KDG Consortium story

Happy Monday, my Lovelies! Last week I began a brand new tale for your Monday morning reading pleasure. As I said, I’ve been in pursuit of Mr. Sands for quite some time now, and somehow he always manages to elude me. And surprise me. Just recently he made another titillating appearance, only to lead me on a merry chase. I lost him in North Africa somewhere and ended up recovering in Delphi, where I met up with some unexpected acquaintances. (More on that to come. )Never mind. There are worse places to end up, and I’m sure Mr. Sands will raise his oh so fascinating head again when I least expect him.

But for now, let’s return to the inflight meal service on Mr. Sands’ redeye flight form JFK. This is the story of my first vicarious encounter with Mr. Sands. It is also an introduction to the equally intriguing PI, Elise North. I hope you enjoy her account.

If you missed the last instalment of Mr. Sands, catch up with this link.

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 2: PTSD

There was no lingering over dinner in first class. Everyone fell asleep almost immediately after they’d eaten, and the attendants made themselves scarce. What I hadn’t expected was that as soon as everyone was asleep, Mr. Sands rose from his seat and walked among the passengers touching each of them lovingly. My plan had been to discretely remove myself to the lavatory as soon as dinner was over hoping that he’d think perhaps I had a friend or family member back in economy class and had gone back for a chat. I knew incubi liked to linger over their meals, but it wasn’t expressly necessary. At least that was what all the texts in the archives said. Since this was a transatlantic flight, Mr. Sands had plenty of time to enjoy his inflight dinner service. It was my plan to watch from just beyond the curtain. But when his tender ministrations, which had begun almost immediately, were interrupted by the unexpected appearance of the blonde flight attendant, I knew I’d have to go for plan B.

“Oh you’ve begun already.” The attendant’s voice was a squeaky whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

His response was to take her face in his hands and kiss her. I’ve felt the magic of seduction many times, from demigods, vampires, even demons, and it always slides right over me like oil over water. Mr. Sands’ magic was no different. I could feel it swirling around me unable to touch me. So I can only attribute the arousal I was feeling to his genuine skill as a lover well versed in the art of seduction, which was something different altogether wasn’t it?

He didn’t simply take what he wanted and send her away. He tasted and tested and teased her mouth like she was the best dessert he’d ever had, and she responded as though the kiss was the best fuck she’d ever had. With a deep intake of breath, he released her. She gave a little sigh then turned and walked away shutting the curtain behind her as though nothing had happened. The whole act had taken only seconds, and yet within those few seconds, Mr. Sands had somehow woven a complete, sizzling night of sex. I was intrigued. Perhaps shocked would be a better word. I realized I would have to guard myself carefully because sex, even ordinary sex, is its own magic, magic I thought I’d been immune to. Since Dru’s death, even the thought of sex ended with me shivering on the floor and whimpering. PTSD is a bastard. Well, any shivering I was doing now had nothing to do with PTSD or demons. I was definitely feeling the love, and while my therapist would have called it a major breakthrough to feel any kind of arousal, now was not exactly the best time.

Not only was I still in danger of being found out, but I was in danger of falling victim to my own arousal and becoming distracted, something I promised Magda Gardener would not be a problem for me. All I could do was pretend to be asleep and watch through a sliver of vision while one by one he kissed each person in first class, as though he sought something out. Each one of them writhed and moaned and sighed in his kiss as though they desperately hoped he’d find that something in them. Still, I sensed that same hint of fear I had with the attendants. The mix of fear and lust is such an intriguing blend. I slammed that door shut in my head immediately. I wanted no fear with my lust. I wanted neither. I wanted simply to watch objectively and when the time came return my report to Magda Gardener and collect my paycheck.

When he came to me, I felt that cold clench of terror, laughing demon eyes burning into me, eyes that had been Dru’s, eyes I loved. It took all the control I had not to shove up from my seat and lock myself in the bathroom in a wave of nausea and clammy sweat. I was on a job, for fuck sake! I was no coward. I could do this. I forced down the nausea. There was nothing I could do about the cold sweat, but I did my best to pretend to be asleep. Meditation technics! I tried to remember the meditation technics that my therapist had taught me when I needed to work through a panic attack, but nothing. I could think of nothing other than the incubus whose feet made a soft schuss schuss on the carpet.

Count backwards from ten. Finally the words from the meditation slammed into my brain. Breath in the fresh sea air, listen to the gulls calling overhead. And then I felt his closeness, felt the humidity of his breath against my lips. When he cupped my cheek with a large palm, when he mantled me with the heat of his body and all but pulled me into his arms, for a terrifying moment, I was sure if I opened my eyes, he would look back at me through a demon’s gaze. I might have whimpered and shivered, but then so did everyone. They were afraid too, I reminded myself.

Still, I was working, and I needed a clear head. As he leaned in so close I could taste the nutmeg and coffee of his breath, the kiss I expected didn’t come. Instead, his warm lips moved against my earlobe, his tongue snaking out to trace the seashell shape and he breathed into my ear. “Such a rare treasure you are.” Another kiss to my ear. “But sadly, one of no use to me right now. Too bad, really. You and I could have had such fun together.” His hand snaked down my neck, skimming my ribs to rest low on my hip, and just like that, my terror vanished. I opened my eyes to his stormy sea gaze. “I have no objection to a bit of exhibitionism. I promise I’ll make it good for you.” He bit my earlobe gently and gave it a tug between his teeth. “But don’t get in my way.” His last words the low warning growl of a predator.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed at knowing I was one appetizer he wouldn’t get. One of the downsides of my little gift is that I never actually experienced the magic that I can see and sense and watch going on all around me. Though to be honest, most of the time, that’s not a downside at all. Most of the time that saves my life. In this case, however, I was more of a voyeur than Mr. Sands knew, and my body was again assuring me that I would very much enjoy this show. He settled me back in my seat, blew me a kiss over his shoulder and walked away with a soft chortle, turning his attention to the blonde who was to be his main course.

My job often requires me to do unpleasant things. I do the work even the best PI wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. In fact, most would laugh my clients out the door if they were approached with such cases. It’s just as well really. It keeps them safe. Me, I don’t laugh. I never laugh. I know it’s no laughing matter. That’s why my rates are so high.

I took the job for Magda Gardener mostly out of curiosity. I expected it to be far more interesting than dangerous, and Magda Gardener paid on time, always with a bonus for work well done. I’d never encountered an incubus before, and while I knew they could be dangerous, I didn’t expect my presence would attract much attention since they could get nothing from me, and I was no threat to Mr. Sands’ little red-eye feast.

I’d had a proper invite to the show, so I watch unhindered. I observed what appeared to be nothing more than him laying one hand low on the woman’s belly while he breathed in her breath in a deep lingering kiss. But I knew by the mink and expensive whisky feel of magic swirling around me, it was so much more than that. No one else could have seen as I did. Anyone else would have been drawn into the experience, a vicarious little nibble on the side, if you will. Or, he could have simply rendered them oblivious, as the rest of first class now was. Me, I remained unaffected. At least by his magic. But I was well aware that Mr. Sands was not only getting what he needed, he was making sure I did too. Perhaps it was about more than just feeding for the man. As I struggled not to squirm in my seat, I couldn’t help wondering if he had any idea how happy he’d just made my therapist.

Happy Monday, my Lovelies! After last week’s final instalment of The Bet, I didn’t want to leave you bereft of a bit of Monday morning reading candy. I’ve been in pursuit of Mr. Sands for quite some time now, and somehow he always manages to elude me. Just recently he made another titillating appearance, only to lead me on a merry chase. I lost him in North Africa somewhere and ended up recovering in Delphi, where I met up with some unexpected acquaintances. (More on that to come. )Never mind. There are worse places to end up, and I’m sure Mr. Sands will raise his oh so fascinating head again when I least expect him.

But for now, this is the story of my first vicarious encounter with Mr. Sands. It is also an introduction to the equally intriguing PI, Elise North. I hope you enjoy her account.

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 1: Choosing an Inflight Meal

I followed him at a safe distance. He was fast tracked through passport control at Heathrow, as was I, and neither of us had luggage. He was my job. I wasn’t about to lose him. Once through customs and in the arrivals hall, he made his way to the first class lounge, where he got himself a coffee, and I did the same, discreetly watching him watch the woman who was ushered in by one of the first class flight attendants, who settled her into a booth and ordered her up a full English breakfast. The woman looked dazed, and her hands shook with her first bite of food.

She had good reason to be shaky, and she had good reason to be half-starved. I knew exactly what the attendant was explaining to her in hushed whispers, and so did he. He was the reason for her weakened condition. The flight attendant knew that and so did I. The thing is no one knew that I knew.

My name is Elise North. I’m a PI. At least that’s what Magda Gardener calls me, and that’s what my business card says – the one I almost never hand out. Most of the time I work under cover, and my ID changes with the job. I don’t carry a gun. It would hardly do me any good with my clients. I work on cases that need a delicate hand. I do, however, own a silver-tipped stake … more of a stiletto actually, but I know how to use it. I’m athletic, I’m fast and well trained in martial arts because, in a field as specialized as mine, if things ever go south, about the best I can hope for is to escape and run like hell. None of those skills, however, are the reason Magda Gardener hired me. I have other gifts, gifts that in the kinds of circles Magda and her people run in, are highly coveted.

Those particular gifts are the reason I was just off the night flight from New York’s JFK to London Heathrow after paying an enormous sum of money to sit across from Daniel Emerson Sands in first class. Before we were even off the runway at JFK, all the flight attendants made time to pay the man homage. A big name celebrity couldn’t have drawn more solicitous, yet quiet attention. Each one, whether male or female, approached him with a fan girl flutter of excitement. I observed the flush in the cheeks, the quickening of the pulse in throats, in temples, the moistening of lips with a flick of the tongue, the acceleration in the breath.

He kissed the fingers of the female attendants, so delicately caught up in his strong grip. Each of the male attendants he offered a warm handshake, then a clasp of the shoulder as they bent forward, almost as though they were about to share a secret … or a kiss. It came as no surprise to me that each attendant responded with a little gasp and then a grunt and a shudder of the body that would have been almost undetectable to someone less observant. Neither did it come as a surprise that with each encounter, Daniel Sands inhaled deeply and sighed as though he had just past a bakery with an open door. What also came as no surprise, and yet I still found disturbing, was the frisson of fear that accompanied the ritual. Each attendant came to Sands eager and willing, but fear was as much a part of the formula as lust. They all knew what he was. If they didn’t, he couldn’t do what he does on this flight … repeatedly.

While we taxied and took off, Daniel Sands sat quietly perusing a complimentary copy of The New York Times as though he were any other passenger in transit just wanting the journey to be over with and to arrive safely at his destination. But I knew better. I’ve known better since Magda Gardener assigned me to follow him, to learn all about him that I could. But even without the information she had given me on the man, I would have known exactly what he was the second I sat down across from him. Daniel Emerson Sands is an incubus, a particularly powerful one, and one Magda Gardener has set her eyes on. It’s a very dangerous thing to have Magda Gardener sets her eyes on you. Mr. Sands had no idea he was up against a master huntress. All he wanted was his special in-flight meal service.

The flight attendants and the woman at check-in, and all the others that Sands had contact with before boarding, they were nothing more than nibbles, appetisers, if you will. There were only seven of us in first class, but just one would be his chosen main course. As with all his inflight meals, she was upgraded from economy. I stood behind her in the line at check-in, I watched while Mr. Sands subtly bumped into her all apologetic for being so careless. I watched the way he rested a solicitous hand at the small of her back to steady her so she wouldn’t fall. I watched the way he smiled at her. I watched, and I knew from my research, that she was the one, that she would have a visit in the dream world she’d be very unlikely to forget. And she would wake up weakened and confused. But oh, the dreams. She would revisit the dreams for the rest of her life.