low, crystalline railing that curved alongside the walkway. She arched her back, presenting the perfect, taut curves of her ass, the dark pink furl of her sex already glistening. The view was obscene and stunning against the cosmic disaster.
Jan spat into her palm, a crude, human gesture in the magical void. She slicked the length of the enchanted cock, the spit mixing with the pre-applied lubrication that sparked at her touch. She guided the broad head to Bethany’s entrance, pressing against the resistance.
“Ready?” Jan’s voice was rough.
“Do it.”
Jan pushed forward in one slow, inexorable stroke.
Bethany cried out, a sharp, wordless sound that echoed in the strange acoustics of the Nexus. The dildo stretched her, filled her, a burning, perfect invasion. Jan groaned as the feedback from the enchantment hit her—the incredible, tight heat, the gripping pressure of Bethany’s inner muscles clenching around the shaft. It felt so real. It was real, for both of them.
“Oh, fuck,” Bethany panted, her knuckles white on the railing. “Oh, god, Jan. It’s… full. You’re so fucking deep.”
Jan began to move. She set a steady, deep rhythm from the start, pulling back almost all the way before driving home again. Each thrust slapped their bodies together with a wet, rhythmic sound that was swallowed by the groans of the Nexus. Jan could feel every ridge, every pulse of Bethany’s cunt around the phantom cock. The pleasure was a bright, hot wire running from the base of the strap to the core of her own clit, which throbbed in desperate, neglected sympathy.
“Is it good?” Jan grunted, her own breath coming in short gasps. “Tell me.”
“It’s so good, you bastard,” Bethany moaned, pushing back against each thrust. “Your magic dick feels so fucking good. Don’t you dare slow down.”
Jan obeyed. She fucked her harder, faster. The harness jolted against Jan’s own flesh with every impact, the straps digging in, a rough counterpoint to the slick, internal pleasure. She reached around Bethany’s hip, her fingers finding the swollen, slippery knot of Bethany’s clit. She rubbed it in tight, frantic circles, matching the pace of her thrusts.
Bethany’s moans turned into a continuous, desperate stream. “Yes, there, right there, fuck me, fuck my tight cunt, make me come while the universe falls apart!”
The Nexus around them seemed to pulse in time with their coupling. The violent tremors lessened, not ceasing, but stabilizing into a steady, manageable quiver. The leaking cracks in the air halted their spread, the grey void held at bay by the golden-green light that now seemed to emanate from their joined bodies, a mingled aura of Wand precision and Moon chaos.
Jan felt the climax building in Bethany’s body before the other woman screamed it. The muscles around the dildo went from tight to vise-like, a series of rhythmic, milking spasms. Bethany’s whole body shook, her back arching impossibly further as she came with a raw, shattered cry, her juice soaking Jan’s hand and dripping down both their thighs.
The feedback through the enchantment was electric, a cascade of pleasure that crashed over Jan. She didn’t stop moving. She kept pistoning into Bethany’s shuddering, sensitive body, chasing her own release now, the friction against her own clit through the harness becoming an unbearable tease.
“Come on, Red,” Bethany gasped, spent but compliant, pushing back weakly. “Finish it. Anchor us. Fill me up.”
With a final, brutal thrust, Jan ground her hips against Bethany’s ass and let go. A wave of intense, convulsive pleasure ripped through her, centered on her own clit but radiating from the phantom cock buried inside her friend. She cried out, a wordless shout of victory and release, her legs trembling as she rode out the pulses.
They stayed like that, locked together, panting, sweating, as the Nexus hummed steadily around them. The crisis was arrested. For now.
Back at the Lodge, in the great hall now cleared of debris and scorch marks, an impossible assembly was taking shape.
Mara Henderson stood at the head of the gargantuan oak table, her gavel—summoned from her office—a stark symbol of mundane order. Calista, no longer the Merlin but not quite Aunt Calista either, took a seat, her grey-suited presence undeniable. Portals flashed around the room, disgorging representatives.
Aaron slid into a chair, his ink-stained fingers drumming the wood. Annie sat beside him, Sophie peeking from her purse. Katie plopped down, grinning. Eric entered quietly, Reggie at his heels, the dog lying under the table with a sigh. Johnny sprawled in his seat, looking bored but present. Cassie wandered in, took a look, and chose a spot by the window.
Brigid arrived with Will and Sarah flanking her, the triad moving as one unit. Aisling followed, her Ballymore stone glowing softly at her throat. Vivian, now fully recovered and holding Dale’s hand, took her place with a shy nod. Rainbor ducked through the doorway, followed by the translucent, jolly form of Lady Eleanor, who waved at the assembled with a gossamer handkerchief.
Another portal shimmered, and Arlene stepped through. The elder Green Moon mentor smelled of wildflowers and deep peace. She gave Calista a serene nod, then her eyes found Percival, who was standing guard at the door. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. “Hello, Roy,” she murmured. He stiffened, a flush creeping up his neck.
The final portal brought a whirlwind. Shiv O’Connor marched in, her red hair a match for Jan’s, her eyes sweeping the room with intimidating scrutiny. She was followed by Aunt Noor, who carried a tray of baklava as if arriving for a family party. The two women looked at each other.
“You must be Shiv,” Noor said, offering the tray. “Fatima’s told me nothing about you, which means you’re interesting.”
“And you’re the one who knows but doesn’t join,” Shiv said, taking a piece. “Sensible. We’ll talk.”
Shiv’s gaze swept past Arlene entirely, as if the other woman were a potted plant. She took a seat next to Noor, content.
Hans Jager entered with silent steps, giving a curt nod. Tiffany skipped in, her lisped “Hello, everybody!” met with uneasy silence, especially when she smiled. Dr. Jules Nash entered last, her professional attire doing little to disguise her stunning figure, a warm, therapeutic smile on her face.
Calista stood. “My name is Calista Gunderson. I am the Merlin. The camouflage is retired.” She let that settle. “We begin by making things right. The Golden Wands will fund and facilitate the complete healing and rehabilitation of every one of Bedivere’s test subjects, regardless of Order. No loopholes. Aaron will oversee the fairness.”
Aaron nodded, a slight smile on his face. “Already drafting the clauses.”
Calista then pointed to two empty chairs. “Mike. Casey. Sit. You represent the seven billion people out there who have no idea this table exists. Your job is to tell us when we start sounding insane.”
Mike and Casey, who had been watching from the doorway, blinked. They exchanged a look, shrugged, and pulled up chairs. Mike immediately poured himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table.
Arlene spoke next, her voice a gentle contrast to Calista’s sharpness. “The Order of the Green Moon will take custody of Bedivere, Morgane, and any other irredeemable prisoners. Their incarceration will be… secure.”
Calista’s head snapped around. “I was unaware the Green Moons maintained prisons.”
Arlene’s shrug was eloquent. “We have a few secrets, even from the Golden Wands. We find compassion and containment are not mutually exclusive.”
A murmur ran around the table. Mara let it hang for a moment, then raised her gavel.
From the side of the room, near the fireplace where Godfrey and Sophie were curled together, Hank put his arm around Fatima. “This is… a lot of power in one room,” he whispered.
“It is,” Fatima whispered back, watching the assembly with wary eyes. “I just hope they can draft a new world order before the Nexus gives out. How long can Jan and Bethany keep that up?”
Hank looked at his fiancée, a slow, dry smile spreading across his face. “Fatima,” he said, his voice dripping with affectionate sarcasm. “Have you ever met Jan?”
Fatima considered it. She thought of the endless energy, the chaotic joy, the sheer stubborn vitality of her best friend. A laugh escaped her, quiet and relieved.
“Point taken,” she said, leaning into him.
At the head of the table, Mara brought the gavel down with a sharp crack.
“This Conclave is now in session,” she announced. “Let’s begin with jurisdictional boundaries. Article One.”
The negotiations began. In the unstable, beautiful hellscape of the Nexus, miles and dimensions away, Jan and Bethany, still joined, shifted to a new position on the crystalline floor, a steady, relentless rhythm holding the door to the future open.