In the center of the room stood an ornately carved stone table large enough for a banquet. On its top rested two majestic candlesticks, one holding a black candle and the other a white one. She moved closer, her steps echoing on the stone floor, to examine the four objects between the candles. She’d lived in Salem long enough to recognize a witch’s tools: a magic wand, a jeweled chalice, a dagger, and a silver pentagram.

Lancelot joined her at what she now realized was an altar and lit the candles. Then he picked up the wand and carried it to one corner of the pyramid. Holding the wand as an extension of his outstretched arm, he walked clockwise around the room, pausing at each corner to draw a pentagram in the air. Light shot from the wand’s tip, so that when he’d completed his circuit, a wall of whitish fog surrounded them.

Weird, she thought, but cool.

As Lancelot returned the wand to the altar Miranda asked, “Are you going to initiate me?”

“If you like.”

“What do I have to do?”

He laughed. “Relax.”

With his fingertip, he traced a pentagram on her forehead. A wave of pulsing heat undulated through her body, making her tingle all over. Once again she felt the fluttering in her pussy, which quickly escalated to a powerful throbbing.

He’s casting a spell on me, she thought. Somehow the idea didn’t frighten her in the least.

From beneath the altar Lancelot dragged a long, red-upholstered bench. Suddenly, Miranda’s knees buckled and she sat down on it gratefully. He grasped her shoulders and studied her, his golden eyes blazing. “Are you okay? Sure you want to proceed?”

She nodded as another ripple of desire rushed through her. Despite the cool of the underground cave, drops of perspiration broke out on her forehead. His fingers drew a line down the center of her torso; when they reached her pussy, Miranda moaned and pressed against them.