Orientation day 1, evening

The stairwell door creaked open with a puff of stale air and something thicker—like heat and humidity had teamed up for a war crime. Lucy stepped out first, hoodie sleeves pulled low, eyes scanning for witnesses. Her face was flushed. Her shoulders were slumped in defeat. She hastily stuffed the hand bearing Mike into.

Mike Sock dangled limp from her right hand, temporarily spent, but grinning.

Rox was waiting by the vending machine, notebook in hand. She arched an eyebrow as they passed. “Didn’t realize campus tours included ‘backdoor access,’” she said.

Lucy groaned. “Please don’t start. I get enough from him.”

“I’m not judging,” Rox said calmly, flipping to a fresh page. “I’m studying it. ”

Mike perked up immediately. “Oooh. Look who’s back. If it isn’t my favorite flapjack-scented necromancer.”

Rox stared. “...What?”

“I’m calling you Goth IHOP. You smell like maple body spray and repressed daddy issues.”

Lucy sighed. “He’s in one of those moods.”

Rox ignored him, eyes narrowing as she circled Lucy slowly. “You’re not casting. Not consciously. But you’re generating some sort of aura. Passive casting like that shouldn’t be possible…unless you’ve been marked or bound.”

“I’ve been cursed,” Lucy muttered.

“Was it a ritual?” Rox asked. “Blood, bone, poppet magic? Did you offend a crossroads spirit or piss off a basement witch?”

“She bought a puppet from a weird thrift shop and stuck her hand in it like an idiot,” Mike said. “And now I’m an icon,” he added proudly. “Living proof that polyblend cotton can make you wet.”

Lucy sighed. “Don’t listen to him. It wasn’t a thrift shop sock puppet…it was…god this sounds dumber. It was the schools uniform inspector.”

Rox gave her a quizzical look.

“I know. Most schools don’t have them. But ours did. He was able to set uniforms and behavior homework. Long story short…” She held up the arm that Mike was attached to.

You were THAT school!” Rox exclaimed. “We all heard rumors. The one that for some reason gave a student carte blanche to…well, do that Although…I didn’t realize it had some sort of magical properties to it.”

“I don’t think anyone did. But here we are.” Lucy replied.

Rox didn’t even blink. “So… not a spirit possession. More like a low-level conjuration? Polymorphic thoughtform, maybe. Its not a purely psychological thing, since he effects other nearby humans. This definitely warrants further studying.”

Mike leered. “Whatever gets me access to your bra drawer, Goth IHOP.”

Rox pulled a crystal from her pocket, let it dangle by a chain. The quartz twitched toward Mike.

“Oh, he’s keyed. You’re leaking magic like a busted humidifier.”

Lucy looked up. “You can see it?”

Rox nodded. “Not clearly. But I can smell it. Taste it, even.”

Mike licked nonexistent lips. “You can taste me? Don’t tease me with good intentions, batgirl.”

Rox smirked. “I’m not teasing.”

Lucy stared. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“I’m not,” Rox said, pocketing the crystal. “I’m just curious. This isn’t textbook lust magic. It’s messier. Older. Maybe sentient.”

Mike made a purring sound. “You trying to figure me out, baby?”

“I want to test salt circles, cold iron, maybe menstrual blood,” Rox said. “See what makes you tick. Or scream.”

“Oh, I like you,” Mike said, wriggling with delight. “Let’s get to the part where you chain me up and call it science.”

Rox flipped her notebook shut, but didn’t step back. Her eyes stayed fixed on Mike, the corners of her mouth twitching between irritation and curiosity.

“You’re aware,” she said slowly, “that you’re emitting something like an empathic glamour. Low-frequency, high-impact. Sex-linked. You’re not just making women horny, you’re… tuning us to your wavelength.”

Mike grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” Rox snapped. Then caught herself. Her cheeks colored, faint, but there.

Lucy noticed. “Oh no. You too?”

Rox didn’t deny it. “I feel it,” she said. “Right now. Even standing here. Like gravity’s been replaced with…” She paused. “Something warm. Heavy. Centered between my legs.”

Mike chuckled. “Magic dick aura. You’re welcome.”

Rox didn’t move. “It’s unnatural.”

“You say that like you’re not into it,” Mike said, his voice dropping, low and slick. “But I see you. You haven’t blinked since I started talking. And your pulse just spiked.”

Rox licked her lips without thinking, then caught herself and scowled.

“I’m a scientist, and a practicing wiccan.” she muttered. “I don’t get off on losing control.”

Mike leaned forward. “Sure, you do. You just want to catalogue it while you come.”

That one landed. Rox shivered. Her knees barely held. She clutched her notebook tighter, not for protection, but to stop her hand from doing something else.

Lucy groaned. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t be the handler for a sock that gets people horny all the time.”

Rox finally stepped back, jaw tight. “This isn’t over,” she said. “I want to run tests. Find the tether point. I don’t care how smug the sock is, I’m not going to be manipulated like some airheaded bimbo.” She glanced at Lucy, sympathy in her eyes. “We’ll fix this.”

Mike winked. “That’s okay, Goth IHOP. I like my witches slow-roasted.”

---

The dorm lights were low, just the soft yellow lamp over Rox’s desk and the bluish glow of Faith’s Bible app screen. Lucy sat on her bed, earbuds in, hoping against hope that energy in the room wouldn’t escalate into something she’d rather avoid, that she could make it through at least one night without Mike harassing a female, or her.

Rox knelt near her bed, carefully pouring a fine line of salt in a full circle around the frame. She moved deliberately, tracing glyphs into the corners, pausing occasionally to mutter under her breath in Latin.

Mike, hanging slack over Lucy’s arm, was not paying attention. His button eyes were fixed across the room on Faith, who sat cross-legged in a long T-shirt with a cartoon sheep and the words “He leads me beside still waters.”

“Hey there, Angel tits,” he said, voice low and syrupy. “Nice lamb shirt. Real subtle. That for bedtime prayers, or bait?”

Faith jumped slightly. “It’s just… comfortable.”

Mike purred. “I bet it is. All loose and breezy down the thighs. God’s favorite draft.”

Faith flushed pink and looked away, pulling her legs in tighter.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Can you not tonight?”

Mike ignored her.

“You ever wonder,” he said to Faith, “if abstinence is really about virtue, or just about control? 'Cause baby, you look like someone who’s dying to sin just once…if someone asked the right way.”

Faith stammered. “I…I’m not…”

Rox dropped a small iron nail into the center of her salt circle with a loud clink. Mike didn’t flinch. “Oh, look,” he said. “Goth IHOP’s trying exorcism. Cute.”

Rox stood, brushing her hands off. “This is a containment ward. Not an exorcism.”

Mike turned slightly. “Containment? Babe, you can’t even contain your breathing when I’m in the room.”

Rox’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t take the bait. “I’m not doing this for me,” she said. “I’m doing it to study you. To limit the aura. Maybe to weaken it.”

Mike stretched lazily in Lucy’s sleeve. “You say that like you’re not hoping I fail. So you can squirm some more tonight. Maybe grind a little. Strictly for data collection, of course.”

Rox didn’t rise to his comments as she continued her preparations.

---

It was nearly 2 a.m., and Rox hadn’t moved from her bed in over an hour. Not for lack of trying.

The salt circle was still faintly visible around her bed, the grains undisturbed. She stared at the ceiling, breathing through her nose. Too shallow. Too fast. Everything felt… heightened. Like her skin had been rewired. The sheets, once cool cotton, now felt electric against her thighs. Her tank top clung to her chest in a way she didn’t remember being annoying until now. She turned over. Then again. Then kicked the blanket off completely.

“Magic resonance,” she muttered to herself, under her breath. “Proximity-based. Hormonal response layered with psychological pull.” Her thighs pressed together. She hated the way it felt.

Across the room, Lucy snored softly, dead to the world. Faith, in her far corner, dozed peacefully.

But Rox was awake—restless, uncomfortable, and undeniably affected. She shifted again and pressed her palm to her forehead. “You’re not hot,” she whispered. “You’re enchanted.” The words felt hollow.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that smug sock mouth, the way it moved without actually moving, the way the eyes watched her. It shouldn’t have had expression. It shouldn’t have had presence. And yet it lingered like heat on the back of her neck.

Her nipples ached under her shirt, hard, betraying her. She rolled to her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. “It’s just magic,” she said again, biting the words. “It’s just. Stupid. Magic.” But she knew the truth: it was working.

Her mind raced with frustration and a growing sense of dread. She could feel the heat rising between her thighs, a burning that would not be denied. She lifted her hips slightly, burying her face deeper into her pillow. Her right hand slide down between her legs, finding her pajama shorts soaked through. With a moan of frustration she slid them off and dropped them off the side of the bed, her hand returning to between her legs, as she began to rub gently.

Her left hand found her large chest, pinching and pulling at her nipple. She did her best to keep the noises escaping her mouth quiet, the noise further muffled by the pillow as her hands worked their own form of magic on her body.

Rox's breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body tensing as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. She bit down on her pillow, muffling any sounds that might escape as she finally let go, her body convulsing with the **** of her orgasm.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Rox lay there, her body still tingling with aftershocks. She hated this magic, hated the way it controlled her, hated that it was Mike’s stupid sock face that she pictured as she brought herself to orgasm. Finally, she drifted off to sleep.

---

The dorm room was quiet except for the sound of Lucy brushing her teeth with deliberate aggression in the shared sink, and the rhythmic drip of coffee percolating in a thrifted coffee machine. Sunlight cut across the floor, slicing through a chalky line of salt still circling Rox’s bed like a tiny, failed exorcism. Faith sat cross-legged on her bed, already dressed in jean shorts and another shirt with a bible verse on it, brushing out her hair and humming a hymn under her breath. Rox, by contrast, looked like she’d barely slept. Her mascara was smudged. Her hair was all over the place, half undone in a messy bun. Her notebook was open on her lap with half a dozen symbols scratched in varying levels of agitation.

Mike stirred, twitching awake under Lucy’s hoodie sleeve like a demon rising for round two. He yawned with theatrical smugness. “Well well,” he purred, “Goth IHOP survived the night. Thought that salt circle might turn your dreams bland, but judging by the flush in your cheeks and the way you muttered my name at 2 a.m., I’m guessing no.”

Rox didn’t look at him. “Your magic bled through.”

Mike chuckled. “Bled through, soaked your shorts, what's the difference?”

Faith glanced up, frowning. “Y’all really need to stop saying weird things before breakfast.”

Rox finally spoke, voice clipped. “It didn’t block him. The salt should’ve disrupted the energy field, severed the anchor.”

Mike stretched lazily. “You keep talking like this is all an experiment, babe. But I saw the way your hands moved under the sheets. That wasn’t academic curiosity. That was practical research.”

Faith turned bright pink.

Rox exhaled through her nose and flipped a page in her journal. “His reach is strongest in direct proximity. Visual contact amplifies it. I think auditory exposure also causes strong effects, possibly emotional resonance based.”

Mike grinned. “Translation: I talk pretty and you get tingly.”

Faith’s voice was small. “I didn’t feel anything. I mean…I felt weird. But not like… bad weird.”

Rox looked up at her, thoughtful.

Faith shrugged, fiddling with her necklace. “I just said a little prayer and went to bed.”

Mike snorted. “She’s adorable. Like a hot scarecrow full of moral fiber. Don’t worry Angel tits, I’ll give you yours soon enough.”

Rox looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”

Mike winked. “Just means I haven’t started cooking yet.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Rox replied. “Trina threw herself at you after three hours on a tour and you didn’t hesitate. But with me and Faith? You’re taking your sweet time.”

Mike grinned. “Aw. Are you feeling left out, Goth IHOP?”

She didn’t blink. “Just trying to understand the methodology behind the manipulation.”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Sometimes it’s about appetite. Sometimes it’s about flavor. Tour whore? She was fast food. Salty, hot, gone in minutes. If I’m ever feeling peckish, I’ll hit ethe drive thru.”

Rox raised an eyebrow.

“But you?” he continued, voice dropping slightly, “You’re marbled. Tougher cut. Needs slow heat. A good sear. Bit of seasoning. And me? I’m a Michelin star chef.”

Lucy groaned and tried to shove Mike in her hoodie pocket. “Please don’t treat my roommates like meat, Mike.”

Mike ignored her. “Besides,” he added, “sometimes it’s the thrill of the hunt. You don’t mount the prize the second you see it. You chase it. You watch it squirm. That’s where the real flavor is.”

Rox stared at him for a moment, then scribbled something in her notebook. She muttered. “You’re a sadist.”

Mike chuckled. “Labels are so reductive.” He turned toward her, the cotton mouth curving wickedly. “But between us? I do love playing with my food.”