Nine Deadly Lives

by Livia J. Washburn

  How dumb is that, her mind taunted. Bran little noticed her. All the people of the town shunned her, whispered hateful taunts like witch―or worse. Some hated her with an evil passion she could not understand. Some feared the jeerings of witch were true. Why should Bran be any different? Putting on a pair of second-hand shoes and uttering a wish wouldn’t alter anything. Life was simply not that way.

  As she reached the bottom of the hill, she nearly stumbled.

  Bathed in the golden rays, Bran Mackenzie sat, half-reclining, on the stone bridge that spanned Goblin Close Creek. Next to him, stretched out as if they were old friends, was her cat Pye Wackett. Bran’s hand absently stroked the feline’s long body. An artist’s study of light and shadows, Bran was majestic. “Handsome” was too feeble a word to describe this Celtic prince who seemed to have materialized from the preternatural moonlight.

  Her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe. When it finally did beat, the rhythm was erratic, pounding, bruising against her ribcage. Don’t fall off the heels and tumble down the knoll, she silently admonished herself. A hundred feet or so she walked to the bridge, the space more like a mile—all the while, questions running through her mind.

  He was sitting all alone, save for the kitty. The corner of her mouth quirked up as she noted he had on his shades. Her mama’s words arose to mind―and just as quickly, she pushed them from thought. Was he waiting for her? Stupid girl, her mind mocked, Bran Mackenzie―the most popular guy in town―would have no reason to wait for you. She was as far from his orbit as Mars was from Pluto.

  She glanced down to the red heels, appearing almost black under the moon’s rays. The odd thought once more flitted through her mind…had her Ruby Slippers carried her where her heart wanted to be? She only had seconds to decide what she’d say, how she’d act, but reasoning was beyond her.

  She saw the flare of his cigarette, then the stream of smoke he blew into the air. He appeared to be chuckling to himself…or the black cat. He tilted his head down and shook it, as if saying he didn’t believe what he saw.

  As she drew near, she thought she heard him singing words from an old song by Gary Puckett: My love for you is way out of line. Better run, girl. You're much too young, girl. Surely, her mind played tricks? This golden faerydust was infecting her mind! Maybe this was nothing but another dream, and she’d awaken in her bed. It wouldn’t be the first time she had dreamt of Bran.

  Self-doubt rose. Was he finding humor at the little girl playing dress up? Maybe he was only making fun of her. He knew of her crush―hell, the whole town did―thought it amusing, and was teasing her.

  Bran looked up. His deep voice queried, “Left the school fair early, Dominique?”

  Nervous and trying to hide it, she shrugged. “Everything seems so…childish.”

  “It is childish. Why’d you go? You’re no longer a child.”

  She swayed in the pumps, unable to stand still. “Not much else to do…I’m too old for Trick-or-Treating. Why are you sitting on our bridge?” The bridge was on her land.

  “I’m not sitting―I’m leaning.” He smiled, so sexy he should be outlawed.

  “Okay, why are you leaning on our bridge?”

  “Waiting…for you. Or should I say, we are waiting for you. I take it this mangy beast belongs to you?”

  Waiting for you. The simple statement rocked her. Oh, she’d love for those words to be true; only, she wasn’t brainless enough to set herself up for that humiliating disappointment. “Pull the other one, Mackenzie. And yes, Pye is my cat. Or rather, I am his human. I don’t think anyone can ever be the master of Pye Wackett.”

  The cat rolled over and exposed his belly for scratches, and promptly rumbled when Bran complied with the silent command. “I know…you named him after that old Kim Novak-Jimmy Stewart movie. The one with the brother who was a warlock. He went around turning street lights off with his powers. I’ll think of the title in a minute.”

  “Bell, Book and Candle. Wonderful movie, and I always wanted to look like Kim Novak, but that’s not why I named the cat Pye. It’s an old witch’s familiar name. You would see it in old manuscripts about the Burning Times.”

  “Gruesome stuff. I figured you for a romance reader,” he teased.

  “Why do you think that?” She was curious what he assumed about her. The idea that Bran did think about her at all was novel. Oh, she was constantly mooning about him, but she never really considered he might have opinions about her. Maybe she didn’t want to know, but it was too late to take back the words.

  He looked her over as if really taking time to study her. “Oh, I don’t know. You just seem to have stars in your eyes. As if you have one foot in this world and another off someplace magical.”

  “I guess that is a polite way to put it.” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “So what are you doing here being a slave to my cat?”

  “Seriously―I was waiting for you. The cat just popped around to introduce himself. I thought he might be waiting on you, too.”

  Pushing the shades down to the tip if his nose, he looked over the frames, taking in her long hair worn loose, the red square-neck sweater, tight white shorts and dichotomic high heels. Flames roared through her, ignited by the path of those pale warlock eyes.

  “I dropped my sister off at the carnival earlier. I saw you go in and figured you’d walk home. There’s trouble tonight. I deemed it best that I made sure you got safely to your front door.”

  “Mason, Lee and Dewey,” she guessed, disgust clear in her tone. “Sir Mason the Monster and his shit-eating toadies. Wonder if the Stuarts removed the glass globes on their bridge lights? The Three Stooges toss rocks at them every Halloween.”

  “No rocks this time. They have .22s. Sheriff Tate’s patrolling, on the lookout for them.”

  She gave another derisive laugh. “Big comfort there. He won’t do anything to the town psychos, and you know it.”

  “Dominique, they are psychos. Golden boy is sick―a socio-psychopath. The day will soon come when they will be forced to do something with him. You walking home alone is putting a target on your back. I thought I’d hang around and see you got home. Remember the time Mason tried to set your hair on fire?”

  “Not something one on the receiving end forgets. I was only six. He terrified me. My hero! You ran him off,” she teased, touched Bran considered her welfare; surprised he recalled the incident from years ago.

  “No one has ever called me a hero before.” He reached out and picked up a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his finger and thumb. The cat swatted at him, perturbed to lose the tummy rubs. Dropping the lock, Bran took another drag on the cigarette. He looked her over again and gave a quirky half-smile. “Love your Halloween costume.”

  “Just shorts and a sweater.” She shrugged, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I didn’t dress up.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.” The corner of his mouth tugged a bit higher. “Little girl playing woman.”

  She frowned, suddenly peeved. A child playing dress up was the last thing she wanted Bran Mackenzie to see her as. Sliding her hands under her heavy breasts, she bounced them a couple of times. “These aren’t fake, boyo. Despite Nancy Lawson going around telling I stuff them with toilet paper―they’re real.”

  Bran tilted his head back and howled with laughter. It caused Pye to jump to his feet, not sure what was going on.

  Oh, he had a sexy throat. A lot of men didn’t, but Bran’s throat was a perfection that should be captured in a sculpture. She wanted to kiss that throat, lick it. She almost shook her head to dispel the golden moondust from clogging her brain and feeding these fantasies.

  “Being male, I think we are born with a bullshit meter, and can tell the difference between extra soft Charmin and the real thing. It never crossed my mind they were anything but all Dominique. You always struck me as shy, so tongue-tied around me. You mostly stared. You stare at me a lot.” Taking another pull on the cigarette, Bran glanced away from her and at the land
scape, thrown into gold monotone shadows by the half-hidden full moon.

  “Can I have a puff?” Dominique reached to swipe the ciggy from his fingertips.

  As she tried to take it from his hand, Bran swung his extended arm away from her and to the side, making her follow. His longer arm kept the half-smoked cigarette out of reach. So busy leaning, trying to snatch it, it took an instant to realize the position brought her body against Bran’s.

  She stilled, her eyes traveling the length of his arm to his face, mesmerized by those pale grey eyes, watching her over the rim of his shades. She swallowed hard.

  “Why do you watch me so, Domino?” His voice was a whisper, his breath fanning over her face.

  Flames rolled through her veins, her body awakening to the pains and hungers of being a woman, of wanting so desperately what she couldn’t have. She felt dizzy, swaying to him, craving him with every pore of her body. She drank in his breath, leaned to him, hoping, praying he would kiss her.

  “Hmm…gone back to being shy, Domino?” It was a challenge.

  For an instant, he faintly tilted toward her, as if caught up in this strange magic. The spell shattered as a car sped down the hill, the headlights illuminating them. Bran put a hand to the back of her head, pulling her to the safe harbor of his chest and neck, shielding her face against prying eyes. The Corvette zoomed past them and then accelerated up the steep incline, disappearing.

  Locked in the spell of being so close to Bran, Dominique felt heat rolling off him. Intoxicating. His male scent drew her, filled her brain until she was drunk. He smelled so good. They stayed motionless, their eyes locked, breathless, neither one able to move.

  “Your heart’s beating like a wild bird. I feel it against mine.” He said in hushed awe, his eyes studying her face intently.

  She chanted in her mind kiss me and set me free, over and over, and for a shard in time, she thought he might. Suddenly, Bran shifted and pushed away from the edge of the bridge. A fledgling witch’s magic just isn’t potent enough, she sighed.

  “Ow!” he cried, turning around to look behind him. “Your damn cat just took a plug out of my back.”

  Whimsical, she sighed. “Pye gets to have all the fun.”

  His head whipped back around to stare at her. “Did someone give you anything to drink… like punch? Brownies that tasted funny?”

  “No. Want me to stand with my feet together, then bend my arm and touch my nose to prove it?”

  “Well, something’s gotten hold of you tonight. You’re not the shy Domino I’ve watched growing up.”

  “Maybe I’m just drunk on moonlight and faerydust,” she laughed. Then she blinked, not accustomed to her own laughter.

  She so seldom had anything to smile about, let alone laugh over. Why, Pye Wackett had been such a blessing when he turned up sitting outside her window one stormy night, demanding she let him in! She finally had a friend, someone to talk to, so she wasn’t alone in the night.

  Trying to regain her mental footing she asked, “Why do you wear shades all the time?”

  He shrugged. “Light tends to hurt my eyes. They’re gradients, so not that dark. Besides, the moon’s quite bright. Bright enough to see more than you think.”

  Maybe see too much.

  “Come on, let’s walk you home before I do something foolish.” His tone was slightly angry. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he took her hand and started up the hill, nearly dragging her behind him.

  She resisted. Not now. Oh, please, her mind screamed. This was as close as she would ever to be having her dream coming true. It was painful to think of letting it go. “I don’t want to go home.” She locked her knees and set her weight against him.

  Pausing, he turned around. “Didn’t your mama warn you it’s not safe to be out with men?”

  “Regular sermons on it. ‘Rough, hairy beasts. Eight hands. And they…they all just want one thing from a girl,’" she said.

  “Your mama is Jack Lemmon?” He asked incredulously, then laughed. “I’ve seen Some Like It Hot. I am beginning to think you are an old movie buff.”

  “I do spend a lot of late nights watching TMC. Not much else to do.” She felt the shroud of sorrow that was her life trying to wrap itself around her, to blot out these new, magical feelings. It often felt as if something in her life seemed determine that she should never experience happiness. “Mama says I should …especially…” Dominique swallowed back the truth before she made a fool of herself.

  The cat came pussyfooting up, meowing for attention, distracting him. Bran’s head slanted to the side. With the shades on, his pale eyes were hidden from her. “Especially what, Domino?”

  Looking down, she gave a pretense of petting Pye when actually she was trying to prevent him from seeing her face. It was unfair he could see her emotions all open for his inspection, while he hid behind the shades. Even so, she couldn’t stop the words from coming. “When she catches me watching you.”

  She recalled when she was thirteen, riding her bike past the park. Bran was there playing tennis with some others from his class. She had stopped, just outside the green chain link fence, pretending she was merely watching the match. To this day, she barely recalled the two girls and the other guy who were his partners. She had stared, mesmerized in a breathless spell as she observed him toss up the yellow tennis ball and serve it. He was so handsome in the white shorts and shirt that it made her heart ache. People would laugh and call it a crush, but she knew with a certainty that she had fallen in love with Bran Mackenzie that day—and nothing since had caused the longing to fade.

  “Your mama’s smart. You should run home as fast as those red shoes will carry you.”

  She wavered. This was the first time she’d spoken more than a few words in passing to him, more than a hello at the Dairy Queen, or a smile and wave as he passed by in his shiny black Jaguar. He always waved at her, and likely had no idea how important that small gesture was to her, how it filled her heart to soaring. His smile kept her on a cloud for a week. She wanted to stop time, and savor these precious moments, cherish them later in the dark of night when she lay in bed and thought of him.

  “It’s not late. Besides…it’s my birthday―or will be, in a couple of hours.” Dominique bit her lower lip. Just to spend a little time with Bran would mean everything to her, the best birthday present ever.

  “Domino, it’s not wise to be out with me.”

  “Haven’t you heard…that Meacham girl isn’t too bright?” She smiled through crystalline tears, threatening to fall.

  “Ones who aren’t bright don’t see how sharp you are. How special,” he said softly.

  “I hate pity, Bran.”

  Looking up the dark, winding drive toward the house hidden from view, she felt so empty. Something inside her would die if she returned to the old manor and had to welcome her eighteenth birthday with only Pye to share the moment. If she couldn’t have Bran’s friendship, she sure as hell didn’t want his pity. Trying to force the tears down her throat, she dropped his hand and stepped back.

  “Come along, Pye.” She was having trouble swallowing; her throat was so choked with unshed tears. “Thanks…for being concerned. That was most kind of you. There’s no need to see me home. See you around…sometime, Bran.”

  Have a happy life, her mind whispered. Stepping past him, she started up the long, winding drive with the overgrown yew hedge lining each side. Pye was right at her heels.

  Catching up to her, Bran reached out and snagged her arm. “Dominique, I said I’d see you to the house. I don’t want Mason and his toads to jump you.”

  “I’m a big girl…” I don’t need a knight in shining armour, her mind cried. But she did. Desperately.

  He laughed, “Domino is all grown up, eh? Precisely, why I don’t want those creeps near you.” Letting go of her, he fell in step beside her, slowly going up the long driveway. The cat ran circles around Bran’s legs, meowing.

  Ancient oak trees lined each side, blocking out
moonlight. The trunks were thick from age, enough to hide someone if they were standing behind them. Suddenly, she shivered, her mind conjuring images of Mason and his blond Dorian Grey beauty stepping from behind one. Mason scared her, so despite her words, she was comforted with Bran beside her.

  “Why are you wearing shades at night?”

  “I told you, the full moon’s bright.” He lifted them up and to the top of his head. “There? Better?”

  “It’s hard to see your eyes with them on…see if you’re serious…or laughing at me.”

  “I promise you…I never laugh at you, Domino.” As they reached the end of the double row of trees, Bran swung around to block her path. “Why do you watch me so much, Domino?”

  Because she loved him. Oh, how she loved him.

  He’d laugh at her if she told him that, but it was the truth. She had since the first time he’d stepped between Mason and her, saving the bully from setting her hair on fire. Mason had been chanting, burn the witch, burn the witch. But that seedling emotion came into full bloom that hot summer afternoon by the tennis courts. She couldn’t elucidate the feelings. It wasn’t puppy love—of that, she was sure. Her stupid heart whispered destiny when she looked at him. Regardless of knowing that love would never be returned, she’d contented herself with worshipping Bran from afar. Now, he was so close she’d never be satisfied with that small crumb of life ever again.

  “I cannot explain,” she admitted in a whisper. “I don’t dare say it aloud.”

  “I’m too old for you, Domino, by nearly five years. I will graduate college come spring. After that I am going to England to stay with my grandfather, do some graduate work over there. I likely will be gone for some time.”

  Dominique could feel her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Her blood turned to ice. She knew she could never have Bran. He was much too good for her. But to never see him again? She felt her world turning black. Words swelled, trying to break free, to tell him all the precious feelings she held inside. Instead, too used to life’s disappointments, she just nodded understanding. She’d been a fool to hope even for a fleeting moment. A tear trickled over her cheek and fell down onto the red leather shoe. Even Ruby Slippers couldn’t give her what she wanted.