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Legacy of the Witch House (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

“Wait,” Marta said, not even noticing his botched Latin pronunciation as she put the book down. “You had that dream the night we met? The night we open the portal?”

“I... had a kind of crazy dream, yeah,” he replied. “Like, your sister and our waitress were witches, and..,”

“I hadn’t that dream, that same dream on the same night,” she said, voice shaking a little. “How?”

“Uhm...”. It was a good question, wasn’t it? “Brains are, well, funny things. And we’d just seen some wacky shit, and...”

“That song was from last night, right?” she interrupted. “Something the jazz band played?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “The Minkowski Variations. It syncs up really well with the equations I’m working out.” He hesitated. “Almost too well, you know?”

“Did… did you dream that as well? Dancing together in 40’s style, through a bizarre, shifting city?” She shifted away, just a little, bringing her knees up to her chest.

“Sort of,” Pete said with an involuntary shiver. “Old style clothes, yeah. But more of a grid pattern on a black plain.” He hesitated, not liking where this was going. “You... had the same dream?”

“How is this possible?” she demanded. “How can we dream about the same thing? How can I dream about your fellow professors, when I barely them before this week?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, shifting close and pulling her into an embrace. To comfort her, he told himself. Even though he was feeling in need of comfort himself. “Maybe... well, we’re dealing with something utterly unprecedented here, right? And it started after we made that unstructured gate, right? Maybe...”. He thought hard. “Some sort of side effect, maybe. Like, we’ve discovered telepathy along with wormholes?”

He chuckled. “Maybe I should teach you to be a lucid dreamer, and we can run telepathy experiments in our sleep? Like, I tell you something in my dream and see if you got it in real life?” After a moment, he laughed again and kissed her. “Might be a way to deal with the condom issue as well, based on that threesone dream.”
 
Peter’s optimism comforted her. Maybe this wasn’t scary at all. Another incredible discovery, as if wormhole weren’t enough. The "how" and "why" were still a mystery, but, well, Peter was a scientist, and he offered a scientific solution.

“Maybe I should teach you to be a lucid dreamer, and we can run telepathy experiments in our sleep? Like, I tell you something in my dream and see if you got it in real life?”

Marta nodded, eased by the idea of studying and understanding these dreams. Apply a rational thought process to an incomprehensible phenomenon. If they came to understand it, it wouldn’t be so scary. “Okay, that does sound like a good idea. Or, at least a better idea than freaking out.”

Peter leaned in, and she met his lips with hers, savoring his taste. “Might be a way to deal with the condom issue as well, based on that threesome dream.”

Marta laughed, and took another kiss, “Maybe, so long as it doesn’t bleed over to the waking world again. There might not be consequences in dreams, but there are certainly consequences here.” Leaning into him for a moment longer, Marta gazed over at the book open on the table. Whatever it was, in the book and their dreams, it still wasn’t real, and it couldn’t hurt them. For several heartbeats, she reminded herself of that fact, until she could believe it.

“Okay, so let’s decipher this passage,” Marta decided, jotting down some notes. “It refers to a being from Egypt, a being revered by the peasants and farmers. Lean and Silent and cryptically proud, and wearing red garments, like sunset or flame.” Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she reread the passage, seeing if she missed anything, and then shrugged, “I don’t think it relates to the portals. But I’ll keep reading.”

She turned the page, happy to escape the unwavering gaze of the dark being, and scanned the words. “So, when do the movies start? I may have to admit to getting burnt out here.”
 
Marta laughed, and took another kiss, “Maybe, so long as it doesn’t bleed over to the waking world again. There might not be consequences in dreams, but there are certainly consequences here.”

Pete bit his lip, remembering how that dream had ended. “Yeah, good point.” A kid would certainly be a complication. The idea of having one, particularly with Marta, didn’t sound bad. But, then again, they’d been dating maybe a week. Way too early to make decisions like that, right? “We could, I suppose, try sleeping in different beds.” Had they actually done that, since that first night? “It could be one of the parameters of the telepathy experiment, after we establish whether or not it actually is telepathy: how close do we have to be for it to work?”

“Okay, so let’s decipher this passage,” Marta finally said, grabbing the book and her notepad. She read it over a few times, pen scratching away. ““It refers to a being from Egypt, a being revered by the peasants and farmers. Lean and Silent and cryptically proud, and wearing red garments, like sunset or flame.” She looked it over again. “I don’t think it relates to the portals. But I’ll keep reading.”

“Could it be a metaphor?” Pete asked. “I mean, I remember reading somewhere that all this stuff,” he waved at the book, “occult texts and alchemist’s notes and even old scientific papers, all of it was written in a sort of code. Allusions to myths and the Bible and the like. Sort of a Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra thing.” He frowned, looking at the illustration and then at the Latin text. “What Would Egypt mean to this writer? Or red clothes?”

She turned the page, happy to escape the unwavering gaze of the dark being, and scanned the words. “So, when do the movies start? I may have to admit to getting burnt out here.”

“They start at seven,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “So we’ve got... two hours, roughly. Why don’t I make dinner? I need to go grocery shopping sometime soon, but I’ve got the stuff to make some carbonara.”
 
“Carbonara?” Marta repeated, considering it, before nodding and smiling, “sounds lovely. How can I help?”

Meal prep was a simple enough task, mostly chopping veggies and watching for the water to boil. The best part of it all was working beside Peter, cooperation coming together naturally, as if they’d been dating a lot longer than a week. Everything just came so easily with him, fit together so well. This was the life she wanted with Nkendi, a life of simple pleasures and quiet intimacy. Maybe Peter was a second chance.

Her mind wandered while she set into the rhythm of chopping., rearranging the words from the passage in her mind, to see if she could come to another conclusion. Could the red garment be more figurative? Visions of her dream returned, of Dr Freeman spinning the fire, and creating the portals in the glowing circles of flame. Not unlike a sunset. Whispers echoed in her mind, just beyond comprehension, and drawing her closer to the answer. And the knife, passed between the members of the circle, gripped in her sister’s hand, telling her to…

The mushroom slipped from her hand, still slick after rinsing it off, but the knife didn’t stop. “Shit!” Pain followed a moment later, hot as she clenched her hand tight, and blood filled the space between her palms. She rushed to the sink, cool water soothing on the burning sting, and sluicing the crimson runoff from her hand. It wasn’t a deep cut, just shallow and long, but it bled profusely.

“Shit, did I bleed on the mushrooms?”
 
Pete shoved the pan of garlic and bacon off the burners as Marta rushed to the sink. He saw blood, bright crimson drops contrasting with the polished grey cement if the countertops. “Are you all right?” he asked, hating the stupidity of the question even as he asked it.

“Shit,” she replied, really basing her hand in the sink, “did I bleed on the mushrooms?”

“Hang on,” he said, trotting into the bathroom and returning with his first aid kit. “Yeah, looks like. Should wash off, though.” He grabbed a towel out of the drawer. “Here, let me see.”

The cut wasn’t deep, fortunately, and the old water had slowed the bleeding. He dried her hand, then opened a tube of antibiotic ointment. “This might sting, he warned, squeezing it in. Then he pressed a gauze pad over the cut and wrapped it with tape. “There,@ he said, watching to make sure the pad didn’t start soaking. “You sure you’re all right?”

He relaxed at her nod. “Good. That could have been a lot worse. I’ve got a cleaver, after all. If you feel up to it, why don’t you finish the bacon off, and I’ll get the mushrooms.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he touched her cheek. “You’re sure we don’t need to get you to urgent care,?”
 
Peter sprung into action, tending to her wounded hand with gentle concern. As embarrassed as she was from cutting herself, she appreciated his attention He wrapped it tight enough it didn’t hurt much now.

“You’re sure we don’t need to get you to urgent care?”

Marta shook her head, “No, it’s mostly my pride that’s wounded. And it’s not my dominant hand, so I can take it easy for a couple days.” She placed a light kiss on his cheek, a gesture that thanked him for the assistance and apologized for the mess. With a laugh, she turned to the pan with the bacon and garlic, “I guess I owe you double now, from this and earlier. Let’s just try to avoid straining my hand.”

Peter seemed confused, so she continued, “I mean, yeah, we both enjoyed ourselves earlier, but you put in most of the work.” She flipped the bacon over and moved the garlic around the pan, so it wouldn’t burn, “Only seems fair that I return the favor.”
 
Pete critically examined the mushrooms, tossing a few down the disposal and carefully washing off the rest. He grinned as she kissed him on the cheek, then settled into the rhythm of chopping the last of the mushrooms. “I guess I owe you double now, from this and earlier,” she remarked as the bacon hissed back to life. “Let’s just try to avoid straining my hand.”

“Hm?” he asked, sweeping the mushrooms off the cutting board and reaching for the bell peppers. “What?”

“I mean, yeah,” she continued, “we both enjoyed ourselves earlier, but you put in most of the work.” She flipped the bacon over and moved the garlic around the pan, so it wouldn’t burn, “Only seems fair that I return the favor.”

“Oh. Oh!” he said as what she was saying clicked. The vivid memory of her on her knees, watching him as she sucked him off, made him suddenly and awkwardly hard. “I wouldn’t have said I did all the work,” he laughed, careful with the paring knife as he cited the pepper. “I mean, if nothing else it couldn’t have been easy on your knees. And you had to be careful not to mess your clothes up.” He sliced the pepper into steps, and added the vegetables to the skillet. “Seems like all I did was enjoy myself.”

Putting the cutting board down, he leaned into her back, resting his hands on her hips. “And you, of course,” he added in a low voice, ghosting his lips over her skin as he gently ground his erection against her. “I really enjoyed you.”

He released her with a laugh. “Water’s boiling. Let me grab the pasta!”
 
Knees? She mouthed, but her confusion drifted away as Peter’s hands caressed her hips, and he ground against her. It brought back memory of earlier, and his holding her close as he fucked her from behind. Forcing her up on her toes as she took him. Hunger surged through her then, hunger for something beyond the meal they cooked together.

But that hunger would wait, while shared a lovely –and mostly bloodless– dinner together. They discussed from parameters of the telepathy experiments, and he explained the fundamentals of lucid dreaming. Marta decided she’d feel better about all the strange occurrences once she understood them.

For the meanwhile, the movies were the perfect distraction, though, by the second one, Marta found herself more interested in Peter, indulging in greedy kisses, and enjoying his curious hands. Following a teasing ride home, there was no question about where they’d end, tearing off each other’s clothes as they moved through his apartment and into his “bedroom.” She rode him until she came, and sucked her taste from him until he did as well.

Dreams saw them in Egypt, surrounded by pyramids in their glory. It was impossible not to feel small before them, in awe of the massive undertaking crafting them had been. Peter was beside her, a fact that comforted her, smooth chest exposed with only a light cloth wrapped about his hips.

Freshly chiseled hieroglyphics stood before them, etched into a towering side of the pyramid. Marta brushed her fingers against them and frowned, “It’s no good, I can’t read ancient Egyptian…” Except, the symbols seemed familiar, not like hieroglyphics at all. The pictographs shifted into numbers, shifted into equations, shifted into a recurrent circular pattern, like a moment in space-time. She traced the shape into the stone, humming the rhythmless tune from before, and it changed, becoming softer and ethereal, until the physical world gave way, the circle opened to a portal.
 
The dream was a curious cap to a delightful day and evening, one he’d assumed would end in highly-charged erotic dreams if it ended in any memorable dreams at all. He and Marta had spent the last half of the second movie touching and kissing, and they’d have probably made out like horny teenagers if there hadn’t been so many other people in the theater with them. When they finally made it home - his apartment, since it was closer - he’d barely managed to lock the door before they’d left a trail of clothes strewn across the floor.

And now he was dreaming of Egypt. Go figure.

Or... was it Egypt? He stared up at the towering pyramids, clustered closer than they’d ever looked in photographs, sheathed in white limestone and capped with a golden crown. “No reason dream-Egypt has to match reality, I suppose,” he said out loud. But the sky wasn’t right, somehow.

Nearby, Marta - or, maybe, a dream-Marta - was examining a series of bas relief carvings. She was dressed in a peculiar sort of golden sheath dress, that left her breasts mostly bare. Idly, he wondered if it was too tight to easily peel her out of.

“It’s no good,” she declared, “I can’t read ancient Egyptian…”

“Neither can I,” Pete replied, blinking in surprise as something drew his attention from her. Something about his shadow. No. Not shadow. Shadows. Shading his eyes and squinting, he peered into the dark sky at the blazing white sun. Nearby, and he had to look away as quickly as he found it, blazed a smaller red sun. “Hey, Marta? When we wake up, ask me about that second sun. It’ll be a good telepathy test.”

She responded with an oddly-rhythmed hum and then a gasp. He looked, and stared at the fire-rimmed hole in the limestone wall, a hole that opened not into the interior of the pyramid but into... “Holy shit!” he gasped, forgetting he was dreaming for a moment. “That’s my place!”

The portal yawned into a prosaic scene, his own dining room and kitchen. One of his sneakers lay on the floor, next to a hastily-discarded pink sweater. A black polo shirt hung from a carved wooden panel. Curious and cautious, he took Marta’s hand and stepped through. The hardwood floor was cold on his feet after the hot sand.

“This,” he said, whispering for reasons he didn’t understand, “is a fucking weird dream.”

“God...” he heard his own voice gasp. Curious, he crept through the dream replica of his own house, following the sound.

He found himself propped up on some pillows, hands tangled in Marta’s dark hair as her mouth moved up and down his length. She was just as he remembered her from before they’d fallen asleep, naked except for her boots and hungry for him. Except he was seeing her from behind, watching her suck him off.

“I think.”,” he whispered slowly. “Uhm, I don’t know what I’m thinking. But... we should leave.”
 
Marta hesitated for a moment, even as Peter grabbed her hand and urged her to accompany him through the portal. As much as it looked safe –indeed, the very place she’d fallen asleep beside him– it was difficult to trust anything about this mysterious portal. But this was a dream, and there was no real risk here. So she stepped in, recognizing the discarded clothing and the pleasured cries. So far as she could tell, it was identical to the scene earlier that night, when they fooled around after the movie.

Was this them, from just a little while ago? Some alternate version of them? Some trick of their dreams, with no deeper meaning behind it? Entrenched in the dream, it was hard to tell. And, well, the scene before her made thinking difficult as well.

It was… hot. She honestly couldn’t say she’d ever seen herself in action. The sex tape they made on accident on their first night together was her first instance, and they hadn’t even watched it again, since that night. But fuck, the movement of her body as she swallowed Pete, and his reactions ignited a fire in her blood, and tempting her to join in.

“I think.,” he whispered slowly. “Uhm, I don’t know what I’m thinking. But... we should leave.”

She uttered a wordlessly laugh, and nodded. Whatever this was, it felt strange to get tangled up in it. Even if she wanted to. So, padding quietly across the floor, they returned to the portal. Marta looked back one last time, catching Peter’s climatic cry, before stepping back through into the sweltering desert.

Morning arrived without anything overly strange. Peter was still sleeping, so she donned one of his button up shirts, and made for the kitchen. The coffeemaker hissed and the toaster buzzed, and Marta occupied herself with picking out a couple mugs. Peter had no shortage of amusing cups to choose from, and glancing through the cupboard killed a few moments of waiting for the water to heat up. One of his cats –Regulus, she thought, but still wasn’t certain which was which– jumped up on the counter.

“Does Peter let you up here like this?” The cat didn’t respond, merely sat, and cleaned its right forepaw. Marta laughed, and scratch him behind the ear, “I guess I’ve been taking up all his time lately, haven’t I? Sorry about that.” She offered more pets until the coffee finished and toaster popped, and the cat hopped down and wandered off. By the time she poured a couple cups and fit the toaste between her fingers, Peter was stirring.

“Morning,” she greeted, offering a kiss and a cup of coffee. “Apparently I am supposed to ask you about the second sun?” Marta shrugged, and sipped at her mug. “I should also go back to my place sometime, see if I can’t get some work done for the week. But maybe you can come by tonight? I’ll make us fish tacos.”
 
He woke to the smell of coffee. A pleasant way to wake up, really, although not as nice as a few of the ways Marta had woken him up in the past. But right now, with his stomach grumbling and dream-memories fogging his head, it was just what he needed. So he dragged on a pair of sweats and lumbered his way into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Marta said cheerily, kissing him and pressing a mug into his hand.

“Mrng,” he grunted, before swigging back the coffee. “Ah,” he declared, aware that the caffeine couldn’t really be affecting him already, “that’s better!” He kissed her back, then poured a second mug. This time, he added creamer and sugar. “You are a goddess,” he grinned. “A veritable bringer if life to the dead.”

“Apparently I am supposed to ask you about the second sun?” Marta shrugged, and sipped at her mug.

“Well, shit.” Pete stopped and stared, mug halfway to his mouth. “Yeah. The dream. The sky had two suns.” He sipped his coffee. “Crap. There is some sort of telepathy going on. We really are sharing dreams! That’s... thar’s...”. He gestured excitedly, nearly spilling coffee in the process. “It, do you think it’s a side effect of the gates? I mean, I’ve never experienced this before, so...”. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I’m getting overwhelmed, Marta. There’s so much going on here!”

“I should also go back to my place sometime, see if I can’t get some work done for the week,” she remarked, and the prosaic comment was oddly calming. “But maybe you can come by tonight? I’ll make us fish tacos.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he smiled. “I’ve got papers to grade, and that thing you did in the dream? That whistling you did when you opened the gate? It’s got me thinking about another angle in nailing down the math.” His stomach gurgled, just then. “But why don’t I make breakfast first? And we’ll do fish tacos for dinner, yeah. Should I bring anything?”

Resting his mug on the table, he headed for the fridge. Then he stopped, feeling something gritty under his bare feet. Crouching, he dragged his fingers across the floor and inspected them. Gritty white particles, oddly reminiscent of sand, sparkles on the tips of his fingers. “This...” he started, then shook his head. “Spilled sugar,” he laughed nervously, dusting his hands on his sweats. “Has to be.”

-*-

Sunday was always a good day to get caught up on work, something that was even more true after the events of the past week (had it really only been a week?). He hadn’t neglected his lesson prep and grading, but the excitement of his new relationship with Marta had disrupted the usual routine he’d established. So he dug in, resisting the urge to text or call that frequently came over him - usually when he hit something amusing in a student response, or when he felt the urge to flirt. She was busy too, after all.

The backlog was cleared out by noon, although cleared out enough might have been more honest. So he paused for lunch (bologna and cheese and a Diet Coke) and a two-mike run (he’d been neglecting his usual workout routine), and then dug into the gate equations. As he worked he half-whistled, half-hummed the remembered tune and rhythm changes of the Minkowski Variations, idly wondering if the jazz trio knew what they had. Probably not, he decided.

Finally, it was time to head over to Marta’s.

-*-

“Hi!” Pete enthused, greeting Marta with a hug and a kiss after she opened the door. The kiss lingered and turns into a second one, before he disengaged and headed into the kitchen. “You said you didn’t need anything for dinner, so I picked up dessert.” He shoved a box into the freezer. “Ice cream and hot fudge, in honor of Sunday.”

Only then did he put his messenger bag down, leaning it against the wall. “Oh, “ he added casually, “I think I’ve got the math ready for a first trial of the gates.” He tried not to look cocky, and failed. “If I’m right, I could open one into, say, Boston and hit within a half-mike if the target.”
 
Peter dropped her off at home, even though he nearly tempted her into running in to grab a change of clothes and returning with him. But, based on the kiss he left her worth, she wouldn’t be getting any work done at his place. Neither would, not tangled up in the sheets and each other’s arms.

She probably would have gotten more work done if she hadn’t wasted so much time glancing at her phone, wishing he’d call or text, or contemplating sending a flirty text. Geez, she hadn’t just fallen for Pete, she’d fallen hard. Already she was wondering if it were too soon to discuss moving in together, or how they felt about a family. Thoughts that might have been a bit too intense to admit out loud, but were quite pleasant to fantasize about.

Still, she’d answered all her emails, and finished up writing up the midterm exam. Luis sent over the images of his dagger, and she completed a preliminary assessment of it. Still, there were some things that could only be determined in person. But the symbols spoke of a mysterious figure, tall and lean and incomprehensibly proud. Why did that sound so familiar?

The Necronomicon! Flipping back to the pages she’d been reading last night, she found quite similar descriptions there. How was all this connected? What did it mean? She’d have to talk to Peter about it. And based on the clock, he’d be over soon, so she may as well get started on dinner. Still, the mystery of the bizarrely similar descriptions consumed her mind.

A plate full of fried fish strips later, and Peter arrived. He was a delightful distraction from the thoughts swirling thoughts, taking a kiss and offering dessert. She returned to the stove, heating up a pile of tortillas while Peter put his stuff down and spoke.

“I think I’ve got the math ready for a first trial of the gates.” He tried not to look cocky, and failed. “If I’m right, I could open one into, say, Boston and hit within a half-mike if the target.”

“Boston?” She asked, half turning her head to face him. He seemed both serious, and excited, but Marta didn’t share his enthusiasm. She’d thought –hoped, perhaps– that it would take longer to get the math together on the gates. That it would be months, if not years, before they opened another gate, time enough to forget the unfathomable horror waiting within the wormhole. “You really got the math that accurate? That’s really impressive.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a surprise. Peter was brilliant, after all. And ambitious, and well, this would make his career. Hers too, by association. So, there was no question why he was eager to try again. The biggest question was why she was so hesitant.

Marta placed the platter on the counter, and arranged the toppings and sides. “I don’t know what you like, but I have onions, cilantro, goat cheese, shredded cabbage and salsa. Did you want a beer?”

Settling down beside him, Marta began fixing herself a couple tacos, unable to shake her anxiety. Still, she could redirect it. “Is Boston really such a good idea? I just mean, for the first test. Maybe… maybe we should pick somewhere else? Maybe somewhere less populated?”
 
“Boston?” Marta glanced back asshe laid out taco ingredients, sounding surprised. “You really got the math that accurate? That’s really impressive.”

“Half of it was deciding Goode Brown’s calculations from those old documents,” Pete confessed with a shrug. “It seems like she had it all worked out, back in the day. A good chunk of what I did was reverse engineering.” He shrugged. “Maybe we should list her as a contributing author onthe paper?”

Marta placed the platter on the counter, and arranged the toppings and sides. “I don’t know what you like, but I have onions, cilantro, goat cheese, shredded cabbage and salsa. Did you want a beer?”

“Yeah, a beer sounds good. You want one as well?” Grabbing two bottles out of the fridge, he joined her at the bar and started assembling his tacos.

“Is Boston really such a good idea?” she asked as he took a bite. “ I just mean, for the first test. Maybe… maybe we should pick somewhere else? Maybe somewhere less populated?”

“Well,” he began, before swallowing and washing the taco down with a swig if beer. “Sorry. Uhm, yeah. That’s probably a good idea. Maybe...”. He thought. “Hey, I know! We set up in Woodhaven.” He took another bite, thinking as he chewed. “I mean, we don’t need a lot of equipment and the cemetary’s usually quiet in the evening. And we aim for, uhm...” He thought hard, trying to remember a quiet land mark. “Sentinel Hill, out in Dunwich State Park?”
 
Geez, opening that portal in her living room wasn’t terrifying enough, now he wants to open one in a cemetery? “If you think that’s best,” Marta agreed with a nervous laugh, drinking deep of her beer. “I just thought we were saving these experiments for daytime.”

Clearly, she was being ridiculous, right? This was science, nothing to be afraid of. Peter worked it out, and she trusted Peter.

As dinner progressed, Peter explained how he got the to the equations he believed would work. Marta even mostly followed his explanation, a testament to his ability to distill complicated subject into smaller, easier to digest pieces. By the end of their meal, she shared a measure of his confidence, pushing down her dread to share in his enthusiasm. That’s what a supportive girlfriend and co-contributor was supposed to do, right?

“Why don’t we have dessert after we come back? To celebrate a successful trial. Or, as a comfort if it isn’t so successful,” she offered, finishing off her beer and rinsing off the dinner dishes. “Let me get my coat and a scarf, and we can head out.” All Marta brought was her copy of the Necronomicon, hugging the book tight against her chest the entire car ride over.

Woodhaven was empty, as expected of a late, Sunday evening. Bitter autumn winds blustered through the changing trees, already vividly orange and red and yellow, and blowing leaves from the thinning branches. Since they were the only ones here, they were able to claim a good parking spot, one that wasn’t far from the spot Peter wanted to start the experiment from. Which was a small mercy, on this chilly fall evening. Two months from now, it would be way too cold to be out here performing such experiments.

“So, how do we begin?”
 
“So, how do we begin?”

Pete zipped up his coat, shivering just a little. The wind, he told himself as he tried not to think about the fact that this was the part of the cemetary where that first dream had taken place. “First,” he said, pulling out his phone, “I need GPS to get our exact latitude and longitude.” He grinned, face illuminated by the screen. “In essence, you need the location of the start long and destination points relative to a third thing - like, if we wanted to aim for Mars, we’d measure it relative to the sun.” Thumbs tapped at the screen. “For this, latitude and longitude should be fine.”

Next, he laid his messenger bag on a stone and pulled out his laptop. “Goode Brown did this analog, of course, probably using chalk most of the time and then blood when she had to. I think we can make it easier.” As the laptop booted up, he pulled out a small tripod and and mounted a camera-like device that he plugged it into the computer. “A laser,” he told Marta. “We’ll use it to draw the gate - no blood required.”

Pausing for a moment, he began tapping away at the keyboard. “Once we know this works,” he continued, glancing at the screen if his phone, “we can work on making it portable. Maybe we could use AR to create a virtual gate matrix? But that’s for later. Right now...”

Picking up the phone, he tapped and swiped at the screen. “Documentation and lab notes. This is field test number one, Dr. Peter Ahn and...”. Circling around, he stood next to Marta with the phone at arm’s length, “Dr. Marta Rebelo-Perez in attendance. This first test is s proof of concept, attempting to produce a controlled Einstein-Rosen Bridge connecting Woodhaven Cemetary in Arkham with Sentinel Hill in the Dunwich State Park. Equipment specifications are documented separately, and the specific coordinates we will be using will be output into test001.csv after the test concludes.”

Grinning, he placed the phone back on the stone and propped it up to record the open area before him - trying to ignore the faint signs of charred grass and earth. “Ready? Because...” tapping filled the air as his fingers flew over the keys, “this is one small step for us, and one giant leap for mankind.”

The laser ignited, light rapidly sketching a luminous circle on the ground. Then a copy of the circle lifted up, standing on edge. The wind picked up, tugging at hair and clothes and chilling the skin as the upright circle rippled and warped andsuddenly became empty. Through the hole no sign of the cemetary could be seen - instead, it was a window onto a treeless hilltop crowned by ancient standing stones.

“”We did it!” Pete whooped, leaping for joy. “Marta! We did... wait... what was that?”

The gateway deformed a little, bowing and warping. Then it expanded,the bottom edge slicing a thin, shallow slash into the ground. Fog steamed around the wildly pulsating edge of the gate as the temperature dropped suddenly, and he could hear a droning whistle and a thin, high whine as the gate pulsed and expanded. Around them, smaller gates appeared and vanished.

“Shit!” Pete gasped, hitting the keyboard. “Shit!” he repeated, eyes wide with fear. He jerked the USB out, killing the power to the laser, and the projection of the circle died immediately. The gate, however, remained. “Fuck!” He grabbed laptop and phone as the gate jerked two feet towards him, edges rippling. “It’s self-sustaining!”
 
Peter’s excitement was contagious and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to resist joining in his joyful display. Peter was a genius, and she was witnessing history happen before her eyes. Everything they knew would change, everything anyone knew would change, now.

But the eerie whine of unearthly vibrations came through the portal, and Marta half feared that terrible amorphous shape would return with it. The destination on the other side of the portal remained the same, but the air around then twisted and distorted, creating more portals and more disturbances. Now she was filled with a terrible dread, wondering if this was worse than the first time. The portal refused to vanish when Peter killed the power, inching closer or drawing them in, Marta couldn’t say for certain.

Except… Wait, she’d read about this! The chaos winds and burning symbols and farseeing visions. She’d written it off as poetic nonsense, before this moment, when she lived in it. Before those hyperbolic descriptions became quite real. So, instead of succumbing to her growing fear, Marta tore open the book, frantically flipping through pages to find the passage.

And holes tore through the air, whistling and squealing a terrible sound. They answer only one master, only to those who’ve seen his face, and heard his words. “T’ik’uri megareja āsiwegidi ina ā’imiro layichali yihīdu.” Marta didn’t recognize the language, and had no idea if she were even approaching the right pronunciation. But the awful warbling from within the portal seemed to still, and the shape seemed to stabilize, so she said it again, stronger and louder. The smaller portals faded away, and the one before them grew stronger, more solid.

“T’ik’uri megareja āsiwegidi ina ā’imiro layichali yihīdu.” Her voice hardly sounded like her own now, the harsh sibilants of the words almost transforming her vocal cords into something that could pronounce the words. Shadows stretched behind her, stretched by the strange light given off by the portal, glowing brighter than before as the words sat more naturally on her tongue. There was no rational reason for this to work. And yet, it did. Marta didn’t question it, didn’t allow her mind to wander or doubt, but focused on repeating the phrase, now softer, slower, each repetition making the portal smaller and smaller. Then, when her voice was a barely audible whisper, the portal vanished.

Marta took two tentative breaths, before waving her hands through the air where the portal had been. “it’s… it’s gone.” Finally, she released a relieved exhale. “That was… wow.”
 
A piece of tombstone sheared away as the portal edge brushed against it, the granite falling through to land on the grass of Sentinel Hill. It was fascinating, and it would have been even more fascinating if it wasn’t out of control and drifting towards him. Pete wracked his brain, trying to think of some way to shut it down. He had to decohere it somehow. Maybe a massive load of alternating current? Or...

“T’ik’uri megareja āsiwegidi ina ā’imiro layichali yihīdu.”

The nonsense syllables ripped through the air, synchronizing eerily with the droning wail of the portal. It stopped drifting, the edges of the gate stabilizing. Around him, the smaller portals popped out of existence. And over by the car was the source of the sounds - Marta, reading from her facsimile occult text by the light of her phone.

“T’ik’uri megareja āsiwegidi ina ā’imiro layichali yihīd,” she called out, repeating the nonsense sounds with increasing confidence. Each repetition of the phrase caused the gate to pulse and shrink, until it dwindled into nothing and vanished. An experimental hand waved through the space it had occupied, as if she was unsure it was really gone. “it’s… it’s gone.” Finally, she released a relieved exhale. “That was… wow.”

“Wow,” he repeated, looking at the curiously vandalized stones of the cemetary. “We, uhm, we should probably get out of here.” He flinched as a badly-damaged tombstone cracked in half and collapsed. “Now.”

-*-

Sitting on Marta’s couch, in her well-lit living room, the events of the cemetary seemed unreal. Almost. But the evidence was right there, in the fragment of stone he’d recovered and the video footage he’d uploaded to his laptop. “It’s smooth,” he said, running his fingers over the sliced edge of the stone. “Like it was professionally polished.” A nervous laugh. “I kind of want to drive out to Dunwich now, and see if we can find that missing piece.”

Drawing a shuddering breath, he took a swig of beer. “But, look,” he said, gesturing at the screen. “T’ik’uri megareja āsiwegidi ina ā’imiro layichali yihīdu,” Marta’s recorded voice called out, stabilizing the portal.

He took another drink. “I’d assumed the, the spells were just superstition, you know? Like all of the occult nonsense around the real chemistry that alchemists did. But, that isn’t the case. Is it?”

On the screen, the portal winked out. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “does it have to be those particular words. Or is it the rhythm? Does an observer just have to match the harmonics of the portal, and then alter frequency to control it?”
 
“Clearly we need more tests,” Marta agreed, leaning her head against his shoulder, and resting her hand on his other shoulder. “And I have other faith in your ability to figure it out. But it’s not happening tonight. Let’s get a full night’s sleep, and look at the data with fresh eyes tomorrow.”

A thrill of excitement, from escaping the danger of unstable portals, from conquering the wormhole, from having the answer when Peter didn’t, ignited her blood. If Peter wouldn’t see her logic, she could use her feminine wiles instead. So she pushed his hands away from his work, and straddled his hips, demanding his attention. “I am going to have to be insistent about getting you to bed tonight. Even if it means I have to get you in bed first.”

Her lips crushed his, forcing open his mouth with an eager tongue. Moans passed from her mouth to his, giving herself into her hunger for her. Consuming him in that hunger, and refusing to take no for an answer. Pulling away with a gasp and a sigh, a seductive smirk grew on her lips. “Now, should I get the ice cream?” Her body pressed into his, pressing him down into the cushions, “Or do we just need the fudge?”
 
“Clearly we need more tests,” Marta agreed, leaning her head against his shoulder, and resting her hand on his other shoulder.

“Clearly,” he agreed excitedly, opening Wird on his laptop and leaning forward to start tapping out notes. “Let me think here. We know you were able to shut the gate by talking at it, so we need to analyze the recording. See if it’s...”

Gentle hands tugged at his shoulder. “And I have other faith in your ability to figure it out,” Marta murmured. “But it’s not happening tonight. Let’s get a full night’s sleep, and look at the data with fresh eyes tomorrow.”

“Just a minute,” Pete said, leaning forward again. “I...”

This time Marta pulled, shoving him back into the couch and straddling his lap. “I am going to have to be insistent about getting you to bed tonight,” she declared. “Even if it means I have to get you in bed first.”

Any argument he might have mustered was silenced by a hungry kiss as she pressed herself into him. He responded eagerly, opening his mouth to swallow her moans of pleasure, hands expression loving her curves as her fists gripped his hair. Pulling away with a gasp and a sigh, a seductive smirk grew on her lips. “Now, should I get the ice cream?” Her body pressed into his, pressing him down into the cushions, “Or do we just need the fudge?”

“The fudge,” he said with mock solemnity, “is actual hot fudge. Burns aren’t sexy.” Grinning slyly, he pulled her down into a kiss. “But you are.” His hands worked at the hem of her sweater, pulling it up until it skidiver her head and arms. A free hand tossed it aside while the other one occupied itself with the hooks of her bra. “Still,” he murmured, caressing the hollow of her throat with his lips, “maybe I’m approaching it wrong? How would I lick hot fudge off your skin without burning you?”

The hooks parted, and he eased her bras down over her shoulders. “I owe you for this morning, after all. And for shutting down the gate...”
 
“Still, maybe I’m approaching it wrong? How would I lick hot fudge off your skin without burning you?”

“I assumed we wouldn’t be heating up the fudge, in this case. Body temperature, at hottest,” Marta cooed, drawing in a deep breath as his lips caressed and teased her throat. “I suppose that can get very hot. I know I am, right now.”

To demonstrate, she ground against him, thighs gripping his as she rubbed herself along his growing hardness. It was too bad the tight jeans she wore got in the way of him feeling more of her, of the building wet heat within her.

So while he pulled her bra away, she stood, just long enough to unzip her pants and tug them down her legs. Clad solely tiny red panties, the chill of this autumn evening rose goosebumps on her skin, and she both craved and needed Peter pressed against her, right now.

“I owe you for this morning, after all. And for shutting down the gate...”

“How are you going to pay me back?” she asked, sinking back down against his warmth. Against the heat of his body and his touch, sinking into the heat of her own need. “Because I may have some ideas there. I know I rather like having your lips wrapped around my tits.” Just as she offered this suggestion, she offered a breast, brushing the erect nipple across his lips.
 
“Body temperature, hm?” Pete said, gently teasing a bare nipple with his tongue. “That could work. Just give me a moment....”

It was hard to tear himself from a mostly-naked Marta, but he managed to do so with lingering kisses and caresses. Then he hit the kitchen, retrieving the glass jar of fudge and returning. “Now,” he said, pressing her back into the couch as he kissed her, “we need to warm this stuff up, right?”

His body moved delightfully against hers as he stripped off his sweatshirt and t-shirt, flinging them across the room before turning his attention to her lips once more. As his tongue slipped into her mouth he pushed up on one arm, grinding his hardness into her through his jeans. Then the chill glass bottle trailed over her stomach to nestle into the valley between her breasts.

“How long will it take?” he murmured, gently squeezing her breasts around the glass as he kissed along her throat. “Because I want to taste chocolate on your skin.”
 
Marta giggled and then hissed, squirming against the cool glass of the fudge jar, shocking in contrast to the heat of Peter’s body. Especially compared to the way he prodded her with his throbbing erection. She loved knowing how badly he wanted her, knowing he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

“Well, it might be faster like this,” she offered, opening the jar and dipping in a finger. Darker than her dark skin, chocolate topping clung to her finger, and she brought that finger to her lips. Thick sauce smeared her lips as her tongue darted out to lick her finger clean. “Getting warmer,” she cooed, dipping two more fingers into the jar.

This time, she spread the fudge over the erect peaks of her breasts, sighing and giggling at the sticky sensation on her sensitive skin. “I bet you could speed up the process with that warm tongue.” More chocolate dripped from an offered finger, coating his lips until he opened his mouth to taste.
 
“Faster, maybe,” Pete agreed, watching her smear fudge on her lips. “But who’s in a hurry? I like taking my time on you.”

“Getting warmer,” she purred, scooping more chocolate from the jar and painting the peaks of her breasts. “I bet you could speed up the process with that warm tongue.”

He responded by taking her fingers in his mouth, gently sucking and licking at them until they were clean. Then he leaned into her once more, lingering over a kiss as he sucked the chocolate from her lips. He could feel the sauce coating her nipples softening as his chest pressed against hers, smearing him with fudge as he pressed against her. “This might get messy,” he whispered against her lips.

He cupped her breasts as he nibbles down her throat, coating his hands and her skin with a thin layer of chocolate. More smeared over her ribs as he ran his tongue over newly-flavored skin, and he groaned softly at the taste. “Fuck,” he whispered, taking a stiff nipple between his lips. “Oh, fuck, you taste good.”

A chocolate-smeared hand worked up her chest and along her shoulder as he sucked at her, leaving a trail on her skin as he caresses her sticky lips with a finger.
 
“This might get messy,” he whispered against her lips.

“So we’ll need a shower before bed,” Marta giggled, sharing a chocolate flavored kiss. More fudge coated her fingers, thicker this time, “I don’t mind, and I know you don’t mind either. You certainly didn’t mind yesterday.”

Fuck, that thought made her wet as hell. Remembering how he pushed her into shower room, telling her to keep quiet, even as he tempted her into getting loud. Even the aggression she didn’t expect from him was an exciting surprise, wondering what else he was capable of. Memories played out in her mind, mingling with his devoted attention paid to her breasts, driving her wild. He said he wanted to take his time, but fuck, if she didn’t want him now.

“Oh, fuck, you taste good.”

“And you feel fucking good,” she moaned out, freely writhing and squirming beneath his touch. Chocolate streaks on his chest were stark against his light skin, taunting her to taste him in turn. Tantalizing her to taste and tease him. With the clean hand, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him up, contorting to run her tongue over his chest. The sweetness of the chocolate contrasted delightfully with the salty flavor of his skin, and she sighed in response. But the position was awkward, so she sunk back down into the couch cushions, breasts and shoulders and stomach smeared in dark fudge.

“I think we are just making a bigger mess,” Marta laughed, rubbing bare thighs against his own demin covered legs.
 
There was chocolate in his hair and all over his chest and hands, and smeared across her body. “I think we are just making a bigger mess,” Marta laughed, rubbing bare thighs against his own demin covered legs.

“All the more reason for that shower,” he agreed, working his way over one sticky breast and down her stomach, savoring the contrast of sweet sticky chocolate with her smooth, lightly salty skin. “Not enough time for the full bubble bath, though.” Although goddamn but that had been hot, yesterday.

He slipped backwards, kneeling on the floor as his tongue traced patterns in the chocolate his movements had smeared over her stomach. Sticky hands slid up her thighs and hooked the waist of her panties, drawing them down until he could slid them completely off. Grinning, he bit lightly at the skin below her navel. Then he scooped more fudge from the rapidly emptying jar and spread it over her mound. “And we haven’t even gotten to the ice cream,” he joked.

His tongue explored her, slowly dragging over her chocolate-coated slit. The taste of her arousal mingling with the topping dragged a throaty groan of pleasure from him. “God,” he whispered, sucking at her clit. “I want you.”
 
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