“ Maybe you’re just not communicating properly.       Cursed things have needs too, you know.  Have      you tried asking them if they on a gluten-free diet? ”

       She falls silent for a split-second, eyes running           side to side as though reading from a page.

              “—Interesting identity you’ve chosen for yourself.                       Synonymous with wisdom and magic itself.”

“I’m  mostly just trying to wean them off of the ‘eat every tourist who wanders into the shop’ diet.”

He freezes, a disconcerted chill running the length of his spine.  This might be the first time in five years anyone’s caught onto his alias.  Still, it’s not an illogical jump.  Any- -one acquainted with the basic principles of magic could guess.

“I chose it for my first mentor,” he murmurs, suddenly in- -tent on a display of magic pens near the  register.  “His name  was  David.  In  the  Bible,  Solomon was the son of King David.”

She gives a huff that might almost be laughter– of the most self- derisive sort. He has a point there. With a sigh she lets her head fall back against the wall behind her, closing her eyes for a mo- -ment. When she opens them again suddenly he’s up close and before she realises it his lips are against hers.

For a moment it’s all she can do to clamp down on the rush of heat that flares under her skin at his unexpected touch. That’s not what’s happening here. He’ll stop if she tells him to. Won’t he?

Once the heat subsides she’s surprised to find she’s returning the kiss. His touch sends a rush through her and she clutches tighter with a hand she hadn’t realised had reached for his arm.  But her emotions are a whirlwind and as soon as her brain cat- -ches up her eyes snap open and she pulls back into what little space is left between him and the wall.

“No– Solomon, I don’t– I– I can’t– I– shit, fuck.”

The heat is prickling at her skin again, raging through her blood as her emotions spiral out of control. With a shuddering breath she closes her eyes again, shutting him– shutting everything– out as she tries to slow her breathing, concentrating on pulling the heat away from her skin, drawing it to her solar plexus and hold- -ing it there. Now would be a really bad time to burst into flame.

The moment rushes over him like a wave.  Though he knows it’s his own doing, he feels that somehow the kiss is unavoidable: as if everything they’ve said and done up until now has finally reach- -ed its boiling point. He’s wanted so desperately to kiss her since the first time they met, and now that his lips are on hers he can’t seem to stop. But neither can she-- at first.

Her lips are soft and warm. He’s kissed a thousand times with a thousand  different  girls,  but  somehow  this  one  is special be- -cause it’s Seph. The contact is electrified  by  long  months  of spartan  restraint;  he  breathes  her  in hungrily, reaching up to draw her in closer.

         But then she’s pulling away--                                                           something’s wrong-- His heart clenches with the sudden shock of rejection.  His face is  burning,  but  not  from the kiss. He feels the heat of embarr- -assment flood his system and he skitters backward on the bed, trying to distance himself from her panic.

“If  I  had known,” he begins, his fingers moving up to cover his lips. Out of shame or the desire to recall her touch, he isn’t sure.  “God, Seph-- I--”

                    I what?

                    Didn’t realize I was so repulsive to you?

He  looks  toward the door, tempted to make his retreat before he can make things worse. But didn’t he just promise  her  that he’s not running away?

THE FOOL’S JOURNEY | a southern gothic mix based on the major arcana of the tarot listen

Sephy scowled as the first rain drop hit her head– or at least she would have done had she not been trying to keep her expression neutral. If, by some great feat of luck or skill, she did manage to escape him surviving the night without shelter would no longer be difficult but downright dangerous. The cold and the wet were two things she was uniquely unequipped to deal with. The weather co- -uldn’t discourage her from desperately making her plans though. This would likely be her only chance, once they left the city the al- -ready slim possibility of her managing to get away shrank to alm- -ost nothing.

She slowed as much as she could, trying to give herself more time to think. The gloom was little hindrance– the ability to see well in low light was a prerequisite for hunting vampires– but she knew it would be no help to her either. She had only a few steps to make up her mind, once she was in his carriage there would be little she could do. The plan she had was sketchy at best, but she didn’t have time to come up with anything better. Even if she didn’t succeed, she couldn’t just go with him without at least trying to escape.

On reaching his side his command to come could be considered ful- -filled; she had only seconds until he issued her another. Seconds she intended to make full use of. She stepped close to him, every muscle tensed and ready to run. Her fingers brushed lightly against his sleeve with a sudden flash of fire. The instant she was sure it had caught she turned on her heel and sprinted down the street, shoving her fingers in her ears. Eye contact had already been broken, but there were rumours that the strongest of vampires could dominate a mind with only their vo- -ice, and Sephy wasn’t taking any chances. It might slow her a little, but if he were to call out for her to stop she would be helpless to resist.

Despite her previous threat, she hadn’t really intended to burn him here. It would take too long– particularly with the rain– and she would be cau- -ght. True, she’d had to burn a little hotter than she’d expected to ensure the damp fabric was set alight, but her aim had been distraction rather than destruction. Hopefully putting out the fire would give her a chance to get out of his sight, and she certainly wasn’t going to lose any sleep if she hurt him in the process.

To a vampire, the rain discouraged nothing more than his vanity; the  cold  no  longer  affected him. And if moisture made objects-- and people, incidentally--  more slippery than usual, he was dex- -terous enough to compensate for the difference.

His mind was rather more occupied  by  the  expression  on  her face.  He’d  studied  the  nuances of human expression over the years, particularly as influenced by the mental domination of Kin- -dred;  what  he saw in her eyes wasn’t the bovine deference he was accustomed to. No, she looked almost... calculating.

He was half expecting the attempt at escape, but he hadn’t coun- -ted  on  the  spontaneous  combustion  of  his sleeve in the rain. There was  an  explosion  of  pain  that  rocked  his  senses  and numbed his thoughts completely.  Agony-- more intense than he had felt in decades, an infernal blaze that charred him to his soul- -less bones. He jerked and frantically beat at the fire, his lips curl- -ing back into a feral sneer. He forgot about everything else until the conflagration was safely extinguished.

-- Only  to  realize  that she was gone. Cursing the girl, he called up the innate supernatural abilities that came  with  undeath.  All around  him, the world seemed to grind down to a halt; suddenly he could watch the contorted shapes  of  the  raindrops  as  they hurtled  toward  the  ground  in  slow  motion.  The impact of the ground beat against the soles of his shoes like  a  war  drum  as he  pursued  her.  She  couldn’t  get  away.  Not  now-- his pride wouldn’t allow it.

He spotted her near a long  row  of  abandoned  houses.  Good. He’d  hoped  for  the chance to pay her back for that nasty fright with the fire. He cut around the backs of the houses,  circling  in front of her so that he could catch her unawares.

“Airborne food can be quite amusing– but I think dancin’   with a cat would be one of those once in a lifetime   opportunities. I bet this is how y’snag all the ladies, huh,   Puss n’ boots?”

“What can I say? After all these years, I’ve picked up a few tricks here and there.  Still, you look like you might have one or two of your own to teach.”

“––– How long ago did they stop burning witches–– oh, I’m sorry, wizard–– at the stake? I really want s’mores right now.”

“Now that right there is the talk of a turncoat. Shameful.”

          “Don’t you think if I was attracted             to  you  I  would  want   to   keep             you tied up. –– Some people are             into that. And you did meet me in             a cemetery after all.”

“If that’s how you want to look at it, then allow me to point out that I’m still tied up.

                                    ... Stalling?”

             “Give me a reason.”

“Because somewhere beneath that surly exterior you’re secretly just in denial over your attraction to me?"

Moist von Lipwig, Going Postal (via dangertohimself)

      “  I’ve a penchant saying lots of things              some would rather I kept to myself.             And none of those they’d wish to hear.           — I do  admire the setup. The inventory upkeep alone                must take no small amount of dedication. ”

“We’re two of a kind, then.  Usually when I say some- -thing bad, though, I wind up with a sore cheek.

Mm, you’ve got no idea. The books are a handful, to say nothing of the cursed objects.  Every time I feed them I’m terrified of losing a finger.”

Prompt #99

“i accidentally summoned you with a ouija board and you’re haunting me forever now i guess” au

magictricksandcandlewicks

It wasn’t fair. Solomon being so near, so near and so damn handsome and smart and– everything the princess wanted in a future partner. Only he was the court wizard and she the crown princess. They could not and– for many weeks she’d –been at war with that desire.

But why shouldn’t she ask for what she desired? Solomon did not appear to have rebuffed her advances, or was it the champagne and the cool September air which made her so bold and he so acquiescent? She forced her fingers to relax their grip on her skirts. One hand shifting so that fingers could skim the surface of the fountain’s pool.

Solomon’s voice broke her reverie and she glanced up, the heat in his gaze had her knees pressing involuntarily together, spine straightening imperceptibly, “I certainly recall a number of occasions where you have more than proven a worthy adversary to any challenge presented you.” She murmured. Would he rise to beautifully to the challenge of keeping her though? If she thought to ask for what she wanted. Would he fight to keep her?

Her fingers were damp from the fountain water, “I know you well enough to know that you gave me a maze and beautiful lights.” A pause, “And a dance. Almost everything I wanted…” Should she, she wondered. Swallowed and then before she could quite lose her nerve she leaned forward, one hand going to Solomon’s thigh to steady herself, the other to his jaw. Fingers still cool and wet from the fountain. This kiss was not fleeting, though it was clumsy. She had never truly kissed another before. Not the way she intended this kiss to be.

She seemed to be struggling with something.  She wasn’t usually  this  nervous  around him, but he could guess the change likely had something to do with the shift in chemis- -try between them. They weren’t playmates anymore; and though it hadn’t been discussed, they both knew  it.  They were something else entirely now-- something dangerous,  if they let it build to a steady burn.

And yet... he’d always had a taste for recklessness. It was what made him such a good wizard.

It was also the reason that he received  her  kiss  with  so much enthusiasm. He didn’t dare stop to think-- he merely eased  himself  into  her touch, his whole body thrumming with the kiss. He was hyper aware of  her  light, steadying hand  on  his  thigh--  then  of  her  lips, soft as petals and twice as sweet. One of his hands was dutifully engaged in preventing him from topping backward  into  the  pool. But the  other  reached  for her on instinct, his fingers tangling hungrily in her silken curls, gripping at the hair with  primit- -ive fascination.

He could feel that she was awkwardly inexperienced. For- -tunately,  he  was  well versed in the art of romance; one could even say that it was his favorite subject. He patiently guided  her  through the kiss, his lips working against hers until she caught the rhythm.  He was gentle-- for now-- let- -ting her appreciate the finer points of a kiss untainted  by wanton need.

      Under the circumstance

                              of their uncommon past, the Dormouse should have been able to place trust upon his toothy smile. He had never done anything in the past to earn her distrust, but there would always be something behind his actions that would hint at some kind of ulterior motive; as if he were always hiding some sort of dangerous secret. She was certain that his help in the past would eventually require payment, and she was always nervous about when that would come.

And yet, it was almost too easy to loop her own arm in his own extended one; and it was also far too easy to return a smile. Within her mind, a million thoughts whirled, but all were placed on the back-burner as she focused on the situation at hand. She couldn’t lose herself in thoughts of the past, thoughts of repayment, when she was so pressed to find out what he was up to. No, she would live in this moment, play with it.

“I trust that you will, cat. I know you always stay true to your word.” The words, though casual, were true, at least to her knowledge. But with their ending, a silence far too obvious fell, and she felt it necessary to cover it up with more words. Perhaps even a question. “ It is a rather lovely night out, the kind that is filled with many different happenings. I find it surprising that you have nothing else going on now, it seems as if it would be your kind of realm.

                            Why are you so willing to help me? “

His  foot found easy purchase on the dirtied cobblestones of the Wonderland streets. True to his name, the Cat was the  very  picture  of  grace  as he led her along, his mere presence enough to discourage any inquisitive  onlookers passing  them  on their way. He was accustomed to being Wonderland’s dirty little secret; his  existence  was  widely known  and  scarcely talked about. Those who did impose themselves on his good name often did so  with  a  sense of paranoia.

Funny how invisibility proved such a deterrent to gossip.

As  such, no one bothered them and no one risked eaves- -dropping,  either. Despite their very public circumstances, their conversation was nice and private.

“Because you lend yourself so easily to  the  helping.” His answer  came instinctively, almost  without thought. Paus- -ing to glance up into the darkness, he continued. “In Won- -derland, I’ve found there’s a  shortage  of  innocence. Or maybe innocence isn’t the word. Virtue, I think. It’s a rare flower in these parts, and it ought to be preserved.”

❝oh, wow, whatever would give you that  idea?  please,  your parlor  tricks  don’t concern me in th’least. tell y’what, i wouldn’t ‘ave gotten arrested at all had it been only me.❞

“You’d never have gotten a show in  Vegas if it was only you, either. No risk, no reward, Kitten. I think that’s how the saying goes?”

❝ Your truths are always so uncomfortable, Cat. ❞ 

Still, she glides past him to take the throne once more. Of course, he isn’t wrong.   ( He hardly ever is despite what the others might say on the matter. )  Such an ornate chair must surely come with a hefty price and the White Queen has paid for  the  luxury  -  she continues to pay for it.

Truly - liable to snap at any moment.

Her gaze focuses on the crowd,  but her interest is placed solely in his words.   It is an odd thing to have the Cheshire Cat talk in such a way and as she is meant to be, the Queen is enticed. 

Even so, she remains silent - watching her court in their endless play.    There is little in this world that can surprise her and even less  that  she  has neither seen nor heard before.  She is aware that the Cheshire Cat knows this.   Just as he knows everything else in the realm.

Some  things  however,  are  better  not  to  know and necessity dictates that she tread carefully.

Except…she’s always been so damned curious.

❝ A pity, really. I do adore our dances. ❞ 

It shakes up the monotony. 

She doesn’t blame him for his games and tricks. When you’ve lived as long as they have, variety truly is the spice of life. It’s nigh impossible not to go a little mad sometimes.

❝ You say this news of yours is worth hearing,                                                                  but at what price? ❞ 

Curiosity is the mortal vice of the Cat and his ilk. It’s led him on many a stray path, his desire to know stronger than any sense of self preservation-- if he’s ever had one. In fact, cur- -iosity is at the heart of his illustrious  position on the fringes of Wonderland society.  It’s his curiosity that drives his thirst for knowledge,  and it’s curiosity that keeps him going, even when the passing years turn stale.

This  is  why it’s so easy for him to recognize the very same fault in the White Queen.  Start  with  a  cocky  base,  add a dash  of  wisdom.  Bait  with  intrigue. Stir. Repeat as neces- -sary.

“As do I, my Queen.” Surprisingly, there’s honesty in his ac- -knowledgement.  Though their meetings induce somewhat less adrenaline than her more hot-blooded contemporaries, she has a way with words that he finds refreshing.  And she understands him better than most,  which  is  saying quite a lot.

Her  question  prompts  a  wry  smile and he turns to look at her, his gaze falsely innocent under dark lashes. “Why, your grace. I suppose that depends on what you have to offer.”