Chapter 7: An Honest Question
The silence after the family meeting was a fragile thing. It lingered in the Williamson living room as Mike and Casey cleaned up the breakfast dishes, a temporary calm carved out by rules and promises. Mai had retreated to the guest room with Calista to scour the dark web for any whisper about Freddie’s abduction. Mandy and Ben were in the basement, using Mandy’s cobbled-together surveillance suite to trawl through city traffic cam feeds around the Palmer House. Rick had finally escaped to his bakery, a sanctuary of sugar and yeast.
Mike was wiping down the counter when the front door opened and closed without a knock. Two sets of footsteps, light and deliberate, moved into the foyer. He looked up to see Kim and Maryam Powers standing at the edge of the living room. They were a study in mirrored contrasts. Kim stood poised, her long dark hair loose, her curved sword strapped across her back over a simple linen dress. Maryam, in a Cubs jersey and jeans, her dark hair cropped short, shifted her weight nervously, her usual easy grin absent.
“We need to talk,” Kim said. Her voice was level, but a flicker in her hazel eyes betrayed a deep, uncharacteristic anxiety.
Casey put down a dish towel, leaning against the sink. “If this is about the distraction attempt yesterday, we’re already—”
“It’s not about that,” Maryam interrupted, her voice tight. “Well, it is, but not like that. We fucked up. We know.”
Kim took a step forward. “Our parents. Hank and Fatima. They were among Jan’s backup at the Palmer House."
Mike nods. "We know," he said, "We saw them there."
Kim finishes, "They never came home.”
The air in the kitchen tightened. Mike tossed the cloth aside. “What do you mean, never came home?”
“I mean they’re gone,” Kim said, a crack finally appearing in her composure. “Their phones are dead. The meditation center is locked. Mom’s scrying mirror shows nothing but fog. Dad’s… dad just doesn’t vanish. He leaves a trail of beer cans and football commentary.”
“The Consortium has them,” Maryam stated, her hands curling into fists. “They have to. And Jan’s still in custody somewhere, right? So there’s no one official to go looking. We need you to help us bust them out.”
Casey exchanged a quick glance with Mike. “Okay,” she said simply. “We’ll figure it out. We just had the ‘no more secret plans’ talk with the kids, but this isn’t a secret. This is a missing persons report.”
But Kim was already moving. The Green Moon initiate’s elegance became a predator’s glide. She closed the distance to Casey while Maryam, understanding her twin’s unspoken signal, crossed the room to Mike.
“Words aren’t the right currency for this,” Kim murmured, her gaze intense. “Not for this ask.” Her hands came up, not in threat, but in offering. She grasped the hem of Casey’s t-shirt. “Let us… facilitate the discussion.”
Before Casey could reply, Kim pulled the shirt up and over her head in one smooth motion. Casey, surprised, didn’t resist. The morning air was cool on her bare skin. Kim’s eyes drank her in, not with lust, but with a profound, focused reverence. The Power of Exposure hummed in the space between them, a gentle psychic pressure that amplified awe, that melted resistance. Casey felt it—a warm, pleasing buzz that made her arch her back slightly, presenting herself.
Simultaneously, Maryam dropped to her knees in front of Mike. “Sorry, Mr. Williamson,” she mumbled, her usual tomboy bravado replaced by a desperate sincerity. Her fingers worked his belt buckle, then his button and zipper. “We’re really bad at just asking for help.”
Mike’s protest died as Maryam fished his softening cock from his boxers. “Whoa, hey, you don’t have to—” Her mouth, warm and wet, engulfed him. She didn’t start slow. She took him deep, her nose pressing into the coarse hair at his base, her throat working around him with a practiced, hungry determination. A low, involuntary groan rumbled from Mike’s chest as blood rushed, thickening him against her skilled tongue.
Across the room, Kim had cupped Casey’s breast, her thumb rubbing over the hardening nipple. She bent her head and took it into her mouth, sucking firmly, her other hand sliding down the front of Casey’s sweatpants. Casey gasped, her hands coming up to tangle in Kim’s dark hair. The Green Moon magic wasn’t mind control; it was an enhancer. It took the latent trust, the existing fondness for these girls she’d watched grow up, and stoked it into a tangible, physical need. It felt like acceptance, like gratitude, like a direct line to pleasure that bypassed the worry clawing at her mind.
“Fuck, Kim,” Casey breathed, her hips pushing against the invading hand.
Kim’s fingers found Casey’s clit, already slick with arousal. She circled it with a precise, relentless rhythm, her mouth moving to Casey’s other breast. “We need you,” Kim whispered against her skin, the words a hot confession. “We’re scared. Make it make sense.”
Mike was bracing himself against the kitchen island, his knuckles white. Maryam was bobbing her head furiously, one hand gripping the root of his cock, the other fondling his balls. The slurping, wet sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet house. She pulled off, gasping, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening tip. “Please,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes wide. “You and Mrs. Williamson are the only ones who don’t get scared. You just get even. We need that.” She dove back down, taking him all the way, her throat fluttering around the head.
The twin assaults were overwhelming, a synchronized campaign of sensation. Casey’s legs were trembling. Kim had pushed her sweatpants down her hips and was now on her own knees, her face buried between Casey’s thighs. Her tongue was a flat, demanding stroke, then a focused, flicking pinpoint on Casey’s clit. Casey cried out, one hand slapping against the refrigerator for balance. The orgasm built quickly, fueled by adrenaline and magic and the raw, needy vulnerability of the girl feasting on her.
Mike watched, mesmerized, as his wife came apart. The sight of Casey, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, as Kim worshipped her cunt, pushed him over the edge. The tension, the fear for his friends, the shocking, desperate intensity of Maryam’s mouth—it all coalesced into a sudden, violent surge.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice rough.
Maryam made a greedy, affirmative sound deep in her throat and increased her pace, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. With a guttural shout, Mike climaxed, his hips jerking forward as he pumped his release down her throat. She swallowed convulsively, milking him with tight suction until he shuddered and pushed her head gently away.
A second later, Casey’s climax hit. She clenched around nothing, her body bowing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Kim held her hips steady, lapping at her through the contractions until Casey slumped against the fridge, panting.
For a moment, the only sounds were ragged breathing and the hum of the appliances. Kim rose gracefully, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. Maryam got to her feet, tucking Mike back into his pants with a startling domestic tenderness before zipping him up.
The twins stood side-by-side again, their faces flushed, their mission seemingly accomplished. They looked at Mike and Casey with expectant, hopeful eyes.
Casey, still topless and glorious, pulled her sweatpants up. She looked from Kim’s serene focus to Maryam’s anxious smirk. Then she started to laugh. It was a rich, full-bodied sound that filled the kitchen.
Mike, adjusting his shirt, shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. “Did you two really think you needed to do all that?” he asked, his voice warm with amusement.
Kim blinked. Maryam’s confident posture faltered.
“The Power of Exposure is a neat trick,” Casey said, pulling her t-shirt back on. “But honey, I’ve been naked in front of gods and monsters. The awe thing is nice, but it’s just seasoning.” She walked over to Kim and put a hand on her cheek. “Your parents are two of our oldest friends. Hank is the brother I never wanted but love anyway. Fatima is the sister I chose. You think we needed our pussies eaten to decide to help them?”
Mike nodded, leaning against the island. “We were already planning to help. The second we realized they were missing. You just had to ask. Normally, with words.”
Kim and Maryam looked at each other. The sheer, absurd anticlimax of it broke through their fear and formal training. A snort escaped Maryam, then a giggle from Kim. Soon they were both laughing, the sound tinged with relief and embarrassment, leaning into each other for support.
“We’re really bad at this,” Maryam wheezed.
“The Green Moon teaches that profound requests require profound offerings,” Kim said, trying and failing to regain her dignity.
“It also teaches common sense, I hope,” Casey said, grinning. “Now, put your boobs away, metaphorically speaking. We have work to do.” She became serious, the general again. “Mike, call Brigid. See if she can cut through the red tape and find which hole the Chicago PD stuffed Jan into. We need her authority. Kim, Maryam—you’re with me. We’re hitting your mom’s meditation center. If there’s a magical trace left behind, we’ll find it. And we’ll find them.”
The mission was set. The heat of the desperate seduction cooled into a sharp, focused energy. The Horny House was no longer just a refuge or a rebellion; it was a headquarters. And as Mike reached for his encrypted phone, the cats, Rembrandt and VanGogh, padded into the kitchen and sat, watching the twins with unblinking eyes. The protectors were on duty. The search had begun.
The search had begun, but its first movement was interrupted by the soft click of a door upstairs. Mai and Calista emerged from the guest room, their expressions a mix of fatigue and restless energy. Mai’s earlier tension had softened into something more determined, less frayed at the edges.
“Nothing,” Calista announced, her silver hair catching the light from the hallway window. “No ransom demands, no boasts, no ghost-market traffic in kidnapped minor lords. It’s like he was deleted.”
“He wasn’t deleted,” Mai said, her voice firm. She leaned against the banister, looking down into the living room where the adults and the twins were clustered. “They just hid him well. We need a different approach.”
As if on cue, the landline on the kitchen wall rang, its bell an archaic jangle in the high-tech quiet. Mike snatched it up. “Williamson.”
The voice on the other end was a familiar, rumbling baritone, scratchy with fatigue. “Mike? It’s Hank. We’re out.”
Mike’s shoulders slumped in immediate relief. “Jesus, Hank. Your girls are here. They thought you were vanished. What happened?”
“Got scooped up in the Palmer House mess,” Hank grumbled. “Spent the night in a holding cell with Fati. They just cut us loose. Stacy had to post a mountain of bail. Mara showed up and glared at the processing sergeant until the man handed over his badge and pension forms and walked out. It was something to see.”
“And Jan?”
Hank’s sigh was heavy. “Still in lock-up. Senator Murphy filed a whole stack of new charges personally. Conspiracy, magical endangerment, interfering with a congressional investigation. They’ve got her in a special unit. It’s a whole thing.”
Mike’s mind, always tracking logistical details, clicked forward. “The lock-up they have her in. Does it have anti-magic lining? The kind that would fog a scrying mirror?”
“Yeah, of course it does,” Hank said. “Standard for high-profile magicals. Why? You trying to peek in on her?”
“Something like that,” Mike said. “Listen, Kim and Maryam were worried sick.”
“Where are they?” Hank’s voice shifted, paternal concern cutting through the gruffness. “They’re not at the apartment.”
“They’re at our place. Came over to, uh, help us find Freddie.”
A beat of silence. Hank, who had never hidden his dislike for Yukio’s ex-husband, let out a slow breath. “I guess someone has to,” he conceded, the words dragged out of him. “Look, tell the girls we’re home. We’re fine. Just tired and pissed off. We’ll see them soon.”
After a few more muttered pleasantries, Mike hung up. He turned to the room, his eyes finding Kim and Maryam. “Your parents are home. They spent the night in jail. They’re fine.”
The twins stared. The frantic energy that had propelled them into their seduction attempt evaporated, leaving behind a palpable emptiness. Maryam’s face flushed a deep, mortified red. “So… they were just in a cell. The whole time.”
“We performed a profound offering of union to request aid for a problem that no longer existed,” Kim stated, her formal Green Moon phrasing doing nothing to mask her acute embarrassment.
Casey barked a laugh. “You gave a blowjob to a solved mystery, sweetie. It happens.”
Mai, who had descended the stairs during the call, cut through the awkwardness with a blade of impatience. “This is all very touching,” she said, her voice tight. “But none of it helps us find my father. Hank and Fatima are safe. Jan’s contained. Freddie is still gone.” She looked directly at Kim. “You said you could help. Before all the… other stuff. Can you?”
Kim straightened, seizing the opportunity to regain professional footing. “Yes. I can perform a Green Moon locator spell. It uses sympathetic resonance and the ambient emotional energy of a bonded group. But I need the help of everyone currently in the house.”
Casey folded her arms. “Does this mean an orgy is going to break out in my living room? I just had the carpets professionally cleaned.”
“It does not mean an orgy will happen,” Kim replied, though a faint smile touched her lips. “The ritual requires a state of uninhibited physical harmony. I need everyone naked, sitting in a circle, skin-to-skin contact preferred. With the Green Moon, such a state could lead to an orgy, but it is not a required component of the spellcasting.”
Mike shrugged, walking to the basement door. “Our life is weird enough. Mandy!Ben! Get up here. We’re doing a magic thing.”
“This is why I stopped wearing underwear every time I knew Jan was coming over,” Casey muttered, already pulling her shirt off again.
They gathered in the living room, pushing the coffee table against the wall. Kim unrolled a detailed street map of Chicago and its suburbs on the floor, placing her unsheathed, curved sword across it. One by one, clothes were shed. Calista did so without a hint of self-consciousness, her elven grace making the act simple and natural. Mai followed, her adventurous spirit treating it as just another step in the process.
Mandy shimmied out of her jeans, giving Ben a nudge. “Come on, it’s just skin.”
Ben, his face pale, awkwardly removed his t-shirt and gym shorts. The moment his boxers came off, his body betrayed him. The sheer, overwhelming reality of so much naked female flesh in close proximity—Mandy’s lean form, Calista’s stunning silver-haired beauty, Mai’s athletic perfection, Kim’s elegant nudity, Maryam’s tomboyish physique, and Casey’s confident, mature curves—caused blood to rush south with insistent urgency. He sprouted a full, stiff erection, his face burning crimson.
Mandy caught his eye and smirked, a flash of pride in her gaze. Casey leaned over to Mike, nodding subtly toward Ben. “I think I know why Mandy keeps taking him to her room,” she whispered.
Mike, sitting cross-legged and comfortable in his own skin, smirked. “You really need to grow up sometime, Picasso.”
“Never,” she whispered back, lacing her fingers with his.
They sat in a circle around the map, knees touching, a ring of shared body heat. Ben tried to angle his hips awkwardly, but there was no hiding it. Kim sat at the northern point, her own nakedness a tool, not a state. She closed her eyes, her hands resting on the hilt and blade of her sword. She began to murmur, the words liquid and ancient, not quite Arabic, not quite Latin, but something older.
The air in the room grew thick, charged. A faint, silvery-pink light began to emanate from Kim’s skin, then from the points of contact between everyone in the circle. It traced the line from Mike’s knee to Casey’s, from Calista’s shoulder to Mai’s, from Mandy’s thigh to Ben’s. A circuit of warm, tingling energy closed.
Mai felt it like a hum in her bones. “Do we need to chant or something?” she asked, her voice low.
“No,” Kim said, her eyes still closed, her concentration absolute. “I just need everyone to sit in a circle, naked, for the ambiance. The connection is the catalyst. Your collective… openness… is the fuel. Now, be still. I need to focus on the trace of him. Something he loved. Do you have an object?”
Mai’s hand went to the thin chain around her neck. She pulled it free, revealing a simple, dented silver whistle on the end. “His,” she said. “From his flying days. He gave it to me when I was little. Said it was for calling dragons.”
She placed it on the map, over the Chicago grid. Kim’s chanting grew louder, more forceful. The silvery-pink light intensified, flowing down her arms into the sword. The blade began to glow, then to vibrate with a low, resonant frequency. The map under it shimmered.
Ben’s erection, fueled by nervousness and the strange, arousing magic saturating the air, throbbed insistently. He bit his lip, staring at the ceiling. The glow from the circle seemed to caress his skin, a thousand feather-light touches amplifying his sensitivity. He felt Mandy’s finger lightly trace the inside of his thigh, a silent tease that made him jerk.
“Mandy,” he hissed.
“Shhh,” she whispered, not stopping. “It’s for the ambiance.”
Kim’s voice rose to a commanding pitch. The sword pulsed once, a wave of light washing over the map. Then it began to move, not by her hand, but dragged by an invisible force. It scraped across the paper, sliding south and east, leaving a faint, smoking trail. It moved past the city limits, into the suburbs, past familiar names, finally slowing.
It stopped, quivering, its tip pressing down decisively.
The light snapped off. The humming energy vanished, leaving the room in sudden, dim ordinary light. They were just a circle of naked people, sweating slightly, breathing hard.
Kim opened her eyes, exhausted but triumphant. She looked at the spot where her sword pointed.
Mai leaned forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. The whistle was hot to the touch. The map was slightly burned under the sword’s tip, marking a location not in the city, nor in the wilderness, but in a wealthy, quiet suburban enclave known for its private security and sprawling estates.
“Lake Forest,” Mike said, squinting at the small print. “That’s… unexpected.”
“The Ambrosia Club,” Casey read, her artist’s eyes picking out the tiny label next to the burned mark. “A private, member-only retreat. Heavily guarded. No magic allowed on the premises by covenant.”
Kim pulled her sword away, the metal cooling instantly. “The spell is definitive. The object’s sympathetic resonance is there. He’s alive. He’s inside.”
Mai stared at the map, at the burned spot that held her father. The fear turned cold and solid, a purpose. “Then we get him out.”
Ben finally exhaled, his body beginning to relax. Mandy’s hand settled on his knee, a genuine, comforting squeeze this time. The spell was cast. The target was found. The search now had a destination, and the destination was a fortress.