The Story of Blaize The Witch Wars

The falling leaves drift by the window The autumn leaves all red and gold   

Silver trumpet notes poured from Miles Davis’s horn and washed over Blaize where he lay tangled in the sheets and sweaty. Through his sex torpor he felt Angel’s warm body, draped languid and replete across his. Her fluttering lashes were still leaving butterfly kiss across his chest but he knew she was asleep.

The setting sun slanted long, golden rays passed the curtains and spread them across the bed like a warm October blanket. From the open window he could hear someone kicking through the pile of leaves he’d raked up earlier. The thought of his mother demanding he go out there and rake them again ended on a yawn.

He didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything outside of this bed. He didn’t want to think or feel. Not about anything that didn’t involve processed cheese products. Mostly, he didn’t want to fight anymore. Not with his mom and not with Angel. Because, he didn’t understand how it had all gotten so complicated. When had loving her stopped being enough?

Slowly, he let his fingers swirl across the lush heat of her still slick back. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in the baby powder scent of her. When she moaned, he lifted dark tresses of her tangled hair away from her face. Her skin was pale and thin now. Since she’d come home she was all blue veins and shallow breathes.