Witch Hunter (17 page)

Her tongue was flicking over them both and she was doing her best to suck without being able to get a proper seal. She had stopped fingering herself and was now grasping their balls, trying to get her hand round both sacks to squeeze them. Her fevered grasp was almost painful but it was glorious too, since Gavin’s balls were squashed against his. She was trying to force herself further down their shafts and it was bringing them even closer together. Dominic wanted to put his arm around his companion. He wanted to kiss him – it seemed like the perfect time. Courage failed him, but the image was in his head and it drove the sperm out of his bollocks, past her grip, into his shaft and ready for its final coaxing.

‘Hurry up, bitch,’ Gavin growled.

The desire showed in his voice even though his words were unnecessarily harsh. Dominic hoped it meant he was nearing his climax too. How fabulous to come together! He savoured the feel of their hard pricks side by side, their balls squashed close, their seed ready to explode in unison. Surely after this they must be thrown closer together? Gavin might not be pleased that the girl was taking such liberties but as far as Dominic was concerned he wouldn’t wish himself anywhere but right here, right now. Gavin hadn’t lied. This really,
really
was the very best job in the world, and there was no way Dominic was about to leave it for anything.

Barely a mile away, oblivious to Dominic’s current favourable situation, Mimi was frantically trying to find the information that might help free him from the clutches of Haydn Shady. Aware that time was against her she was frantically sifting through her notes, rereading passages from the borrowed books and trying to remember all the Spinster had told her about witches. The more she delved, the more she was reminded that this wasn’t just some frivolous role-playing game, despite what her brain kept trying to tell her. However, that same silly brain still insisted that there was more for her to do before she could go to the police.

All she had on Shady was the Spinster’s theory that he was still around, but no actual evidence to back it other than the word of a dotty old bag. The idea was frankly incredible that he could stay hidden away, apparently able to perform his dastardly deeds and yet not be discovered by the patrolling estate manager. It didn’t matter how big the estate was, or that as its previous owner he would know of all its most secret places, or even that the new owner was never there himself.
Someone
would have seen him. If he was this
Master
that Morgana had spoken of then where the hell was he? Only a god could be omnipotent yet remain unseen.

Mimi decided to concentrate on Morgana, probably because the witch was so difficult to shift from her mind. First, it seemed indisputable that she was indeed a witch, although what that meant in real terms was anyone’s guess. The extent of her power, if she had any at all, was hard to determine. Everything surrounding her seemed to be myth. People damned her and attributed all sorts of evil deeds to her, but where was the proof? Morgana herself had spoken of her group of wild, lust-crazed girls, but where were they and what was their purpose? Again, why had no one ever seen them? She had a small group of ‘trainees’, but these were surely little more than hormone-driven, dirty-minded party girls who thought that dabbling in the Dark Arts gave them an excuse to be as wanton as their bodies demanded. There was no sorcery here. As far as Mimi could tell Morgana’s only trick so far was to produce milk from her breasts at will. And, of course, to make one fall desperately in love with her. Or was Mimi’s sudden, overwhelming crush just due to the woman’s matchless, heart-stopping perfection?

Mimi dug deeper. There was no information to be gleaned from the internet by searching
Morgana Innamorato
. There was nothing on the
Ana Lucia Plan
either, so it was safe to assume it was a fabrication, although why that particular name was chosen remained unclear. The witch’s slimming club was seemingly no more than a front for some kind of sex class for supposed witches in training. Mimi felt an involuntary twinge in her crotch at just the thought of being in a wild sex club for girls. The penny was beginning to drop. Whatever else was involved, sex was at the heart of the mystery. Mimi referred to her borrowed copy of a translation of the
Malleus Maleficarum
, a medieval treatise that aimed to prove the existence of witchcraft and that females were the driving force behind it. She reread the sentence that had previously struck her most: ‘All witchcraft comes from carnal lust, which in women is insatiable.’

Mimi’s best guess was that Morgana was a nymphomaniac with a penchant for a certain kind of young goth girl, and that claiming Powers of Darkness was the best way to seduce such misguided souls. However, things were about to become more complicated. It seemed witchcraft was deeply rooted in the area from way back. There were reports that the ancient church in her village stood on the site where a coven once met, and had been built to thwart their evil gatherings. Her sources gave references to the arrests and trials around the early 1600s, towards the end of another series of witch hunts encouraged by King James I. No names were listed or punishments described, but the consensus was that Satan was alive in the area.

The first name Mimi came across was that of a Mistress Aventine Hill, a notorious local witch living in the mid-1700s. She reputedly taught the secrets of the
Bacchanalia
to Sir Francis Dashwood, and supplied girls for use in the rites of his infamous Hellfire Club, who met at nearby Medmenham Abbey and the caves at West Wycombe. The Spinster had also mentioned this Aventine Hill woman, although conversely she claimed she had lived towards the end of the nineteenth century and had owned the very cottage in which Morgana still dwelt. Many believed Morgana to be possessed by the spirit of this witch. Some thought she just liked the idea of that and played up to it, because she was perverted and deranged.

According to the Spinster, Mistress Hill had lost her lover after being driven from her home. She returned and in her anger she let loose her pack of wild animals to ravage all the prettiest girls in the village, tearing them limb from limb. She put a curse on the other villagers, which is why barley never grew in the fields to the north and why one lamb in three died before it was a month old – statements Mimi was unable to verify. She searched the internet for this Aventine Hill. She came up not with a person but with a place: one of the seven hills on which ancient Rome was built. Surely it was no coincidence that in the shadow of this hill lay a grove where bacchanals were once held, organised by one of the most celebrated deviants of classical history, the High Priestess Paculla Annia?

That truly set the alarm bells ringing. Searching for this name yielded little more than confirmation that the Priestess was most active around 188 BC and was famous for restructuring the rite of the bacchanals to make them more frequent, to make them truly no-holds-barred, and to allow men to join. Her ceremonies consisted of frenzied drinking and dancing and apparently indescribably dirty sex. Same-sex couplings were encouraged, and orgies with groups of writhing naked bodies were commonplace. Ever greater depravities were
de rigueur
. The young female devotees were like a pack of wild animals (like the pack Miss Aventine Hill once set in revenge upon the village?) and any who would not join in their demonic acts were ripped apart in sacrifice. All of this was done in the name of Bacchus, overseen by the insatiable Paculla Annia.

Mimi was sure she already knew the name. No, wait – she was thinking of that other Latin-sounding name, Ana Lucia, her of the non-existent Plan. As she stared at the name and unpicked it, she realised with a shiver that Ana Lucia Plan was actually an anagram of Paculla Annia. So Morgana clearly knew about Paculla Annia, maybe even styled herself upon her. It seemed the mysterious Miss Aventine Hill did the same, although the name was clearly an alias, so who was she? Was it plausible that there was no other connection between her and Morgana, other than living in the same cottage over a century apart? The common denominator in all three cases seemed to be the band of wild wanton girls, so if Morgana did indeed have some girls holed up somewhere, one could assume that she used them in orgies. To think that the witch wanted Mimi to be a part of all this!

Mimi suddenly remembered the book Morgana had given her. It seemed ridiculous that she had all but forgotten it in the panic of finding out about Dominic’s disappearance. It was sitting there on the coffee table, looking small, black and benign, although it possibly contained all the answers she needed. The first chapter, so the witch had said, would reveal all. It felt cold in her palm, yet opening it sent a surge of nervous heat through her belly. The pages were of thick parchment, tinged with age. The text was in neat handwritten black script, the bulk of the words completely unfamiliar. If Mimi had recognised the language as Middle English she could have established that the book must therefore be between five and eight hundred years old. If she had had the time, the inclination and the means to study and translate the first paragraph, it would have told her that this was a copy from the original Latin of the Priestess’s Book of Magick, converted into English when her undying soul found itself on these shores and took its first incarnation. That, at least, was what the book said.

Mimi had already gone past this passage, trying to find any familiar words or phrases that would give her a clue. As she followed the text with her finger she kept feeling a tingle in its tip, like a tiny electric shock, although she was careful not to actually touch the page. She felt suddenly cold, even though it was such a mild early-summer afternoon. Her extremities were freezing, her nose feeling like it might drip. Whereas the book had first been cold, now it was open it seemed to be getting increasingly warm, almost like a burn on her chilly hands. She had to quickly place it in her lap, and the warmth radiated immediately into her crotch and made her gasp. She found herself pushing down onto the page with her fingertip, to keep the heat pressed to her puss.

Morgana had claimed that the first chapter would explain everything, and although the text was almost impenetrable, Mimi realised that with concentration she could make sense of parts. It was studded with words she could recognise and that spoke for themselves:
lustful, fornicāciŏun
,
ravishe
,
dēfŏulen
,
incantāciŏun, be-horewed
,
slaughter
. In giving herself to Morgana, Mimi was apparently expected to
lŏve filth
and
abhomināciŏun
, to
practīse harlotrīe
and make a
cunte-hoare
of
al yonge wymmen
and
beautēful maidene.
There were several things she must
worshippe
or
adŏure.
Primarily she should devote herself to Bacchus and deny all other gods. Thereafter the most pressing requirement seemed to be getting lusty with as many
damisēle
and
fair wenches
as she could, especially those whom Bacchus had gifted with a
glōriŏus rumpe
.

Beautiful behinds seemed to feature heavily in the text, more so even than the frequently mentioned
bāre brests
, although there were a few sentences about the latter that Mimi found particularly exciting. She picked out references to suckling and
norishen
on milk. Her heart nearly stopped as she read the phrase
drinke milk fro Þe prēsteresses brest
, knowing immediately it meant
drink milk from the priestess’s breast
, although she didn’t pick up on the subtlety of it, not realising that
drinke
referred to a magical drink, or a love potion.

The words were spinning around her head, conjuring wonderfully rude images. Her breath was heavy and she felt jittery. The book was now pressed tight to her crotch and was still seemingly emanating heat, but only to her sex. Although the rest of her was ice-cold her quim seemed to be on fire. The image in her mind was of a mild but constant flow of electricity passing into her, as if the book was unloading energy into her womb. She should have thrown it to the ground or at least closed it, but her hands refused to do either.

Steadfastly clutching the book to her crotch, she clumsily pulled off her jeans and knickers one-handed in an attempt to cool her raging loins. The heat only intensified on her bare slit and instinctively she pressed the spine of the book harder to her crotch. The tingle in her little swelling bud was immediate and far greater than could have been caused by pressure alone. She felt dirty and like she was not alone, but she could neither drop the book nor take her eyes off it to scan for any unseen presence. The book needed to be read; it was compelling.

Another urge was growing too, and she realised this was why she felt so jittery. The urge was to get out and return to the estate. At first she thought this was her own sensibilities, telling her she shouldn’t tarry while her friend was elsewhere in peril. This couldn’t be right, though, because logic demanded she gather evidence before any return, or at least try to work out who and what she was dealing with, to help form a strategy. Anyway, the impulse, she realised, was not to get back there for Dominic’s benefit but to return to Morgana. The witch was to be avoided at all costs and she knew it. But she had already left her computer desk and was standing in a ridiculous position, bizarre enough to make her blush and wish she could stop herself. She was grasping the top edge of the open book and pushing it into her groin, which had forced her bare bottom out. Her free hand had gone behind her and she was gripping one cold bum cheek and pulling it outwards, to open herself up. Her knees were pressed tight together as if they were bound, and she was shuffling forward towards the bedroom door, eyes down upon the text. Still, even though she was stuck in this ludicrous manner,
still
she was trying to read the book, as if it was demanded of her.