She stared at the two women in the kettle. The fire beneath them was hot. They were hotter.
She turned to watch the Voodoo Priest as he said more chants and tended the fire. She had paid him to keep the fire on simmer throughout the night. Getting to watch was part of the deal. The women were not really in the kettle. It was an illusion created by the spell. She'd placed their representation into the kettle. As the water began to warm so to did their blood - and their passion. The spell was difficult, but the real trick was in maintaining the fire. She wanted their passions to remain hot; their bodies in bed together writhing and moaning w need. But this was dark magic. And that was the only reason more men did not use it. It came w a cost.
The longer the fire simmered, the greater the cost. The cost was unpredictable. The woman may become pregnant despite any form of birth control used or even if she had long been infertile. And then the pregnant woman would make her lover pay and pay and pay. She may become obsessive and jealous. It was impossible to know in advance what would happen. The only thing for sure was that the emotions which followed would equal the passions from the spell. The cost was unpredictable. But it was always intense. And, she smiled, looking again at the two women, it would be all the more intense because there were two women in this spell.
Angrily she imagined the two women in bed now w her husband. He had slept w each and she'd learned about it. Now, the spell had placed all three in bed together. She had not included his likeness into the kettle because men did not require magic to jump into bed w a woman. Her husband was just an idiot. Idiots don't know any better. Her two best friends should have known better.