. 02

*********

Author's Note

This continues a re-telling of my Homelands series. I'm proud of the original versions but don't feel that they lived up to their full potential. This time around, you can expect a slower pace, stronger characterization, and a less grandiose plot. This is no longer an epic fantasy, with a huge battle between good and evil waiting at the end. If you read the original versions, you should feel as though you're revisiting old friends, but you shouldn't assume that you know how their story ends. If you haven't, there is no need to do so. This re-telling is meant to stand on its own and is my preferred version of the tale.

*********

It was only a little past two a.m. when Frank woke up. Despite that, he couldn't get back to sleep. He tossed and turned for a while, but it was hopeless.

He felt like a little kid, unable to sleep on Harvest Eve because he couldn't stop thinking about what joys the morning would bring. It wasn't the pile of presents that kept him up that night, though, nor the hope that he might glimpse Scarecrow Jim through the window. It was visions of his mother that danced in his head, wearing only stockings and heels. Her, and the rest of the family, though none of the others figured as prominently.

Apparently, Frank was still struggling to tell the difference between reality and make-believe, though. Did he actually think that he and his family had been carried off to an exotic palace by a gust of wind? That someone had cast a fucking spell on them?

That must have been a dream. Frank was pretty sure that he

had

kissed his cousin, but the rest of it? Nah. His subconscious had just needed a way to work through the residual guilt and so had served up an imaginative take on their holiday dinner. He and his mom had kicked butt at Trivial Pursuit, closing things out with a sports question, of all things.

Frank lifted the covers, expecting to find a familiar flabby form. Instead, the paean to masculinity awaited him; the same one he'd inhabited twice since arriving at the farmhouse.

Which they were no longer in.

He hadn't realized it at first, the room being dark and all, but the bed he lay atop wasn't the one he'd gone to sleep in. The mattress was bigger and softer, and the patchwork quilt had turned into a silver duvet. There was no heat to combat the October chill, either.

Assuming it was still October. Or that calendar months even applied wherever they were.

Hadn't he answered that Superbowl question last year?

It

was

cold, though. A cloud of mist formed in front of his face whenever he exhaled. Yet he wasn't uncomfortable. It seemed their windswept forms weren't just easy on the eyes. Now that he thought about, Frank realized that every transformation had offered a temporary escape from aches and pains he'd thought would be with him for the rest of his life, as well as a boost to his vigor and vitality. Shit, they'd even granted a selective resistance to alcohol. Frank had spent most of the day drinking, and he'd had a nice buzz going throughout dinner, but it had faded as soon as dull wits had become a liability. Not as soon he'd changed bodies, which was interesting, but after their stupid game had gotten interesting. Frank hadn't quite realized it at the time, but, looking back, there was no mistaking the way he'd sobered up. How surprising was it, then, that he wasn't bothered by extreme temperatures? They probably couldn't experience any unwelcome sensations while under the effects of the spell, the better to keep them from panicking.

That realization probably should have spooked the shit out of him, but it didn't. Not even after Frank remembered the ominous letter. It didn't seem like they were in any danger.

He sat up slowly, which still made the bed creak. A glance to his right confirmed he hadn't woken either of his brothers. Todd didn't stir, and Dom wasn't even there. That might have meant something to Frank if it wasn't so common for his older brother to sneak off somewhere in the middle of the night to smoke a blunt.

The hardwood floors had been replaced with tile, so Frank had no trouble making it to the bathroom in silence. Unfortunately, the door had become a silver curtain that he couldn't draw shut without making noise. The grating sound must not have disturbed Todd, though, because his brother didn't grumble loudly or throw any epithets Frank's way.

There was a second curtain on the other side of the bathroom. Frank drew it aside just enough to peer past. It looked like another bedroom lay on the other side. The one his sister shared with Brianna, perhaps? That looked like red hair pooled on that pillow.

He fumbled for a light switch, out of habit, but there wasn't one. As soon as he cursed the nobles for not providing an alternative light source, a glowing orb appeared overhead.

''Holy shit,'' Frank said. He looked up through squinted eyes. There was no bulb screwed into a fixture or anything like that—just a silvery sphere suspended in midair, filling the room with soft luminescence. A terrifying, wondrous thought occurred to him and he asked, ''Did I do that?'' In answer, the light winked out. He willed it to return, and it did. ''Fuuuuck.''

Something very strange was going on, and it wasn't just happening

to

them; they had what his sociologist roommate called ''agency'', or at least some measure thereof.

Whether that should have reassured, confused, or alarmed Frank was an open question. What it

shouldn't

have done, though, was felt familiar. Yet it did.

As soon as the initial wave of disbelief passed, Frank realized he'd done crazier things than conjure a ball of light. Magic had been a part of his life since puberty. An irregular one—it took hours to store up enough energy to do what he'd just done, so Frank tended to use his powers sparingly—but still nothing to get too excited about.

That was why he'd taken everything in stride up to that point. The soothing sludge had kept them all from panicking, but it was far easier to keep someone's mood from changing than to control their thoughts. Frank had no great talent for mind magic, but he knew that much. He should have been a whole lot more confused earlier, even if he'd managed to keep his emotions in check. There was a reason he hadn't reacted like someone who'd just had their first brush with the supernatural, though. Because for Frank, that had come many years before. He couldn't recall any of the specifics at the moment, but a general understanding of things he'd somehow forgotten was starting to return. It was both unsettling and exhilarating, reassuring and yet baffling. He couldn't stop smiling.

Frank still didn't know what was going on, who the palace belonged to, or what exactly they wanted from him and his family, but there was no longer any doubt that supernatural forces were indeed at work. Nor that he was capable of manipulating them himself.

His entire family was.

Frank drew a deep breath and looked in the mirror. The face staring back at him was at once familiar and foreign. His skin was fair, his eyes brown, his hair black, and a thick but neatly-trimmed beard covered the bottom half of his face. The red highlights were gone, though, as was the odd little curl at one corner. If he was ever going to look like the guy in the mirror, he'd need to lose some weight—then dye his beard, grow his hair out a little, and switch to contacts. With a little wishful thinking, though, Frank could convince himself that he was looking at

his

face. That wasn't something true from the neck down; his windswept physique was more impressive than he dared dream of achieving without supernatural assistance. It was clearly based on his original form, but only loosely.The face in the mirror, however, was more recognizable. He could look at it and think that he wasn't inhabiting someone else's body so much as seeing the best possible version of himself.

It helped that he still wasn't

that

handsome. Frank liked what he was seeing, to be sure, but also knew that he couldn't compare to his uncle or his grandfather. And that was fine. Really, it was. Better to be handsome, without any qualifiers, than so obnoxiously good-looking that he couldn't suspend disbelief when he looked in the mirror.

Lest he change his mind about that, Frank extinguished the light and crept back to bed.

He got under the covers and stared up at the ceiling. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, but he wasn't sure he was prepared to grapple with any of them. So he tried counted the stars and crescent moons, just to keep himself distracted. When that didn't work, he sat up and summoned a couple of the cupcakes Aunt Liz had made, even though they had to be in a plastic container somewhere in a farmhouse that was countless miles away. Now that he'd reclaimed some measure of his powers, that sort of thing didn't matter. He might not have drawn those particular cupcakes across time and space, so much as created exact replicas. Either way, two of them appeared as soon as he pictured them.

He set one on the nightstand then started in on the other.

A painting on the wall grabbed his attention. He conjured a small light, taking care not to form an orb or anything that would illuminate the entire room.

The dark-haired noblewoman was even more beautiful than the blonde. The bust in the banquet hall did not do her justice. Her silver lips were full and pouty, her cheekbones proud, and her nose delicate. Those dark eyes glittered like amethysts. Her skin was a light indigo and her hair a shade of purple that was at once darker than pitch yet radiant and metallic. Large breasts strained the fabric of her midnight blue dress.

Frank couldn't bear to look at her for long. The pain of not having her was too great.

So he turned the painting into a flat-screen TV, because that was not only something he could do but wasn't even particularly demanding. He felt a little something, as though he'd exerted himself using something other than his muscles, but the strain was less than that needed to solve a simple math problem. Or to create cupcakes out of thin air.

The next spell he cast was different, though. Scrying both took more energy and required that he make a few decisions. First, he had to decide which type he wanted to attempt—he could either focus on a particular subject or specify a set of conditions. The former was guaranteed to work, but required a greater expenditure. The latter might not show him anything but wouldn't cost as much. Frank opted for the latter, using a version that had foiled many of Dom's attempts to play pranks on his slumbering siblings. If anyone in the palace was out of bed for any reason other than to use the bathroom, the spell would reveal them to Frank. If not, it wouldn't show him anything.

The screen came to life immediately with a scene of utter carnality.

Time seemed to slow and space compress. Suddenly, the screen wasn't on the other side of the room, but right in front of Frank's face. He could hear their breathing even though the TV was on mute. The smell of their sweat filled his nostrils. A hand was around his throat, yet Frank felt more arousal than panic. Shame was there, too, but mostly arousal.

The ''camera'' was zoomed in on a woman's backside. Though no faces were visible, Frank knew just who he was looking at. Who else but his mother had skin like freshly-fallen snow and curves that defied biological limitations so flagrantly? The only question was who was fucking her, though he was afraid he knew the answer to that as well.

Dom.

It didn't have to be, though. His brother's presence was unaccounted for, but that only meant so much. Frank pushed the thought aside and let himself get lost in the enchantment of his mother's performance. Her ass rippled like the surface of a pond whipped by a strong breeze. Big as her ass was, though, it looked to be free of dimpling and cellulite. It was hard to tell, with the thing in constant motion, but Frank suspected each ivory globe was as smooth as silk. They were also perfectly rounded at the bottom yet tapered into her midsection to form a beautiful heart shape. A waist that slim only belonged on a woman who never ate more than two stalks of celery in one sitting.

Frank had never seen a more impressive sight—except earlier that day, when he'd closed his eyes and pictured what it would be like to have sex with his mother in her windswept form. His imagination hadn't captured her full glory, but that was more or less what he'd figured it'd be like to fuck her doggy-style. To put her in her favorite position.

In fact, Frank could almost think that wasn't the first time he'd been hypnotized by the waves spreading across her generous backside; that he'd seen that wondrous vision before, and not just in his mind. Some part of him felt like it knew just how long it took for the ripples to die off after each firm impact, though his brother wasn't allowing that to happen.

Had Frank ever stared down in wonder as shockwaves

he'd

delivered lost their momentum, allowing his mother's alabaster skin to grow still once more only to marvel as the next thrust set her ass to dancing once more? No, he couldn't have. That wasn't something he was likely to forget. Nor would he have ever gone back to Rochester if it meant leaving

that

behind.

Only a few seconds had elapsed, yet it had felt like fifteen minutes. That soon became hours. Frank stared raptly, feeling his eyes go wider and his dick grow harder every time his mother's ass shook. There were no rolls of fat in her back, and muscles formed somewhat prominent ridges that ran along either side of her spine. She was lean, overall, if not necessarily as fit as some of the other women in the family. Yet

that ass

. Iggy Azalea would be jealous, and not just because she'd paid serious money for her inferior posterior.

The spell panned up his mother's back, over her raven mane, and came to rest on a set of toned abs covered in auburn fur. A slightly gnarled hand came into view.

Meaning that Dom wasn't the only one she was with.

That took Frank's excitement from eleven to thirteen—out of ten. Some guys thought that MFF threesomes were the only sort worth having, but Frank found nothing more appealing than a woman with a voracious appetite. The few girls he'd been with had internalized societal notions about what it meant to be a ''good girl'' so fully that figuring out what they were into and what they weren't had been like interrogating a criminal suspect. It wasn't the idea of sharing a woman with another man that appealed to Frank,

per se

, but of finding a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and didn't care what anyone would think of her if she made her fantasies a reality. Frank's ideal woman was so insatiable that no one man could satisfy her. That was stupid, he knew; taken literally, it was a recipe for heartbreak. Yet he'd been fixated on the idea for longer than he could remember. When he went looking for porn, he usually found himself watching a DP scene.

The dick his mother was sucking had to belong to his grandfather. That probably should have bothered Frank, but it only added fuel to the fire. He hated that he was so turned on by the sight of his mother having sex with her own son as well as her father, yet Frank wouldn't have wanted to see her with two randos. That probably would have made it less reprehensible for him to continue watching, in the minds of most people, but it wouldn't have excited him nearly as much. It wouldn't have felt

right

, for all the sense that made.

It was Harvest Eve. She should be with family.

Frank willed the ''camera'' to continue its ascent, until it reached his grandfather's face. That was indeed the one he'd seen earlier. It was contorted with ecstasy now but was otherwise the same, from the auburn beard with silver highlights to the fine cheekbones and slender nose. His eyes were closed and his teeth bared in a pre-orgasmic rictus, however. From the looks of it, Frank's mother was giving one hell of a blowjob.

Finally, Frank spun the spell around, confirming his worst fears.

It became impossible to breathe. To think. When his lungs resumed billowing and his neurons firing, jealousy the likes of which he'd never experienced took hold. Did it make sense for him to feel left out and even betrayed? No. The last thing his mother owed him was her body. She'd broken no promises by not inviting him to her impromptu sex party.

Emotions didn't always make sense, though.

Some would also find it strange that seeing his grandfather's face hadn't had the same effect on him. It wasn't like Frank was all that favorably disposed towards the man, after all. Yet neither did the have the same history. Their grandfather could get on Frank's nerves, but he'd never inspired much in the way of

envy

. Dom was not only more successful with women than Frank, but had always been their mother's favorite as well. Up until that exact moment, Frank had thought those two different reasons for resenting his brother; he'd assumed that it was Dom's arrogance—sorry, the preferred term was ''confidence''—that made women spread their legs for him, whereas their mother let him get away with murder because he was her firstborn. Apparently, though, s he found it hard to say no to him for the same reason other women did, whether he wanted to borrow the car or grunge fuck her.

The spell's focus shifted again, granting a side view. Frank watched, mouth agape, as his mother polished her father's knob and Dom continued jackhammering into her. Every now and then, she'd take as much of his grandfather's huge shaft in as she could, but mostly she just worked the head. That allowed Frank to admire the size of it, wallowing in his own inadequacy. The way Dom managed to slam into her two or three times a second had a similar effect, especially since each impact carried greater force. Yet even after he started to jostle her forward with every thrust, their mother never let her father out of her mouth.

If she had even the slightest problem with his brother's pace, it didn't show. Their mother looked to be on the brink of orgasm, in fact. As far as Frank could tell, the damn woman derived great pleasure from the way her son used and abused her; he was tendering her pussy while raining slaps down on ass cheeks that had once been white but were now as red as the lips surrounding her father's foreskin, and she loved it.

That made Frank uncomfortable, yet he silently urged his mother across the finish line. He wanted—no,

needed

—to see her cum, even if he wasn't going to be the one responsible. Shit, he was tempted to turn the volume on even though that might wake Todd up. He needed to hear the filthy words streaming out of her mouth around her father's cock.

That might even finish him off. Because, yes, Frank had started jerking off to the sight of his own mother having a threesome with his brother and his grandfather.

''You up?'' someone asked from off to his left.

Frank's hand flew out of his pants and snatched up a remote that hadn't existed a moment earlier. He'd already turned the TV off with a mere thought, but if whoever had just walked in on him realized that he'd done so, that might raise a few awkward questions.

Less awkward than the ones he'd have to answer if he left it on, of course, but still.

''Sorry,'' his cousin said. ''Didn't mean to startle you.''

''You didn't,'' Frank lied.

''Good,'' Brianna replied. Without asking permission, she climbed onto the mattress. It didn't squeak one bit for her, traitorous thing that it was. Granted, his cousin didn't weigh all that much, but Frank was still both surprised and impressed by her ninja-like stealth. Or perhaps he just needed an excuse for letting her sneak up on him like that. ''Sooooo, what were you watching?'' she asked with a knowing smile, eyes flicking towards the dim screen.