Siggy Shade

He would be tall, of course. I’m five-eleven and love to wear heels, but I tower over most men. And my voluminous, brown curls often add an extra three to six inches to my height.

Alienor took advantage of my weakness for her underwear to set a trap. Now, I’m stuck here and once again, completely at the mercy of my wicked wife.

“But what about Henry Coat Mantle?”

“Curtmantle,” she replies, the syllables clipped with annoyance. “I’m surprised you’ve forgotten the history of our coven.”

“He told me his name was Henry.”

“Henry what?” Grandma asks.

“Cut-something, Duke of Normandy.”

“Curtmantle,” Grandma and the Boogie Man say at the same time.

“King Henry must have found a way to survive,” Alienor says. “Maybe he prayed to the god of cheating husbands because he’s been haunting me since I gained my magic.”

“Why did you hurt my cousin?” I snap.

The corners of his full lips pinch with distaste. “She helped you set a trap, did she not?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten caught in it if you hadn’t tried to steal my underwear. What the hell do you do with it, anyway?”

He smirks. “Hand over your knickers if you want a demonstration.”

Heat flares across my cheeks. I step back, my heart pounding. “You’re not just a psychopath. You’re disgusting.”

“Tell me something, Alienor,” he says in a low growl that I feel against my nipples. “Why were you sleeping naked last night? Is it because you knew I would be a captive audience? You gave me quite the show.”

My mouth goes dry, and the pulse between my legs pounds. I squeeze my thighs together, trying not to feel anything but revulsion for this beautiful monster.

His smirk morphs into a full grin. “Did you ever check your underwear? I left you several salty deposits.”

“What do you want from me?” I ask.

The corners of his eyes crinkle, making my breath catch. “Your heart.”

“I could never love someone so violent.”

The Boogie Man tilts his head and gazes down at me as though I’ve said something amusing. “It’s not your love that I seek.”

“Are you masturbating with your broomstick?” I ask out loud. “Are you also cursed?”

“That’s it,” she says through panting breaths. “Give Grandma a hard ride.”

Just when I think this situation couldn’t get more bizarre, tree sap explodes from the broom’s tip and coats the grandmother’s face.