by N. D. Jones
“I’ve asked myself the same question and have found no record to support what I believe to be true.”
“Which is?”
“That Sekhmet used the pact as an opportunity to create a personal army of were-cats. She is, after all, the goddess of war and destruction. Such a selfish act wouldn’t be above her.”
“I’ve never heard you talk about your gods in this way. Aren’t you afraid she’ll zap your blasphemous ass for talking like that?”
“Perhaps, but faith doesn’t have to be blind, my friend,” Makena answered, knowing even a disbelieving cynic like Mike could agree with that.
“So, if you and Sam had a son, he would’ve been able to turn into a jaguar like his father?”
Makena nodded, causing strands of hair to fall from her limp bun and into her right eye. She pushed them back, suppressing the urge to release the mass of black waves, knowing if she did so she would be too relaxed to appease Mike’s quizzical mind. It could wait.
“However, Sekhmet being a protector of Ma’at and the idea of balance, the men eventually discovered an undisclosed price to their bargain. Over the years, the ability of the warlocks to cast spells decreased as their ability to commune with the goddess, as her servants, increased until they could no longer cast at all. Thus, we now have two intertwined but distinct biological strands—magic-casting witches and magic-holding were-cats. Two different breeds and each breed is further delineated into type of witch—earth, wind, fire, or water, or were-cat—lion, tiger, etcetera.”
Mike’s furry eyebrows pinched, mouth tightened, his mind clearly trying to process all she’d shared. “Is the biological distinction the reason for the ritual?” he asked, tense facial muscles relaxing but voice sharp with genuine interest.
“Yes. Two generations after the pact, it was discovered that while we’re still fundamentally the same species, we were no longer all compatible with each other. For some reason, the goddess sought to guide our mating choices. I’ve long since concluded that it probably had something to do with producing the strongest offspring possible.”
She waved away a question Mike almost couldn’t contain.
“Anyway, there were terrible instances of a male or female choosing to ignore the biological calling necessary for appropriate mating and mating with another. The children were born horribly deformed, living only a few months, if they survived the delivery at all. More often than not, the witch would simply miscarry, her body unable to provide the necessary support for a child she wasn’t meant to carry to term. It’s as if our bodies don’t possess the proper…” She paused, searching for the right word, but found none. “I don’t know, Mike. Any healthy shifter can impregnate a witch because we share about ninety-eight percent of the same DNA necessary for reproduction. But it’s that last two percent that makes all the difference in determining whether the two are a perfect biological match or a genetic impossibility.”
“So, you mean to tell me you guys are bound to a random biological imperative?” The question bubbled from Mike in a tide of disapproving anger, his own cultural norms preventing him from understanding Makena’s. But Mike’s cultural insensitivity didn’t offend her. Hell, as far as she was concerned, dwarf society was as equally baffling to her. And she didn’t even want to think about their mating rituals—a cave, a warthog, and clubs if she recalled correctly.
Makena shuddered.
“No, we aren’t bound by it emotionally, but physically, yes. We can select another mate to spend our life with, but children would be out of the question.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good deal the men entered into.” Mike finished off the last bite of pie and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt instead of the napkin Makena had set next to his plate.
“Well, I doubt they foresaw the side effects of their deal, but it did save our lives, and made us stronger. There have been other side effects of the deal, but I can’t get into that with you, Mike. You understand why, so please don’t be offended.”
Mike snorted. “I’ve never known a dwarf to be offended. We’re typically on the other side, offending any and everyone.” He laughed, then turned serious. “But what if the person you’re compatible with isn’t the one you want to be with?”
“That’s happened. Just because a witch finds her biological half, doesn’t necessarily make them mates. It just means they can safely have children. Mating involves the heart and mind, Mike, neither of which has anything to do with biological compatibility. I know several witches who are compatible with their other half on only the biological level, nothing more. In fact, a witch in my yoga class has children by the were-cat with whom she is biologically linked, but they aren’t married, not even a couple. She eventually married a different shifter.”
“What the hell, Makena? You’re hanging around swingers now?”
“Of course not, you judgmental blockhead.” She laughed. “They just really wanted to have children and knew they needed each other to make that happen.”
“But they aren’t together?”
She shook her head. “Like I said, they weren’t emotionally compatible, but they’re good parents and their twins are well-adjusted fifteen-year-olds.”
“I think your yoga instructor, her husband, and her babies’ daddy are into some kinky cat-witch shit you just don’t want to cop to. But I’ll let it go, because, really, it’s giving me a damn headache.”
“Okay, okay, Mike, I can see how, to an outsider, it sounds rather strange.”
“Let me see if I got this right. So”—Mike tested the temperature of his drink by dipping a finger in it— “Assefa and Sanura could be biologically compatible, which would also make him her familiar. Or they could be biologically incompatible, making it impossible for Assefa to be Sanura’s familiar. In either instance, they could decide to become mates.”
“Well, Detective McKutchen, I believe you’ve just passed Handfasting for Dummies.”
“Smart-ass witch.” Mike swiveled in his chair and then pointed to the closed door that led to the basement. “How do you think things are going down there?”
“I’m sure they’re fine, but in the event that something unforeseen happens, we’re here and will remain until they tell us otherwise. Don’t worry, Mike, Sanura knows exactly what she’s doing, but they may be a couple of hours.”
Standing, then grabbing a DVD from the kitchen television stand, Makena held up the movie and smiled. She shook it teasingly at Mike until he grabbed it from her, a pleased smile on an otherwise grumpy face. “Lord of the Rings. You’re a woman after my heart. They don’t make many movies with a dwarf as a hero,” he complained, with all the righteous indignation of an unfulfilled moviegoer.
Mike dragged Makena out of the kitchen, down a short hallway, and to the living room. He plopped his load in the middle of the sofa, snatched the universal remote next to him, and clicked one button, turning on the forty-two-inch flat-screen television mounted on the wall across from the sofa. Then he looked at Makena, his face adorably boyish when he said, “All we need now is some popcorn.”
CHAPTER NINE
Assefa returned from the bathroom to find the patio door to the basement ajar. He walked to the door only to find Sanura standing next to a hot tub wearing a two-piece blue-and-black bathing suit. He tried not to stare. In fact, he told his eyes not to move farther than her lovely face. Then he commanded it to stop at her perfectly shaped, full breasts, which the top struggled to contain, then he was horrified when his eyes disobeyed him and continued their descent to her long, smooth legs held up only by the inviting curve of her hips and ass. His eyes ignored every command of his weakening mind as they unabashedly drank in her enchanting form, daring him to deny the building of raw emotional energy surging through his body.
“It’s impolite to stare,” Sanura casually stated, not bothering to lift her head away from her work.
Unwilling to admit to such a display of stereotypical male behavior, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m preparing the purification part of the ritual. Before doing a working, it’s important to be in a state of purity, both in a spiritual and a bodily sense. A purification ritual is a cleansing of the spirit and body, a way of replacing negative energy or energy which is simply out of harmony with the purpose of the working.”
“Are we to submerge ourselves in the hot tub? Is that why you asked me to bring a pair of swimming trunks to change into?” He asked this last question more of out of nerves than ignorance. Obviously, she intended for them to get into the tub, and he inwardly kicked himself for acting like a braindead fool in front of her.
“Yes. Water has played a part in purification rites for thousands of years in a myriad of cultures throughout the world. From Christian baptism to ritual washings in Judaism to ritual ablutions in the Bahá’í Faith to Msogi in Shinto ritual purification, the act of washing the hands, face, and body to remove physical impurities is as important for cleanliness as it is a symbol of religious or spiritual purity.”
Assefa held back a laugh of relief. That unnecessary lecture just proved to him that the woman was just as nervous. She tended to ramble when she was, or worse, stayed silent and refused to meet his eyes. Like she’s doing now.
Continuing her work, Sanura poured out a cup of what smelled like salt into a ceramic shell bowl. She raised her hands over the salts and spoke. “Goddess, bless these salts.” She poured the contents of the bowl into the hot tub followed by a few drops of lavender oil, the fragrance as sweetly delicate as the hand holding the glass vial.
Sanura walked around the hot tub and lit three blue candles.
Assefa believed he understood her selection of the color blue but didn’t know if the color had the same symbolic meaning in her culture as it did in his own. For Sudanese witches, the color blue signified healing, devotion, peace, relaxation, and justice, which seemed to fit perfectly with the spirit of the evening. The candles would be helpful in producing the proper state of being for effective spell casting, as would the full moon that shone brightly in the clear May sky.
Sanura finally looked up and at Assefa, and they both smiled awkwardly, having never seen each other in so few clothes before. Assefa wasn’t an arrogant man, but he was well aware of the effect his body had on women. Were-cats were naturally strong, which didn’t equate to being naturally muscular. He was both. For years, boxing, weightlifting, swimming, and running had been an integral part of his weekly regime.
He wore a pair of knee-length, gray Speedos with a thick, black line that ran down each side of the trunks. Assefa specifically purchased them after Sanura had made her request for him to bring swimwear to the ritual. They were comfortable enough, but they also left little to the imagination. Hell, he was there to win her, and if that meant highlighting his package to do it, then so be it. Women had their little sexual ploys, as did men.
Even though he could turn into a furry beast at will, Assefa preferred the sleek feel of flesh, unencumbered by hair. So, his chest and legs were bare, not a hint of scruffy hair covered the rippled effect of years of bodybuilding. All in all, Assefa was pleased with his physique, and from the jaw-dropping, embarrassed look on Sanura’s face, so was she.
Glad to know I’m not the only one with Neanderthal thoughts.
Sanura finally managed, “It’s ready.” And in a much lower tone, “Damn.”
He swallowed the ego boost of laughter that wanted to escape and followed her into the hot tub.
Her heated stare was intense, hotter than the water in the tub. Then she licked her lips, swore softly, and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. She looked briefly away and settled fully into the tub. “As you soak,” she began, turning back to him, “inhale the fragrance and visualize yourself becoming physically and spiritually cleansed by the light of the goddess Isis.”
Making sure not to hit Sanura with his long legs when he stretched out, Assefa did as she suggested, meditating on the handfasting ritual to come, the first and most crucial level of the tri-ritual marriage ceremony. He began by slowing his breathing—rhythmic, measured breaths.
Ten minutes later, Assefa felt Sanura’s hand on his arm. Grasping him lightly, she helped him to a standing position. A sponge in her other hand, she dipped it in the purified water and gently squeezed it over his head. She did this three times, his eyes closed, a soft prayer on his lips.
When she’d finished, Sanura handed Assefa the sponge. “Now me,” she said.
Assefa returned the favor, dripping water over her head—three times—blessing her with his continuous prayer.
As he watched the water flow down Sanura’s curvaceous form, he noticed a gemstone in her belly button and smiled at his discovery. Pointing, he asked, “Is that it, Sanura?” But her eyes were closed, so he waited for her to open them. When she did, he pointed again and asked, “Does that gem do what I think it does?”
“It depends. What do you think it does?” The woman was messing with him. He liked that, but he gave her a mock-exasperated frown, and Sanura gave in, laughing at him when she said, “Yes, it does.”
Then the laughter slowly spilled away, leaving an uncomfortable-looking witch standing before him. Damn it, she was nervous again, her gaze focused on the rippling water below instead of the man before her. Assefa refused to rush her. Sanura had to learn that she could trust him. Otherwise, he might as well change back into his suit and go home. He hoped, however, that if he patiently waited, she would reveal her secret.
Giving her the space he felt she needed, Assefa took three steps back but didn’t retake his seat.
Three minutes later, Sanura lifted her eyes and chin, squared her shoulders, and sighed with what Assefa hoped was faith. In me. In us.
“This is a moonstone,” she explained, laying one finger over the gem in her belly, “it’s the birthstone for those, like me, born during the month of June. Through trial and error, I’ve learned that using a person’s birthstone when creating a talisman helps strengthen the potency of the spell. That’s why I always use jewelry for my scent disguise amulets, especially jewelry made of silver. The properties of silver make it good at holding in a witch’s magic, and it rarely needs to be recharged or reset.”
Assefa smiled to himself. This was a very good start. He could see her begin to relax as she spoke of her craft.
“Since you’re wearing a moonstone instead of a silver bracelet or necklace, what else does it do besides conceal your witch scent?”
“You said it yourself, Assefa, three weeks ago.”
He knew his face just went blank because he had no idea what Sanura was talking about. Assefa stepped closer. “What did I say three weeks ago?” Had it only been three weeks since he’d met Sanura Williams? When he was with her, it felt new yet familiar, immeasurable yet finite, empowering yet cautious.
He took another step.
“You told me you thought the charm I wore did more than hide my scent. You were right, which is why I use my birthstone, as opposed to the normal silver. Like I said, using a gem that’s more personal to the wearer enables a witch to increase the potency and complexity of the spell.”
“Meaning what?”
Her pause was even longer this time, and he had a feeling he knew the source of her angst. Makena had taken him into her confidence and told him all about why Houghton had broken things off with Sanura. When Houghton had learned that Sanura was more than human, he rejected her. Such a reaction didn’t surprise him. But it was a real jackass move, on the professor’s part. Yet the simple but important fact was enlightening. Sanura was probably now wondering if he would reject her, as well, once she revealed whatever it was her moonstone hid. He wouldn’t, of course, but her apprehension made sense to him, for he harbored his own fears. Who was he to judge?
Assefa took another step, putting him squarely in front of Sanura. He wanted to lift her head, hating how hard she was being on herself. Hating Richard for sowing the insecurity Assefa could so easily see, feel.
Hea
d cast down, she whispered to herself, “He’s nothing like Richard.” She then removed the vibrant green, unnaturally shaped gemstone from her belly button.
Assefa stepped back in the water to get a better look at the woman before him. Head still down and heart pounding so hard it was audible, Sanura refused to meet his eyes. His gentle yet commanding voice broke through the moonlit silence. “Hold your head high, sweetheart, for this is who you are, how the gods made you.”
Cautiously, slowly, she did as he requested.
And Assefa saw her completely for the first time, the moonstone no longer blocking her true essence. Sanura’s brown hair, which fell in thick rivulets to her shoulders, was now a rich reddish-gold that sparkled as magnificently as Canopus over a sleepy Egyptian village. Then there were her eyes. No longer the flavorful brown that matched her hair of a moment ago, they were now a majestic emerald green.
She tensed when he moved closer, his eyes inspecting and focused. Her heart thudded, his sensitive ears picking up the anxious rhythm of the beat. Between one fearful cadence to the next, Assefa knew this was the crucial moment, the moment Houghton had revealed he wasn’t the man Sanura believed him to be, the moment the professor drew the line in the sand, full-humans, and goodness on his side, witches and evil on Sanura’s.
Assefa was but a cushion of insecure air away from Sanura. He closed the distance and pulled her into, what he hoped, was a reassuring embrace. For a second she tensed, her arms limp at her side, face and legs rigid, unable to accept the security of his body, of his soul…accepting her for the remarkable witch that she was. But it was only a few heart-stopping seconds, then her resistance crumbled, and she allowed him to truly hold her, to comfort her, to protect her.