Strangely Familiar

by Cari Z.

  "Oh, too bad,” Katrina pouted. “Well, maybe just Mauricio then."

  It was amazing that she managed to refrain from licking her lips. Mauricio had just managed to pull on jeans before she came inside, and the way Katrina was looking at his bare chest left no doubt as to where her mind was headed.

  Mauricio glanced at Cecily, then looked back at her sister. “Is it far?"

  "Less than a mile,” she purred.

  "I'll go."

  Something inside of Cecily's heart froze and shattered in that moment. She couldn't speak. She just nodded and headed back to her bedroom, shutting the door fast. She heard the murmur of their voices in the front hall, then the click of the door closing behind them.

  Katie had known she was monitoring tonight. They lived in the same area, they protected the same boundaries. She had come by tonight because she knew Cecily wouldn't be able to go out with them, because she knew that she and Mauricio still weren't getting along. She was attracted to him, and saw this as the perfect way to get him alone and drive another little wedge into the divide between them. And he had gone with her. He had gone, and she had let him go.

  Anger like she hadn't felt in years poured through Cecily like a wave of fire, searing her body into action. She grabbed her sword out of its scabbard and recklessly strode over to her door, hacking the antique doorknob off in one clean blow. It was stupid—abusive and reckless—but her emotions needed an outlet and spellcasting was denied her, thanks to her familiar's stubbornness. She drove the blade through the edge of her doorframe, then wrenched it free and continued into her living room. She needed a better target ... there. Coffee table. Where she would be sitting with her monitoring equipment like a good little girl, doing what everyone else wanted, trying to be everything to everyone and never once getting their respect, only earning a reputation as a sweet little wet blanket. Fuck them. Fuck all of them.

  Cecily cut the table into pieces, unaware that she was screaming until the pain in her throat alerted her. She hacked until the splinters had splinters and she had shredded the carpet beneath it. She was still furious, but exhaustion made her slump down onto the couch, sword dangling limply from her hand. Her wrist hurt. Wood was a harder target than flesh. She'd have to resharpen the blade, too. Idiot.

  The door opened. Cecily jumped to her feet, thrusting the sword out in front of her, looking wildly through the curls falling across her face. It was Mauricio. He shut the door behind himself, his eyes widening as he took in the ruin she had made of her living room.

  "What are you doing back?” Cecily asked in a cracked voice. “I thought you were going out with Katie."

  "We went. I felt something painful come from you and returned.” He took a step towards her, hands spread wide, voice calm. “Do you mean to threaten me with that blade?"

  "Yes. No. I don't...” She swallowed but didn't lower the weapon. “I don't understand you. I thought you liked being away from me.” Her cheeks felt hot and wet.

  He shook his head and took a step forward. “It isn't you.” He took another step forward. “Just what you represent.” His eyes were so bright, soft for once, not hard and glaring. He stepped closer. “I haven't been good to you since you brought me here, and I apologize. I understand that it wasn't what you intended. Your sister said—"

  "I'm sure Katie told you she wasn't surprised that I screwed up, that I don't do anything right, that I'm nice but incompetent,” Cecily said harshly. “They try to protect me from everything, and then you come along, and you don't care about anything ... it just...” She knew she sounded pathetic and stopped, biting her lip.

  Mauricio gently turned the tip of her sword away, then stepped in close. As soon as his hands touched her, she dropped the sword. “I don't know what to do,” she whispered.

  "I don't know, either.” He looked down at her, and she saw his sadness, felt his guilt again. “But we'll figure it out.” He tentatively raised his hands to her shoulders. It was the first affectionate touch she had ever had from him in his human form, and Cecily melted into it. Before she knew it she was clutching his waist and pressing her face against his chest, crying her heart out. He comforted her awkwardly, in arms that it seemed hadn't held another person in a long time. They ended up sitting on the couch, and once she had finished her cry he reached over into the remains of her coffee table and fished out the box of tissues.

  "Thanks.” She grabbed one and wiped her eyes and nose, then glanced over at the ruins of her table. “Wow. That was dumb."

  "No it wasn't."

  Cecily gave him a half-smile. “How do you figure?"

  "It told me something I needed to know."

  "That you're bonded to a psychopath?” Way to not help your situation, Cecily. But he was already shaking his head.

  "No, it tells me that you have a mind and heart of your own. From our beginning, you've been afraid. Afraid of everyone, their thoughts of you, their thoughts of me, what I thought ... you never did anything for yourself. I wondered when I left if there was anything I could do to make you stronger.” He shrugged and smiled. “It was not necessary. You have strength, you only hide it because you think they expect that. You shouldn't. Strength is respected. Niceness, not so much.” He tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him. “Why do you let people hurt you?"

  "I don't know,” she replied honestly. “It seems easier than fighting them most of the time."

  "Sometimes fighting is good. You fought for me, and that pleases me."

  "I fought a table,” she pointed out with a grin. “It didn't stand much of a chance."

  "True.” He looked at the remains. “I'll have to make a new one."

  Cecily lifted an eyebrow. “You can do that?"

  "At one time in my life I was a carpenter."

  "At one time?” She looked him up and down. “You don't look much older than me. How old are you?"

  He looked away. “Much older than you.” He let go of her and glanced down at the table, then back at her. “Did you break anything else?"

  "My bedroom door, a little.” He went to go and look at it. Okay, so things weren't totally good between them, but at least they were talking without trying to kill each other. Cecily had gotten that urge out of her system.

  Things did improve. Cecily came to appreciate how completely bored Mauricio must have been, lolling about as a jaguar or walking the streets of Philadelphia alone as a human. He was a man of action, and living in the jungles of South America had given him lots of that. Having something to do here did wonders for his temper.

  He decided to focus on the table first. The next day he went and bought supplies for a new one, commenting before he left that he'd need a way to earn his own money. When he came back he was carrying loads of Brazilian cherry wood and having Jerry help him bring it upstairs. He bought tools, none of them electric, and glue and nails and other things Cecily had never really thought about before, but that you'd need to build a table. She had never built anything for herself; there was always someone else to do it. Mauricio pulled up the ruined carpet of her living room and set up a make-shift shop, complete with drop cloths to keep sawdust from getting all over the floor.

  It would be a process of several days, he informed her, maybe a week. In the meantime, she could think about what she wanted to break next. “Since I'm not so busy,” he added.

  "You could work through some spells with me,” she offered tentatively. “Some protections for you—” Mauricio was already shaking his head.

  "No spells, no protections. Cast spells to protect yourself, keep them off of me."

  "Why not for you?” she asked. He didn't answer, just started measuring the boards. “Stubborn bastard.” She caught the edge of a smile as she turned towards the kitchen, but it was gone before she could blink.

  His acceptance of their situation, however grudging it was, had greatly strengthened the bond between them. When she burned her index finger on the coffee pot, he shook his own hand and glanced over at her. “Are you
all right?"

  "Fine,” Cecily replied, sucking on her finger. “Just clumsy.” She felt his concern ebb, and he turned back to his project. Interesting, she thought. I'll have to ask Brigit about that.

  She got the chance soon afterwards. Brigit came to visit her the next day, taking in all the construction with a satisfied glance. “Good morning.” She held up a bag. “I brought cranberry-orange muffins."

  "You're a gem,” Cecily said. “I think we're both getting tired of my attempts at breakfast."

  "Burnt toast,” Mauricio added. “No papayas, no mangoes. At least she's learning to make good coffee."

  Cecily threw a potholder at him. “You make the breakfast next time if you don't like my offerings, macho man."

  Brigit frowned. “What happened to your old table?"

  Cecily felt a blush coming on. She hadn't told anyone about her recent breakdown, and it was clear that her sister was curious about the state of affairs between her and her familiar. Mauricio just smiled. “Come with me,” Cecily muttered, grabbing her sister by the hand. They went back to her room, where Brigit cast an eye at the damaged woodwork. She shut the door and they sat on the bed.

  "Cecily,” Brigit said seriously, “did he get violent with you?"

  "No.” Oh yes, it was creeping up her neck, and—there! Full fledged fire face, a blush to beat all. “I did that. Katie came by and asked us out, but she knew I couldn't go so they went alone. I got upset and kind of took my anger out on the furniture."

  Brigit's eyes narrowed. “Katie looked a little unsettled a few days ago when I saw her. She has no business coming on to your familiar, gorgeous Brazilian hunk or not. What the hell is her problem?"

  "Don't get upset,” Cecily begged. “It's her nature. Besides, it kind of helped me and Mauricio to come to an understanding. Things aren't perfect, but at least we're talking without snapping at each other."

  Brigit stared at her for a long time. She finally raised a hand to Cecily's face, cupping her cheek. “Don't go thinking that you're the least of us, Cess, because you're not. Not by a long shot. I don't know what we did to deserve a sister like you."

  "Brig.” They leaned in and shared a tight hug. When they finally pulled away Brigit was blinking a little, her eyes shiny.

  "I should get going."

  "Wait, I have a quick question. Brig, can you feel what your familiar feels? When something happens to him, do you get an echo of it?"

  Brigit tilted her head as she thought about it. “Sometimes, if it's a fierce enough feeling. Flying, for example. The first time Aura flew and we were fully bonded, the sensation was...” she shivered slightly, “incredible. Why, are you starting to get that close to Mauricio?"

  "I think so. I just wanted to check that it was supposed to happen that way."

  "It happens how it happens. All the rest of the world can do is stand back and watch.” She laughed suddenly. “Melinda ordered Mom to leave you alone until you and he are fully bonded. It's pissing her off something fierce, but she can't disobey an outright order, not unless she wants to lose her status in the coven."

  "I wondered why she hadn't been by."

  "No choice. Enjoy it while you can.” She said her goodbyes and grabbed a muffin on the way out. That was quintessential Brigit: she came to check on you, brought you muffins, and then left you alone. Mauricio seemed to appreciate it, too.

  "The only one of your sisters with sense."

  "All my sisters are sensible,” Cecily replied. Her familiar's expressive face turned her way incredulously, and she laughed. “Okay, maybe not Katie. But we're all so different. Brigit is the most practical, that's all."

  "You,” he said in between hammer strikes, “are not sensible."

  "So they tell me."

  "But you are worthy regardless. Your sister is right about that."

  Cecily eyed him narrowly. “Did you listen in on our conversation?"

  He shrugged and pointed to his ears. “They hear things. I can't turn them off. I can forget to tell you in the future, though."

  "That's it, we have your next project all mapped out. New insulation in the walls."

  "Your apartment is rented. No tearing down walls."

  "Smart ass."

  They went for a walk that afternoon. An actual, honest to Goddess, walk in the park. They went to Poquessing Creek Park, one of the larger less crowded urban green zones in Philadelphia. Mauricio was in his leopard form, and it was clear he was enjoying the exercise. When he ran across the grass, his heavy, muscled form moving at surprising speed, Cecily got a taste of that incredible feeling Brigit had mentioned. That was nothing compared to what they shared later.

  Cecily had another dream that night. Details of situation and any semblance of plot were lost to her mind. Mauricio's voice burned through her mind, his touch set her body on fire. When he took her on the bed, thrusting up into her pussy as she wrapped her legs around his back, she screamed with the pleasure. Dreams weren't supposed to have scents, but this one did, and it smelled like a warm summer day at the park, sweat, and something sharper underneath that belonged solely to her familiar. He filled her body, held her and spoke harsh, hot words that she couldn't make out as they fucked. Everything happened so fast, and she was gripping his smooth back, arching against his hips as he pounded into her, finally tipping her over the edge, and she screamed again, coming, oh, now—

  "Aaahh!” Cecily's eyes flew open, one hand locked between her legs, the other clutching the damp sheet beneath her. Her whole body throbbed relentlessly, making it difficult to stifle her harsh breathing.

  Difficult, that was, until she heard a noise. It was him, moving around. He was awake. Fuck! He was awake! She quieted down immediately, trying to slow her breathing. Her hair was coiled thickly about her head, across her face, stifling her. She took her hand out from between her drenched thighs and grabbed the sheet she had kicked off, pulling it quickly up her naked body.

  Oh yes, he was awake. She heard him leave the guest bedroom, which he had taken over with her blessing, and walk out into the hall. He paused outside her door, then continued on to the bathroom they shared. She heard the water come on, and breathed out a sigh of relief. Cecily didn't relish the thought of a confrontation with him about her waking him up with wet dreams. Dreams that starred him, especially. Although...

  No. It wouldn't be healthy to go there. Cecily rolled onto her side and resolutely shut her eyes. She'd catch a shower in the morning and just not say anything.

  Amazingly, Mauricio was up before she was. Cecily woke up to the smell of strong coffee. She rubbed some of the sleep from her eyes and glanced at her alarm clock. A little before seven AM. Well, Mister Early Riser. He'd slept until eight or nine for the past week. She grabbed a pair of cotton pajamas and started to put them on, then realized that she smelled like sex. Shower first. Coffee could wait.

  Clean, dry, and feeling more confident, Cecily padded down the hall in slippers to the kitchen, tying her wild hair back into a knot above her head. Mauricio's back was to her as she came in, but he turned when she sat down in a bar stool at the counter. “Coffee.” He placed a steaming mug in front of her. “See how good I treat you?"

  "Very nice. Now, where's the milk and sugar?"

  He looked incredulously at her. “You want to ruin my coffee with milk and sugar? Wicked woman.” He smiled at her, and she had to smile back. There was a playfulness about him this morning that she had never seen before.

  "I'll try it black.” She sniffed deeply, then took a sip. Her lips wrinkled. “That is way too strong."

  "Good,” he corrected her. “Delicious. Way too perfect."

  "Perfect or not, I need milk and sugar."

  "Then you have to get them."

  She glared at him and his smile became a grin. “I'm kidding.” He took a small carton of milk out of the fridge and passed her the sugar bowl and a spoon.

  Cecily added a few teaspoons of sugar and liberal amounts of milk. “You're in a good mood,” she comment
ed.

  "I am,” Mauricio agreed. “I had a very interesting evening."

  Oh, crap. She tried to appear disinterested. “Really?"

  "Yes, really. Very interesting. Very vivid.” The light dancing in his reddish-brown eyes was mischievous, but he had pity on her. “I'll finish sanding the table today. It should be ready to varnish tomorrow."

  Cecily turned to look at it. “It's beautiful. The color is fantastic."

  "It's Brazilian, naturally it's fantastic."

  "Don't get too far ahead of yourself.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I'm monitoring all day today, so we'll both be busy."

  "Good.” He offered her a plate. “Want some burnless toast?"

  Cecily rolled her eyes. “I'd love some."

  They kept themselves occupied for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Cecily watched her monitors, talked with the other witches in the area and was as cordial as she could manage to be with Katie over the phone. Their conversation didn't last long. Nothing much of occult interest was stirring, although the next neighborhood over had had a minor troll invasion when one of the nearby rivers overflowed its banks and a bridge was flooded. It was cliché, but it was true: trolls loved bridges.

  Mauricio shaped, carved, and sanded on the new table. It was the same size as her last one, but built much sturdier. It was simple but elegant, and the dark reddish-brown color was almost exactly the same shade as Mauricio's eyes. She watched him bend over the table, smoothing with the sandpaper, losing himself to the rhythm of the work. He was wearing an old t-shirt, a castoff from one of Katie's last boyfriends, and it was really too tight on him. It displayed every ripple of every muscle on his torso as though it wasn't even there ... which wasn't altogether a bad thing. He was so deliciously easy on the eyes.

  He caught her staring at him from the couch. “Yes?” he asked politely and with a glint in his eyes.

  "I was wondering where you learned English.” It was better than saying, “I was wondering how you felt under that flimsy cotton rag, why don't we find out?"

  "Ah.” He gave her a half-smile. “I learned from a Presbyterian missionary when I was a child. He taught in our local school. His Portuguese was not so good, but he owned many books. I taught myself to conjugate your strange verbs."