The slow, steady beat of a rock ballad flooded the dark, strobing landscape of the dance floor. The singer crooned, promising to die, to kill, to steal, for her lover. Stuttering lights flashed, showing glimpses of the sinuous crowd dancing to a languid beat, only to be swallowed back in an ocean of shadow.

Morgaine was among them, but not of them. She was hunting for notes. Hunting for those elusive fragments of song entwined deep with emotion. When the tune struck a dancer just so, their want and desire bled out into the music, the two becoming one.

She swayed seductively, seeking out those notes to harvest before they could fade away on an ethereal breeze. Her black dress clung to her, highlighting pale skin and ample cleavage. She was noticed by others, but she avoided most advances. When she was in the nightclub she was working, harvesting those imbued notes.

Through slit eyes, she could feel the hazy lusts, drug-induced highs, and alcohol-fueled fires of those writhing around her. Most often those dancing were so absorbed in their partners that they noticed little else. And so, she swayed, getting lost in the music herself, wishing she had captured the desire of someone worthy. Someone worthy of infusing her own captured notes.

At the edges of the dance floor, hungry eyes followed her. Wanting her. Some hungered just for the glimpses of ecstasies her long legs, shapely hips, and deep cleavage offered. A few rare others wanted her for the old ways she possessed. They could feel the magic radiating from her like heat from a furnace.

She spotted him staring at her. Dark brooding eyes brimming with hunger and wicked carnal thoughts. She could feel his desire from across the floor. Something about him made her look even though he was obscured by the crowd and the shifting shadows. She was buried three couples deep in the crowd, too far away for him to approach. She was not here for pleasures of flesh, however, and so gave him a fragile smile, losing herself again in the melody and swaying bodies.

When Morgaine looked again, he was gone. She sighed. Such was Darkness, the nightclub catered to a dark crowd, goths, punks, and alternative types of every shade. And its deepest secret, it drew in the oh-so-rare supernals, those who knew how to weave magic, those like Morgaine.

As the song died to layered whispers of ecstasy, She wove through the forest of bodies to the edge of the dancefloor. A long wall with high tables and barstools stretched in each direction. In one direction bathrooms and an open space with booths. In the other direction, a bar choked with lines, a coatroom, an exit, and bouncers. There was still no sign of her glimpse of the dark brooding shadow that had caught her eye.

Another song began as the haunting sighs of the last faded. Morgaine’s gaze swept through across the dance floor, looking for him. He had to be like her she reasoned, a weaver, to have so captured her in such a fleeting moment. Unable to spot him she turned in the direction of the bathrooms, deeper into the club.

She knew the DJ, a phonomancer, maybe he knew this figment of a man she’d seen. Morgaine wasn’t certain how phonomancy worked. It had something to do with the power of music locked frozen in vinyl, but was beyond her ken. Her weave was older, although equally untraditional. Her high heels clicked on the pavement of the pathway bordering the dancefloor, their sound lost in the cacophony of chatter and music.

On her way to the DJ booth, she was distracted by a smile. An enchanting smile even if cast by someone so obviously muggle. A young woman sat perched on a barstool, and she had eyes for Morgaine. She wore sharp, spikey white hair, a bondage collar, and a leather skirt to match. She sat close to the dance floor while her brooding leather jacket-clad beau loomed over her. Morgaine was easily a head taller than her. But the woman’s gaze was obvious, conquest.

Morgaine returned the smile and felt the whisper of something tickle up from her navel. A hint of tension, an abundance of desire, and enough curiosity to indulge her wants. She approached the couple.

“These taken? You mind if I sit?” she called out over the music.

The white-haired girl’s smile deepened, then she leaned up to whisper in her boyfriend’s ear. His gaze fell on Morgaine, traveling from her eyes to ample bust. That tickle of thrill returned. Something about him being bold enough to look at her like that in front of his girl.

He looked forward as the white-hair girl watched, lording over her domain like the queen of the club.

“I’m Derek, and this is Luna.”

Invitation accepted, Morgaine pulled up a stool, “I’m Kat.”

Luna smiled, then leaned in. “Be a dear and fetch us drinks.”

Morgaine felt that thrill again, stronger this time. Luna was not asking but demanding this of her. Morgaine decided she might need a drink as well. Nodding she got up and turned to the bar.

A hand touched her, and looking down, she saw it was Luna’s. “Don’t you want to know what we want?”

Morgaine returned Luna’s hungry look. Her gaze traveled down the smaller woman. Smaller breast, smaller body, but fit, thin, hinting at carnal delights that made Morgaine weak.

“You want what I want,” Morgaine said.

Luna cocked an eyebrow, “Oh? And what's that?”

“Something delicious.”

“Hurry back.” Luna rewarded her with a feral smile and sharp, perfectly white teeth that nearly glowed in the blacklight.

Morgaine felt that thrill again. Luna knew she was beautiful, knew she could have any man in the club. Yet Luna was interested in Morgaine, that was hard to resist. It made her want to do a hell of a lot more than merely fetch drinks for Luna.

Walking in a haze of music, flowing lights, and lust swirling all around her, Morgain made her way to the bar. The lines were long, and she was in a hurry. For some reason, she didn’t want to disappoint the demands of Luna, and so she decided to make a weave and untangle the mess reality had presented her.

Plucking a still thrumming note from her handbag she inhaled it, feeling the passion and heat of a woman wishing oh so desperately to be manhandled by her lover, her cheating plaything, while her husband was asleep at home. Glimpses of torrid affair-driven sex, secret meetings, and looming scandals of two coworkers in a dangerous liaison.

When she exhaled, the couple in front of her kissed deeply, a man groped a woman near him, and by chance and coincidence, a way was parted, allowing Morgaine to slip up to the bar. She put a hand on the bar, a signal that she needed a cocktail in it right now, then turned to look back at Dereck and Luna. What sort of drinks would they want?

“Kat! What can I get for such a vision of loveliness?”

“Damien, Just the man I needed to see.” Morgaine said, “Three drinks. One for me. And two for a pretty couple that have… taken an interest.”

“Lucky girl,” Damien said, “Any more details than that?”

She shook her head, and he seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll think of something.”

Morgaine watched Damien work, setting out glasses, pouring liquors and mixers, shaking, and pouring. Damien was so close. So very close to waking. So close to becoming a passion mage. To learning that reality was a prison whose bars could be bent once you found your magic. He was just one tragedy, one epiphany, one trauma, from realizing that through cocktails and alcohol, he could change the rules. Morgaine wondered for a moment what a cocktail wizard would be called. A mixomancer? Spiritscaster? Maybe Damien would tell her someday when he got off his ass and woke.

Three drinks were delivered and Damien explained each. Morgaine couldn’t keep up and so thought of them as Papa dry and hard, Mama fruity and pink, and Baby somewhere in between. She juggled the drinks as she wove her way back to the table where Luna surveyed her reign.

Baby was left in front of Morgaine, while Papa went to Dereck, and the pink Mama was delivered into the waiting hands of Luna. She took a delicate sip and wrinkled her nose. Before Derek could try, Luna stole his away and made a face of ecstasy as the burning liquids tickled down her throat.

“Good girl,” Luna said, and Morgaine’s heart skipped a beat. “This certainly is exactly as you promised, delicious.”

Luna smiled wickedly at Dereck who was too lost in Morgaine’s cleavage to notice. Luna rolled her eyes as if to say, ‘Boys.’

As she sipped her drink Morgaine was quite happy that she had to do very little talking. Dereck and Luna enjoyed talking about themselves, a lot. They were definitely sleepers, drawn to Darkness by who knows why. Perhaps the tendrils of lust and desire caught them as they passed by on the busy streets outside and tugged them ever so gently inside. Morgaine basked in their court.

And they did hold court. They seemed to know many of the other sleepers, the part of Darkness Morgaine had never taken interest in. The magic folk were far more interesting, but so damn rare. Typically, she only came to harvest, and tonight had been dry. Perhaps the stars weren’t aligned properly. These two presented another avenue. Morgaine suspected they wanted more, but she would be all too happy to simply follow them home and watch their passionate union.

Luna had an elegance that Morgaine envied. She was graceful in every move. Allure dripped from the corner of every smile. Her clothing hinted at a tight, firm, flexible body that could do anything. Best of all, Luna had a commanding presence. She didn’t just ask for things, she made demands of all around her. Morgaine felt those thrills tickle her each time Luna demand-asked something of her.

When their drinks were dry, Luna leaned back into Derek and whispered in his ear. Derek’s lust-inspired look at Morgaine said it all. They were going to invite her to spend the evening with them.

As a lonely singer wailed about Bela Lugosi’s death, Derek and Luna both rose from their stools at once and Morgaine followed suit. They both stopped and stared at her, and for a clumsy moment, Morgaine wondered if she’d made a mistake.

“We’re headed home,” Luna said with a smile, her eyes smoldering lust.

“I was hoping to join,” Morgaine said, feeling awkward.

Another cocked eyebrow from Luna, and then she reached out and gripped the side of Morgaine’s neck. It was a firm touch, a touch of control and ownership. She said, “Presumptuous. But come along kitty Kat.”

Morgaine wanted to breathlessly offer a ‘yes ma’am.’ She kept her tongue, not knowing if it was too cliché, too trite, or just what Luna wanted. Derek slid a shiny raincoat over Luna’s shoulders, and without another glance at Morgaine, they headed for the exit.

The actual exit was a long tedious affair. Luna said her goodbyes to many. Dereck halfheartedly did so as well. No one asked about the tall, leggy woman behind them, although a few knowing smirks told Morgaine everything she needed to know. Taking strays home was routine for them. That somehow made it even more delicious.

Luna and Derek smoked clove cigarettes as they waited for their ride. No one said a word. Morgaine considered making small talk. But why risk annoying them? She kept quiet instead, enjoying the night air. The ride to their place was short.

The three of them entered an old building crammed with apartments. The floors creaked as Morgaine’s heels walked over threadbare carpet. She was as tall as Derek, a head taller than Luna. Her height had always been an awkward issue. While legs and chest attracted many men, it was hard finding one who could look down into her eyes. Something Morgaine wanted oh so bad. Dereck could almost fill than need, but his hunched posture stole it away. If Luna were equal height, Morgain might damn well fall in love.

Once past the battered and desperately in need of paint apartment door, Derek went to a record player. He found a record and loaded it into the player. David Bowie’s voice slowly, ever so slowly began wailing about green eyes and cold moon. The notes filled the room, so many that Morgaine could have harvested armloads if she was aware of anything but Luna’s burning desire.

Luna wasted no time, holding out a hand to Morgaine and leading her to a bedroom barely bigger than the king-sized bed in it. A dark, veiled canopy was strung up between tall dead branches at each corner of the bed. String lights were the only illumination in the room, casting lovely shadows that matched the music’s tone.

Luna sat at the foot of the bed, and Morgaine wondered what she should do. Should she sit next to her, kneel in front of her, or ask what to do? She was overthinking, but she still felt awkward and alone.

Derek came to the doorway, he’d lost his leather jacket and shirt. Morgaine looked over at him and never saw Luna rise up to place a hand on the back of her neck. Luna pulled Morgaine down, down to her knees. Luna sat, leaned forward, and kissed Morgaine. The hand at the back of her neck slid to the side and was joined by another on the opposite side. Luna’s thumbs toyed with her throat, pressing, teasing, taking control of her. Luna’s kiss became more demanding, more forceful, sucking the air from Morgaine’s lungs. She imagined her breath being sucked into the smaller woman, lingering in her lungs, infusing with her blood, becoming every part of the demanding woman.

Morgaine realized how little she was wearing as her nipples reacted, becoming painfully stiff through the thin fabric of her club dress. She’d skipped a bra, knowing the effect her chest had on men, and sometimes women. Her thong had ridden up, but she was in no position to adjust it,

When the kiss was broken Morgaine stared dizzily at Luna. Even on her knees, she was nearly as tall as the sitting woman. Luna licked her lips, her burning eyes consuming Morgaine.

“Get undressed,” Luna whispered, her hungry wanting stare bored into Morgaine.

It was so unfair. Morgaine was awakened. She knew the cheat codes to reality. She could twist and break it as she wished. Weave spells so darkly that nothing could escape. Yet she was at the mercy of a tiny, gorgeous, cruel woman who saw her as little more than a toy. Luna would take what she wanted. Morgaine would give it. In the end, Luna would be sated, whatever filthy desires she had in her head fully requited, while Morgaine knew her own would not. She would ache in the echo of their fulfillment. She would be their plaything.

She would finish the night yearning, aching for more.

Youtube links to songs in this chapter:

Garbage - #1 Crush

Bauhaus - Bela Lugosi's Dead

David Bowies - Putting out Fire