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Into the Maze

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This is brain-numbing.

Marina has to show a bright-eyed little firstie from somewhere in Assfuck, Indiana all over campus. Because she’s Fogg’s favorite girl and Fogg’s favorite girl would never refuse a task like this one. This firstie is pretending he doesn’t give a fuck that magic is real, yes, boring boring, and he’s wearing, of all things, a fucking bowtie and vest. She supposes he’d be fuckable if he were straight, but he clearly bats for the other team; she has to admit she appreciates the predatory look on his face when he stares after the other Brakebills boys. But this is all an act. He’s terrified. She can see it in his extravagantly grand gestures, in his over-the-top snark, in his sideways questions. He wants to fit in. He wants to be in the warm center of things. He could be useful. So she’s nice to him. She makes sure he likes her, with her red hair long and loose over her shoulders, her blue eyes sweet, not sharp; her lipstick conservative; her dress black and sleeveless but not too edgy.

Then she sees her.

She’s being escorted by another third-year, one of the stupider ones, and she looks like she wants to kill him slowly with piano wire. Her honey-brown-red hair is done in long, perfect curls. Her makeup is impeccable, perfect smokey shadow over big brown eyes, darkish lipstick. Long lashes. Perfect brows. Perfect body, perfect face. She’s tan, much different than Marina’s carefully cultivated pallor. She’s also wearing a red bikini, a white cover-up that hits mid-thigh, and flip-flops — and the edges of that bikini scream Brazilian wax. They must have grabbed her for the exam straight from the beach. Best of all, she doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck that she’s half dressed, and her tits are fantastic.

“Perkins,” Marina says sweetly, “You must be so worn out. I can finish the tour for you if you want.”

Perkins, unused to any sort of niceness from Marina whatsoever, grasps at it like a starving man for bread. “Sure, Marina,” he says. “This is Margo Hanson.”

“Pleasure,” the other girl says, examining her nails. They’re long and red and match the exact shade of her bikini.

“I’m Marina Andrieski, a third year here at Brakebills,” Marina says in her best honey-sweet voice, the one that roughens out the edges of her New York accent. “Where did you do your undergrad, Margo?”

Margo’s still looking at her nails. “UCLA. Theater. 4.0. Two questions, Marina Andrieski. Is this tour almost fucking over, and is there a magical way to kill Perkins in his sleep?”

Eliot is looking her up and down with an appraisal Marina’s only seen him reserve for boys’ asses. “Oh, she’s good,” Marina can practically hear him thinking. “Eliot Waugh,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Margo says. She doesn’t take it.

Marina’s mouth twists sideways. She likes this one better and better.

“Nice bikini,” Eliot says.

“I was on the beach when they grabbed me for this exam,” she says. “I went to the boardwalk, dropped my phone, looked up, and there I fucking was. 3000 miles miles away expected to do geometric proofs. And now my motherfucking tan’s going to be uneven. Assholes could have waited until I flipped to the other side.”

“What kind of magic did you do?” Eliot asks.

“I turned the desk into a fucking ice cube and shattered it after they yelled at me that I was just a boring pretty girl. I get real sick of that bullshit real fucking quick.”

“I levitated the dean after he called me faggot.”

She laughs, and Marina has to admit it’s everything: ringing, unselfconscious, head thrown back. “You perfect bastard,” Margo says. “Motherfucker deserved it.” She pauses. “Did you drop him?”

“Hard, girl.”

She laughs again and hooks her arm into his. “I like you already, Eliot Waugh.”

Marina’s slightly annoyed. This girl needs to be bonding with her, not this other stupid firstie in his affected little bowtie.

“When they came for me, I ended up making a black hole,” Marina says. “Blew off the ceiling of the exam room.”

Margo raises an eyebrow. “Impressive. Where’d you do your undergrad?”

“Columbia. 4.0.” And you don’t want to know how much dick I sucked to pay for that tuition, little rich girl, Marina thinks. Because between the clothes, the pendant, the makeup and the flip-flops, this is one spoiled LA brat standing in front of her.

“Major?” Margo raises an eyebrow. She’s pretending she doesn’t care but she’s clearly impressed.

“Sociology and psychology.”

“Nice chatting, but can we get this shit over with?” Margo asks. “I’ve got shit to do.” She hefts her enormous Louis Vuitton purse to her shoulder.

What, like file your fucking nails? Marina thinks. But this one could be fun. This one could actually be interesting. But she dutifully leads Eliot and Margo through the Maze, pointing out the fountains and telling them who hangs out where, letting her snark loose, which both of them seem to appreciate, Margo more than Eliot. She ends her tour at the freshman dorms, in the main house.

“And that’s magic school,” she says. “Probably more boring than you thought it was.”

“No,” Margo says. Marina is surprised to see her eyes are soft. “It was fucking perfect.”

That’s it for her, Marina thinks. She’s thrilled to be out of LA and into something more than pretty faces.

“See you later,” she chirps at them. Just as Eliot’s holding the door for Margo, Marina calls her name.

“Hey,” she says.

“What?” Margo asks. “Some more amazing thing you forgot to show us?”

Marina affects her most mysterious smile. “Meet me at midnight in the Maze and I’ll show you. Girls only.”

Margo shrugs, which Marina takes to be a yes. Oh yes. This one is worth her fucking time.


And, somewhat to Marina’s surprise, Margo shows. She’s standing at the entrance to the Maze, in actual clothes this time, a short red dress bled black under the full moon. A Burberry watch. Marina gets the idea that this is how Margo dresses all the fucking time — she didn’t get anything special out of her. Even better. If she’d dressed to impress, she’d think less of her. Margo’s cultivating a look of careful boredom but Marina can tell by her tapping foot that she’s nervous.

“Come on, it’s just over here,” Marina says. She grabs Margo by the wrist, a subtly aggressive gesture, and leads her through the twists and turns to the fountain she’s after. “Look into it. But do not, under any fucking circumstances, fall in or touch the water. You know, some people say the fountains were here before Brakebills. That they built the school to be near the fountains, not the other way around.”

Margo leans over and looks over the stone edge; Marina resists the urge to back up and look at how far her dress rides up, but she does venture a glance at her long length of thigh. She holds Margo’s waist so she doesn’t get too close, and she inhales the girl’s smell: rich bitch products, floral and vanilla. She’s subtle about enjoying her scent as Margo stares and sees the other faces looking up at her. She jumps back.

“Christ on a motherfucking tricycle,” she swears.

Marina laughs at her and lets her go.

“There are fucking people in that fountain.”

“We don’t know where they come from, if it’s another place and time or another world entirely. Someone did some boring dissertation on it once and came up with nothing. So he jumped in to see. Never came out again.”


“Well, there’s all sorts of creative ways to kill yourself at Brakebills. You’ll see.” Marina twists her mouth into something that can be interpreted as a grin, if the onlooker wants it to be. “You have me to keep you from making dumbass mistakes like that.”

“I’m not the type to make dumbass mistakes,” Margo says.

“I can tell. You think I’d have asked you out here if I thought you were?”

Margo appraises Marina, her dark eyes black in the night. “So why did you ask me out here? It wasn’t to show me a fucking fountain.”

Marina shrugs. “Thought you might be interested,” she says casually.

“No, you didn’t.”

“You’re quick. I like that. Most of the people here are boring as fuck. You’ll see. You’re not.” Marina steps closer to her. Margo doesn’t step back.

“You think you can bring the little firstie out here and sweet-talk her into some fun and games, think again,” Margo says. She’s shorter than Marina by a good bit, especially with Marina in stilettos, but she isn’t backing down. “I don’t fucking play.”

“You mean you don’t like girls?” Marina challenges.

“No, I mean I don’t fucking play head games.”

“Oh, really?” Marina says. “Then why’d you show up here to begin with, firstie?” She takes another step closer. Margo’s still not backing down. Marina’s in her face now. Oh, this one is going to be fun to break. She talks a big game but Marina can already tell it’s mostly an act, just as affected as that Eliot’s bowtie.

Margo smirks. “Because I thought you might be worth my time.”

“Funny. I thought you might be worth mine.”

Marina decides to give it shot. She crosses that final small step separating them and crushes her mouth down on Margo’s, hard. Margo kisses her back. Neither of them play. There’s no new-lover exploration, no teasing each other’s lips. Marina’s tongue is in her mouth and Margo’s is twining around it. She tries to lick in between Marina’s teeth and Marina touches her for the first time. She yanks at that those long, loose curls and stops. Margo’s chin is tilted up at her, forcing her to look Marina right into her pale blue eyes.

“Oh no, honey,” Marina says. “I don’t play games.”

“Excuse me?” Margo asks.

“Keep your tongue in your mouth and behave.” Marina knows instinctively that if she pushes this one too far, she’ll turn around and walk off, and she won’t see her again. She loosens her grip on Margo’s hair but doesn’t let it go completely, then leans down and whispers in her ear. “I know you like that,” she says silkily. “I know no one ever gave it to you. You always have to be the big bad bitch, don’t you, honey? Always have to be the one in control. But we’re both smart enough to know it’s an act. What was it? What happened? You don’t have to tell me. But something big did. Something that made you put up a real attitude toward the rest of the world. But you’re safe with me, sweetheart. I won’t tell anyone your secret. Let’s try again.”

Marina kisses her again, this time softer, gentler. She plays with her lips a little. Margo opens her mouth to her and lets her skate her tongue along the inside her mouth, teasing her. And when Marina’s tongue finally tangles up with hers, she doesn’t push back, but seems to enjoy it instead. Her arms go around Marina’s neck and the older girl feels a leap of triumph. She has her now. She’s won this particular game. This one is not only worth her time, but she’s managed the delicate dance of getting such a fucking fireball under her thumb. Difficult, to say the least. It’s taken all of her patience and skill to snag this one, who can read people almost as well as she can. Shockingly, she’s got the alertness of someone who’s learned to survive. Sexual assault, has to be. Marina files that one away: something to tread carefully around and something that can useful, depending on the situation.
But right now, she’s got this delicious little thing wrapping her arms around her, kissing her, starting to press against her in that short little dress. Marina pulls her closer with a hand on her lower back, the other still wrapped in her hair. Margo gives a pleased little sound in the back of throat. Oh, this one likes sex, Marina thinks. This one likes sex a lot.

“Come up to my room,” Marina whispers in her ear.

“My roommate will wonder where the fuck I am,” Margo points out.

“Do you give a fuck?” Marina challenges.

“Not really,” Margo says.

Marina takes her by the wrist — a subtly aggressive gesture she’s fond of using with her lovers — and leads her to the library, to the secret back staircase where she does a Mann reveal. She teaches Margo on the fly and is pleased to see she picks it up almost immediately. At the top of the stairs, she unpicks the wards and takes her into her room. It’s large, all bookshelves crammed with half with volumes on casting and magic, half with an eclectic assortment of everything from Game of Thrones to trashy adolescent lit. Books are piled on the floor, teeter in stacks in corners. Margo’s on them like a bee on a flower, but Marina yanks her back.

“I didn’t bring you up here to examine my literature collection,” she snaps at her. “You can do that later. I want to see your tits.”

“Excuse me?” Margo snaps right back.

“I’m sorry,” Marina says contritely. “Do you need me to be a little more gentle, sweetheart? I can do that.” She curses inwardly. She got so excited she forgot this one needs careful handling or she’ll bolt. She approaches Margo and coos into the curve of her ear. “You need to relax, sweet thing. Lie down on the bed with me and let me play with you. But take off that dress first so I can see those gorgeous tits of yours.” She nibbles at Margo’s ear and lets her hands stray down to flick at her nipples. Margo gasps. She clearly wasn’t expecting this.

“Shhh. I’ll take mine off first.” Marina pulls her dress over her head. She knows her tits aren’t huge, but they’re pretty. She leans down to unbuckle her shoes, then drops her bra. Margo stares, and Marina sees desire flicker through her eyes. Yes. Margo mimics Marina. And Marina’s pleased to see that yes, her tits are high and full and round, just the way she likes them. She leads Margo, this time by the hand, to her double bed with the Brakebills crest on the comforter and lays her down. She knows how much she wants to get on top of this one, but she also knows she won’t tolerate it, not yet, so she lies at her side and kisses her again, gentle and soft.

Margo’s melting into her. Her nipples are already hard, little slut, not that Marina’s much better, and her thighs part automatically for Marina’s. Marina pets her hair and skates her hand down Margo’s body. It’s lush, despite her small frame, big tits nipping down to a small waist, real hips and an ass to die for. Not like Marina’s long, thin flapper-girl build. Margo’s arms are locked around her neck like a lovesick, horny girl while she lets Marina do all the caressing, but that’ll work for tonight. Tonight is all about getting her into bed and keeping her here.

Marina reaches down and thumbs one of her nipples. “Do you like it like this?” she asks. “Or do you like it better like this?” She pinches, not too hard, but not softly, either. Margo lets out a sharp breath and arches against her. “Oh, you like that,” Marina purrs at her. This is one that’s going to need all the purring, all the cooing, all the attention and the petting for a while until she trusts her. She pinches both of Margo’s nipples into sharp peaks. Shyly, Margo hand slips between them and flicks Marina’s nipple back and forth. She’s not used to this, Marina realizes. She’s not done this much before at all. So she has not only a mouthy little bitch in her bed, but a baby one at that. This’ll be an interesting combination, but not one Marina can’t handle.

“Like this.” Marina shows her how to roll her nipples between her fingers and draw circles around them until they harden into nubs. “That’s it, baby. Are you getting wet for me yet? I bet you are.” She lowers her mouth and sucks at Margo’s perfect tits. Margo arches and buries her fingers in Marina’s hair. This one is easy. She’s inexperienced but she wants it bad. Marina pets down her belly while she sucks, softly, until she reaches the barely-there lace. She plays with the band, then stops and looks and up at Margo, her nipple still in her mouth.

Margo looks down at her, pleading, as if wondering why she’s stopped.

So Marina strokes lower, finds her hood and pets it in the soft, up-and-down strokes that boys never get right. Margo purrs. Marina knows nows she’s getting wet, and slips a finger between her legs. Sure enough, a tiny slick of wetness is building on her lace. Marina strokes her there and Margo arches up to her. She stops for a moment, reached into her side table, and grabs some lube. A drop on her finger, she pushes Margo’s lace aside and spreads it over her lips, just around her entrance, in slow circles that move ever inward until she’s just barely inside her. Margo groans. Marina moves her mouth back to Margo’s as she slowly starts to fuck her, ever-so-softly, with the tip of one finger. Margo bucks.

“You like that?” she whispers. “You want more?” She slides her finger deep. Margo’s tight, thank god she started with one finger. She finds her g-spot and strokes it. The younger girl arches up to her and cries out.

Marina laughs at her. “I haven’t even started with you,” she says. She slides out of Margo, earning a whine, and drops more lube on her fingers. She spreads it all over her, still holding her panties to the side. Marina then concentrates on her clit. She knows how women work; she knows this is how she’s make Margo come. She plays with it, stroking directly on it, which makes Margo shiver and bucks up and down — too much. She traces circles on it. Good, but not enough. Then she reaches up from underneath it and flicks up. He finger slips just under Margo’s hood and must hit some perfect spot because the girl cries out loudly, spreads her legs wider, and jams her fists under her ass. That’s it. Marina finds that spot again and pets it softly until she has Margo rocking her hips, shivering, shaking and making little noises. “Come for me,” Marina whispers. “I want you to come on my hand for me, sweetheart. You can do it. Let it go. You’re safe here. Let it go.”

And finally, with a loud cry, Margo does, arching and bucking up to Marina’s hand. Marina presses on her so she can ride the orgasm out, presses when she jerks with it, making it last. When she finishes, her face is red, her hair tumbled over the pillow. She’s breathing hard.

“Was that the first time a girl got you off?” Marina asks.

Margo nods.

“Did you like it?” Marina asks, a purr in a her voice.

Margo nods again.

“Stay here tonight,” Marina says. “I’ll teach you more in the morning.” This is one who will want to cuddle. If she’s going to trust her, she needs to be coddled and petted.

“But I have to —”

“That doesn’t start until noon,” Marina says. She yawns. “Plenty of time before that.” She pulls Margo’s lace back to where it belongs, pulls her close, and situates them under the covers. Marina doesn’t quite yet know what she’ll end up using this one for. But she’ll be useful. A 4.0. Already picking up spells, and fast. Easy once you know what buttons to push. She’ll probably end up breaking her heart. But maybe not. She cuddles in next to her. For the time being, she smells good. And she’ll turn into a lovely little playmate.