Familiar
Robin Roseau
Table of Contents
Credits
Part 1
Magic Eyes
Out With Friends
Bindings
Love
Ritual
Part 2
Recovery
Real Estate
Banished: Arianna's Story
Household
The Shoe Falls
The Feud
Loophole
Part 3
Freedom
Twenty Years
Reversal Of Fortunes
Casting The Spells
About the Author
Copyright
Credits
As usual, I would like to thank my pre-beta reader, Henriette, and my beta-reader, Lori. I didn't take all their suggestions, but I am deeply grateful for the time they each spent. This novel would be less polished if not for their assistance.
Part 1
Magic Eyes
It feels sometimes like I have two pair of eyes, the normal pair we all have, plus a second pair that sees things no one else seems to see. Really, it's only one set of eyes, but when describing it to myself, I call it two sets of eyes just so I have the language to even think about it.
The second set, what I call my magic eyes, sees the true self of a person. Most people are, more or less, the same person on the inside as they are on the outside. My magic eyes notice nothing different from my normal eyes most of the time.
But sometimes, my magic eyes see something very different.
The petite, red-haired woman is a good example. I would occasionally see her around Bayfield, usually down near the wharf with her kayak, but from time to time I might see her in a shop or walking down the street. Bayfield isn't that big a place, after all, so we are all likely to run into each other over and over again.
When I looked at her with my normal eyes, I saw a petite, delicate woman with amazing red hair. She projected an image of confidence and caution rolled into one. She was the sort of woman I would like to get to know, like to get to know very well.
But my magic eyes saw something different, much different. My magic eyes saw sharp teeth and a long, bushy tail. My magic eyes saw someone small and fierce.
I didn't understand what this meant. But I never introduced myself to her. I didn't know what she was, but it troubled me that I saw a fox where a woman walked.
For years, when I encountered the red-haired woman, she was always alone. But then she seemed to make friends, friends that were far more frightening than she was. They were all big, very big, and my normal eyes might have been intrigued, but a little intimidated at the same time.
But my magic eyes saw something else, something frightening.
After that, I avoided the red-haired woman and her friends.
But I didn't just see the inner person. I also could see a glow around people, like a halo or aura. Most people had almost no aura, at least to my magic eyes. Some had quite a glow, and sometimes the glow seemed to connect two people.
The red haired woman and her friends glowed that way, each with her own glow. And one of them had a glow that extended to all the other friends. I didn't know what any of that meant, either.
But I thought perhaps it meant danger, all the more reason to stay clear of them.
Unfortunately, while I was hiding from the fox and her wolves, I didn't recognize the real threat to me. I should have. The threat glowed, she glowed quite a bit, and if I had understood what I was seeing, I would have run as quickly as I could.
I should have run.
Out With Friends
Neal and I were out at the Dancing Duck. It was a weird name for a restaurant and bar, but the original owners thought it would appeal to the tourists that flock to Bayfield the year round. The place was a cliché, as far as I was concerned, with a dirt parking lot and neon signs. From the entrance, the restaurant was to the right and the bar to the left. You could order burgers and other simple food in the bar, but if you wanted a real meal, you turned to the right.
In the bar area to the left was, of course, a long bar with stools in front and a mirror in back. It looked like a bar anywhere. If you continued past the bar you would find two pool tables. To the right, in the "back" was a small dance floor. Music was supplied by a jukebox. Ironically, you didn't go to the Dancing Duck to dance, although you could dance if you wanted to.
The jukebox itself was rather interesting. There were no records and no buttons; instead, everything was electronic complete with a touch screen. You inserted your money and used the touch screen to make your selections; the machine accepted credit cards. You could pick individual songs or select from a playlist. You could even make your own playlist and store it in the computer tied to your credit card. If someone else played your playlist, you received a small credit, which you could use in the jukebox instead of money.
Neal, social misfit that he was, made great playlists, and he never had to feed money into the jukebox. I think if the townsfolk knew who "Sound Beats" was, his play lists wouldn't get used so much, but only he and I knew.
Neal and I had been friends since grade school. Neal was one of those people whose exterior look, the one everyone sees, was plain and ordinary. But when I looked at him, I saw someone sweet and complex, with a playful, sensitive personality. Some of the bullies on the playground saw him as "easy victim". I had gotten tired of watching his aura grow darker every day on the playground, and I had finally stepped in. We'd become best friends after that, and we still were.
Neal had a crush on me, a world class crush. We never talked about it, but we had talked about my girlfriends. He knew he and I could never be romantically involved, and whenever I was reminded he wanted more from our relationship than I could give, I felt horribly guilty. I felt like I should cut him loose somehow, but the times I had tried, he had persistently wormed his way back into my life.
There were times I wished I liked boys, because Neal was a great guy, and we would have been fabulous together. If only I liked the entire pointy sex part thing. I didn't. I liked girls. Women. I loved the curve of a woman's hip and the softness of a breast. I loved soft lips and silky smooth skin.
And I loved, absolutely loved, the scent of a woman. I loved the smell at the crook of her neck, and I loved to taste her skin.
Well, you get the idea.
So, Neal and I were at the Dancing Duck on a quiet Thursday night. I had bought the first round, a couple of tap beers, and we had appropriated one of the pool tables. We were both lousy players, but we played to see who would buy the next round. We spent most of the time teasing each other and having a good time, not to mention trying to screw up the other person's shot.
Neal and I had a number of silly games we played, most of them very immature. One of them was called, "Rate That Woman". It wasn't the most immature of our games, but it was close. We also played "Gay or Straight," which sometimes was called "Yours or Mine". Neither of us did much dating, so the second name was mostly rhetorical.
Tourist season was the best time of the year to play our games. Conveniently in Bayfield, tourist season is all year around, although summer and autumn are far more popular than winter. Conveniently for me, if less so for Neal, tourist season also brought women happy to scratch a certain itch, and I wasn't above allowing the occasional woman to do so. It wasn't something I did often; casual sex could scratch the itch, but ultimately it wasn't what I wanted.
Hey, everyone wants love, right?
It was May, a Thursday in May, and the Dancing Duck was not hopping with new traffic. We played "Rate that Woman" with the three other women in the bar, all of whom appeared to be local, and one was a bartender named Gina. Gina had a rough exterior, but she was reasonably sweet.
"Gina," I asked him.
"Seven," he said. He always gave Gina a high score. The night she had broken up a fight, she'd gotten a nine from him. Most guys would never have given Gina more than a four, and Neal was more than happy to give a woman a low score. But it said something sweet about him that Gina got a seven.
He had asked her out once; she had turned him down very gently and bought a drink for him. "I'm too old for you, Neal," she had told him.
I had asked her out once, too. She had turned me down just as gently as she had Neal, although I didn't get a free drink out of the deal.
Caroline Hayes was waitressing in the bar tonight. Sometimes she worked in the bar, sometimes in the restaurant. She was a sweet girl, too, although shy and a bit of a wallflower most of the time. But she was a good waitress.
She had a crush on Neal at least as big as his on me. He didn't even notice her.
We never played "Rate that Woman" with Caroline.
I asked her out once. I had caught her looking at me a lot, so she had made me curious. I thought she was straight, but the way she had been looking at me left me wondering. Still, I had been surprised when she accepted. She had dressed in a skirt, blouse and sensible shoes. I took her to a restaurant in Ashland and a movie afterwards. She spent the entire meal talking about Neal. Prior to that, I'd had no idea how she felt about him; I never would have asked her out if I had known. After the movie, I had taken her home to her little apartment, surprised when she invited me in. I had accepted.
We got inside, and she folded herself into my arms and began crying softly on my shoulder.
"You're gay," she said into my neck. "You're really nice, Moira, but you're gay, and everyone knows it. Why does he want you and not me?"
"I don't know, Caroline," I told her. "I don't know."
I let her pull me to her sofa where she continued to cry softly. Then she dried her eyes and looked at me. "Don't tell him. He doesn't even see me. I don't want him to know."
I didn't have any words for her. I promised to never say a word.
"Caroline," I asked. "Why did you go out with me tonight?"
"I wanted to know what he saw in you," she said. Then she looked embarrassed. "Oh god, Moira, I let you pay for everything, and I had ulterior motives!"
I patted her hand. "It's okay. I had a nice time."
"No you didn't," she said. "I was an idiot. It was the worst date you've ever had."
"That's not remotely true," I told her. "I've had far worse dates. Remember Brian Emerson?"
"You went out with Brian Emerson?" she asked, incredulous. "He's such an asshole."
"Yeah. This was in high school, when I was still figuring things out. It turns out everyone else was already sure about me long before I was sure myself, and Brian thought I just need a real man to show me what I was overlooking."
"Oh god," she said. "What an asshole."
"Pretty much. I kneed him in the crotch then stole his car and drove home. For some reason, he hated me afterwards."
"So you're saying I'm a better date than Brian Emerson?" she smiled weakly.
"Way better," I said. "I got to hold you in my arms. That was nice."
"I was crying."
"It was still nice."
"You know," she said. "It's not that late."
I smiled. "Did you want to make out?" I was trying to tease her into a better mood.
She slapped my knee. "No. But maybe you would like to watch a movie. I have a bunch on Tivo I haven't watched."
So we made fresh popcorn and lemonade, then watched an old Katherine Hepburn movie. I sighed at Katherine; Caroline sighed at Cary Grant. But she snuggled against me and asked, "Is this okay?"
"Yes, Caroline."
Afterwards, she walked me to the door. "Thank you, Moira."
I've had worse dates; I've had much worse.
We became friends, of a sort, after that, but I knew it was hard for her when I was around, as I reminded her that Neal barely noticed her.
After that, I tried to nudge him towards her, but he was oblivious, and I had promised.
* * * *
Neal and I played pool. He won the first game, so I bought another round.
A couple came in; they looked like tourists, unfamiliar with the bar. They were older than us, maybe in their low forties. I could see a small amount of light connecting them, just a little, the sort I had seen in married couples in the past.
"Her," Neal asked.
I studied her. She was on the inside what she was on the outside. Reasonably attractive, but boring. "Five," I said.
"Six," he said. "And if she's smart, a seven."
"Did you drop a point for her being in a relationship?"
"Yes, but I put the point back because he's a dork, and she's just waiting for someone better."
I smiled. "They're married," I said. "And she loves him."
We began making stories up about them, outrageous stories like, "She's secretly a Russian spy, and he works for a top secret government facility buried underneath Madeline Island. She's selling all the secrets to the Russian government."
As I said, they were outrageous stories.
Neal was about to take a shot. "Actually, Neal," I said. "That's not a guy. It's a woman dressed to look like a guy, and I think her hand is inside the other woman's crotch."
He was so predictable. He completely blew the shot, then he saw me smirking at him. He looked over at the couple; the guy had a mustache.
"Moira, you are so full of shit," he told me.
I grinned, and I won our second game.
"Just a Diet Coke for me," I said. Two beers when I was driving was my limit, even in sleepy Bayfield.
I was racking up our third game when she walked in. I got a good look at her without making it obvious. On the outside she was the paragon of femininity: tall, shapely, with perfect, blonde hair and perfect, luscious curves. She frowned when she stepped into the room, but then she looked around again. She smiled, and the entire room lit up with the glow.
But underneath what I saw with my normal sight, my magic eyes saw something else. Her aura glowed fiercely and pulsed. I hadn't see an aura pulse like that. She was surrounded by the light of her aura, and it was deep red, almost blood-red, shot with purple and black.
Her aura was ugly. It should have been beautiful, but it was ugly.
I also saw more underneath the aura, under her skin. She looked plain, as if a woman who looked like her could look plain at the same time. And underneath that, hidden from the world, perhaps even from her, there was hurt and vulnerability. I wondered briefly what could have caused so much hurt that I could see it. I wondered if the hurt was why her aura looked so unhealthy.
Neal hadn't seen her right away, but she stepped further into the bar, and the motion caught his attention. He turned and his jaw dropped.
"Her?" he asked right away.
"A three," I said immediately.
"No way! She's an eleven."
"She's damaged," I said. "And a bitch."
I ignored her after that, playing pool.
Neal played poorly, distracted by the woman. I played all right for a while, then I saw motion out of the corner of my eye, motion lunging at me, and I pulled away, startled.
I turned to face the motion and discovered a ball of light, the woman's colors, fluttering at me. The light lunged at Neal for a moment, passing through him. I almost cried out to warn him, but of course, the light did nothing. But then it lunged at me, and I fell back away from it. The light paused, and I watched it warily, then it lunged at me again.
I nearly screamed, stepping to the side in fright.
The light paused again, then suddenly, faster than I could blink, the light flew over me and settled down around me like a net. It collapsed around me, and I squeaked.
But I didn't feel anything; I wasn't hurt.
I saw then there was a tendril of the light leading from the net now surrounding me across the room to the strange woman,
sitting at the bar, watching me. As soon as she saw me looking at her, she smiled, she smiled straight at me, and she was beautiful.
The light tugged at me, and I took a step towards here, then a second one, and going to her was the last thing I wanted, no matter how beautiful she was.
"No!" I said firmly. I pushed away with my hands, forcing the light from my body, and suddenly it disappeared, snapping into the woman like a frog's tongue, suddenly void of the meal it had almost caught.
I didn't care for that image at all.
The woman frowned, studying me, then tipped her glass to me and smiled.
I turned my back to her, shaken by what I had seen.
"Moira, are you going to take your shot?" Neal asked.
I did; it was an easy shot, but I missed anyway.
I ignored the woman, pointedly keeping my back towards her, taking shots that didn't involve facing her way, and for several minutes nothing happened.
Then I felt a presence by my side, and suddenly I was enveloped in light again. My breathing grew rapid but shallow, and my heart kicked into overdrive. I felt myself grow aroused, wet, and I couldn't have told you why.
I glanced over, and the woman was there, watching me. "May I buy you a drink?" she asked, and her voice was oil, rubbing into my skin, rubbing into my private places.
I moaned, then felt my face flush with embarrassment.
"I've had my limit," I told her. I shook briefly, like a horse might to shake off an annoying cloud of flies, and I felt her aura leave me, shaken off like water from a dog.
Have I reached my limit of metaphors? Should I apologize? I am only trying to explain how it felt.
"No thank you," I told her politely. "I've had my nightly allowance of alcohol." I took a healthy swig from my glass of Diet Coke to demonstrate.
She set her hand on my arm, stroking gently, and it felt good, amazingly good, but the woman scared me terribly. "Maybe we can pull up chairs and talk," she said in a smooth, honey voice.
I shook her hand off. "No thank you. Neal," I added, turning to him. "I'm not feeling well. I think my cooking doesn't agree with me. I'm sorry, but I need to leave.
Familiar Page 1