Bump (A Witchlight Novel)

by Jaime Munn

  “Oh it is good,” I assured her rising from my seat. “Help yourself to some meringue, I’ll put in our order.”

  As I approached the counter I wondered if my blessing would attach itself to Erica if I somehow managed to smuggle her disposable coffee cup out of Coffee-on-Main and use it as an anchor for the spell. Did fingerprint and lipstick smudges amount to the same thing as investing an object with a personal impression? It was not something I’d had any reason to experiment with before. I wasn’t intending to start now. It seemed doomed to failure anyhow.

  I ordered one honey latte and a cinnamon cappuccino. The barista promised to deliver them to our table. I turned to find Erica looking my way. Our eyes met for a brief moment before she looked away. I suddenly felt naked. It took a moment to realise that there was a figure paused outside Coffee-on-Main staring in at me. She was dark skinned with large coffee coloured eyes. I had seen her before in the market, just another face in the crowd, but she’d been there when I’d had the sense of being watched.

  Her hair was big. Like a 60’s Hollywood movie; very Afro-American. She had large hoop earrings but her neck was bare down to a close fitting olive green tube top and a brass-coloured skirt that fell to just above her knees. She looked a little like a model who’d just stepped off a catwalk and slipped into something more practical. She stood there a moment letting me get a good look at her, then flashed me a smile full of teeth and walked away. Her sandals were gold and studded with glassy-emeralds. They glittered in the sunlight.

  She’d wanted me to see her. Perhaps she wanted me to follow her too, but I wasn’t fool enough to do it. I kept the fear from bleeding into my expression and calmly sat down at the table while my adrenalin pumped heart shifted tempo to rap music.

  “You didn’t have any meringue,” I tutted, shaking my head at Erica to hide the tremor that shivered through me.

  “I’m strictly sugar free today,” she replied. “I don’t know how you manage to practically live on the stuff, stay so slender, and keep that creamy complexion.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “This is all totally camouflage for the breakout you, your sweet teas, and chocolate bars induced yesterday.”

  She was exaggerating. Her complexion wasn’t under that thick a layer of foundation. I tried not to think about the mystery woman following me. To focus entirely on my coffee date in all but name. Livia would definitely be fishing for a detailed report. I didn’t want to sound like I’d been distracted by yet another woman, however mysterious she was. It was an almost impossible task. I fretted all the way through our coffees. I did manage to get a strand of Erica’s auburn hair from her shoulder, pretending to toss it to the floor before pocketing it for later.

  Our conversation followed an erratic path from business to art to Emma and Sarah Gold. Erica insisted on paying for the coffees and my meringue. We said an awkward goodbye like we didn’t know what else to do.

  I waved her off as she got into a cab and tried to spot the model with big hair. I didn’t see her. There was no obvious tail on Erica’s ride home. I patted the pocket that held the strand of her hair and made my way quickly towards Which Light, keen to get Erica under protection as quickly as I could.

  I was opening the store door when the reflection in the glass showed a second figure standing suddenly behind me. I tensed drawing on my magic as I turned to her.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said in clipped words, her voice cool and calm. “I’m here to see the witch wanting the hair of my girlfriend.”

  It wasn’t one of Grace’s heavies but that didn’t give me any sense of relief. If I had to guess I’d say that the model was the werewolf with the magical pelt. She seemed all too human, though there was a brightness to her aura that suggested there was something a little different about her. I wasn’t sure what exactly but it was there and it wasn’t that unusual. I never call people ordinary because they’re totally not. As a witch I can see that like snowflakes no two humans are alike. Ordinary is the last term one could apply to such a diverse multitude of beings, but the woman before me was definitely more of a variation than the norm.

  “You could have called, made an appointment,” I said frowning at her, not releasing the energy I’d drawn together nor relaxing one bit.

  “I didn’t,” she said shortly. She sounded half bored and vaguely impatient, like she’d already answered my question and was repeating it for the second time.

  I studied her a moment before making up my mind and stretching out a hand to her. “Hello, I’m Nilla Hayes, the witch.”

  “Cleo,” she said shortly. “Wolf.” She didn’t take my hand right away but I keep it between us and with a roll of her dark coffee eyes she finally took it. What I saw made me feel comfortable enough to drop the energy I hung onto. It didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous, just that she wasn’t dangerous without reason. I smiled at her without showing teeth and opened the store. I waved her forward knowing that this wolf didn’t worry about showing her back. It wasn’t as exposed as it was for most of us. Cleo was a minor precog. It was only seconds of warning but I’d glimpsed a little of what she could do with seconds. I was seriously impressed.

  I wasn’t too sure of the terminology, but Cleo was the alpha’s bodyguard and lieutenant all rolled up into one. I had caught snatches of it. I knew that the wolves called the veiled world by another moniker, they called it twilight. It applied to the heart of the veiled world as much as to the edges of it, the places that existed on the cusp. Cleo knew the edges very well. Her pack seemed deeply involved with beings that lived in the shadows not quite belonging to either world. Like werewolves and witches, I thought.

  She entered the store without looking back at me. I followed her in locking the door behind us. She knew the way down to the basement without my having to gesture towards it. I imagined it was because I would have shown her the way and she had chosen to pre-empt me. I realised that Cleo changed the future every day in subtle ways.Had it occurred to her and if it had, did it bother or embolden her?

  I thought about offering her tea as we arranged ourselves around the small table. She shook her head before I could voice the question.

  “That’s a nifty gift,” I said sitting directly opposite her. “It has served you well and you seem very comfortable with it.”

  Cleo shrugged. “It’s eyes and ears and tongue to me.”

  I understood her meaning. It was just another sense to Cleo. She felt as comfortable with it as I did with my magic. In a way the self-made werewolf was more like a witch and had there not been a woman between us, I might have flirted a little harder with her. Another life perhaps, I told myself.

  I had seen the wolf that Sofia wanted to help when holding Cleo’s hand. She was a beautiful white creature. She roamed a large garden filled with grassy mounds and tall trees surrounded by stone and concrete. All of it was impressive. Despite the fact that Cleo and Sofia’s pack was all queer, I’d never dated a wolf from it so I’d never seen this garden surrounded by apartments in person. I wanted to from the snatched glimpse of it.

  “Tell me about Cristobella,” I said and found the fact that Cleo was startled before I spoke rather disconcerting. She’d definitely put anyone off their game.

  “Sofia tell you?” She asked, then continued knowing my response before I spoke it. “Her name, Bella’s name?” She sighed pre-empting another response psychically. “I didn’t know witches could do that, get names from touch. I knew you got impressions, I just never thought of them as more than…” she shrugged, “…pictures in a crystal ball.”

  I scowled at her. “I can’t do conversations in soliloquy. You’re going to have to let me say the words I want to say, even if to you I’m saying them twice.”

  Cleo rolled her eyes before I got two words out, but shrugged and nodded.

  “It must be frustrating for you.”

  “Boring,” Cleo said. “It’s boring, but it’s better than dead.”

  I nodded. “Is it always…on?”
/>   Cleo shook her head. “It works with my moods. Relaxed and happy, it’s sort of submerged. Now it’s turned on full.”

  I raised a brow at her. “I don’t eat werewolves for breakfast,” I told her. “You can check my garbage if you like.”

  Cleo shook her head. “I’ve smelled cannibal and you ain’t it.”

  I threw her a startled look. She smiled at me. I was innocent and naïve by comparison to the werewolf from the city. I hadn’t always been a small town girl, but maybe Cleo didn’t know that. Maybe she didn’t need to. A girl should take every advantage where she could and hold onto it.

  “You didn’t bring your stole for a reason,” I countered, bringing up the spelled wolf pelt. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “You were a little worried about meeting me.”

  “You’re a witch,” Cleo said. “Witches make me nervous. Don’t feel bad though, I’m paid to be nervous about everyone.”

  I wondered who she was trying to reassure. I didn’t think it was me. She wasn’t worried about what I thought. She was nervous though. I wondered if part of it wasn’t bound up in the hope that I really could open up a means of communication between her and the beautiful white wolf.

  “What was Cristobella like before she got bit?”

  “I don’t know,” Cleo said, “never met her when she was a human. I don’t think anyone in my pack did, excepting maybe the alpha.”

  My eyes widened before I could clamp down on the response.

  “I know you’re thinking that I don’t know Bella, so how could she be my girl, but the wolf in me knows Bella. That means more than talk. More than rings and chapel bells.”

  I made a leap of intuition. “You got the pelt because of Bella.”

  Cleo’s face showed no surprise at the question and gave nothing away. “I work for a pack of werewolves, becoming one was inevitable. I wanted some choice in the matter.”

  I let her believe she’d successfully avoided answering my question. I thought that I had guessed correctly. I could imagine that the very idea of the cursed damsel forever in distress, forever alone had seduced Cleo. That the second in command of the pack was at heart a big old romantic softy. I doubted she wanted that truth coming out of the closet and I wondered what the pack thought of her. She was entirely too complex to be as single faceted as she presented herself. She was a leader, she was a protector, she was a she wolf . She’d never bother with wearing sheep’s clothing, but was she was all heart and mothering kindness underneath her hard exterior? I had sensed as much when we’d shaken hands. I decided to change the conversation to another interesting subject.

  “You knew that the pelt would come at a price?”

  She nodded only barely refraining from executing the answer before I began talking.

  “But I’m not here to answer your questions,” she said leaning forward. Her dark eyes fixing hard on mine. “I want to know what you intend with Bella’s fur and why we should trust you.”

  “I think I can give her a voice. I think that’s worth a try,” I said. There was an idea in the back of my mind that I could do more than that, but it wasn’t solid enough to voice. I didn’t know if I wanted to bind myself into something so demanding as taking on the actual role of a Disney fairy godmother. I had been cast in that role for Emma Gold already. I certainly didn’t want to take on the job for a pack of queer wolves.

  “Why would you try?” Cleo asked, voice hard.

  “Seriously? I’m not the wicked witch here. I don’t need to be pissing off a werewolf pack and besides, the wolf who asked me to help is very pretty, don’t you think?”

  “Sofy is pretty,” she agreed studying me thoughtfully. “I think she thinks you’re pretty too.”

  I blushed. Cleo smiled. For the first time she didn’t show me a mouth full of teeth when she did. I wondered if I’d passed her little test. I wondered what she would have done if I hadn’t.

  “What are you going to do with the hair you stole in the coffee shop,” Cleo asked me just as I was relaxing. I realised that the real test had only begun. I didn’t like that she’d been watching me but I understood her fear. From the outside looking in, stealing Erica’s hair had probably not seemed a good thing.

  “I need to protect her,” I said wondering if there was a good way of putting it to the wolf. At least, I thought, Sofia would have smelled the truth on me. Cleo had left her wolf behind today. I wondered if she regretted it. “She doesn’t really know what kind of danger I’ve managed to put her in. I can’t just tell her that there’s an evil witch out to get me and she’s taken the route of going through my friends to do it.” I closed my eyes and drew in a slow breath. Dammit. It wasn’t playing fair but evil kind of took pride in that. I didn’t think that being the good guy meant I had to follow the Marquess of Queensberry rules either. “I need to give her a shield or the witch could do worse than rummage through her mind.”

  I opened my eyes again. Cleo was staring hard at me. I didn’t flinch and after a while she nodded.

  “She looked pale under all that makeup.”

  I frowned. Her makeup hadn’t been that heavy. At least not to my mind, but I noticed how little Cleo wore and took a moment to admire her natural complexion, while she tried to read me.

  “I believe you, witch.”

  “That’s a weight off my shoulders,” I said giving her a tight smile. I really didn’t care what she thought of me, but my words were camouflage to cover my relief. I didn’t want to disappoint Sofia.

  She brushed my words aside, put her hand in her pocket, and drew out a small sealed plastic bag. Inside of which was a tuft of white fur barely large enough to cover a fingernail. She put it on the table between us.

  “Is that enough?” Her tone said that it was all I would be getting.

  I nodded, feeling disappointed that Sofia hadn’t been the one to deliver it to me, but I could understand Cleo’s reason for coming. I could have been a Grace St John for all she knew. You don’t give power over your sweetheart to just anyone.

  “How long till you’ve…cast your spell?”

  “A couple of days,” I frowned, thinking about the wicked witch meaning to see me dead. I couldn’t spare the time, nor the energy for clients, but I’d already agreed to take on the job. “Maybe a week.”

  Cleo nodded and removed a black card from another pocket. She put it on top of the bag with its tiny tuft of fur. There was glossy pink text on it and I arched a brow at that.

  “Hey, I didn’t design the pack stationary, I just use it,” Cleo said. “That’s our number. Let us know when it’s done.” She rose. “If it takes longer than a week, I’ll be back,” she studied me a moment, “to renegotiate.” She flashed a toothy smile at me. I shivered.

  I saw her up to the door. As she slipped out she turned back to me and said, “Sofy will be back in a few days. She’s a sweet one and I got her back.” It was a gentle warning from a military type who probably wore her heart more on her sleeve than she realised.

  I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t wait to see Sofia again. Cleo walked away and didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I locked up the store and returned to my spelling room. I fished out the locket I’d bought in the market and set it atop the card and fur. Then I then drew out the auburn strand of Erica’s hair. Despite Cleo’s renegotiation threat, I had my own priorities.

  I gathered together the energy I needed to work a blessing on Erica while twinning her hair around a finger. It was a fine point of distinction between Livia and Erica that I had pulled off a blessing on the fly for one and the other required a focal point even though both followed the same principle. My very deep and personal attachment to Livia had been a conduit for the blessing. While I had known Erica as long I couldn’t say I knew her as deeply. For all my personal impression of the owner of Tangles as a woman in lust with the surface glamour of beauty, my knowledge of her was a thin veneer that barely dipped beneath her perfect skin. Ironic, I know.
/>   With the energy I needed ready to flow forth, I focused on the blessing, shaped it, and let the spell loose. Erica’s auburn hair grew brighter becoming a rosy tinctured amber before it was gone, used up by the crafting of the blessing. It was odd that I would return to casting blessings when the first had caused me so much trouble, but Asbelia had reminded me of the power of this ancient magic. It had been only natural to use that which protected Emma from Grace, tried and true, for the two people that the witch now threatened. If only I could bless myself.

  I gave a small sigh of relief and pushed my chair out from under the table. I needed to get home and check on F.C. I could almost feel his thoughts prowling around. He was a knot of tightly bound energy that not only spoke of his kitty nature but of the process of transformation that had gone into remaking the homunculus. I wondered how similar my spell had been to the one that infused Cleo’s wolf skin. I doubted that the werewolf would let me see her pelt so I’d probably never know.

  I couldn’t leave the fur of Cleo’s mate for just anyone to lay their hands on so I picked it up, including the black card and the locket, and pocketed them all carefully. It was unlikely that anyone would raid my store for a little wolf fur but I wouldn’t risk Cleo’s wrath for anything. It seemed wise considering that I was sure that Grace wouldn’t mind if somebody else took care of her little problem for her.

  I got home to an agitated familiar and a shredded cushion spilling white innards like fluffy cotton bowels across the floor.

  “Frankie Cat,” I scolded him. He moaned at me in a low warble that rose and fell like the grouches of a grumpy old man. I could almost hear whispers of words in the sounds; an imagined laundry list of F.C.’s complaints. Top most of which was being left alone in an apartment all afternoon.

  I sighed. It was my fault. I’d made him my familiar. Now I wouldn’t let him tag along everywhere I went.

  “Hey, I could have turned you into liverwurst. You should be counting your lucky nine lives.” I cleaned up after F.C.’s carnage. Then opened up a can of tuna as an act of contrition, which he seemed wholeheartedly to approve of. While he dined I sat at the table and considered what terrible fate my sudden nemesis might be preparing for me now. I could not imagine anything worse than what she had already tried, but had little doubt that Grace could and probably would. I resigned myself to being unpleasantly surprised.