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Legacy of the Witch House (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

God, if it wasn’t fucking hot watching Marta stand there, naked and watching his reactions as she slowly tore open the wrapper of the condom. “Hmm, I am not sure you’re ready yet,” she teased, gripping and stroking him.

“Keep that up,” he groaned, “and you’ll find out just hiw ready I really am.@

“Looks like I am going to need to fix that.” The bed shifted as she crawled over him, positioning herself over his cock “Tell me you want to be inside me.”

“Fuck,” he gasped, arching his hips as her breath caressed his dick. She moved with him, letting him feel the whispering sensation of her lips on his shaft but not giving him what he wanted. “Oh, fuck, I want to be inside you.”

The tip of her tongue touched his head and he gasped, hands fisting in the covers as he bucked his hips. “Beg me to fuck you,” she demanded, breath whispering over his length.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck, Marta. Fuck me. Please. Fuck-“. His plea broke into a ragged moan as her lips wrapped around his head. The moan became a whimper as she slowly swallowed his length, lips gently sucking him into her mouth until he could feel his head brush her throat. “God...” he gasped, knuckles whitening as he dug his grip into the bed. “Fuck me... please fuck me...”

Her eyes met his over the expanse of his chest and stomach, watching him watch her suck him. He could see her self-satisfied smile as she dragged her lips up his shaft, as she watched his head thrash helplessly under the exquisite pleasure. “God... fuck me... fuck... me... Marta...”. His hips bucked involuntarily, offering her more of him.

“Please...” he groaned, “fuck... use... use that mouth... fuck... show... show me... how you... God! Want... want to... fuck yourself... on me...”
 
Peter’s cries were so sweet, encouraging and inspiring Marta to work down his length and fit his shaft in her mouth and down her throat. Heat burned between her thighs, skin slick with her building lust, and madly, she wanted to fuck him. But even more, she wanted him to keep begging, keep writhing and moaning and losing himself to the sultry embrace of her lips and tongue. His reactions awoke a hunger in her, an aching need, and she pulled of his cock with moist suction.

She licked her lips and unrolled the condom, squeezing him in a firm grip as she fit it on him. Fist still tight around him, she held him in place and straddled his hips. “I want you,” she confessed, stroking her own opening with his twitching cock. A latex sheathed head rubbed her clit and she shivered deliciously, letting their mutual anticipation build. She teased herself again, teasing him with just heat of her cunt. Once more, she teased him, straining legs trembling with her throbbing clit, only to sink down his hard cock with a long, deep moan.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she purred, clenching tight against a twitch of his length, “so hard and thick inside me.” She rose up half away before driving him deep into again, her ass slapping his thighs with the impact. “Fuck, I am going to use this swollen cock to get off. “You like that? You like being a hard cock for me to enjoy?” Her thighs squeezed his, and she moved up and down his erection in long, fluid movements, “I fucking love it. I love fucking this thick dick.”
 
Pete made a low, hungry sound as Marta slowly took his length, gripping the covers tight in an effort to keep from pushing himself deep into her. She dragged it out, her thighs trembling with the effort, her voice a throaty moan of pleasure as her inner walls slowly gripped his latex-sheathed meat. “Fuck, you feel good,” she purred, clenching tight against a twitch of his length, “so hard and thick inside me.”

“You feel so good on me,” he replied, refusing to let go. Loving the pace she set as she rode up and back down his shaft. “God, fuck me.”

Her rear rested on him as she buried his aching meat in her once more. “Fuck,” she growled, “I am going to use this swollen cock to get off. You like that?”

“Yes,” he gasped, resting his hands on her thighs. The feel of the smooth muscles rolling beneath her sleek skin was almost as intoxicating as the feel of her inner walls gripping his latex-sheathed cock.

“You like being a hard cock for me to enjoy?” she demanded, letting herself sink onto his shaft once more.

“Yes,” he moaned, softly scraping his nails over her skin as he slid his hands over her hips and up her sides. “God, fuck yourself in me.”

She leaned forward slightly, letting him cup her breasts as she took him deeper. “I fucking love it,” she gasped. “I love fucking this thick dick.”

“Use it,” he answered, voice hoarse as he strained to capture one hard nipple with his lips. He squeezed her breasts and rolled the hard, erect flesh with his tongue. “Fuck... get yourself off.., on my dick.” He bit gently, teeth scraping her nipple. “Use,.. use my dick as... as your... your fuck toy.”

Gasping, he switched breasts and but gently. “Milk... the cum... out of my dick... Fuck, Marta... fuck the cum... out of... out of me..,”
 
He teased her nipples with a hot tongue and sharp teeth, the combination drawing deep, wordless cries from her throat. That pleasure disrupted her momentum, so she took him in shorter, swallower movements. Not coming off him as much, to move faster, harder. He was so hard, so thick, pressing her walls apart each time she took him to the hilt.

“Peter,” she cried, leaning in even closer, so her clit could rub against his cock with each stroke. So he could suck and bite her aching tits. A pulsing tightness coursed through her muscles, nerves trembling with impending release. His grip dug into her thighs, and she hoped he were close too, because she went rigid when ecstasy struck her. “Peter!”

Slick, yielding muscles constricted his cock, his firm girth providing an exquisite pressure to the sensations of orgasm. Her climax was an agonizing eternity of intensity, and every flex or twitch or throb of his cock reignited it. She collapsed against him once her release became comfortable weight within her body, but they could only stay like that for a moment, before she had to roll over, and let him up to take care of the condom. He was only gone from her arms for a moment, but she too found herself looking forward to the next time, when he wouldn’t have to.

~*~​

Once Peter left, she spent the morning tidying up and organizing her things into space he offered up, finally completely emptying the boxes and bags she’d brought over from her place. It was a few hours of catching up with her favorite political podcasts –she wasn’t sure Peter was ready for just how left wing she was– before she got ready for the appointment.

It had been awhile, but it went mostly as she remembered. A lot of poking and prodding and tests to be done and awkward conversation with a woman examining her bits. It was once she was upright, however, that a question caught her off guard.

“How long have you been having unprotected sex?”

Marta frowned, hearing judgment in the question, despite her doctor’s steady tone, “Umm, it started a little over three weeks ago. Why?

“You’re pregnant.”

Marta blinked a couple times, the words hovering just above understanding. How was it possible? But, stupid Marta, of course it was possible. They hadn’t been very careful those first few times, had they?

“Do you need some time to consider your options?”

Marta shook her head, “No, I want to terminate.” The doctor nodded, face neutral, but Marta brushed her hair back behind her ear and continued, “It’s just not a good time in my career, and I just started this relationship and–“

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” her doctor explained, holding up one hand. No, she wasn’t the one Marta needed to talk to now. But how was she supposed to tell Pete? Marta bit her lip, and the doctor continued. “You are early enough along that medical abortion is a good option for you. I can send you with a prescription you can take at home. At this point, it won’t be much different from a heavy period.”

The trip to the pharmacy and subsequent drive home went by in a haze. She’d gone back to her apartment, instead of Peter’s. She hadn’t been back since she moved in with him, but his place didn’t have a tub, and she really just wanted to soak in a steaming bath, while she endured the cramping. If she endured the cramping. The bottle of pills rattled dully as she placed it down on the bathroom counter, and took a final moment to consider her options. In this moment, before she took these pills, infinite possibilities arose. Pulling out her phone, she typed out a message to Peter.

Can we meet up? We need to talk.

The words sat on the screen, unsent. It was the middle of his day, and he’d have classes until the evening. He’d just gotten back in the classroom, too. She’d already cancelled her classes for the day, but if she asked him to, suddenly this was a big deal. Well, it was a big deal, already, but did it really need to be a big deal for the both of them? Would talking about it matter?

What if Peter wants this, and I don’t?

What if I want this, and he doesn’t?

You’re 36, Marta. If you terminate now, there might not be another chance.

And if you have a baby now, you might lose track of all the progress you’ve made, on the wormhole, and Goode Browns calculations. This child would become your life, your identity, would consume your every waking moment for years to come and…

Marta buried her face in her hands, hiding from the overwhelming thoughts and her need to come to a decision. If she were having this much trouble on her own, wouldn’t Peter just complicate everything? Everything was wonderful with him now, but if they couldn’t agree on this, it would ruin everything. She couldn’t lose Peter, not over this. Not now, not after all that happened.

Deleting her previous text, Marta typed out a new one, Hey, I am not feeling well today, so I am just going to stay home and rest. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? She bit her lip and read over the lines again, wishing there were a way she could reach out to him without have to explain why she wasn’t feeling well. But nothing came, and she hit send.
 
The night before had been amazing, even with the interruption of having to take care of the condom. They’d curled up ogerher, burrowing under the covers and chatting and kissing until they’d finally fallen asleep. But morning came, and with it the minutes of getting ready for the day. He’d dragged himself out of bed and gone for his morning run, occupying the hour with the latest episode of the Skeptics Guide, then stretched out before jumping in the shower and having breakfast.

Driving in to work was surprisingly lonely. He’d gotten used to carpooling with Marta, alternating cars and chatting with her until one or the other was dropped off. But she had her appointment today, and he couldn’t get the time off to drive her if they did that, so sol it was. He finished his episode in traffic, playing along to Science or Fiction and losing again as he parked.

It felt strange being back in front of his 8 am class after an unplanned week off, and at first he found himself wondering how many of his students had seen the video. The doubts went away quickly as he began his lecture, regaling them with a story of how the first pulsar to be discovered had been assumed to be an artificial structure, and the lesson it had taught of the importance of objectivity and looking for evidence. Everything went much more smoothly after that.

It wasn’t until he was finally sitting down for lunch, after two lectures and a staff meeting, that he saw Marta’s text. Hey, I am not feeling well today, so I am just going to stay home and rest. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?

He frowned at that. Everything okay? he replied back. Need me to bring you anything?

She didn’t reply, and he fought down the urge to call. She was probably just asleep, right? No need to wake her up if she didn’t feel well. So he gave it another moment, then put the phone down and took a bite of his sandwich. Then, after a moment’s thought, he picked up the phone again and sent a last message.

Love you.
 
It went just as the doctor said it would, with a few hours of intense cramping that died down into a persistent mild cramping. The bleeding wasn’t much different from her period, and that was perhaps that worst part of it. It was easy to imagine this occurring naturally, and she’d never have known what might have been. But now she’d always know. Despite how she tried to relax in the bath, that knowledge haunted her.

Most of her clothes were at Peter’s, but she had a warm, fluffy robe that suited her just fine. No food though, just a bottle of wine. So she poured herself a glass and considered ordering in some dinner. Before she could decide, however, an alert on her phone indicated two unread texts from Peter.

The first one was concerned, to be expected, and she formulated a dozen answers before electing to read his other text. Even this one was simple, and expected, two words they’d texted each other a dozen times since saying it out loud. What wasn’t expected was the torrent of emotion it elicited in her, tears blurring her eyes and streaking her cheeks. Was it guilt? Shame? Regret?

She was being ridiculous, wasn’t she? Of course they didn’t want kids yet. That was the whole reason they bothered with condoms in the first place. The timing was terrible. But none of the logical reasons of why she was right to end her pregnancy made her feel any better, so instead, she poured herself another glass of wine.

Two glasses on an empty stomach later, Marta decided she ought to respond to Peter, before he got too worried. In her head she composed a longing query, detailing how mich she cared about him and how scared she was losing him. In reality, she sent a mistyped "I'm sorry" that was so far from the mark her phone could even autocorrect it.
 
She wasn’t home when he walked in, a fact that caught him off guard. When she’d said she was staying home he’d assumed his place. Their place. The apartment that seemed suddenly big and empty without her. He found himself walking between the panels, making sure he hadn’t missed her, but it was obvious she wasn’t present.

Home, in this context, had clearly meant her apartment. It made sense, but it still hurt. A little bit, at least.

He was sitting on a kitchen chair, still wearing his jacket and trying to decide what to do, when his phone buzzed. Know Dothan, it read.read. He scratched his head, trying to make sense of it. Who or what was ‘Dothan’, and why would Marta tell him that?

Finally, he tapped out a reply. I’m on my way.

-*-

Uncertain what was wring, he’d asked himself what his mother would do if a loved one was incommunicado and sick. But he decided he didn’t have time to whip up a pot of chicken soup, so he hit the grocery for some canned soup and orange juice. Then he made his way over to Marta’s apartment and let himself in.

She was asleep on the couch, wrapped in an oversized pink robe, with an open bottle of wine on the coffee table. “What the..?,” he muttered, shaking his head. Then, crouching, he carefully lifted her from the couch. “C’mon,” he murmured, “let’s get you into bed.”

Once he had her tucked in, he softly backed out and closed the bedroom door. Then he cleaned up the living room, which mostly consisted of putting the bottle and the glass away, and made sure there was a pot handy. Whatever was wrong with her, the soup wouldn’t fix it. But it couldn’t hurt.
 
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Marta didn’t remember falling asleep, and she definitely didn’t remember getting off the couch and stumbling into bed. Had she blacked out? Crawling out of bed was a pain, because she was so warm and comfortable, but her phone was still in the living room, and she wanted to see if Peter had text her back.

The aroma of chicken broth greeted her once she opened the bedroom door, and there was Peter, tending to the stove. Had she asked him to come over, or did he sense her need across town? She should go and freshen up. See if she couldn’t sober up, just a little, before they got into the inevitable conversation about what was wrong with her.

Instead she crossed the room and hugged him from behind, “You’re here.” Even squeezing her eyes tight couldn’t stem the flow of tears, not completely, so she squeezed him even tighter. “And you brought food.” A weak laugh left her lips, grateful and embarrassed and perhaps a touch glum. She was happy he was here, and sad that she needed him here, and mad at herself for being such a mess. Her voice cracked as she tried to be playful, “I love food.”

She wiped away the tears with the sleeve of her robe and tried again. “Sorry. I came here to soak in the bath because I was having wicked cramps, and one glass of wine to relax became too many and now you are here in time to see what a mess I am.”
 
“You’re here,” Marta said, wrapping her arms around him and leaning into his back. Her voice and touch made him jump, just a little - his earbuds had been in, and he’d had an ear full of Disco Inferno as he stirred the soup he’d been heating up. Still, it might have been worse. He’d been known to rap along, from time to time.

“Course I am,” he said, unplugging the earbuds and tossing them on the counter. “You weren’t home, so I figured you were feeling pretty bad.”

Her arms tightened. “And you brought food,” she said with a weak laugh. “I love food.”

He stroked her arms, then gently held her hands. “Yeah.” He hesitated, eying the cans he hadn’t rinsed and recycled yet. “I’d have made it myself, but I was worried.”

Snuggling, she extricated herself from his embrace. “Sorry. I came here to soak in the bath because I was having wicked cramps, and one glass of wine to relax became too many and now you are here in time to see what a mess I am.”

Wincing at the mention of cramps, he turned and smiled at her. “You’re still the pretties woman I’ve ever seen, mess or not. Here, let me get you some water, you’ll probably need it.” Fortunatly, they hadn’t moved all of her dishes yet, so he was able to follow through on that and hand her a glass. “The souo’s... well, it’s probably ready now, if you’re hungry. And I’ve got some ibuprofen in my car, if the cramps are still bothering you.”

He dug a couple of bowls out of the cabinet. “We’re you able to make your appointment? How did it go?”
 
He dug a couple of bowls out of the cabinet. “We’re you able to make your appointment? How did it go?”

“Water, yes, that’s a good idea,” Marta agreed, taking a deep drink while her face still flushed from his compliment. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I already took something for the pain, and it’s pretty manageable now. But soup sounds –and smells– absolutely delicious.”

Her back was to him as he asked about her appointment, and she cringed at the thought of getting into those details right now. “Yeah, I made it, and it went about as well as you might expect. A lot of poking and prodding and awkward conversation. I have to go back for a follow up on Wednesday, then I get my prescription. And, well, truth be told, I really not up for anything beyond cuddling tonight.”

It would be the first night they didn’t fool around, she realized as she took a seat across from him. A good a time as any to figure out if they worked as a couple outside of the crazy hot sex they’d enjoyed together.

“But enough about me. How was class today? Has everyone moved on to the next internet phenomenon?”
 
“I kind of assumed you wouldn’t be,” Pete said, dishing up a bowl of soup. “I mean, I don’t know what’s involved in an exam for a birth control prescription, but if you had cramps bad enough to skip work..?” He shrugged, then set the bowl before her. “Maybe I should have picked up a heating pad as well?”

“But enough about me,” Marta declared. “How was class today? Has everyone moved on to the next internet phenomenon?”

“Well, the video didn’t come up today at least,” Pete answered, getting a bowl for himself and pouring two glasses of orange juice. “None of the students asked about it, although that may just have been a sort of ‘protect my grade’ common sense. And Dr. Brown said that the university has even sending takedown requests to the websites they know of that have it up.” He spooned up some soup. “They aren’t cruising porn sites looking for us, though, so they want us to notify them if we find any.”

He fell silent for a minute, except for the slurping of soup. “I give it another two weeks, really. Or until Trump tweets something goddamn stupid again. So...” he made a dramatic show of checking his watch, then grinned. “About now?”

He ate more soup. “Oh. Did you want to stay here tonight? I can run home and grab some pajamas and a change of clothes for you.” A pause. “And all your shower stuff, and all that.”

-*-

Ultimately, Marta decided to come home with him - insisted on it, really. Her period, or the bad food, or whatever it was that had knocked her out was still bothering her, though. She seemed down and slightly depressed all through the evening, snuggling into him and not talking much. So he held her, and put some light and forgettable comedy on, and tried to help her feel better. The cars plopped in her lap as well, purring and generally demanding attention.

Crawling into bed and snuggling after turning out the light felt... odd. Not unpleasant, mind. Just odd. They usually fell asleep by fucking each other into pleasant exhaustion, so it was a change of pace to lay there in the dark, listening to Marta’s breathing slow until she was sound asleep, and watching her sent a pleasant rush of warmth and affection through him. “How,” he murmured, kissing her cheek before settling down himself, “did I get lucky enough to find you?”

“Oh, no luck at all my dear sir,” a strange, whispery voice said. “I was asked to look for you here. Or... oh, dear me. We’re you addressing the gentleman next to you?”

The speaker was a faintly luminous amethyst smear. Pete looked around wildly, before realizing he was dreaming. The endless expanse of alien stars all around him, and his own weightlessness, we’re dead give aways. “Ah...” he said carefully, looking to see Marta floating next to him. “I was talking to her, actually. Who are..?”

“Her? Oh, dear me! My apologies! I am unaccustomed to mammals! Do accept my apologies!” The smear bent in the middle. “But my manners! I am T’ss’ts’kshh’zzzzeeEEEEksh. Have I the signal pleasure of addressing Master Martarebeloperez? Or are you Madame Peterahn?”

“I’m Pete,” he replied, feeling increasingly certain that this was a more ordinary strange dream. “Uhm. You said you were told to look for us? By who?”

The smear laughed good-naturedly. “By Sebelah Brown, of course! She knew I would be in your, how do you say it? Your elbow of spacetime, and she learned something she wanted to pass on, after your late visit with her. And it is such a delight to speak with a meat mind of her caliber - no offense to you, Madame - that I naturally agreed!”

“What?” Pete managed. “Meeting? What are you...?”

“Beware yourselves, she said. Beware yourselves. The Black Stone is the sign.” The smear hesitated. “I do hope that means something to you.”
 
Marta spent the rest of the evening distracted, wondering how and when she’d tell Peter what happened that day. What she’d done, and how conflicted she still felt about it. She’d hardly watched the movie he put on, instead planning what she’d say and predicting his responses. But each time he squeezed her shoulder or placed a kiss on her head, her resolved wavered. The moment she spoke up, things would change. Or maybe they wouldn’t? Maybe Peter would still love her anyways, and they’d have an actual conversation about their future and the possibility of a family and…

All of which felt too heavy for tonight. They’d been dating for less than a month, after all. So Marta burrowed in closer to Peter, sinking into the feelings of safety and warmth she found in his arms. Tomorrow, perhaps, it would be easier to tell him.

Lying in bed beside him, warmed by his embrace, and the fact she was actually wearing clothes to bed for once, Marta pulled Peter close. “I love you,” she murmured, and the darkness of the room hid the tears forming in her eyes.

~*~​

Marta didn’t question the dream or the strange presence that addressed them within it. Accepting it was the better option, allowing her to instead consider the information the presence passed along.

“So, we are going to meet Sebelah Brown in her time,” Marta summarized, “and she asked you to come to our time and deliver this warning to us.”

She considered the future them, the ones who made first journey back in time. But they already were them, as they had already completed that journey, in both the present and past. Those versions of themselves were not a threat. But the other them, the ones who used deception to seduce them came back to mind.

“Is… is this black stone something we can use to identify them? And why would we need to beware?”

The smear shifted, moving in the approximation of a shrug, “Sebelah didn’t explain all that. All she said was to beware yourselves, and that the Black Stone is the sign.”

“Right, and we can’t even ask her what that means, because the Sebeleh we are going to meet is before the one who sent you to seek us out.” Marta blew out a breath as she considered what it all meant, “Well, thank you, anyways. I don’t know what it means yet, but I have some ideas.”
 
“Before? Oh, bother. I rather seem to have bollocked this right up,” crackled the smear. “Dreadfully sorry, chaps. Still, must toddle along. Cheers!” And with that, the smear reversed into the distance.

Pete watched it go, twisting awkwardly in the zero gravity to follow its movements. “Is it me, or are these dreams getting stranger and stranger?” He rotated slowly, watching Marta come into view. “So I guess some part of our subconscious wants to travel back into the past.”

He kept rotating, frustratingly picking up speed as he flailed his arms to try and stop. On his next rotation, he caught hold of her arm and managed to mostly stop. “This is getting ridiculous,” he lamented. “My Brain is insisting on realistic microgravity in a dream about talking smog.”

His wrist vibrated. “Still,” he mused, “what do you think that stuff about the Black Stone meant?”
 
"Obsidian," Marta declared, keeping a grip on Peter's hand. "The sacrificial dagger Luis Delgado wanted me to appraise had some pictographs referring to a dark figure, lean and mysterious and draped in a cloak of burning sunset. The translations don't exactly match up, but they are too close to be mere coincidence."

Peter's wrist vibrated again, and Marta blinked awake, their bedroom darker than the skyscape of stars and distant planets and burning nebulas. After a jaw cracking yawn, she continued the conversation they were having before waking up, "I am not sure it's smart to take them up on their offer of dinner, just because of the way it would look, but perhaps I can invite him to bring the dagger by my office, so I can analyze it further. Or, maybe we should wait until after we make the trek back in time, and see what -if anything- Sebelah knows about it."

Stretching, she sat up in bed, relieved the cramps had more or less died down. "Still, I am not sure what they have to do with the wormhole. I mean, you've mostly got that figured out, right? Seems like a bit of old-timey superstition. But... well, the chant was necessary for stablizing the gates, so perhaps obsidian contains some property that aids in the creation of the gates?" Then she shrugged, "Or, I don't know, they are dreams. How much stock should we really put into them?"
 
Pete shifted, feeling oddly constrained by a pressure forcing him down into a yielding surface. Blinking, he tried to figure out what was wrong. Then it hit him.

Gravity.

Marta still gripped his hand as he realized he was awake. He yawned and shifted, then stretched. “You think the dream was about that Aztec knife?” As he said it, he found himself hoping this latest dream wasn’t one of the shared ones. What she’d said about the translation of the engravings was uncomfortable.

"I am not sure it's smart to take them up on their offer of dinner,” she remarked, dashing his hopes, “just because of the way it would look?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing his eyes. “That’s the last thing you need now. Accusations of impropriety with a donor.”

“But perhaps I can invite him to bring the dagger by my office,” she mused, “so I can analyze it further. Or, maybe we should wait until after we make the trek back in time, and see what -if anything- Sebelah knows about it."

His alarm went off, and Pete rolled over to tap the off button. “May as well have him send it over, if he’s willing. There’s no guarantee Goode Brown would know anything, after all.” With a powerful yawn, he flopped back into the mattress. “Are we really doing this? Going back to the 17th century because of a dream?” Then he laughed. “Naw, let’s be honest. I wanted to do it anyway.”

“Still, I am not sure what they have to do with the wormhole.” She sat up and stretched, then turned to look at him. “I mean, you've mostly got that figured out, right?”

“Mostly,” he agreed. “I mean, we managed to hit the top of Sentinel Hill. And managed to travel back in time two days.” He scratched his scalp. “There’s still a lot of questions about why it works, and why some of the elements are necessary, but I think I’ve locked down the how.”

She nodded at that. “Seems like a bit of old-timey superstition. But... well, the chant was necessary for stablizing the gates, so perhaps obsidian contains some property that aids in the creation of the gates?"

“Maybe.” He sounded doubtful. “Or, maybe it isn’t related to the gates at all? Maybe it was a warning about something else?”

She shrugged, "Or, I don't know, they are dreams. How much stock should we really put into them?"

With a sigh, Pete sat up. “Dunno. It seems crazy to put any credence in them at all, but...”. He shrugged. “They’ve already given us insights. Maybe the telepathy lets us brainstorm while we sleep?”

His watch vibrated again, and he hit the button to turn it off. “Or, well, who knows? But what the hell, why don’t we give it a try?” He gave her a big Ron. “You figure out when and where we should aim for, to visit Goode Brown, and I’ll run the gate calculations for it. Then we can decide if we really want to go.”

With that, he climbed out of bed and shivered as bare feet hit the hardwood floor. “But for now, I’ve got my morning run. Want to come?”
 
Marta considered the offer with pursed lips and then sighed. “Might as well, since I won’t see you again until tonight. But you have to promise to go slow, so I can keep up.”

The rest of the morning was consumed with research, trying to find some link between the Latin texts that mentioned the dark figure, and the Aztec dagger, but both objects predated Spanish contact with the Americas. There wasn’t a good reason why both cultures had objects referring to the same being. But the same motifs came up again and again. Blood oaths of fealty, and signing a book of great darkness for greater knowledge.

All that was getting her nowhere. Instead, she composed an email to Luis.

To: Delgado, Luis <LDelgado@DelgadoConsulting.com>
From: Rebelo-Perez, Marta <marta.rebeloperez@miskatonic.edu>
Subject: Aztec Dagger

“Dear Luis Delgado,
I am afraid Peter and I will be unable to attend dinner at your home any time this month. However, I would still like to get a good look at the dagger in person, and hope I am not imposing by asking you to bring it by my office? I have reason to believe there is some fascinating lore surrounding it.”

It wasn’t all a waste, however. Looking over her documents for Goode Brown, she was able to piece together enough details to figure out the data Peter would need to calculate the gates. As it turned out, all that research left Marta little opportunity to mope over her abortion, or consider how she was going to tell Peter about it. When they met up for dinner after his last class, she was far more excited to tell him about how she narrowed down a range of dates and coordinates within which they had a good shot of meeting Goode Brown.

Once Peter arrived, she greeted him with a kiss and a notebook. “All the data you requested from me this morning is there,” she explained, keeping her explanation vague in case anyone overheard them. “But we will likely need some special gear, before we attempt any experiments. Appropriate garments, you understand.”
 
Dinner was at El Ranchero Grande, a Mexican restaurant run by a Pakistani family that had immigrated from the United Kingdom. It was a thing Pete knew from striking up a conversation with the owner, who’d explained that he’d opened a Mexican restaurant because he didn’t like fried rice. At the time, three margaritas in, it had made sense.

“Busy day?” he asked, kissing Marta back and taking a seat.

In response, she handed him a notebook. “All the data you requested from me this morning is there,” she explained, keeping her explanation vague in case anyone overheard them.

“Cool,” he grinned, leaning hrough the pages. It was pretty detailed, with dates and times and even survey data of 17th century Arkham overlaid on GIS maps. “My end’s ready, so we can go, oh, in a day or two. Maybe three, because I’ll want to do some error checks first.”

“But we will likely need some special gear, before we attempt any experiments,” she said, then smiled at hisconfusion. “Appropriate garments, you understand.”

“Ah.” Comprehension dawned. “Yeah. We don’t want to taint the research, right?” He scratched his head, then stuck the notebook in his satchel. “Any idea where we’d get it? I mean, my mental image of Thanksgiving cosplay is probably pretty far off base.”

“Hola, amigos,” said their waiter, a swarthy-skinned man built like a fire plug. “Can I start you off wth some drinks. We’ve got two dollar longnecks and ten dollar buckets right now.”

“Uhm...” Pete drummed his fingers, trying to shift mental gears. “A Coke, thanks. And a water. I’ve got an 8 am lecture tomorrow.”
 
“Well, I can probably pass for native Algonquin, but, um…” Marta bit her lip and took an appraising look at Peter, “Maybe you can too? At least, better than a colonist. Regardless, we will have to get custom costumes made, but, uh…” Her eyes darted towards the approaching waiter, “we can get them in time for Halloween, for sure.”

Peter ordered their drinks, and Marta took a moment to look over the menu, “I’ll have chicken enchiladas.”

She watched the waiter leave, and once he was out of earshot, she continued, “It will probably take a couple weeks, which gives you plenty of time to run your experiments, and triple check everything.” She leaned in conspiratorially, breathing in his cologne.

“I’ve made a career out of studying this period in history, so trust me when I say we don’t want to end up stuck there.”
 
“I have no desire to get stuck in the dark ages,” Pete shuddered. “No electricity, no plumbing, no antibiotics? No thank you. Which reminds me...”. Eying the waiter, making sure he wasn’t listening in, he pulled out his phone and opened Notes. “We’ll want more than costumes, I think. Water purification straws and a solar phone charger would be good. Maybe we should set up a supply dump somewhere, with some emergency supplies? No need to get burned as a witch for carrying a laptop, right?”

He tapped at the screen for a moment. “I think,” he added, “that I can turn the gate systems into an app, by using the AR support on the iPhone. It’ll be a quick and dirty thing with the coordinates hard-coded, but it should work.”

He sipped his drink, then laughed. “But I think I’ll test that with a shorter trip. Like, to yesterday. That way, if it doesn’t work, I’m not marooned somewhere.” He gave her a look. “Want to come along? If it fails, we get a day’s vacation while past us handles yesterday’s work and catches up.”
 
Marta laughed, and leaning in even closer to Peter, letting her leg rest against his as he showed her the items he was considering picking up. “That sounds good, and I love the idea of a day off. I might actually get caught up with work.” With a giggle, she took a quick kiss form him, just as the waiter brought out their food. “I don’t we plan this for the weekend before Halloween, then? Should give us enough time to gather everything we need?”

Dinner was delightful, even if it weren’t completely authentic. And, of course, their plans to actually travel back in time buoyed Marta’s mood. Even the practical considerations couldn’t dampen it. Persistent, mild cramping did dampen her mood, just a bit, enough that they’d skip fooling around again tonight. But Peter’s arms wrapped around her and his breathing lulled her into a comforting contentment.

Peter continued to be a comforting presence as they shifted from the waking world into the dream, finding themselves once more in Woodhaven Cemetery. And, even more strangely, finding more of themselves here, with them. Familiar and simultaneously strange, different in slight ways. This Marta had shorter hair, or that Peter wore facial hair. Their naked forms displayed their subtle differences clearly.

“Welcome,” a version of herself called, wearing an elaborate necklace of silver and black stones. There was something off about her, something Marta couldn’t immediately identify, as she explored her softened curves and slight pouch of a belly. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“For us?” Marta asked, still intrigued by mystery of her other self. She was heavier, Marta realized, carrying maybe ten or fifteen extra pounds, but they looked good on her, with fuller breasts, and wider hips.

“Yes, we were hoping you would be ready to join us, tonight,” Peter, another Peter, explained. He wrapped an arm around this lead Marta, and she recognized the gesture as protective. He also wore black jewelry, in a band around one firm bicep, and his defined musculature was a brief distraction.

“I… I still don’t understand. What is this? Who are all these… ‘us’-es?”

“We’re all you, and we’ve all been where you are now,” the lead Marta explained, leaning into her Peter. “We’ve all seen what you saw, and we’ve joined together. There is safety, in numbers.”

“Safety from what?” Marta demanded, but in truth, she already knew. Remember, from that first night, and the terrible amorphous presence within the portal. The one that inched closer and closer to them. It would destroy them, if it ever escaped into their world.

A wail broken through the quiet of the night, and Marta froze once she recognized its source. A baby. “What,” she started, words and terrible ideas getting stuck in her throat before she could believe or articulate them. “What are you going to do?”

The lead Marta looked up at the darkened sky. Marta followed their gaze, and noticed the shadow of the moon, deflecting all light. “We must feed the new moon.”

Another Marta carried the child, a babe able to sit and possibly crawl, but not walk, over to a slab of concrete. More cries filled the air as she placed the child down, and the group gathered closer in. Orange flame glinted off the obsidian dagger held by the leader, and the horror pooling in Marta’s gut rushed into her veins.

“You can’t!” she demanded, grabbing the lead Marta’s wrist. “What the hell is this?”

“Only innocent blood can revive the dead moon. If we do not feed it, He will awaken.” Marta’s gaze turned dark, and appraised her, “You may have already bathed in the blood of sacrifice, but the rest of us have yet to satisfy the Dark One.”
 
“Just once,” Pete remarked, “I’d like to dream about being in a chilly graveyard with some clothes on.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said a dream-double, an older version f himself with a man-bun and a goatee. Never, ever do that, he vowed. “It’s a sign of freedom. Of casting off doubt, and shame.”

“And fear,” added a second dream-double, this one with a shaven head and a number of intricate tattoos.

“And fear,” man-bun Pete agreed with a distracted air. “And there’s a nice view, too.”

Pete followed his line of sight, discovering him watching a knot of Martas talking. It was, he had to agree, a nice view. Even the butch-looking Marta with the weightlifter body and multiple piercings. He felt himself getting hard and shifted with embarrassment, and the certain knowledge that multiple dream doubles were reacting the same way didn’t make it any easier.

Everyone formed into a circle, pairing off Pete, Marta, Pete, Marta, surrounding the bonfire and a concrete slab. He and ‘his’ Marta were led to take a place in the gathering by the couple she’d been talking to, a Pete ad a Marta wearing silver jewelry set with black stones. “I… I still don’t understand,” Marta protested, “What is this? Who are all these… ‘us’-es?”

“We’re all you, and we’ve all been where you are now,” the lead Marta explained, leaning into her Peter. “We’ve all seen what you saw, and we’ve joined together. There is safety, in numbers.”

“Safety from what?” Marta demanded, half-heartedly.

“The... the thing,” Pete murmured, remembering the first gate. “The thing amongst the stars.”

“The Demon Sultan,” agreed the Pete with the silver and onyx armlet. “Lord of All Things.”

“He must be propitiated,” murmured man-bun Pete.

Pete shuddered a wail broken through the quiet of the night. “What,” Marta gasped. “What are you going to do?”

The lead Marta looked up at the darkened sky. Marta followed their gaze, and noticed the shadow of the moon, deflecting all light. “We must feed the new moon.”

“Feed... the new moon?” He glanced upwards involuntarily, seeking the slit the moon would be if it were visible. “That’s... it’s a moon. A ink of rock! It doesn’t...”

“It is a symbol of the Thousand-Faced One,” Man-bun Pete informed him.

“The Audient Void,” echoed bald Pete.

“The Soul and Voice of the Ones Mighty and Great,” intoned the lead Pete. “Who will bear our offering to the Onyx Throne and lay it before the Demon Sultan.”

“What the fuck are you all...” Pete began, then froze as he saw the new lest Marta enter the circle. A Marta carrying a bundle. No, not a bundle. A child. A baby.

A baby, with Marta’s dark hair and eyes like the ones he saw every morning when he shaved.

This Marta kissed the baby in the forehead, tenderly, and murmured a few words. Then, carefully, she laid him down on the slab. The lead couple stepped forward, and Pete stared wide-eyed at the sight of the glossy black blade in that Marta’s hand.

“You can’t!” Marta demanded, lunging forward grabbing the lead Marta’s wrist. “What the hell is this?”

“Only innocent blood can revive the dead moon. If we do not feed it, He will awaken.” Marta’s gaze turned dark, and appraised her, “You may have already bathed in the blood of sacrifice, but the rest of us have yet to satisfy the Dark One.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Pete snapped, stepping forward. It’s a dream, he kept thinking. It’s a dream. “With all of you? You’re talking like...”

“They’re new,” Man-bun said, addressing the lead Pete as he stepped forward. “You remember, right?”

There was stern sympathy in the lead Pete’s expression. “I do. The first offering is the most difficult. But it must be done.”

Marta clawed at the lead Marta’s wrist, until the bodybuilder Marta dragged her away. There was a brief struggle, ending in the bodybuilder getting his Marta in a gentle But unyielding headlock. Pete tried to help her, only to be dragged down and restrained by man-bun and bald Pete.

“Ia Nyarlathotep!” called the lead Marta, raising the knife as the lead Pete lifted the infant.

“Ia! Ia!” intoned the circle, man-bun and badly grunting a little as they worked to hold Pete down.

“Dark soul of the Great Ones,” Marta called as another Marta and Pete knelt, supporting a brass bowl beneath the infant, “Messenger in the void, Crawling Chaos, revealer of truth.”

“Ia!” the circle intoned. “Ia!”

“No!” Pete shouted. “No!”

“We call upon you to shield this one's mortal life against that which seeks to end it!” The lead Marta called, smiling as the lead Pete kissed the infant’s forehead.

“Ia!” the circle intoned. “Ia!”

The knife flashed down. The infant gurgled, and blood gushed from his severed throat to flood the bowl. Pete screamed, a sound of horror and agony that fueled his struggles. He tore himself from his captors and hurled himself forward, crashing to the floor in a tangle of covers. “No,” he heard himself gasp, shaking from shock as he tried to focus on the dark room around him. “No...”

Schrodinger meowed, and her raspy tongue scraped his chin.

Still shaking, he sat up and leaned against the bed. “Just a dream,” he gasped, wide-eyed. “Just... a... dream...”
 
Marta sat up with a start, as Peter hurled himself form their bed with their covers. Her thighs were warm and sticky. Her hands were warm and sticky, and coated in blood. Blood pooled under her, still damp on the sheet and stark even in the darkness of the room. Despite herself, she screamed, the horror of the dream still fresh in her mind. The blood, gushing and gurgling down the small body, and filling the brass bowl. Marta threw herself from the bed, trying in vain to shake her hands clean.

“Just a dream,” Peter gasped. Whether for her benefit or his own, she couldn’t tell. “Just... a... dream...”

Logic couldn’t piece through her mind, and revulsion turned her gut. She stumbled away from their bedroom, sprinting towards the bathroom. She just made it to the toilet before dinner came up, carrying her disgust from the dream and her own guilt and shame form her choice. Crimson fingerprints stuck to the rim of the toilet as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her stomach still roiling in the pit of her stomach. She sagged back and sniffed hard twice, just able to hold back her tears. It took several more deep breaths before she could trust herself not to throw up again, and she carefully pushed herself to her feet.

It didn’t mean anything, she tried to tell herself. I just bled through the tampon. But she couldn’t help but feel that the dream was a projection of her subconscious guilt, and now she’d pulled Peter into it as well. Mindful of the blood still on her hands, she turned on the shower, and stripped out of her stained clothes. “Sorry about your bed,” she called out to Peter, purposely ignoring the dream that still haunted her mind, “I’ll change the sheets once I get out of the shower.”

Hot water soothed her back as she stepped into the stall, but still she couldn’t relax. Not completely. The water rinsed pink from her skin, but the overflowing chalice of blood still stained her thoughts.
 
Bleary eyed and shaking with adrenaline, Pete managed to strip the sheets from the bed on the second try. “No worries,” he managed, offering s faint grin. “I got them.”

He carried them across the apartment and dumped them on the top of the dryer, then rummaged around for the stain treatment spray. By the time he was squirting it on the blood spots, he could feel his pulse rate starting to settle down. Just a dream, right? he told himself. Just a weird, realistic, creepy dream. About me and Marta sacrificing a baby. Our baby.

Did it mean anything? Was his subconscious trying to tell him something? Or hers? Could it have crawled out of her fears. They hadn’t talked about kids, other than to make sure they were using protection. Was he, or she, or both of them afraid they’d give up on any hopes of having a family by pursuing a career? But... did he want a kid? Did she?

With an aggrieved little laugh, he started the washing machine and grabbed a new sheet. This wasn’t the right time of night for such questions, was it?

-*-

Pete spent the next two days, when he wasn’t lecturing, hacking away at Xcode as he worked out an extremely rough version of the gate app. Finally, yawning and waving his iPhone around, he stumbled out into the living room and slumped on the couch. “I did it!”

He held up the phone and showed the icon for the app, a neon green “devilgoat” on a black square. “This ties into the camera, and paints the two graphs - virtually - at the appropriate distance. We already know, from the first gate, that that works, so we don’t need to futz around with the lasers. And it also plays a recording of the... ugh, incantation that stabilizes the gate.”

The word incantation was a bit of a sore point, because this wasn’t magic. It was just an application of previously known mathematical principles. But the irritation subsided quickly. “The next version of the app will add features like calculating the graphs dynamically, but for now it’s hard-coded to aim for your living room three hours ago.”

He stifled a yawn. “So, we go and then we turn off WiFi and cellular data on my phone, and try to come back. If it works, awesome! If not, we vacate your place before the time we’d arrive and come back here and start from scratch.”

Yawning, he scratched his chin. “Want to take a crack at it now? Or wait until morning?”
 
It was difficult to tell if the dream had created tension between them. The truth was, Marta didn’t know Peter all that well. Had he thrown himself into his work to avoid discussing the dream, or would his research have occupied his attention regardless? She knew he was passionate, but it was difficult not to feel left behind

And, perhaps, the studies she turned to in order to fill the hours weren’t helping. Not as she researched the Aztecs and their ritual sacrifices. Most of what she discovered didn’t match the dream. Aztecs preferred to execute their prisoners, and tributes from other tribes. They weren’t fond of sacrificing their own children. But, she did find some information on a small coven that worshipped a dark figure, not connected with the Nahuatl pantheon. But there wasn’t much information to be gleaned from her studies, as they’d be wiped out before the Spaniards made contact.

Marta was happy to turn her attention to peter as he slumped beside her on the couch. She closed the book and set it on the table before scooting closer to him, to get a better look of the app he’d developed. Leaning into his warmth while he explained how it worked, Marta just nodded along. Maybe she had just imagined coldness in him, and would have to learn to accept his pursuit of his research.

“Want to take a crack at it now? Or wait until morning?”

“Sure, we can try it tonight,” she offered, with a kiss on the cheek. “But if it doesn’t work, I might have to insist on getting you to bed. You have all weekend to tinker to tinker with it.” Marta took the phone from his hand and examined the app he’d created. The UI wasn’t much to look it, bare bones digits and coordinates and equations scrolling down, and there was a single button with the word “Activate” on it.

“So, do I just hit this and…” She did, and before she could finish speaking, her own voice answered her, uttering the incantation. After a moment, the gate appeared, revealing the familiar, and dark, vision of her old living room. Okay, that part works. Gripping his hand, she stood, and motioned towards the gate, “Shall we?”

Marta still wasn’t used to how normal it felt to travel through the portal, not much different from stepping out a door. Would she ever fully wrap her mind around it? “Alright, time to see if we came to the right time,” she suggested, picking up the dusty remote from her coffee table and turning on the tv. The six o’clock local news came up, rehashing the day’s event for the second time.

“Okay, phase one was successful. What do we need to do for phase two?”
 
“Going to bed, hey?” Pete laughed, spoiling his suggestive leerwith a yawn. “Well, maybe you’ve got a point. Succeed or fail, I really should take a rest.” That was harder than he made it sound, though. The math was... beautiful. Almost seductive. It made just enough sense that it felt like it was baiting him, staying one step ahead as he pursued comprehension. The implications the equations dangledbefore him seemed to call to him, making...

“So,” Marta remarked, interrupting his foggy thoughts, “do I just hit this and…”. The gate opened with a depressing lack of fanfare. One instant it wasn’t there, the next he was staring through a hole in space into Marta’s darkened living room. He stared blankly at it until she rose and took his hand. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” he agreed, rising. Stepping through felt like a non-event, except for the difference in temperature between his apartment and hers - since she’d moved in, she’d turned the thermostat low to save electricity. As she picked up her television remote he thumbed the app, closing the gate.

“Okay, phase one was successful,” she declared as te six o’clock news played for the second time. “What do we need to do for phase two?”

“We...”. He hesitated, yawning as the news ticker caught his eye. NO LEADS IN MISSING INFANT SEARCH. He remembered it vaguely. Somehow, despite safeguards, someone had walked out of the Arkham Good Samaratin with a newborn. Police and FBI had been searching, but... he found himself crossing himself as he half-offered a prayer to a God he didn’t really believe in, hoping for the child’s safe return.

“We, uhm...” he fumbled with his phone, turning off WiFi and cellular. “Now we try and go back.”Yawning, he raised the phone and brought the back up. Then he tapped the ‘Return’ button.

Reality blinked, and the gate opened. Beyond, he could see his couch and the lights he hadn’t turned off. “Well,” he grinned, “I think it worked.” A moment later, he started laughing with delight. “It works!” he crowed, grabbing Marta and dancing around the room. “It works!”
 
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