Melvin & Morgan vs. the Demon

1. The Girl in Blood

As Melvin licked the creamy chocolate frosting from his fingers, he had to admit that marriage to a witch had its perks. He laughed. Marriage? The closest thing to a ceremony they'd had involved dumping a bucket of sheep's blood on Melvin's head, some kind of sing-song chant that sounded suspiciously like 'Row, row, row your boat' and a moonlit nude dance by Morgan at the end of which she collapsed on top of him and simply stated, "We're married now!"

"Ok, sweet cheeks, what do you think of the cake?" Morgan asked. She raised her eyebrows over a pair of slightly slanted sparkling blue eyes as she waited for Melvin to reply. He smiled at her. A smatter of flour and chocolate sprinkles covered her face, and she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Melvin opened his mouth to answer, thought better of it and again closed it. He didn't know why she ever bothered asking questions, she always knew his answers before he could get them out of his mouth.

"I ask them because there's the chance you might one day surprise me," Morgan said, reading his thoughts as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Melvin stuck his tongue out at her for a moment before speaking.

"It's delicious, of course. Even if you weren't psychic, you'd have been able to figure that one out by the 'mmm' sounds," Melvin said and kissed her on the cheek. Her dark blue eyes regarded Melvin for a moment in silence; both of them soaking up the sight of the other with warm, admiring looks.

"You're so adorable," Morgan said. She returned his kiss with a lingering one on the lips. He held her face with her hands, cherishing her smooth, cool feel.

Everything is perfect, Melvin thought.

Then the door to the shop flew open, and a girl stumbled in, screaming and dripping fresh red blood all over the polished wood floors.

***

Some time later, the girl sat at their kitchen table, calmer, all of the blood gone and rinsed safely down the drain after a hot shower. A cup of hot chocolate sat before her, and the girl held the mug between two trembling hands. Her eyes followed the wispy drifts of steam that billowed from the churning, brownish liquid. Without blood adorning her, she was quite attractive: long blonde hair pulled back into a pony-tail, her soft features somewhat pale in the sunlight.

"I didn't know who else to turn to," the girl said in a soft voice.

"It's ok, Lizzie," Morgan said. "Just tell us what happened to you."

While the girl showered, Morgan had explained a few things in hopes of keeping Melvin up to speed. Morgan had recognized the girl right away, even through a scarlet layer of blood; her name was Elizabeth Smoke. Lizzie and Morgan had gone to school together, learning the arts of witchcraft and sorcery in many of the same classes and often in competition for the same boys. While the whole concept of a witch school seemed a little too Harry Potter for Melvin, he had learned to keep an open mind since marrying Morgan. He accepted such new information without smart remarks and with as few questions possible. Morgan had trained him well.

"I don't even know where to start," Lizzie said, her lip trembling. A glimmer leaked from the corner of one hazel eye and slid down her cheek like a wet caterpillar. She flicked away the unwanted tear. Morgan placed a steady hand over Lizzie's wrists.

"Try and start from the beginning," Morgan replied, meeting Lizzie's glance with encouraging eyes.

2. Amy and Elizabeth Meet Arthur

Everything happened because Amy was horny. Not just a little horny, but a whole 'lotta horny, the kind of horny that showed up screaming in the dead of night like a hungry infant who won't stop until you feed it. Amy decided to feed it and feed it some of the good stuff, preferably the best grade of man meat she could get her catty little paws on.

Lizzie got caught up in the entire affair only because she was Amy's roommate, and Amy insisted on having a good wingman, or in this case, wing-woman. Amy more or less dragged Liz out of the apartment, a smirk on her face.

"We're going on safari, Lizzie. Tonight we hunt penis!" she said and laughed. Her voice echoed throughout the entire apartment complex. Amy had one of those laughs, the ones you can hear across the room no matter how loud things get. Amy was also a witch, just not a very good one. However, she made a hell of a hash brown casserole. Amy liked to claim it was because she used the best homemade 'hash' in town, grown on her windowsill.

Amy and Elizabeth found him on their very first stop.

"Penis, three o'clock," Amy said as soon as they walked through the door, out of the cool breeze of the night and into the pulsing disco beat of the club. "I'm going to shoot that hunk with a tranquilizer dart and tag the shit out of him."

Elizabeth had to admit that Amy picked up the scent of a looker. His jet black hair was slightly long but fashionable, his curly bangs stopped just short of his dark eyes, and he kept having to swipe his hair out of his face in a way that was somehow becoming. He was tall and muscular; a tight black t-shirt barely contained a wealth of bulging muscles. Amy decided she was going to fuck him before the night was over and told Elizabeth exactly that. She took almost no time at all to come to this decision.

Amy made her way over to him, and they danced while Elizabeth made herself comfortable at the bar, downing vodka tonics and flirting some with a hunky bartender. She wasn't too interested in the bartender, but it helped pass the time until Amy returned with her prize hunk in tow.

"Lizzie, meet Art. Art, Lizzie," Amy said. The man, Art, held out his hand, took Elizabeth's in his own and gave it a perfunctory shake. Lizzie gave him a slight smile. He smiled back, and Elizabeth did her best not to jump. His teeth. So damned sharp! They gleamed like blades in the red-green pulse of the floor lights. She blinked; they were normal. Elizabeth steadied herself. She thought she had maybe too much to drink. Her eyes wanted to play tricks on her.

"Nice to meet you," Art said.

"You, too."

"Well," Amy said, and she stepped between the two of them, taking Elizabeth's hands and placing them around Amy's thin waist. "Now that we all know each other, are we going to fuck or not?"

As horny as Amy was, the question did not catch Elizabeth off guard. It wasn't the first time Amy had suddenly suggested a threesome with a hot male, and typically, Elizabeth had no problem with accepting such a proposal. Only tonight... Lizzie thought about Art's teeth, sharp as daggers, gleaming in the red flashing lights, and she thought about those teeth so close to her neck, his tepid breath on her skin as he might lean in to kiss her... to BITE her. She shook her head. Williams triggered something in her witch sense in the worst possible way.

-"Witch sense?" interrupted Melvin at this point of the narrative. "Is that anything like Spider-sense?"

Morgan smacked him the back of the head with enough force to make all Three Stooges proud and said, "Sorry, he reads too many comic books. Please, continue."-

"You two kids have fun, Amy. Tonight, he's all yours," Elizabeth replied and gave Amy a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Your loss," Amy shrugged. "All the more man meat for moi!"

Thinking back, Elizabeth should have known it was more than a little funny that Amy would want to take a strange man to bed so soon after meeting her. Perhaps Arthur Williams had cast some kind of spell on Amy, a spell that for whatever reason (maybe the burning sensation of the vodka tonics in her gut?) Elizabeth had resisted. But at the time neither Amy nor Lizzie had known who they were dealing with. How could they? Arthur Williams was one of the most powerful demons in all of hell.

-"Arthur Williams?" Morgan said. "Are you sure?" She leaned back deep into her chair, and Melvin recognized an expression of cold fear sink into Morgan's face. He had never seen her look that way before, and he didn't like it one bit. She was the most powerful person he'd met, and he had never seen a side of her that had been disturbed with so much a burnt batch of cookies, let alone with fear.

"Positive," Lizzie replied. Her hands had finally steadied. She seemed to have steeled herself for the finale of her story, her eyes looking through them, lost in deep memory. Melvin had the feeling it would prove to be more grim than the grimmest of any of Grimm's fairy tales.-

While not interested in participating in the sexual festivities, Lizzie decided she should be close enough in case anything should happen to Amy; the memory of Art's teeth glistening like a crocodile's smile kept churning through her mind. And hell, just in case she got hot, Lizzie planned on having a dildo handy, so it wouldn't be that big of a loss if Arthur turned out to be a stud in the sack.

Amy took Art back to their place. Lizzie could practically hear Amy tearing his clothes off through the wall, and Lizzie figured she should get a good look at what was going on. Just to make sure that Amy was safe, or so she told herself. Lizzie stole across the hall as quiet as a ninja (or so she told herself, having watched too many late-night action movies) and cracked open the bedroom door, snatching a peek at the lovers. Amy and Art had already jump-started the proceedings to full gear.

Lizzie admired the beauty of her roommate, and she supposed the feeling was mutual as the two women often shared the same bed. Amy had light brown hair, one side cut short while the other hung down like a half-veil. It gave her a look of always having one side of her head slightly tilted in a becoming way, and Art had one hand fisted into the wealth of hair on Amy's right side. Amy, meanwhile, stroked his hardened cock into her red lipsticked mouth with quick, fluid motions.

Elizabeth felt the warmth of an oily heat gathering between her legs. Her hand slipped down her skirt.

This Art guy was pretty cut, Lizzie had to admit; his muscles flexed as he tensed and inhaled a pleasurable gasp through his lips. He formed an almost statuesque figure, something carved by the likes of Michelangelo or a similar teenaged mutant turtle on a good day. His cock was appropriately perfect, long and thick. Amy gobbled it up with enthusiasm, her saliva dripping in spiraling white strings along its shaft.

"Like that fat cock in my mouth?" Amy asked after slipping it out with a wet slurp.

"Yeah, baby, yeah. Don't stop," Art said through heaving breaths.

Amy replied by slapping the purple head against the side of her face and then her tongue before swallowing it up into her throat. A mixture of spit and pre-cum glistened on her tan cheek.

Watching them from the hall, Elizabeth closed her eyes as her fingers played across her swollen clit. She bit her bottom lip, trying so hard to be quiet. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to do it; Amy and Art looked so hot together. Amy's athletic trim body, her bobbing brown hair, Art's gnashed teeth, his bulging biceps, his hands gripping the sides of Amy's head: all of this added together was almost too much to take.

But then Amy popped his cock out of his mouth, and they headed to the bed, Amy leading Art by the arm. Amy's cheeks were flushed, and her lips were red not only with lipstick but with use, the kind of lusty red lips Amy got after making out or sucking dick for extended periods of time.

Amy pushed Art onto the mattress and climbed on top of him. Her breasts jiggled as she jumped on the bed after him, straddling the lucky bastard. Taking his cock in one hand, she maneuvered over him and then impaled herself on it, a shriek of joy bursting from her mouth. The woman wasted no time getting to business; that was what Lizzie liked about her.

Elizabeth teased the slick entrance of her pussy with two fingers as she silently watched.

Art cupped Amy's breasts as she fucked him, his eyes bulging dangerously in their sockets. Lizzie half-expected them to explode out and then dangle down his face like the bouncy balls, the ones attached to those wooden paddles with a cheap rubber band, the kind Lizzie hated to play with when she was a kid. Amy's ass rippled as she bounced up and down on Art's cock, her cries becoming a constant high-pitched whine.

Lizzie sucked air between her teeth as she inserted one finger into her dripping slit.

Amy bucked on top of him, her thighs slapping Art's legs, her moans rising in her throat. Hair flung like a brown tornado around one side of her head. Art gripped the side of her head where Amy's hair was short with one hand, staring at her with an intense look.

"Ah, yeah, make mommy feel good, fucker!" Amy hummed, gyrating on the erection driven into her, her hands on Art's chest, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"Wait, no, no you're going to make me..." Art protested, and then his skin turned bright red. Smoke sizzled off his skin. Lizzie gasped from her position in the hall and froze, two fingers still halfway up inside of her. Arthur's teeth sharpened and protruded through his mouth like a nest of needles; his eyes turned yellow and snake-like; horns burst through the top of his head and pointed at the ceiling like drawn swords. Amy bucked frantically on top of this demon, caught in a momentum of pleasure and dawning horror, attempting to escape but caught by the demon's powerful grip.

"CUMMM!" Arthur roared in an inhuman voice.

Amy tried to scream but nothing came out but a watery gurgle. Then cum, white gooey and thick cum, exploded out of her mouth. It ran from her ears, leaked from behind her eyes like snotty tears. Amy spasmed and tried to speak, to cry for help that could not come; but only more cum poured out of her mouth, oozing down her chin and splashing against her breasts.

Elizabeth stifled a scream, bringing a hand to cover her mouth as she watched Amy caught her in death throes, cum spooling from all of Amy's bodily orifices.

"Yes, witch. Drown in the cold jism of Arthur Williams. Die like the others before you and the rest after," the demon growled, and Amy slid off him, the creature's freed cock still erect and dark purple, shimmering with Amy's juices. The witch fell to the ground, twitching but undeniably dead, her body covered and bloated with demon seed.

Terrified, Elizabeth ran. Her legs flew under her; her heart slammed in her ears. All she could see was an image seared into her mind: Amy's open mouth, spewing demon cum. Tears streamed down Lizzie's face. The front door grew closer, and she stretched out her hands, grasping the cool metal of the knob and twisting. She thought she might make it unscathed, not hearing footsteps behind her, and she snuck a glance over her shoulder as she threw open the front door and dove into the street.

Behind her the demon stood, Amy's head in its hands, and it threw the head at Elizabeth like the headless horseman tossing a pumpkin at hapless Ichabod Crane. The airborne head laughed, a screeching horrible cackle, and Lizzie threw a spell at it, lightening crackling off her fingers. The lightening landed on its mark, and (still laughing) Amy's head exploded just before hitting Lizzie, showering her with blood and bits of brains.

"You can run, witch! But you can't hide!" the demon's maniacal voice followed her into the street.

"Come up with something original, you hell-spawned asshole!" Lizzie said and disappeared into the night.

3. Back-story of a Demon

"I didn't know where else to go," said Lizzie. Her bottom lip trembled with oncoming sobs, and she continued, "I am so sorry!"

"You did the right thing," Morgan said and patted the girl's arm. "No one can take on Arthur Williams alone, and you did the only thing you could do."

"I didn't want to drag you into all of this. I really didn't," Lizzie said and looked up, her eyes shiny and glimmering with tears. They spilled over and cut wet paths down her cheeks. Morgan leaned over and gently kissed them away. She stroked Lizzie's hair and held her shuddering body. The young blonde girl wept in the witch's comforting arms.

"It'll be ok, dear, really it will."

Melvin watched them, his wife and this close friend she had never told him about, and he thought about how much of Morgan's life was still a mystery, a multitude of shadows and vague hints that he had yet to enlighten or unravel. He figured he'd have plenty of time, centuries had been promised to him, but he didn't think there would ever be enough minutes in a day to learn as much about Morgan as he really wanted to know.

"Who is Arthur Williams?" Melvin asked, unable to keep the question to himself any longer. Morgan's sharp blue eyes drifted, searching memories, flipping through invisible files kept deep in her conscious mind. She appeared to settle on one, and her gaze caught Melvin's eyes.

"A witch hunter in life," Morgan sighed. She put her hands together, bridging the knuckles, and thoughtfully placed her chin down on the hand-made finger platform.

"And after death, I suppose. But before that little historical fun-fest known as the Salem witch trials got out of hand, people had no problem believing in the need for protection from the forces of darkness. Which of course, the God-fearing Puritan community believed witches to be a part of. Enter Arthur Williams."

"He killed a lot of innocent people," Elizabeth added, sniffling, and sipped gingerly from her mug of hot chocolate. Her eyes had a haunted look; ghosts only she could see passed through them, a marching procession of the dead imploring her to exact their revenge. Lizzie felt she'd already failed them once and wasn't sure if she was up to a second challenge.

"And he would have continued doing so if he hadn't by blind dumb luck or fate or something actually ran into a real witch. He made the mistake of confronting her. But before dear Arthur could make a proper accusation, the witch cast a hex on him. Under her spell, he stormed into the local magistrate's home and confessed to bewitching all the innocent men and women he had previously accused and sent to the noose. He confessed to being what he hated most, a so-called agent of darkness, a warlock," Morgan said with a grim smile. She closed her eyes and continued.

"On the gallows, right before the trap door swung open and sent Arthur Williams to hell, he cursed all witches, swearing on his soul he would see them dead, every last one. Of course, dear Arthur most likely assumed that he'd be making this case before God, not at all considering that it would be Satan in the end. But some form of deal was indeed struck with the Lord of Flies for here he has come, seen with Lizzie's own eyes: a demon fulfilling his dying curse."

"I always thought he was kind of a boogeyman for witches," Lizzie replied. "Most of us assumed he was fake, you know, a... a... rumor created to keep us always on the alert. I guess most of us were wrong."

"We have to stop him," Morgan said in a cold, hard voice that Melvin understood was not to be argued. Morgan stood up from the table, and blue fire burned in her eyes.

"We have to stop him."

Melvin didn't mean to rain on Morgan's parade, but her bold proclamation seemed inherently problematic. Giving voice to these misgivings, he was forced to ask, "But how?"

Her confidence bubble officially burst, Morgan sat back down and shrugged.

"And there's the rub," she said. She leaned back in her chair and blew a deep sigh through her lips, her breath rustling up and through the long dark locks of hair brushing against her forehead.

Even at such an odd moment, Melvin was impressed by her beauty.

"You know you're right, Melvin," Morgan said, catching his thought in her mind as if plucking a fluttering feather off a breeze, "We have the perfect bait."

Lizzie looked up from across the table, a questioning look on her face. Morgan exchanged glances with her and then turned, flashing a wide and deliberate smile at Melvin. He was almost afraid to ask.