Chapter 7: Tea, Touch, and Treachery
The tea was warm against Katrina's palms, the chamomile's faint sweetness curling through the steam. Beth's hands settled on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots that had taken up permanent residence beneath her shoulder blades.
"You're tense," Beth said.
"I spent thirty years in a void. I'm always tense."
"Yeah, but this is different." Beth's fingers worked deeper, finding the spots where muscle met bone. "This is the kind of tense that comes from having a dreamwalker crawl through your skull."
Katrina let her head fall forward. The pressure of Beth's thumbs was almost painful, but in a good way—the kind of pain that promised relief if she could just endure it.
"You're good at this," she murmured.
"I took a massage class sophomore year. Figured it'd be useful for getting models to relax during shoots." Beth's laugh was low and warm. "Turns out it's also useful for deprogramming psychic assault victims."
"I'm not a victim."
"You're a survivor. Same thing, different vocabulary."
Beth's hands slid from her shoulders to her neck, fingers tracing the line of her spine. The touch was light now, almost feathery, and Katrina felt her breath catch in a way that had nothing to do with tension.
"Beth," she said.
"Mm?"
"What are you doing?"
Beth's hands stilled. For a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen was quiet—Felicity had retreated to the living room with her books, Mandy was still on the phone outside, and Calista's fire wards had taken her to the far end of the property.
"I'm touching you," Beth said. "Is that okay?"
Katrina turned on the bench, her tea forgotten. Beth stood close, close enough that Katrina could see the flecks of green in her blue eyes, the faint sunburn on the bridge of her nose.
"Why?" Katrina asked.
"Because you need it." Beth's voice was steady, no hesitation. "Because you spent thirty years without anyone touching you, and now you're surrounded by people who care about you, and you're still holding yourself like you're afraid you'll break if someone gets too close."
"I'm not afraid."
"You're terrified." Beth reached up and brushed a strand of dark hair from Katrina's face, tucking it behind her ear. "But that's okay. I get it. I would be too."
Katrina should have pulled away. She should have stood up, walked to the living room, buried herself in Felicity's research. That would have been the smart thing. The safe thing.
Instead, she leaned into Beth's touch, and when Beth's mouth found hers, she didn't resist.
The kiss was soft at first—exploratory, tentative. Beth tasted like coffee and the strawberry lip balm she'd been wearing since she was fifteen. Her lips moved against Katrina's with a gentleness that made something in Katrina's chest ache.
Then Beth's tongue slid against her lower lip, and the gentleness evaporated.
Katrina gasped into Beth's mouth, and Beth took advantage, deepening the kiss, one hand cupping the back of Katrina's head while the other found her hip. The heat was immediate, a spike of arousal that went straight to Katrina's cunt like a bolt of lightning.
"Beth—" she started, but Beth was already pulling at her towel, the one she'd wrapped around herself after the shower.
"Shut up," Beth murmured against her throat. "Just let me."
The towel fell. Katrina was naked, still damp from the shower, and Beth's hands were everywhere—cupping her breasts, sliding down her ribs, gripping her hips with a possessiveness that made her knees weak.
"Fuck," Beth breathed. "You're gorgeous."
Katrina laughed, but it came out shaky. "I'm forty-nine years old."
"You're nineteen. You told me yourself. Thirty years in the void, remember?" Beth's mouth found her nipple, and Katrina's laugh turned into a moan. "Time doesn't count in there. You're frozen. Perfect."
Beth sucked hard, and Katrina's hands flew to her shoulders, nails digging in. The sensation was electric, shooting straight to her clit, and she could feel herself getting wet, her thighs slick with more than just shower water.
"Beth," she said again, and this time it wasn't a protest.
Beth pulled back just long enough to yank her own tank top over her head. Her breasts were small and firm, nipples already hard, and Katrina reached for them without thinking, palms sliding over warm skin.
"Fuck yes," Beth hissed. "Touch me."
They tumbled onto the breakfast nook bench, a tangle of limbs and gasping breaths. Beth's sweatpants hit the floor, and Katrina's fingers found her cunt—hot, wet, so fucking wet—and Beth groaned, her hips bucking.
"Inside," Beth demanded. "Now."
Katrina pushed two fingers into her, and Beth's back arched, her mouth falling open. She was tight, her inner walls clenching around Katrina's fingers, and she was so responsive that Katrina felt a rush of power, of pride. She crooked her fingers, finding the spot that made Beth's eyes roll back.
"God, fuck, yes—"
Beth's hand found Katrina's cunt, and then there were fingers inside her too, thick and rough, pumping in a rhythm that matched Katrina's own. The bench creaked beneath them, the chipped porcelain rattling, and Katrina didn't care, couldn't care, because Beth's thumb was on her clit, pressing hard circles, and she was going to come, she was going to come right here in the breakfast nook with her fingers buried in a twenty-year-old's pussy—
"Let us love you."
The voice was a whisper, a breath against her ear. Katrina's eyes flew open.
The kitchen was gone.
She was on a bed—a huge, ornate bed with silk sheets and a canopy of flowing gauze—and she was surrounded by women. Mandy was between her legs, her shaggy brown hair brushing Katrina's thighs as she lapped at her cunt with a focused intensity that made Katrina's toes curl. Felicity knelt beside her, one hand on Katrina's breast, her blue eyes hazy with arousal. Mai was on her other side, sucking on Katrina's neck, her fingers buried in Calista's pussy while Calista straddled Katrina's face, her golden eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
"What—" Katrina tried to speak, but Calista's hips rolled, pressing her slick folds against Katrina's mouth.
"Shh," Calista murmured. "Just let us love you."
"Let us please you," Felicity echoed.
"We want nothing but to make you feel good," Mandy said, her tongue flicking Katrina's clit in a way that made her whole body jolt.
Katrina wanted to resist. She knew this was wrong—knew it was a dream, knew it was a trap—but her body was responding, her hips grinding against Mandy's face, her tongue lapping at Calista's cunt, her hands reaching for Felicity and Mai, pulling them closer.
"That's it," Calista breathed. "Let go. Let us take care of you."
The pleasure built, wave after wave, each orgasm rolling into the next until Katrina couldn't tell where one ended and the next began. She was drowning in it, drowning in them, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was screaming that this wasn't real, that she needed to wake up—
Then she heard it.
Laughter. Cold and distant, echoing behind the moans and the gasps, a sound that didn't belong to any of the women surrounding her.
LeFaye.
Katrina jerked upright, her heart hammering against her ribs, and the dream shattered.
She was back in the breakfast nook. Her tea was cold, the mug still clutched in her hands. Beth's hands were on her shoulders, shaking her gently.
"Katrina. Katrina, wake up."
"I'm awake." The words came out ragged. "I'm awake."
Beth's face was pale, her blue eyes wide with concern. "You zoned out. You were sitting there, and then you just—stopped. Your eyes were open, but you weren't seeing anything."
"How long?"
"A minute. Maybe two."
Katrina's stomach lurched. Two minutes. She had been in that dream for what felt like hours, and in the real world, only two minutes had passed.
"I saw him," she said. "LeFaye. He was there, in the dream. He was watching."
Beth's jaw tightened. "That son of a bitch."
The front door banged open, and Mandy's voice cut through the house. "Kim's here! And Maryam!"
Footsteps in the hallway. Kim Powers appeared in the doorway first, her hazel eyes glowing faintly green, her curved sword sheathed at her hip. Maryam followed a step behind, Louisville Slugger resting on her shoulder like she was expecting a fight.
"Where is he?" Kim demanded.
"He's not here," Beth said. "He was in her dream. She just—"
Kim crossed the room in three quick strides. She knelt in front of Katrina, her glowing eyes scanning the older woman's face, and then she inhaled deeply.
"I can smell it," she said. Her voice was hard, the playful tone she usually wore stripped away. "Dream residue. It's fresh. LeFaye was here, in this room, while you slept."
"Sleeping isn't what I was doing," Katrina said. "I was awake. I was drinking tea. I was talking to Beth."
Kim's eyes narrowed. "He can project while you're awake? That's—" She paused, her brow furrowing. "That's not supposed to be possible. Dreamwalking requires a sleeping mind."
"Unless the victim is already compromised," Felicity said from the doorway. She was holding one of her mother's books, her finger marking a page. "Sleep deprivation, psychic trauma, exposure to rift energy—any of those can lower the threshold between waking and dreaming. Katrina's been through all three."
"Great," Mandy muttered. "So he can get in whenever he wants."
"No." Kim stood up, her sword hand flexing. "He can't. Not anymore."
She turned to Katrina, and there was something in her eyes—not pity, not fear, but a fierce determination that reminded Katrina of Hank, of Fatima, of everything she had ever heard about the Powers family.
"I'm going to teach you a charm," Kim said. "A Green Moon technique. It won't block him entirely, but it'll give you a warning. The next time he tries to enter your mind, you'll know he's there. And knowing is half the battle."
Katrina nodded. Her hands were still shaking, but the fear was receding, replaced by something colder and harder.
"What's the other half?"
Kim's smile was sharp, predatory, and utterly without warmth. "The other half is making him regret ever touching you in the first place."
Maryam stepped forward, her baseball bat swinging down from her shoulder. She looked at her sister, then at Katrina, and nodded once.
"Just tell me where to swing," she said.
Kim was already unpacking her bag, pulling out candles, chalk, and a small velvet pouch. "First, protection. Then, we hunt."
Katrina picked up her cold tea and drank it down in one long swallow. The bitterness was grounding, real, a reminder that the dream was over and the waking world was still there. The people around her were real. Their care was real. Their anger was real.
Aemelia had made a mistake. She had assumed that Katrina was alone, vulnerable, a tool to be used and discarded. She had forgotten that Katrina had spent thirty years in a void with nothing but her own mind for company. She had forgotten that the Williamsons were a family, and that families—real families—didn't abandon their own.
She watched Kim set up the protective circle. Watched Maryam take up position by the window. Watched Mandy and Beth exchange a look that spoke of plans within plans. Watched Felicity flip through her mother's notes with a concentration that bordered on obsession.
And she smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
Katrina's smile faded as Kim pulled a piece of chalk from her bag and began drawing symbols on the hardwood floor. The lines were precise, geometric, each one humming with a faint green luminescence that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Your sister's wards are still holding," Kim said, glancing toward the windows. "The Elfin fire—that's Calista's work?"
Mandy nodded. "She spent an hour on them this morning. Said they'd hold against most things."
"Most things." Kim's mouth twisted. "LeFaye isn't most things."
She traced a final sigil, and the chalk lines flared bright green before settling into a steady glow. The air in the kitchen shifted, thickened, the scent of sage and something older—something that tasted like midnight and cold iron—filling the space.
"There," Kim said, standing. "That'll keep him out. For now."
"For now?" Beth's voice was sharp.
"Wards degrade. Especially against someone who knows how to slip between the cracks." Kim brushed chalk dust from her hands. "We need to find him before he finds another way in."
She closed her eyes, her breathing slowing, and Katrina watched as the Green Moon initiate's aura flickered visible—a shimmer of emerald light that clung to her skin like a second layer of clothing. The glow spread outward, tendrils of power reaching into the corners of the room, tasting the air, the floor, the remnants of the dream that still clung to Katrina's skin like cobwebs.
Kim's eyes snapped open.
"There," she said. "A trail. Faint, but it's there."
She pointed toward the front door, her finger tracking something Katrina couldn't see. The green light coalesced into a thin ribbon, winding through the hallway, slipping under the door, and disappearing into the bright morning beyond.
"He left traces when he projected. Dreamwalkers always do—they can't help it. The mind leaves fingerprints." Kim grabbed her motorcycle helmet from the counter. "I can follow it. Find him. Make him tell us where Aemelia's hiding."
"And why she wants to hurt Katrina again," Maryam added, hefting her bat.
Kim nodded. "That too."
She was already moving toward the door, her boots loud on the hardwood. "Maryam, you're with me. Mandy, Calista, Mai—follow in the van. Stay close but not too close. If this turns into a fight, I want backup."
"What about me?" Katrina stood, her legs unsteady but determined.
Mandy caught her arm. "You stay here."
"I'm not—"
"You're the target." Mandy's grip was firm, her voice brooking no argument. "If we're right, this whole thing is about you. LeFaye's working for Aemelia, and Aemelia wants you for something. If you leave these wards, you're walking into whatever trap they've set."
Katrina wanted to argue. She wanted to grab a weapon, climb into the van, prove that she wasn't just a victim waiting to be rescued. But Mandy's eyes were hard, and behind her, Felicity was already nodding, already reaching for her mother's book of defensive spells.
"She's right," Felicity said. "You're safer here. Jeeves and I will keep watch."
The little automaton floated into the room, its mechanical arms whirring as it adjusted its sensors. "I have detected no additional dream residue within the warded perimeter, Mistress Katrina. You are secure."
"Secure." Katrina laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I've been 'secure' for thirty years. Look where that got me."
Mandy's expression softened. She stepped closer, her hand finding Katrina's, their fingers intertwining.
"I know," she said quietly. "But we're not leaving you behind. We're protecting you. There's a difference."
Kim was already at the door, helmet under her arm. "We need to move. The trail's fading."
Mandy squeezed Katrina's hand once, then let go. She grabbed her keys from the hook by the door, and then she was gone, Calista and Mai following close behind.
The front door slammed shut.
Through the window, Katrina watched Kim and Maryam mount matching motorcycles—sleek black machines that gleamed in the Florida sun. Kim's engine roared to life, a sound like tearing metal, and then she was gone, ripping out of the driveway in a spray of gravel.
Maryam followed a heartbeat later.
Mandy's van rumbled to life, and then it too disappeared down the street, chasing the green-glowing trail that only Kim could see.
The house fell silent.
Katrina stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against the frame, watching the empty street. The wards hummed around her, a constant reminder that she was trapped—protected, yes, but trapped. The sun was warm on her face, the salt breeze gentle, and she hated it. She hated the beauty of the day, the normalcy of it, when somewhere out there, a man who had invaded her dreams was being hunted by people she barely knew but trusted with her life.
She heard a voice.
"They left in a hurry."
Katrina turned.
A man stood on the sidewalk in front of the house across the street. He was tall, mid-thirties, with dark hair that curled slightly at the temples and a face that was almost too handsome—the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers or in movies about doctors who saved children and adopted puppies.
He smiled, and Katrina felt something twist in her chest. A small thing, barely noticeable. A coil of warmth that settled low in her belly and stayed there, pulsing gently.
She didn't know this man. She had never seen him before. But he was attractive, and his smile was kind, and after thirty years of nothing—no touch, no warmth, no connection—even a stranger's attention felt like sunlight after an endless winter.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to stare."
"No apology necessary." He crossed the street, hands in his pockets, moving with an easy confidence that didn't feel threatening. "I'm Mark. Just moved in across the way."
"Katrina." She gave her first name only, a habit she'd developed during her years at the Golden Wands. Last names were for people you trusted.
"Katrina." He said it like he was tasting the word. "That's pretty."
"Thanks." She felt her cheeks warm. "I'm just visiting from Chicago. My friends—they had an emergency."
"Nothing serious, I hope."
She hesitated. "Just some family stuff."
Mark nodded, accepting the lie without question. His eyes—brown, warm, crinkling at the corners—swept over her with an appreciation that was obvious but not crude. He liked what he saw. That much was clear.
"So you're new to Miami too?" Katrina asked, desperate to fill the silence.
"Just moved in last week. Still trying to figure out where everything is." He laughed, and it was a good laugh, genuine and self-deprecating. "I've gotten lost three times already. My GPS is starting to think I'm doing it on purpose."
"Maybe you are." The words came out flirtier than she intended. "Some people like getting lost."
Mark's smile widened. "Maybe I do."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was charged, electric, the kind of pause that preceded something—a kiss, a confession, a change in the direction of a life. Katrina's pulse quickened, and for a moment, she forgot about LeFaye, about Aemelia, about the dream that had nearly swallowed her whole.
"Since we're both new here," she said, "maybe we could do some exploring. Together. Sometime."
Mark's eyes lit up. "I'd like that."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card—plain white, no logo, just a phone number printed in simple black text. He handed it to her, and his fingers brushed hers, sending another pulse of that strange, warm desire through her veins.
"Call me," he said. "Or knock on my door. Or just shout my name across the street." He grinned. "I'm a light sleeper."
Katrina laughed. It surprised her—the sound bubbling up from somewhere she'd thought was empty, somewhere she'd thought had been hollowed out by thirty years of void. She clutched the card like it was something precious.
"I'll do that," she said.
Mark waved once, then turned and walked back across the street. She watched him go—watched the way his shoulders moved beneath his t-shirt, the easy lope of his stride—and felt that small desire curl again, insistent and sweet.
Inside the house across the street, Evelyn Shaw watched through the blinds. Her smile was thin, sharp, the smile of a woman who had waited twenty years for revenge and was finally seeing it within reach.
Phase two had begun.
They were all thinking about Aemelia—the elf lady who had started this mess, who had used Katrina and discarded her like a broken tool. They were hunting LeFaye, chasing his trail, convinced that the dreamwalker was the key to everything.
They were wrong.
By the time Mandy and her crew realized whose work this really was, it would be too late. Katrina would be in Shaw's hands, and the Williamsons' precious family would be shattered. The girl would pay for her interference in the mummy affair. They all would.
Evelyn turned from the window and picked up her phone. The screen glowed, showing a text from one of her contacts—a Golden Wand who had never been as loyal as he pretended.
They took the bait. Kim and the others are heading toward the docks. LeFaye is already in place.
Evelyn typed her response with steady hands.
Good. Keep me informed.
She set the phone down and looked around the empty house—the staged furniture, the fresh paint, the carefully curated normality of it all. It was a prison, this life of hiding and pretending. But not for much longer.
Soon, everyone would know her name again. And this time, they would learn to fear it.