BMOC: Black Mage on Campus, Chapter 1: The Devil in the Details

Author’s Note: I promised this story awhile ago, but as I told a friend, it’s difficult to fantasize when enjoying a healthy sex-life. However here is the next series of Damien Stories. I would like to warn readers to be mindful that my stories are a Gay Porn Soap opera and many of the storylines and characters repeat. This continues the plot set up in the “Old Black Magic” series as well as the “Hex-Files.” If you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, go back and take a look at them if you get confused. Please e-mail me with feedback, I’m always looking for new story ideas involving Mind control, muscle growth, or transformation in general and I really do like to know that this arduous amount of work is being appreciated. [email protected] and remember guys if you enjoy the stories on this site, it only takes an afternoon to write your own fantasy down.

Magic doesn’t care whether you believe in it or not. The less people drawing chalk circles and destroying their mothers freshly scrubbed floor boards, or wasting perfectly good chicken bones, (which could be used in a hearty soup or stew) is all the better. Quite frankly, Magic has enough people on the payroll and is so swamped at the moment, that it’s looking to outsource some projects to low level mysticism.

The Vaughn family has never been able to be bothered with believing in magic. That would be redundant. It’s the family business. The Vaughn’s have dealt in curses, hexes and glass slippers longer then anyone cares to remember. It’s been said that there was a Vaughn in the court of every prolific ruler in European history, that the Vaughn’s advised kings and queens and shaped history from the shadows of arcane anonymity. It was said a Vaughn warned Marie Antoinette of her impending radical haircut before galloping from Versailles to safety and that it was a Vaughn who led the Tudor’s to success in the war of the roses. …Mostly this was said by granny Vaughn when she had had a little too much sherry after dinner and the conversation seemed to be lagging.

When you’re raised in a family that keeps black cats and dances naked under the light of a full moon, it’s difficult to separate myth from mysticism.

What could be stated with a degree of unerring certainty is that : the Vaughn’s were cursed. A fact granny Vaughn was very forthcoming about to her brood of young grandchildren. It was a story each of the 4 young Vaughn children could recite by heart. Instead of Curious George or Paddington bear, the Vaughn children were sent to bed with the whispered tale of Desiderata Vaughn and her terrible curse. Some might consider this cruel, but in Granny’s opinion it was better to know that heartbreak was built into your gene’s then having it suddenly confront you on your wedding day. If you expect to be alone at the altar or wake to a corpse in your honeymoon bed, it tends to lessen the shock.

The curse on the Vaughn’s was simple and to the point. The Vaughn family line was to be a scourge on Mankind.

Emphasis on the “man.”

No Man could ever love a Vaughn. It was an edict that ran through the blood of the clan. It was also hastily inscribed on the front porch as a warning to the local boys. It would perhaps been more effective if it weren’t written in Latin, with the state of modern education being what it is today.

In her defense Desiderata never meant to curse her progeny, her real intent was to curse men.

Any man.

All men.

If it walked on three legs and couldn’t stop for directions, she wanted to see it suffer. And suffer they did. Every Vaughn Girl was violently beautiful, faces to launch ships, curves to drive men to murder and blue eyes that haunted dreams. The Vaughn girls were toxic angels. At the onset of puberty they became paragons of feminine mystique that catapulted through life leaving broken hearts, aching lust and destroyed ego’s in their wake.

As a rule Witches are spindly, wart ridden creatures of disdain. Because it’s generally unfair to be both powerful and beautiful. Unfortunately for the Vaughns they had it all. Beauty and power and neither could save the men they loved or help dissuade the ones they didn’t from disaster.

Currently the youngest and admittedly most beautiful of the Vaughn Grandchildren was working toward her degree in social work at the local college. Remington College was also a tradition in the Vaughn family. Desiderata when arriving in America and settling in the tiny hamlet of Remington almost single handedly funded the college’s transition from local teaching academy to private university some 80 years ago. All the Vaughn girls had gone there…some had even graduated.

Allysandra Vaughn, Alyssa or Ally to her friends, was a hippy with a heart of gold. In an effort to avoid hurting any poor unsuspecting man with her family’s curse, she had decided to remain a virgin. This course of action didn’t exactly work. Abstaining from the many invitations and affections of her male classmates had quite a negative effect. Many young men pined away late hours of the night and hated their own girlfriends for not being Alyssa. They lusted for her. They begged for her. Not Having Alyssa tortured men as much as if she did date them. The Vaughn’s didn’t have any choice in the matter; they were going to torment men one way or another. And to Alyssa’s dismay the scourge the Vaughn’s caused on campus was about to get decidedly worse….


The freshly mowed field spread out to the distance of the night like a great green quilt. The moon saturated sky poured blue light on three solitary figures illuminated by candlelight. An eldritch voice rose above the quiet “WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET ANON?”

“I have to baby-sit on Tuesday.”

“I have a final next week, I need to study for.”

“Well, I guess we can just e-mail each other and figure it out…”

Alyssa Vaughn looked furtively at her three companions sitting in a somewhat lopsided circle in the middle of the university’s darkened football field. IT wasn’t quite a coven to inspire awe. To her left sat a perky blonde with big, green, doe eyes, who possessed a body that could best be described as lush and a mind like tapioca pudding. Amy probably wasn’t the best choice for a Wiccan circle but she was Alyssa’s best friend and as such was reliably supportive even if she had no idea why she was there. To Amy’s extreme left sat two other students whose grand distinction for entrance to tonight’s ceremony was that they had both replied to the flier Alyssa had hung in the dorm common room. “Come commune with Nature, become one with the Great Spirit, and learn the traditions of ancient Wicca! (Vegan refreshments available).”

The girl was the typical sort that came and went. All dark clothing and black nail polish. She called herself Deliria but Alyssa suspected her mother most likely called her Becky or heather. That’s what most witchcraft had been reduced to in today’s world, melodramatic music and poor choices in fashion. Deliria was nice enough but Alyssa would have preferred someone who read more Silver Raven wolf and a little less Ann Rice.

Sitting next to “deliria” was a pale and gangly boy who made awkwardness seem like an innate talent. His name was Tom. Everyone referred to him as Tommy though. There was a bit too much dignity in the name Tom. Tommy seemed far more suitable for a boy who made yard sticks look obese. His bristly bleached bangs stuck up like a flag over his too large nose and ears.

They were quite the rag-tag group but it was better then chanting and praying by herself, her sorority sisters although open to most forms of anti-establishment congregation would never have approved. One of the things she had promised dear old granny Vaughn was that she would keep tradition alive and teach anyone who wanted the old ways. Granny wouldn’t have exactly been proud that Alyssa was teaching random freshmen how to call the corners or pull down the moon but it did give Ally the opportunity to use the little meetings as a credit toward graduation.

Ally stood up and brushed grass off her little floral skirt. Her sky blue eyes twinkled behind her long silky blonde bangs. She watched in satisfied pleasure as Tommy’s breath caught. She was a Vaughn. She knew she was beautiful. It was nice to know other people knew it too. “Merry Part then, the circle is done!” She held out a hand to Amy, “can you grab the candles Amy? I know coach Harris will be pissed if he finds them during tackling drills tomorrow morning.”

Amy gave her a big grin and began chucking white candles in her backpack.

“That’s it?” whined Tommy.

Alyssa regarded him with a cool eye, “You expected more?”

“This was just a bunch of mumbo jumbo! Praise be to the goddess this and blessed be the goddess that. Holding hands and being quiet.”

“You were more interested in, pentagrams and revenge spells?” Alyssa asked with a dangerous tilt in her melodic voice.

“Well… yeah!”

“This isn’t a Harry potter novel Tommy. It’s my religion. And it’s very insulting of you to be so pop culture about it.” Alyssa sniffed. “You want to use magic to get what you want? Punish your enemies? Take a piece for yourself? You want some power,” she said snippily.

“Fuck yeah!” Tommy said his eyes lighting up excitedly.

“That’s not what magic is for,” she said with a note of finality.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” a deep resonant voice interjected.

“You stay out of this Damien Vaughn.” She said with the quick response time that can only be developed over years of sibling rivalry.

Off to the side of their litter circle a large form shrugged indifferently. “Just trying to instigate discussion, Ally.” His ice blue eyes glowed with mirth. “Or dissention.”

Damien was 11 months, 17 days and 6 hours older then Alyssa. He never let her forget it for a moment. As older brother’s go he was pretty A typical- Bossy- Condescending- judgmental- and piously interfering. He sat with the shadow’s cloaking him like a blanket, his now large frame bundled in loose fitting sweats the color of a moonless midnight. The cowl of his hoody was pulled up far- hiding all but his luminous crystal eyes in their depths. It was somewhat tragic that they were born so close together, otherwise they may have be friends instead of merely family. There close proximity in age and their polar personalities made growing up together less then pleasant. Granny Vaughn used to call them night and day or on rare occasions when Damien was behaving particularly frustrating she referred to them as “the good one” and “That god-forsaken, hell-spawn, changeling the fey left in your mother’s cradle to torment me!”

Damien was fair where Alyssa’s skin gleamed a deep healthy bronze in the deepest winter. Damien had the hereditary inky black Vaughn hair where as Alyssa took after her father with long blonde curls. Damien was quiet. Alyssa was as perky and boisterous as a highly caffeinated stewardess. Alyssa followed the rule of the three, gave back to the land, and strove for balance.

Damien… well Damien didn’t.

The only rules Damien liked were those he could break…and break hard. He didn’t give back. He gave people what he felt they deserved. Balance was completely abhorrent to his nature. He liked Chaos utter and complete chaos.

For all there differences they did share several things in common- the blue eyes of course. Somewhere in the Vaughn genetics was a vein of sapphire. Most likely it was connected to the gene that gave the Vaughn’s their involuntary gift for magic.

Magic, they also shared that.

…but of course there was the polarizing issue of gender. Alyssa was a woman down to her pink toenails. Damien was a man, which caused Granny Vaughn an endless amount of anxiety. Damien was the only male Vaughn, to be born in generations. The Vaughn’s turned out little black hat wearing girls like a fine tuned machine. Men had no business being witches. They didn’t have the temperament. But there he sat… an aberration. A dangerous one at that. Not only was he decidedly male, he was also terribly more gifted in the craft then she or any of their other siblings. Partly because of an almost inconceivable natural affinity for it and also because he had spent years upon years studying magic in all it’s forms from theory to ritual… until he was a living arsenal of arcane knowledge. Most dangerous of all Damien understood Quantum theory. Understand Quantum and you understand just about everything. The most rudimentary philosophy Granny Vaughn ever instilled in her grandchildren was “Never bet on a sure thing and always get the gentlemen’s name and address.” Damien had studied Chaos theory to quantum theory. He could pontificate on the laws of probability and the malleable structure of time. He did his undergrad in Physics and Sociology. He new more about Steven Hawking then he did about Allistar Crawly.

He was something the world has never known before: A Well educated witch. It’s no coincidence that arcane might traditionally was held in the grubby hands of old ladies who spent too much time in their gardens and talked to their cats. It keeps the playing field level. Not Damien. He had a genius level intellect and a finely educated mind. Another of poor Granny Vaughn’s qualms with him. There weren’t many things Granny Vaughn disapproved of but an Education in magic, was definitely at the top.

Granny had thought at least Damien would manage to escape the Vaughn curse being a man himself, however that proved quite untrue. Fate has quite the sense of humor. Damien was a worse scourge on men then a beautiful woman could have ever been.

“I told you, you could come IF you didn’t speak,” she said loudly to her brother without looking at him.

“Yes maam,” he responded with no hint of respect in his amused tone.

Alyssa began helping Amy pack up the ritual supplies. This was the first time Damien had spoken all night and if he had suddenly decided to get chatty, the night was going to take a turn for the worse. She could see Tommy and “Deliria” eyeing him excitedly and suppressed a groan.

“Do you know any magic?” Deliria asked with dry excited lips.

Eyes of glittering ice regarded her coolly.“I’ve been known to pull a rabbit out of hat in my time.” He noticed Alyssa’s back stiffen in agitation, then added, “However Alyssa’s has always been much better at candles, runes and Mother Earth then I could ever be.” No one but Alyssa noticed the cutting edge of the taunt.

“What are you good at?” Deliria asked hungrily.

“Causing trouble,” Alyssa snapped. “And at least for tonight he can bloody well be good at keeping his mouth shut.”

For a minute Alyssa felt a stab of fear. Damien was giving her a flat icy glare. This was the same look that usually precipitated the death of several of her Barbies when they were kids. He rose fluidly out of his seated position and stood to his full height. Large, square shoulders loomed above her head. Shit, he had gotten so big. She remembered her brother as a skinny, 5’10” punk… not this… this… Man.

“…You agreed.” She almost stammered

“Yes I did and I believe I’ve lived up to my half of our agreement, yet you have yet to meet yours.” He took a step forward large legs undulating against the dark blue cotton of his sweats, “I want my notebook, Glinda.”

Alyssa shook her head in apology, “Look Damien, Peter was supposed to be here tonight. I can’t imagine why he isn’t. He said he’d bring it back to me tonight…I guess I can call him in the morning.” Why was that ratty old notebook so important anyway? It had sat in her closet since he graduated, a forgotten piece of random trash, Filled to overflowing with Damien’s spidery hand. Unintelligible notes on the Medici’s and Borgia’s, funny pictures and remnant quotes from Italian hymnals. Translations from archaic and arguably useless Grimoire’s. She had only lent it to Peter because he was taking a class on medieval literature. Then suddenly her older brother shows up on her doorstep demanding it back. Hell he hadn’t given a damn about it for years.

Damien was about to give her a nasty response when he suddenly, looked away. He stared past the bleachers for a moment and his blank expression erupted in a sudden smile. He turned back to her and said, “Shouldn’t you be getting along.” It was a clear dismissal. “I know how you enjoy getting up with the dawn to do yoga and cleanse your charkas and all that rut.”

Alyssa stuck out her tongue at him. “Fine, spend all night out here in the cold. It’s not going to get you that stupid notebook any quicker.”

His smile grew wider. “Oh I don’t know about that.” He seemed to consider for a minute. “There’s more then one way to skin a cat…”—the smile grew malicious—“as I’m sure you well remember.”

Alyssa made a strangled gasp, “I loved that cat!”

Damien shrugged “I was six. I was curious. I wanted to see how it worked.”

Alyssa squared her shoulders. “We are leaving!” she announced. She marched across the field, toting her little coven behind her.

Damien just watched them go. He seemed to be waiting for something…

“Is your brother really that powerful?” Amy asked in whisper.

“Yes,” was Alyssa’s simple answer. “But magic always comes with a price.” She looked back and shivered, “And I wouldn’t want to face his fate for all the gold in heaven or silver in hell.”


Finally! I thought they’d never leave. My sister, as much as it irritates me to admit, is right. I am paying a price. A hefty one. I’m losing control of my powers, and it’s starting to irritate me… and unfortunately it’s going to kill me, which is why I need that damn book. If I hadn’t destroyed my collection of priceless manuscripts and years of carefully catalogued notes I wouldn’t be in this predicament. As it is I need to find every remaining scrap of my research in hopes of finding a solution to my problem. Which is why I need that damn book!

…speaking of which, here it comes.

Peter hurtled past the bleachers, panting and gasping as fast as his untrained legs could take him. Alyssa would be down there. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and began to run faster. Those guys wouldn’t do anything in front of witnesses.

He was running with such panic that he didn’t even notice the brick wall until he bounced of off it, collapsing to the ground. Peter looked up and realized it wasn’t a brick wall. IT was a man. A big one.

“You’re late.” It rumbled.

“Please!” Peter squeaked, “you gotta help me. These guys are chasing me, and they’re gonna kick my ass if they …”

The large man grumbled, “OF course there’s guys chasing him,” he said to himself and then looked skyward. “Why do I have to be the bloody patron bloody saint of helpless fags?”

Peter recoiled from the hooded stranger. “How do you know I’m gay?” he spat defensively.

“Law of averages.” The guy eyed him condescendingly, “plus you run like a girl.”

For lack of anything else to say Peter mumbled, “I’m Peter.”

“I’m aware.”

There was a long pause, then the guy sighed and pulled back his hood. The face beneath was angular with a hard masculine jaw. Short black hair ended in bleached tips. His lips and cheeks were lined with a tight black beard. “I’m Damien.” The most striking feature of that face however was two gleaming crystal eyes that betrayed no emotion but glinted devilishly in the full-moon light.

Peter sagged with relief. “You’re Alyssa’s brother.”

“Among other things.”

Suddenly a crowd of about ten angry college guys rounded the bleachers and made their way toward them. The smell of stale beer, pungent marijuana and rampant testosterone wafted forward.

“That would be the literal barbarians at the proverbial gate I take it?” Damien asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Shit! We gotta get outta here!” Peter yelped and jumped to his feet to run.

Damien reached out a big paw and grabbed his shoulder. “Stay right where you are.”


“Because I can’t protect you if you are across the field, little rabbit. Now, stand still and try not to wet yourself.” Something seemed to suddenly occur to Damien, “Why are they chasing you?”

Peter shuffled his feet, “Well… I er….”

“Who’s your friend FAGGOT?” A deep resonate bass voice yelled. The angry villagers had reached the castle. They stood in a crowd. Enough large athletic drunken Frat Boys to fill a locker room. They stunk of booze, pot and animal rage.

Damien smiled; he could already feel the thunder rolling inside him. “10 large Frat monkeys after one little rabbit?” He shook his head. “Now, that’s just unsporting.”

A tall wide shoulder boy with pretty features and a well developed chest strode forward. “Look… dude… a… sir?” He fumbled. Obviously this young man was more intelligent then his slobbering angry friends. “Peter owes us an explanation, so if you could just go on your way, we’d much appreciate it.” The young looker drawled in a distinctly southern accent. Texas maybe?

Damien sighed and looked down at the terrified-bug eyed kid at his feet. “What exactly did you do?” He asked steeling his patience for the answer.

“LITTLE PERV TRIED TO STEAL MY FUCKING JOCKSTRAP!” The largest of the boys stepped forward. He was slightly shorter then the Texan, but he was thicker, wider and more compact. Dark brown hair was styled angelically above a sweet, boy next door face. His eyes were the luminous liquid brown of puppy dogs. They were dreamy and sympathetic. Well they would have been but his face seemed trained toward cruelty. He seemed accustomed to barking orders from lips that were pulled in a perpetual sneer. He had terrible Chi. Damien didn’t much care for this guy at all.

“You did what?” Damien asked amused, his eyebrows arching in disbelief.

“I was… I was…” Peter fumbled. Then gave a sour look up a Damien, “You should understand, your sister says you know magic too!”

Damien began to giggle uncontrollably. “You stole that brute’s underwear for a spell…”

The tall Texan thought he found an opening for negotiation. My, wasn’t he sly and intelligent. “See he’s a fucking freak, now let’s just be men about this… let us teach him a quick lesson and knock some sense in him.”

Damien admired the kid’s people skills and moxy, but his teeth still grated. Ever since he cast that damn transformation spell in a moment of supreme weakness, this type of thing kept happening. Other men would discourse with him in the macho buddy-buddy chummy-chummy vernacular of misogyny. It was quite perturbing. “I think not. Now go back to your frat house and intoxicate yourselves like good boys…” his smile grew impossibly colder, “before someone gets hurt.”

“Don’t take any shit from this dude, Rob,” a short, sweat-suit wearing kid yelled. So, the Texan’s name was Rob. Interesting.

Rob gave Damien a weary look. The kid was smart enough to recognize Damien’s threat and even smarter to be cautious. “Who are you anyway?”

“Damien.” There was a pause, “Damien Vaughn.”


Half the onlookers became noticeably agitated and began looking for a quick escape. From the back of the crowd a shaggy haired heavy shouldered boy stepped forward, “Rob,” He said to the Texan with the wide back and narrow waist, Then looked at the brutish all American boy, “Leo… we better go back to the frat…now.”

Damien looked closely at this new voice of reason. For the first time in years Damien was actually so shocked he couldn’t hide it. “Drake?” He asked incredulously.

The shaggy haired boy looked down at his feet in shame, “Hi Damien.” He mumbled.

Damien puffed out his chest and clicked his tongue in disgust, “Drake Harrington. I knew you were capable of some silly shit but this is… even beyond my boundless imagination.”

“You know this guy?” Petulant Leo asked his buddy. Drake Harrington was handsome… the way soap opera stars were. He was Tiger Beat handsome with light blue eyes. Teenage heartthrob packed into a meaty face with a brawny frame to match. Drake was a cross between a blacksmith and a pin up.

And yes they did know each other.

Drake, for his part, wasn’t ready to tell anyone’s secrets especially his own, “He’s a Vaughn. Everyone who was raised around here knows about the Vaughns.”

It was true. In the Town of Remington, the Vaughns were half local celebrity, half urban legend. In this tiny college town there were as many stories about the Vaughns as there were street signs. When you have a family of witches that cause as much trouble as the Vaughns, word gets around. Half of them true, half of them tall tales. But everyone who grew up there knew one thing was for sure. The Vaughns were not to be fucked with.

Rob seemed to consider for a minute, “Vaughn?” His Texan drawl seemed to remember something, “Didn’t some chick a couple years ago, named Vaughn jump off the…”

“THAT’S Enough…” Damien yelled, cutting rob off mid-sentence. “…local folklore for one night.”

Drake raised his big meaty hands pleadingly, “look Damien half these guys aren’t from around here. They don’t know any better.”

Leo pumped his fists angrily in the air. As far as he was concerned this was ridiculous. This Vaughn dude who ever he was, was standing between him and something he wanted. Years of being raised as the favorite son of a Rhode island real estate broker had taught him that nothing he wanted was not his to take. “You’re a bigger pussy then Peter is, Drake.”

“Fuck this faggot too!” The short kid in sweats barked. My wasn’t he the loudmouth. He had an unkempt beard that hung beneath a big bold nose. His long hair was stuffed beneath a tight skull cap and he had a positively Napoleonic swagger. Damien sighed, the infamous temperament of the short man. The guy couldn’t have stood more then 5’8” or 5’9” but his sweats did little to hide the tight muscular build. He was a hot head. Damien could tell this by the rock the little prick was now throwing at his head.

A look of horror crossed Drake’s face, “Ben NO!” he barked trying to dissuade his aggressive, shorter frat brother.

The rock hurtled towards Damien. Behind him, Peter squealed in terror and convulsed into a defensive crouch.

He caught the rock without ever shifting his gaze from the four ringleaders and their six friends. His fist clenched around the offending projectile weapon. The short kid, Ben was his name apparently, looked completely stunned. “I warned you,” Damien practically whispered. He wheeled back his own big arm and threw the rock. His throw overshot however and skittered off to the right. It struck the bleachers with a resounding thud.

Ben and Leo laughed condescendingly, “You missed! You limp-wristed bitch!”

Blue eyes regarded them expressionlessly. “Perhaps you weren’t aware of what I was aiming at.”

From beneath the bleachers the shrieks of a hundred disturbed mammals echoed across the dark field. A cloud of pure black rose angrily and vengeance bore down on the group of frat boys on a flock of leathery wings.


Bats swarmed up chirping and soaring across the field, scattering the angry mob. Fraternity blazers were lost among the seemingly ceaseless onslaught of bats taking flight from their roost.

”Limp-wristed indeed,” Damien muttered.

He turned toward Peter who was frozen in horror. He had been terrified of getting beaten to death by the Kappa Omega Frat boys. He was now however much more suspicious of his savior. “Stealing underwear?” Damien spat. “I’m aware that some men have this particularly exotic fetish, but do you think it’s worth your life, little rabbit?”

“It was for a spell…” Peter rambled and stuttered still petrified with fear, “I read about it online… a body swap spell…”

Damien’s calm and glacial face twisted in disgust. “You wanted to steal Leo’s body?” He advanced on the pathetic cringing freshmen. “You wanted to steal another man’s hard won physique and prowess. To thieve what you yourself are too lazy to accomplish on your own?” The intimidating man’s voice dripped with revulsion. His whole body twitched, repulsed at the concept.

Peter started to back away looking very much like the rabbit Damien had called him. “I thought if I used one of the spells in that notebook…that I could…you know I could…”

Damien’s head shot up. All his loathing melted into sudden concern, “The notebook! You have it. Give it to me!”

Peter was no longer inching away… he was crawling at a dead run. “I er…. I think I dropped it.”

Fists clenched. Teeth grated. Crystal eyes drilled holes in his forehead. “You dropped it!”

“HEY FAGGOT You lose something!”


Damien whirled around. The mob and the bats were gone. The three boys, Ben, Rob and Leo however were regrettably still there. And there was a conspicuous marble notebook in Leo’s hand. “You want this?” Rob jeered tauntingly. He reached into the pocket of his Remington Letterman’s Jacket and produced a lighter. He struck the flame agonizingly close to the notebook’s crinkled yellow pages.

“NO!” Damien yelled. And cursed himself for not keeping the desperation out of his voice.

“It must be real important.” Leo mused flipping through the books crinkled pages.

“I think it’s time for a bonfire!” Ben shouted and then hiccupped loudly.

Damien was back peddling like a politician in a sex scandal, “It’s nothing, a useless little notepad filled with junk… But it is mine.”

Leo’s Face hardened “You want it, come get it.” He challenged.

Well that wouldn’t do any damn good. He could have easily taken the thing from the inebriated punks but then the damn thing would be useless.

One of the many tenants of magic.

Knowledge had to be given, both metaphorically and literally. Were Damien to take his notebook back by force, it would negate any power he gleaned from the pages.

They had to give it to him.

This was fucking ridiculous.

He could be at watching the food network. Instead he was locked in a contest of wills with three whelps over a notebook and a rabbit. He sighed resolutely. “In the words of Monty Hall, Let’s make a deal.”

“What the fuck do we want from you…? Except your little boyfriend,” Ben snorted.

“As Drake told you, I am a Vaughn.” He grinned, “We have certain …talents.”

“That’s all bullshit.” Leo Spat.

“Tetranum Ignoto!” Damien shot one vein covered forearm into the air. Lightening slashed out of the clear sky. It sizzled down onto the field illuminating the goalpost in a fury of blue electricity. Shadows danced up and down the scoreboard erupting like fireworks into the night air.

The three boys stood jaws agape and shivering.

Damien looked back at Peter and said wryly, “Pyrotechnics always impress the peasants.”

Damien moved languorously toward them with a sly look, “Now I’ll admit that in the past I’ve been a nasty, People weren’t kidding when they called me well,” he paused for affectation, “a Witch.”

The three braggarts flinched back from him, “But you’ll find that nowadays I’ve mended all my ways, repented seen the light and made a switch. True? Yes. And I fortunately know a little magic,” He shrugged humbly, “It’s a talent that I always have possessed. Now boys please don’t laugh, I use it on behalf of the miserable, the lonely and depressed.” He gave Peter a quick wink. “I can give you anything you want ..Fame … fortune… a reasonable interest rate on a home loan?”

Rob of course was the first to recover. He looked up from the notebook he had been till now studying. “If I give this to you… You’ll …er… cast a spell for us?” He stumbled over the words obviously skeptical of what was happening.


Leo and Ben were still too stunned to participate.

“Alright.” Rob agreed.

“Cast this one.” Rob handed Damien the notebook, open to a particular page. “…and it’s yours.”

Damien’s grin split his face “You see what can be accomplished when everyone agrees to be civilized!” He took the book triumphantly but the smile slid off quickly when he saw the page Rob had chosen. “Not this one. You don’t want this one.”

“That book says that spell will make all your desires come true. It’s about wishing wells,” Rob said.

“It will but you have to understand…”

“OH FUCK THIS!” Leo roared finally recovering, “Just do what he told you Gandalf so we can get out of here and forget this night ever happened!”

It might have been Leo’s tone, the late hour, or Damien’s own eagerness to have his property and be done. He looked maliciously at them. He decided quite easily to stop giving a fuck. “Agreed: word for word. Thus is the bargain offered. Thus is the bargain made.” He intoned ominously.

HE began to read from the scratchy ink of his own hand, “Veradai Arcanum…” His voice droned on in incomprehensible latin while he inconspicuously began drawing a pentagram around himself in the dirt of the field, “Get inside the circle.” He whispered to Peter urgently. But Peter it seemed was no longer eager to accept Damien’s protection and retreated from the Witch. “Do it now.” Reluctantly Peter edged toward the circle of protection. Damien continued to drone on confident the Peter would heed his advice.

The air crackled with energy. Damien could feel it swelling with in him. Begging for release, it was a horrible tidal wave of expectation. Every cell in his body pulsed with the fury of arcane force. The power he had tried to hold in check for so long was suddenly free and it coursed across his senses like a living breathing thing. He barely even noticed that Peter had stepped out of the circle. He was probably frightened by the supernatural blue light radiating from Damien’s eyes. Pathetic little nuisance. Whatever concern Damien might have had was washed away by the ecstay of being full of energy.

His energy.

His power.

Most Witch’s would have to focus their entire conscience on pulling energy from the world around them. Borrowing power from the environment. Damien just had to relax. It was contemptuously easy for him to release the hungry turrent of primal force.

He held it tight till his teeth ached and his body shook. It was a song with in him that rocked him from the core with a symphony of chaos and possibility.

It was like being alive.

The only time he felt alive.

Begrudginly he finished the spell and released the power. The detonation of the spell sent a shock wave across the field that leveled the four other men and sent tackling dummies and disgaurded gear tumbling toward the far off baseball diamonds.

“Now as par our agreement, Leave and forget that this night ever happened.” Damien Commanded. He watched as the three luckless boys stumbled back to their Frat house to reap their terrible rewards.

“I can’t believe you did that.” Peter whined behind him. He was looking at the notebook, reading the spell Damien had just cast.

“Belief is a tenuous thing.” Damien agreed. “Most people would find this evenings events hard to swallow.”

Peter gave him a sulky look. “No I can’t believe you’re going to grant those … those… dickheads wishes!”


Peter pointed angrily at the book “Right here the spell is called the Wish of Seven Wells!”

Damien rolled his eyes and snatched the book from him. He strode off the field without a second glance at Peter.

“Those Kappa Bastards already run the campus. They don’t deserve to have their fucking wishes granted.” Peter grumbled running to catch up.

Damien stopped so abruptly Peter ran headlong into the impacable mass of his wide back. “This particular notebook is from the time I spent studying 15th century ritualistic magic.” He said. “It’s all very archaic and dark, not very much my style. Most of it is built up out of the mythology and superstitions of the church. Goat’s heads, pentagrams and papal intrigue.” He turned to face Peter with a very unpleasant smile. “Yes that spell will technically give them what they desire. It will give them what they want, until they don’t want it anymore.” The unpleasant smile was now a menacing scowl, “and then my little rabbit… it will give them what they deserve.”

Peter still didn’t grasp what he was trying to explain. He gave the book to Peter, “Read the title again… very carefully. The last word isn’t Wells.”

Peter examined the page. “The wish of seven… hells? HELLS?”

“I always did have sloppy penmanship.” Damien laughed ruefully, “That’s the thing about magic… It’s the Devil in the Details.”

Peter followed Damien off the deserted field studying the strange man with expectation, horror and awe. The quiet of the night was broken only by Damien’s deep melodious voice light heartedly singing.

“Poor unfortunate souls… in pain.. In need…”

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