Chapter 16: The Soundproofed Room
The air in the beach house had taken on a strange, fractured quality. Celebration—if you could call the drinking of cheap beer and exhausted, sporadic laughter that—had fizzled into a muted quiet. People drifted in small islands: Mai and Agent Kay dissecting drone schematics at the dining table, Bruce and Felicity murmuring close together on the porch swing, Kim sitting alone on the stairs, staring at her hands. The adrenaline was gone, leaving a gritty residue of nerves and unspoken things.
Mandy, propped against the kitchen counter, watched it all through a haze of caffeine and calculation. Her eyes kept returning to Ben. He was leaning against the patio doorframe, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, untouched. His shoulders were hunched, his usual easy grin absent. He’d look at Maryam, then quickly away, his jaw tightening. Maryam, for her part, was aggressively cleaning her already-spotless bat with a rag, her movements sharp, her face a mask of forced nonchalance. The ten feet of space between them might as well have been a canyon.
The corridor. The spell. The raw, frantic sounds. They’d agreed it was just magic, reversed and done. But bodies remember. Mandy could see it in the way Ben’s knuckles were white on the bottle, in the flush that crept up Maryam’s neck whenever he shifted his weight.
Mandy pushed off the counter. She navigated the living room, her steps quiet on the rug. She stopped first beside Ben, slipping her hand into his free one. He startled, looking down at her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rough.
“You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin,” she said softly, her thumb stroking his palm.
“I’m fine. Just… wired.”
“Uh-huh.” She tugged his hand. “Come with me.”
She led him, unresisting, across the room to where Maryam was scrubbing a nonexistent spot on the bat’s grip.
“Maryam,” Mandy said.
The dark-haired twin looked up, her hazel eyes wary. “What?”
“You too. Basement. Now.”
Maryam’s gaze flicked to Ben, then away. “I’m busy.”
“No, you’re not. You’re avoiding. He’s avoiding. It’s boring.” Mandy’s tone left no room for argument. It was the same voice she used when a client’s server was on fire. “Bring the bat if it makes you feel better. Let’s go.”
A strange charge passed between the three of them. Ben’s confusion, Maryam’s defiance, Mandy’s calm insistence. After a tense second, Maryam cursed under her breath and stood, slinging the bat over her shoulder. She followed as Mandy pulled Ben toward the hallway that led to the basement stairs.
The door was heavy, reinforced. Mandy keyed in a code; the lock disengaged with a solid thunk. The air that wafted up was cooler, carrying the scent of ozone, hot metal, and the faint, alien fragrance of charged aether crystals. The stairs descended into blue-tinged gloom.
Mandy flicked a switch at the bottom. Her workshop lit up in sections. Holographic schematics hovered in the air, slowly rotating. Workbenches were littered with disassembled Wand tech and Green Moon artifacts in neatly labeled trays. One wall was a floor-to-ceiling server rack, its lights blinking a silent, rhythmic song. In a corner, a pile of thick, faded blankets and oversized cushions made a makeshift nest next to a mini-fridge.
It was a bunker, a lab, and a den all at once.
Mandy let go of Ben’s hand and turned to face them. They stood a few feet apart, both tense, not looking at each other.
“Okay,” Mandy said, crossing her arms. Her perpetual smirk was softer now, more understanding. “Here’s the deal. What happened in that corridor wasn’t you. It was a shitty magical roofie. But your bodies don’t know that. Your nerves are still lit up like Christmas trees. You’re both acting like you’ve got a live wire in your pants.”
Ben flushed. Maryam scowled at the floor.
“So,” Mandy continued, leaning back against a workbench covered in glowing runes. “You’re going to deal with it. Here. Now.”
Ben finally looked at her, his eyes wide. “Mandy… what? With you…?”
“No, dummy. With each other.” She nodded at Maryam. “The spell showed you a possibility. A really intense, really physical one. Now you get to explore it on your own terms. No magic. No Poole. Just you two figuring out if there’s anything real underneath all that… static.”
Maryam barked a harsh laugh. “You’re giving us permission to fuck? That’s your solution?”
“It’s a solution. The room is soundproofed, magically and mechanically. No one will hear a thing. No one will judge.” Mandy pushed off the bench and walked toward the stairs. She paused on the bottom step, looking back at them. Her smile was genuine. “Take care of yourselves. I don’t mind. And for the record… I think you’d be good together.”
She went up, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. The finality of the sound echoed in the humming silence.
For a long moment, neither moved. The only sounds were the hum of the servers and the faint whisper of a cooling fan.
Ben was the first to break. He let out a shuddering breath, the one he’d been holding since the pier. He looked at Maryam, really looked at her. Not as Kim’s twin, not as the girl he’d been magically compelled to take against a wall, but as Maryam. The tomboy with the sharp wit and the loyal heart, who carried a enchanted baseball bat and loved her dad with a fierce, uncomplicated joy.
She met his gaze, her defiance melting into something more vulnerable. She saw the guilt in his eyes, the confusion, and underneath it, the same hungry echo that was vibrating in her own bones.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice thick.
It wasn’t a graceful convergence. It was a collapse. They crossed the space between them in two stumbling steps and crashed together. This kiss wasn’t like the corridor. That had been all teeth and desperation. This was hot, searching, deep. A question and an answer. Ben’s hands came up to cradle her face, his thumbs stroking her jaw. Maryam’s fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, fisting it, pulling him closer.
The bat clattered to the concrete floor, forgotten.
Clothes became obstacles. Ben yanked his shirt over his head, the muscles of his chest and abdomen flexing. Maryam peeled her tank top off, revealing a simple black sports bra. Her skin was warm, dusted with a light sweat. She kicked off her shoes, then shoved her shorts and underwear down her hips in one rough motion, stepping out of them.
She stood before him, naked except for the bra, breathing hard. She was athletic, lean, with powerful thighs and a thatch of dark curls at the junction of her legs. Her pussy glistened, already wet, her folds swollen with anticipation.
Ben’s jeans and boxers followed, pooling at his feet. His cock sprang free, fully erect, thick and heavy, the head already flushed a deep red. A bead of precum welled at the tip.
“Christ,” Maryam breathed, her eyes locked on it. “It really is… fuck.”
“You don’t have to—” he started, but she cut him off.
“Shut up. I want it. I want you.” Her hand closed around his shaft, giving him a firm, slow stroke. “I want to feel all of it. On my terms this time.”
A groan ripped from Ben’s throat. He surged forward, capturing her mouth again as he walked her backward. Her back hit the cool, reinforced glass of a monitoring panel. The blue light from the holograms played over their skin.
He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her ankles locking at the small of his back. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease. He guided the broad head of his cock to her soaked entrance, nudged against her, and then, with a single, relentless thrust, buried himself to the hilt inside her.
Maryam’s head slammed back against the glass with a thud. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat, not of pain, but of overwhelming fullness. “Yes! Oh god, yes! Fuck, Ben!”
He held there for a second, buried deep, both of them trembling. The feeling was utterly different. No magical haze, just the staggering, real sensation of her tight, silken heat clamping down around him, milking his length. He could feel every involuntary flutter of her inner walls.
Then he began to move.
He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed home. Again. And again. A brutal, piston-like rhythm that shook the glass behind her. Each drive punched a choked cry from Maryam’s lips.
“Harder!” she demanded, her nails raking down his back, leaving fiery trails. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me!”
He obeyed, his own control shattering. The wet, slapping sounds of their joining filled the room, a lewd counterpoint to the tech hum. His balls tightened, slapping against her ass with every thrust. Her breasts, still confined in the sports bra, bounced with the force of his pounding. She met him thrust for thrust, rolling her hips, taking him deeper, angling herself so the ridge of his cockhead dragged against a spot inside her that made her vision whiten.
“Right there! Right fucking there!” she chanted, her voice breaking. “I’m gonna come, you fucker, I’m gonna—”
Her sentence dissolved into a wordless shriek. Her inner muscles clenched around him in a series of violent, rhythmic spasms. Her body arched, every muscle taut as a bowstring, and she came, her pussy drenching his cock in a fresh flood of wet heat.
The intense clenching of her orgasm tipped him over the edge. With a raw, animal grunt, he buried himself as deep as he could go and erupted. Thick, hot pulses of cum shot deep into her clutching channel, jet after jet, until he was spent, shuddering, his forehead pressed against her shoulder.
They stayed like that, panting, slick with sweat, still joined. Slowly, Ben’s arms, trembling with strain, lowered her until her feet touched the floor. She winced as he slipped out of her, a mixture of his release and her own dripping down her inner thighs.
They looked at each other, breathing heavily. The guilt was gone from Ben’s eyes. The defiance was gone from Maryam’s. Something else was there, bright and fierce and complicated.
“Well,” Maryam said, her voice hoarse. “That was a fucking start.”
A slow grin spread across Ben’s face, his mother’s grin. “Yeah.”
She grabbed his hand. “Bench. Now.”
She led him to the wide, sturdy workbench. With a sweep of her arm, she sent tools and components clattering to a padded mat on the floor. She turned her back to him, bent over the smooth surface, and looked at him over her shoulder. “From behind. I want to feel you in me again. Now.”
Ben didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped up behind her, his hands running over the curves of her ass. He positioned himself, his renewed hardness nudging at her slick, used opening. He pushed in, slower this time, a long, delicious slide that made them both groan. Once fully seated, he leaned over her, his chest to her back, one hand braced on the bench, the other tangling in her short, dark hair. He set a different pace—deep, rolling strokes that filled her completely with every motion.
Maryam pushed back against him, meeting each thrust. “Pull my hair,” she growled.
He fisted his hand tighter, tugging her head back. She moaned, long and low. The new angle was devastating. He could see everything—where their bodies joined, her swollen lips stretched around him, the messy evidence of their first round. The sight drove him wild. His thrusts became harder, faster, the workbench creaking under their combined weight.
“You take it so good,” he grunted, his voice rough with passion. “Your cunt’s so perfect, so tight.”
“It’s yours,” she panted, the words shocking both of them with their truth. “Fuck, Ben, it’s yours right now. Give it to me!”
He released her hair, gripping her hips instead, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pistoned into her with abandon. The sounds were obscene, filthy, wonderful. The slap of skin, their mingled grunts and moans, the wet squelch of her overstimulated pussy taking every inch of him.
Maryam’s second orgasm built faster, a coiling tension that snapped without warning. She cried out, her body seizing, her internal muscles fluttering around him in a delirious rhythm. That was all it took. Ben shouted, his own release crashing over him, pumping another flood of cum deep inside her already filled channel.
He slumped over her, both of them dripping sweat, breathing in ragged gasps. After a moment, he carefully pulled out. She straightened up, wobbly, and turned to face him. They were a mess. Glowing.
Without a word, they migrated to the nest of blankets in the corner. They drank water from the mini-fridge. They lay down, skin to skin, not speaking, just touching. Exploring without urgency. His hand on her stomach. Her leg thrown over his. The afterglow was a tangible thing, a warm hum in the air that rivaled the machines.
Later, much later, Maryam traced a scar on his chest. “Mandy’s scary smart,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” Ben agreed, playing with a strand of her hair.
“This doesn’t… change your thing with her?”
Ben thought about it. About Mandy’s smirk, her brilliant mind, her unshakeable calm. About her leading them down here, giving them this. “No,” he said, surprised by his own certainty. “It adds to it. In a weird way.”
Maryam nodded. “Good.” She was quiet for a minute. “We should probably go upstairs. Kim’s probably having a moral crisis or something.”
“Probably.”
They dressed slowly, in silence, their movements synced. They picked up the bat together. At the base of the stairs, Maryam stopped him with a hand on his arm. She stood on her toes and kissed him, soft and deep. “Thanks,” she said against his lips.
“Anytime,” he replied, and meant it.
When they emerged into the main living area, the dynamic had shifted. The fractured feeling was gone, replaced by a quieter, more settled energy. Kim was now talking softly with Calista by the fireplace. Mai was dozing on the couch. Mandy was at her desktop, typing, but she glanced over as they appeared.
She took in their relaxed posture, the calm in their eyes, the subtle way Maryam’s shoulder brushed Ben’s as they walked. Mandy’s smirk returned, full of quiet satisfaction. She gave them a small, knowing nod, then went back to her screen.
No questions were asked. No explanations were offered. They simply rejoined the world, the static in their nerves finally, blissfully quiet.
They simply rejoined the world, the static in their nerves finally, blissfully quiet. Ben grabbed a fresh beer, the cool bottle a grounding sensation against his palm. Maryam retrieved her bat from where she’d leaned it by the stairs, her fingers tracing the enchanted wood with a new, contemplative familiarity.
Mandy watched them integrate, her own system humming with a different kind of satisfaction. Her gaze drifted across the room, past Felicity now dozing on Bruce’s shoulder, past Mai and Kay arguing quietly over transduction runes. It landed on her parents.
Mike and Casey stood near the bookshelf, talking with Brigid. Her dad, looking more rumpled and gray than ever, listened intently as Brigid detailed the Wand’s psychic containment protocols for Poole. But it was her mother who caught Mandy’s eye. Casey, her silver-streaked dark hair in a messy bun, her face showing the wear of the long night, was listening but her attention was sideways, on Mandy.
Their eyes met across the crowded room.
Casey’s lips quirked. It wasn’t a full smile. It was a subtle, knowing lift at one corner, a faint crinkle at the edge of her eye. It was the same smirk Mandy saw in the mirror every day, the one people called perpetual. In that moment, it was a mirror, a reflection, a silent transmission on a frequency only they shared.
I see what you did. I understand why. Good job.
Maternal approval. It wasn't effusive. It wasn't spoken. It was a pinpoint beam of recognition, and it landed in Mandy's chest with a warmth that surprised her. It meant a lot.
"Plotting world domination or just admiring your handiwork?"
Beth dropped onto the couch beside her, moving with a careful stiffness that spoke of lingering soreness and EpiPen aftermath. She held a glass of water, her short blonde hair sticking up in chaotic spikes.
"Handiwork is a strong word," Mandy said, tearing her gaze from her parents. "More like... system optimization."
"Right." Beth took a sip, her eyes tracking Ben as he handed Maryam a soda. "That was quite the move. Locking them in your sex dungeon to fuck it out."
"It's a workshop. And it was a logical solution to a problem of residual psychic tension."
"Uh-huh." Beth nudged her with a bare foot. "You share him with, like, half the women in this zip code. You even let him fuck me."
Mandy shrugged. "You asked nicely. And you're my sister. Different rule set."
"But why?" Beth's voice lost its teasing edge, grew genuinely curious. "Seriously. You don't get weird about it. At all. Even after the magic roofie corridor thing."
Mandy watched Ben laugh at something Bruce said, the easy grin finally back on his face. She thought about deflecting, about mentioning how Ben had made Aunt Judy beg so loudly the neighbors almost called the cops. But Beth was looking at her with their mother’s unflinching honesty, waiting for a real answer.
"She wants to know why I don't mind you fucking other girls," Beth said, her tone translating Mandy's silence.
"I know he'll always come back to me," Mandy said, the words simple and absolute in the murmur of the room. "It's a known variable. Everything else is just... interesting data."
Beth was quiet for a moment, then nodded, a small, private smile touching her lips. "Marty's the same way."
Mandy snorted. "Marty tells everyone he fucks that they aren't as good as you. He thinks he's being romantic. He's just being awkward."
Beth’s smile widened, brilliant and unashamed. "What can I say? When you're the best, you're the best."
Both sisters dissolved into soft, exhausted laughter that felt like releasing a held breath. Beth winced, holding her side, but kept giggling.
"Think he'll go back to her?" Beth asked, nodding toward Maryam.
"Probably," Mandy said, her smirk returning. "Chemistry's undeniable. And it makes my relationship more...interesting."
Across the room, Jan moved with the quiet, inevitable grace of a deep-current. Godfrey III trotted at her heels, a tiny white specter. Her path wasn't random. It intersected with Kim, who was staring into her untouched drink as if it held answers to a test she’d already failed.
Jan stopped, planting herself in Kim’s sightline. She didn't speak at first, just looked. She saw the guilt etched in the downturn of Kim’s mouth, the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes avoided everyone, especially Maryam.
"You know," Jan said, her voice a cheerful rasp, "the face you're making? The 'I used my new magic and accidentally made my sister and my friend's boyfriend have apocalyptic hate-sex in a concrete hallway' face? Every Green Moon initiate has made that face."
Kim’s head jerked up. "That was Poole. For me, it was a parking lot orgy. It was… uncontrolled. I lost control."
"Pfft." Jan waved a dismissive hand. "You should have seen what your mother pulled during her first year in the Order. Now that was a mess of biblical proportions."
Intrigue cut through Kim's guilt. She leaned forward. "What did she do?"
A wicked sparkle lit Jan's green eyes. She leaned in, as if sharing a tremendous secret. "Call her. Ask her about the Thanksgiving Day Parade. The giant balloon turkey was never the same." She straightened up, gave Kim’s shoulder a firm, reassuring pat, and wandered off, leaving Kim staring after her, bewildered but with a slightly lighter burden.
Jan navigated the pockets of exhaustion, a red-haired planet with a Maltese moon. She moved through the kitchen, past where Johnny was disassembling the toaster for reasons known only to him, and down a short hall to a closed door. She pushed it open without knocking.
The guest room was dim, lit by a single salt lamp. Rick Williamson slept on the bed, his torso wrapped in bandages, his breathing deep and regular. Sitting in a chair pulled close to the bedside was Stacy, her dark hair silver-streaked, her body still lean and powerful but holding the quiet weight of decades. She was just watching him sleep, one of his hands cradled in both of hers.
She looked up when Jan entered. No surprise, just a slow, deep warmth that filled her eyes. It was the look of someone seeing a piece of their own history, their own soul, walk into the room.
"When did you get to town?" Stacy asked, her voice low.
"Shiv called," Jan said, leaning against the doorframe. Godfrey hopped onto the foot of the bed, circled twice, and lay down with a sigh. "Told me, Johnny, and Brigid about the Poole problem. We took a time portal. Landed right on his slimy pier at the exact right moment to intercept him. Very cinematic."
Stacy nodded, as if this was a perfectly normal way to receive a distress call and mobilize. "Good timing."
"Heard you're leaving Chicago. For good."
"I am," Stacy said, her thumb stroking Rick's knuckles. "Need a change of scenery. This seems like the place."
Jan nodded, her earlier mischief absent, replaced by a blunt clarity. "Chicago needs me too much. Always has. Kim needs to establish the Green Moon here without the Red Tornado stealing her thunder. It's her time. But your work there is… complete."
The two women lapsed into a silence that was decades thick. It was not empty. It was full of unspoken things—shared battles in impossible places, desperate laughs in the dark, a friendship forged before time itself had settled on their lives. The non-magical woman who built empires and the chaotic witch who defied reality, holding the line together for so long they became each other's most reliable landmark.
Stacy finally broke it. "You know I can take a Dark Market portal back to Chicago in under an hour if you need me."
"I will hold you to that," Jan said, the words a vow.
Jan went silent again, her gaze on her oldest friend. The bravado, the whirlwind energy, it all settled for a moment, leaving something quieter and more vulnerable beneath. "I will miss you," she said, the admission simple and stark.
Stacy didn't hesitate. She stood, releasing Rick's hand, and crossed the small space. She took Jan into her arms, a firm, strong embrace that spoke of shared survival. Jan buried her face in Stacy's shoulder for a second, her own arms tightening.
"We'll still be friends forever," Stacy murmured into her hair.
"I know," Jan mumbled, her voice muffled.
Then Jan, being Jan, pulled back, the moment of vulnerability transforming back into her signature glint. She wiped at one eye, a gesture that could have been dust. "We could wake him up," she said, jerking her thumb at the sleeping Rick. "For a goodbye threesome. If you'd like. For old times' sake."
Stacy laughed, a rich, full sound in the quiet room. She looked at Jan, her eyes shining. She reached out and cupped Jan's cheek. "Never change, Red. Not ever."
Jan’s grin was answer enough.