They were eagerly partaking in perverted acts so unacceptable in their pathetically righteous culture, the spell simply unbinding them from their restrictive upbringing to allow them to indulge in their forbidden fantasies. Even her sister in the dark arts, Guinevere, was blissfully ignorant as she rode a baby-faced college prep boy into rapture. Moira didn’t know what she was to do, what to say. All she knew was that her life was hanging by a scant thread, at the whim of a god well known for his volatility. He was a stunning specimen of masculinity, and Moira felt her body respond even as she wilted under his impenetrable stare. “And what,” she asked softly, hoping that her supplicating behavior would diffuse the danger she was in, “may this insignificant witch do for her Lord?” He snorted most inelegantly, “Insignificant? Oh, my dear Moira, I think not.” Surprise had her eyes lifting to his face, and she saw there such raw lust that she nearly came from his gaze alone. Hidden. It was a time to relax on the couch and read. I had just cracked open my book, looking for the old birthday card I used as a bookmark, when the doorbell rang. I was slightly annoyed. I am an avowed bachelor, somewhat shy by nature, and so have few friends. I could not imagine any of them calling on me that late in the evening. I was not in the best of moods when I opened the door. A stunning young lady of maybe thirty looked at me for a second and without a word brushed past me into my apartment. I was stunned for a moment. I slammed the door shut and walked over to my table where she stood staring at me. I was very angry when I confronted her. "What is the meaning of this, just barging into my apartment? Who are you? What do you want?" I was so angry I asked questions without waiting for answers. "OK," she spat at me. "I will have to play your idiotic game, and I will. But you better hold up to your promise." "Listen lady," I countered, "you seem to mistake me for somebody else. Who.
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