“...after suffering debilitating abdominal pains for a week, Harry Houdini, world-famous magician and escape artist, is reported to have died this evening in a Detroit hospital.”

The radio news bulletin sent a shiver up Daphne Davenport’s spine inside her strapless linen pharaoh tunic. “Houdini died tonight?” she repeated, shaking her black bobbed hair and blinking her aquamarine-lidded eyes.

“That’s one escape he didn’t manage,” Julia Culligan observed drily as she toyed with the snakes in the Medusa wig set upon her flowing red hair. 

“On Hallowe’en, though?” Daphne shuddered as she turned off the radio. “It’s positively spooky!”

“Houdini might not think so himself,” Julia pointed out, standing up and adjusting her boobs vis-à-vis the plunging neckline of her dark green dress. “He also devoted himself to exposing spiritualists as frauds. I read his book last year, A Magician Among the Spirits.”

“Gosh, don’t be such a killjoy!” Daphne complained with a faint smile as she toyed with the pendant stone of her beaded turquoise necklace. “Are you gonna be like this at the séance tonight?”

“Only if it’s a sham. I read another book, On The Other Side of the Footlights, that dished the dirt on how these crystal ball gazers work their tricks.”

“So many books! I guess this explains why you never had time to study your French,” Daphne teased. “Sacre bleu!”

“Sucker blew right back atcha, bébé,” Julia retorted. “Anyway, we’ve all agreed on the signal—squeeze your hand twice if anything seems amiss.”

At that moment, Daphne’s father Harvey knocked on the frame of the open door and entered the room.

“Ladies,” he began.

“Mr. D,” Julia interrupted, nodding towards the hallway. “What do you think; is this séance business a complete load of bull?”

Harvey shrugged as he stepped into the room. “Most likely, but I’ll approach it with an open mind. I’m trying to close this Florida real estate deal, and the buyer, Mr. Purvis, is fascinated by the occult. He insisted that I attend tonight’s séance and invite exactly three guests, to bring the total number of attendees to thirteen.” He paused in thought. “Upon reflection, rather a demanding invitation.”

“And that’s why you needed us to cancel our other plans. To fill out the table.”

“Yes, well, about that. You know that Lloyd Campbell and Kazi Golonka have been helping me with this deal. Mr. Purvis is now insisting that they join us at the séance, so I need them to take your seats.”

“What?” Julia demanded. “We come all the way down here and now we’re uninvited? You’re giving our seats to my boyfriend and that Charlie Palooka guy?”

“I thought you’d be pleased,” Harvey said with a frown. “You were just saying that séances are—”

“I know what I said,” Julia huffed. “It’s still incredibly rude of him… and you!”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Harvey conceded. “But those are the circumstances. I need Mrs. Davenport and Lloyd and Kazi at the table so Purvis can weigh their measure and, with any luck, be more inclined to put his trust in me. Unfortunately, that leaves you two out.”

“That’s a pretty lousy game of musical chairs,” Daphne sniffed haughtily. “We got bounced before the music even started.”

Julia scoffed. “Yeah, it’s like the movie started rolling but the organist was balls deep in the hat-check girl and missed his cue.”

“I’m sorry about this, I really am,” Harvey apologized while neatly side-stepping Julia’s provocation. “I appreciate your willingness to help… but now if you really want to be helpful, you’ll bow out gracefully.”

“Fine, we’ll make ourselves scarce,” Julia grumbled with a twinkle in her eye, shaking her snakes at him before turning to Daphne. “C’mon, we can still make that costume party at the Buxton; the Charleston marathon goes from 9 o’clock to exhausted.”

“We’ll need car fare, Father,” Daphne said icily. As Harvey retrieved his coin purse from his pocket, she cleared her throat. “And the admission is seventy-five cents.”

“Seventy-five cents?”

“Each.”

“Each?” Harvey sighed and opened his billfold. “The smallest bill I have is a five.”

“We’ll take it,” Daphne said archly, plucking the bill from his fingers and stalking out of the room like Queen Nefertiti quitting the royal city of Amarna.

“Keep the change,” Harvey muttered, shaking his head.

“Thanks, Mr. D,” Julia laughed, giving him a quick smooch on his cheek as she walked past. “And don’t worry about Daph; I think she’s just putting on an act.”

“Well, she’s now a professional actress,” Harvey grinned as he blotted the lipstick off his cheek with his handkerchief. “That performance just earned her an extra three dollars.”

Reaching the door, Julia turned and flashed a smile. “And to think I sucked your cock and let you fuck my tits for only ten bucks, Mr. D! I gotta think about raising my rates.”

—

The salon was dominated by an enormous table in the center of the room. The tabletop was oval in shape, roughly 9 feet by 12 feet at its broadest dimensions, and was draped with a richly woven tapestry that hung halfway to the floor. An imposing carved chair stood at the head, with a number of smaller chairs arrayed around the perimeter.

“Jules, I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here,” Daphne said softly, for fear of being discovered.

“I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Phooey on them for saying we can’t attend!” Julia stamped her foot. “All because they need exactly thirteen people.”

Daphne had been taking inventory. “Well, that part rings true, anyway; there are a dozen chairs, plus that throne makes thirteen.”

This larger chair was constructed of sturdy oak, with all manner of strange symbols gouged into its surface. Julia wandered across the room and ran her fingers over the carvings.

“It sure would be interesting if we could listen in,” she mused.

“What, hide behind the draperies?” Daphne raised an eyebrow as she nervously fingered her necklace.

“Nah, forget it,” Julia dismissed the idea. “Everyone would be hopping mad if we got caught. It’d ruin the séance and probably torpedo the land deal as well. Let’s head over to the Buxton.”

As they turned to leave, Daphne inadvertently yanked on her necklace, which came apart and scattered beads across the floor, clattering and bouncing in all directions.

“Damn it!” she swore. “Help me pick these up, would you?”

After a few minutes of hunting on their hands and knees, Julia declared, “I think that’s all of them.”

“No, the big center stone is still missing. Where could it be?”

“You don’t suppose it rolled under the table?”

Both girls scrambled under the tablecloth, and there it was.

“Okay, now let’s get out of here before—”

“Sssh!”

The door creaked open, revealing a hushed argument already in progress.

“Listen, Hank, this Purvis character is a white whale, probably the biggest we’ve ever had.”

“Moby Dick, huh?”

“Sure, and I’m Captain Ahab.”

“Captain A-rab? I don’t think—”

“That’s perfect, Hank, because nobody’s paying you to think. ‘Think not, is my eleventh commandment.’ I’m paying you to make sure Zorova’s schtick convinces him to invest.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Atta boy. Now light these candles and get everything else ready while I go round up the cattle.”

“And the whale.”

Trapped in the shadows beneath the tablecloth, Daphne and Julia watched Hank’s scuffed shoes as he bustled around the room setting the scene.

In the gloaming, Daphne held out her hands helplessly. What do we do?

Julia held up her palm as a stop sign, then tilted her head speculatively. Don’t panic. We’ll wait and see.

But Hank never left the room, and a few minutes later, the guests shuffled in with the boss riding herd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please find your assigned seats and make yourselves comfortable.”

“Is that why we’re wearing these robes?” an unfamiliar man’s voice piped up. “So we’re comfortable?”

“Yes, Mr. Purvis, exactly. The trappings of modern fashion can interfere with our connection to the spirit world: something as simple as a wristwatch or a copper bracelet can block the signals emanating from the astral plane—”

“You make it sound like the wireless,” Harvey’s voice cut in with a chuckle.

“In some ways, it is surprisingly similar to radio,” the boss acknowledged smoothly as people began pulling out their chairs. “At this very second, a jumble of radio waves are beaming through the air in all directions, but it requires a receiver tuned to the correct frequency to capture a particular signal. In much the same way, Madame Zorova acts as a receiver for messages from the spirit world.”

“That all seems reasonable,” Purvis conceded as he settled into his chair. Julia gave Daphne a nudge and pointed in the direction of his hairy feet and gnarled toes. Daphne glared and shook her head. Cut it out! Don’t make me laugh.

The boss continued. “In addition to removing jewelry and other accoutrements, we find that participants are more relaxed and in tune with themselves if they aren’t wearing stiff, formal clothing. Hence the robes.”

Once everyone had been seated, the boss began near the head of the table and made introductions, slowly walking clockwise around the circumference and casually flicking his eye to the card in front of each guest before announcing the name. Julia paid attention to about half of them.

“Mr. Smythe, Mrs. L———, Mr. L———, Mr. Purvis, Mrs. Davenport, Mr. Davenport, Mr. Campbell, Mr. Golonka, Mrs. Q———, Mr. Q———, Ms. R———, Ms. Pringle.”

Of course, Julia noted, they seated the new people they don’t trust at the foot of the table. Makes it harder to see any shenanigans.

“And of course,” he finished as he came full circle to the head of the table once more, “you will soon be joined by the illustrious Madame Zorova, most clairvoyant of mediums and most medium of clairvoyants. Now, you each have a pencil and paper in front of you. Please take a moment to write a question about the future, or a question to a departed loved one. Madame Zorova will endeavor to answer as many as she can while in her trance.”

Sure, Julia thought sarcastically, she’ll answer a question or two from her confederates to establish her powers, then she’ll try to reel in this Purvis clownfish.

Mr. Purvis clapped his hands and pitter-pattered his bare feet on the floor.

Jesus, Julia realized, he’s like a puppy wagging its tail. I hope he doesn’t get too excited and pee on the floor.

Daphne pointed to her left wrist, then spread her hands theatrically. How long is this going to go on?

Julia shrugged and repositioned herself into a seated position. Who knows?

—

Madame Zorova swept into the room in a flurry of gauzy scarves and golden hoops; with the large purple jewel on her turban catching the candlelight, she was the very picture of a carnival sideshow fortuneteller. She alighted on the carved throne and cast a mysterious gaze over the assembled guests as Hank pushed in her chair and her billowing clothes settled about her.

“Ova, yes, I am Madame Zorova of ze Gypsies.”

Mrs. Delilah Davenport, born in Transylvania as Dália Stănescu, wasn’t entirely convinced. Her childhood had taught her a handful of peppery Roma phrases. “Grastesko ćororo,” she said pointedly, with a beaming smile on her face. Horseshit.

Madame Zorova faltered for only half a second before nodding encouragingly. “Ova, ova.”

Delilah nodded back, suppressing a snort. Gypsy, my fat ass! ‘Ova, ova.’ That’s probably the only Roma word she knows.

Harvey snuck a glance at his wife, inquiringly, and she closed her eyes and gave him a nearly undetectable shake of her head while squeezing his hand twice. No.

As the boss walked around the table and collected the handwritten questions, Hank bound Madame Zorova’s hands to the arms of her chair with stout ropes.

“The spirits can be violent,” the boss explained in an ominous tone. “Even with these restraints, Madame Zorova could be flung to the floor as she communes with them.” He handed the scraps of paper to Hank, who dealt one off the top of the deck and another off the bottom, placing them on the table in front of Zorova before disappearing behind a plush purple curtain.

“Ve must all join hands and form ze sacred circle,” Madame Zorova instructed as she glanced at the questions in front of her.

Julia’s lip curled. That’s to keep anyone from leaving their seat after the lights go down, or reaching out to feel for hidden wires.

The electric lights were immediately lowered, plunging the space below the table into inky blackness. A small bell tinkled, and Madame Zorova began moaning in a low voice.

“Vill I marry for love?” she quoted. “Who has asked zis?”

“I-I did,” Mitzi Pringle, the mousy blonde girl directly to Zorova’s right, offered tentatively. To the other side of Ms. Pringle, Julia observed Mr. Q and Ms. R dancing a pas de deux for patellas underneath the tablecloth.

“Ova, yes, I can see him,” Zorova assured her, then proceeded to describe her future swain as the young lady’s eyes shone with delight.

Yeah, yeah, Julia thought impatiently, shifting on the hardwood floor. Let’s get on with it before my ass falls asleep.

After finishing her opening act, Zorova turned to the next question. “Is my brother in heaven?” she intoned. “Who has asked zis?”

“I did,” admitted Hubert Smythe, the hapless looking man on Zorova’s left. “He was—”

“Silence, say nothing more!” Zorova commanded. “I vill ask him myself.” She began moaning and swaying, and a breath of wind passed through the room, causing the candles to flicker.

With her eyes now accustomed to the dim light, Julia espied Madame Zorova sliding her bound wrists forward and slipping them off the arms of her throne.

Ha! she thought triumphantly. The armrests aren’t connected to the vertical supports.

“Who is zis I see? Your name, tell me your name!” Madame Zorova became increasingly agitated. “Corporal Smythe?”

“Conrad!” Mr. Smythe blurted.

“Corporal, vhere are you? Vhat? Flanders Fields?”

A burst of wind extinguished the candles, plunging the chamber into near total darkness.

“Aieee!” Madame Zorova cried and fell from her chair. Ms. Pringle and Mr. Smythe deftly joined hands to maintain the circle as she flung herself about on the floor.

Zorova’s voice, harsh and grating, dropped two octaves as she channeled Conrad Smythe from beyond the grave.

“I fell in Flanders Fields, in No Man’s Land. My body was lost, buried in mud. I did not have a Christian burial.”

Mr. Smythe gasped.

“But Our Lord took pity on me, knowing my heart. I dwell in heaven. Brother, you may let me go. I am at peace.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mr. Smythe wept.

“Aieee!” Madame Zorova shrieked once more, as Hank returned with a lit candelabra and the boss rang a small bell. “Vhat has happened? Vhy am I on ze floor?”

“You communed with the dead, Madame,” the boss said soothingly as he helped her to her feet. “You slipped your earthly bonds and joined the spirit world for a time.”

Madame Zorova blinked, seemingly amazed to see the ropes dangling from her unfettered wrists as she slowly took her seat once more.

“Have you the strength for one or two more questions?” the boss asked solicitously as Hank placed the candelabra in the center of the table.

“Ova, vun or two more,” Zorova agreed wearily, taking Miss Pringle’s and Mr. Smythe’s hands once again.

Julia rolled her eyes in the dark. Is Purvis next, or are they saving him for the grand finale?

“Vill I ever know the touch of a woman?” Madame Zorova spluttered as she studied the paper Hank held before her. “Indeed! What man has asked zis?”

“I did,” Jedediah Purvis confessed, just above a whisper, clenching his toes. “I’ve never—”

“Enough!” Madame Zorova thundered. “Zat is enough. I vill seek ze answer.”

Hank had not been idle during the first two performances. His most important task of the evening had been to go through the participants’ clothes and find letters, photos, ticket stubs—anything Zorova could use in her revelations—and write notes for her below each question she was to answer.

With a long moan, Madame Zorova fell once more into a trance. “I see a young lady… fair hair… a sad smile… Vhat is your name, dear? Beatrix? Beatrice?”

“Beatrice!” Purvis bleated, clutching his neighbors’ hands with excitement.

“You were to be married to a fine gentleman but passed on too soon,” Madame Zorova said quietly. “1919. The Spanish flu.”

“Oh, Beatrice, my love!” Purvis fretted, beating a tattoo on the floor with his feet.

Both Purvis and Zorova wailed and moaned, their voices intertwining and swirling about the room. The candelabra began to float up from the table, arresting the gaze of all in attendance. The matte black wires from which it was suspended were nearly impossible to detect in the eerie twilight.

Taking pity on Purvis, Delilah gave Harvey’s right hand a double squeeze, then placed his hand on her shoulder. She turned towards Purvis, crossing her left arm across her body and dropping her hand below the table into his lap. Purvis continued to whimper, presumably caught up in Beatrice’s ethereal caress. Grazing her fingertips along his bare thigh, Delilah slid her hand upwards until it found his tiny button of a cock. Cupping it below her palm and gently caressing it, she felt it begin to expand, doubling, tripling, quadrupling in length as it grew erect beneath her expert touch. Turning her wrist, she took his hard cock in her hand and began to stroke it slowly while Purvis groaned and Madame Zorova continued speaking in tongues.

Out of the corner of her eye, Julia detected the activity in Purvis’ chair. Leave it to Mrs. D, she shook her head. But he’s liable to make a huge mess on the tablecloth if she keeps this up.

Scuttling over until she was between Purvis’ legs, Julia reached over and squeezed Delilah’s knee twice and quickly slipped her mouth over the head of Purvis’ stiff dick. Delilah’s hand stopped its pumping motion and began exploring this new participant, lightly touching Julia’s cheek and then drawing back in surprise upon feeling one of the rubber serpents in her wig. Yes, ma’am, Julia sassed silently in her Southern belle persona, it’s just little ol’ Medusa. Delilah squeezed Julia’s shoulder twice in recognition and slipped her hand back above board, completing the circle with her husband once again.

Julia slowly moved her head up and down the length of Purvis’ cock, coddling it in her comforting cavern until his pubic hair tickled her nose, then easing back until just the head was enveloped by her velvet lips. Taking her cue from Madame Zorova’s ravings, she gradually increased her intensity and tempo from gentle and slow—piano adagio—to moderate—mezzo forte allegro—to a rousing finale—fortissimo presto!

“Oh, Beatrice! I feel you!” Purvis bucked his hips and began babbling incoherently as he pumped his hot cum into Julia’s gasping gullet. Sucking in her cheeks, she skillfully swallowed it all down.

Finito, Julia thought smugly, then discovered that Daphne had crept up beside her to more closely observe the étude for skin flute. Julia turned and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, but Daphne forced her tongue into Julia’s mouth, greedily demanding her share of Purvis’ salty sperm. Julia shrugged apologetically, then nodded to her right where Lloyd and Kazi were seated. Lloyd had become Julia’s special friend over the summer, and both she and Daphne had blown Kazi on separate occasions.

Daphne’s white teeth flashed a mischievous smile in the dark as she crawled over and settled herself between Kazi’s legs, squeezing his knee twice and parting the folds of his robe. Julia followed suit, squeezing Lloyd’s knee twice and fishing his cock out of his garment. Surprise, she giggled to herself. We never made it to the Buxton.

Daphne, no stranger to parallel cocksucking, popped her mouth over Kazi’s peckerhead and blew him lazily, intending to allow him to concentrate on the proceedings above the table, where Madame Zorova was making yet another bold prediction based on the crib notes Hank had supplied. Julia observed Daphne’s technique for a moment, then fell into step, sucking Lloyd’s cock with the same languid pace. Reaching out and feeling around with her right hand, she grasped Daphne’s left hand and laced their fingers together as they railed their men’s raging rods, shoulder to shoulder, cheek to cheek.

After a few minutes, Daphne gave Julia’s hand a squeeze, then broke their grip and slid her hand under the hem of Julia’s dress. Julia, with a sharp intake of air around Lloyd’s dick, squirmed until her damp pussy found Daphne’s searching fingers. Adjusting her balance, Julia then wormed her hand up Daphne’s dress. Daphne, moaning quietly onto Kazi’s cock, allowed Julia’s fingers access to her own steamy cunt.

The fiendish flappers frantically frigged each other’s feminine folds as they fervently fellated their fine fellows, fanning the fierce flames in all four friends. The excitement of their illicit love swept both girls away on a searing wave of pleasure; each girl’s orgasm seemed to wreath itself around her partner’s hand and up her arm, blooming in her chest and mingling with her own inner wraith of light and heat. A moment later, the men groaned quietly in tandem and fired their thick, hot loads into the young ladies’ hungry mouths.

As Daphne pulled away from Kazi’s dick and prepared to swallow his load, Julia grabbed the base of her skull with both hands and drew her in for a deep, passionate kiss. Daphne, initially taken aback, soon relaxed and leaned in, returning the kiss eagerly. Each girl explored the other’s mouth with her darting tongue and caressing fingertips as they sloppily swapped the two men’s slippery spunk back and forth, with only an occasional spill onto their chins and chests.

—

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” the boss pronounced from above, “Madame Zorova is clearly exhausted. I’m afraid we must call a halt to tonight’s proceedings.”

“Simply magnificent!” Purvis crowed above the general murmur of approval. “Just marvelous!”

“Ja, fantastisk,” floated an agreement from across the table.

Amid a scraping of chairs, the assembled company was escorted from the room by Hank. A moment later, Daphne and Julia heard the click of a cigarette lighter as Madame Zorova addressed the boss.

“Youse guys did a good job tonight. How’d that little peach and that sad sack work out?”

“Not too shabby. Mitzi’s believable as the babe in the woods, and Smythe really sold the missing brother bit. I think they’re keepers.”

“And what’s yer take on Poivis?”

“Purvis? What a character! He was all fired up about Beatrice, wasn’t he?”

“He soitenly was. It was all I could do to keep up with him.”

“He’s probably still getting dressed; I’ll go corner him and see whether he’s in the mood to talk about investing in our next venture.” The boss made for the door. “Until next time, Madame.”

With a sigh, Madame Zorova stubbed her cigarette out in a candleholder, then gathered herself, stood, and—finally—left Daphne and Julia alone in the room once more.

“Oh, my knees are killing me,” Daphne groaned as she eased her way out from under the table.

“You certainly spend enough time on them,” Julia bantered as she scrambled out.

“You’re one to talk, Miss Culligan, or should I say Miss Cum Again? You blew that Purvis guy for no reason!”

“Your mother was gonna make him cum all over his robe,” Julia laughed. “That would have been kind of hard to explain away.”

“I suppose. Well, do you think we can still make the party at the Buxton?”

“Oh sure, if you still want to go.”

“Maybe we can ask the driver to take the scenic route?” Daphne said casually as she wafted her sticky fingers under Julia’s nose. “Take a detour on 69th Street?”

“You’re on!”

—