Windigo Thrall

by Cate Culpepper

  “Well, the tips of Jo’s ears turn red when we woo-hoo,” Becca purred. “It’s almost irresis—awp!”

  The sliding glass door slapped open and Elena streaked out of the cabin, naked as the day she was born. Jo nearly covered Becca’s eyes automatically. Elena vaulted nimbly over the rim of the tub and splashed hugely as she landed, soaking Maggie.

  “Seriously!” Maggie shrieked, shaking out her hands. “Again? What is it with you people!”

  “Sweet Diosa, your Elena is in heaven!” Elena sighed and stretched out between Grady and Jo, letting her legs float. In the name of modesty or practicality, Jo and the others had opted for T-shirts and shorts, but Elena closed her eyes as the warm water kissed her bare skin.

  “Did you jog down the stairs like that?” Grady tapped her sternly. “Is poor Pat in there passed out on the floor, after that wanton display?”

  “Poor Pat is in there building up our fire again.” Elena struggled erect in the deep tub and held up several small mesh bags of tea leaves. “She’ll be here soon. And I had to go upstairs because I had to get these.”

  “What are these, witchy one?” Becca asked. “Are you going to brew us?”

  “I am.” Elena scattered the sealed teabags liberally around the surface of the hot tub. “This is a mild mix of curative herbs. They’ll help Jo’s legs and my back.”

  “Excellent,” Jo said. Her legs were patched with red splotches, remnants of the heat-bewitched water in the trough; Elena’s back was similarly marked. They were no worse than a respectable sunburn. “What about Becca’s hand?”

  “Yes, it will ease Becca’s hand too,” Elena said.

  “Yeah?” Becca brightened. She slipped the plastic bag off her left hand and dipped it cautiously into the water. Her palm bore the only discernible injury that qualified as a war wound in their battle—a rough oval burn, not deep enough to blister, but painful.

  Aside from these discomforts, they had emerged from the endless night exhausted but unhurt. Once it was determined that everyone’s limbs were intact, Jo had assumed their first need would be for sleep, as it had been nearly three days since anyone slept. They stood in the living room discussing everyone’s need for sleep, and then adjourned promptly to the hot tub. Without getting all fraught about it, Jo realized, they weren’t ready to separate yet, even as far as private bedrooms.

  “So how will we know if all of this took?” Grady asked, eyes closed. “Yeah, everything seems normal again now. But how do we know Jo won’t turn back into a cannibal or a werewolf at midnight, or some such?”

  Jo eyed Grady narrowly.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, Professor Gringa.” Elena nestled against Grady’s side. “I think it’s over. She’s talking up a storm now.”

  “She is?” Grady asked. “Your mother? Or your Goddess?”

  “Both of them,” Elena said. “But we’ll be happy to listen to any rational argument you have in favor of boiling Jo like an egg again, Grady.”

  Grady opened one eye and squinted at Elena’s breasts. “Don’t ask me to be rational with those floating right next to me.”

  “I know what Grady’s talking about, though.” Becca moved her arms through the swirling water. “I’m kind of afraid to feel safe too. Just look at us. We’re lesbians relaxing in a hot tub, for heaven’s sake. Any decent porn would have us attacked by a serial killer next, at the very least.”

  Elena giggled.

  “But yes, I’m now reasonably sure Jo’s not going to eat me,” Becca added.

  Jo scowled at the top of Becca’s head. “Rebecca, while you’re entirely safe, I can assure you that you are going to be eaten quite thoroughly, and soon.”

  Becca looked up at Jo, and flushed pink to the tips of her ears. She smiled wickedly.

  “Woo-hoo,” Maggie crooned.

  “Hoochie-mama.” Grady splashed Jo lightly. “Get a room.”

  The glass door slid open again and Pat stepped out, studying the small framed photograph in her hands.

  “Pat.” Jo snapped her fingers peremptorily. “Assuming your truck works now, please drive down to Longmire. Take Grady with you, and leave her tied up at the side of the road somewhere, but bring steaks for the rest of us. In fact, get enough food for three days.”

  “Three…are we staying?” Becca asked.

  “Why not?” Jo shrugged. “We have minor wounds to heal, sleep to catch up on, women to ravish, and soon, steaks to consume. What’s our hurry?”

  Sloshing, Becca raised up and kissed Jo on the cheek, then smiled at the rest of them. “Yeah? Can you guys hang out for a few days? We promise Jo won’t eat any of you.”

  Grady looked at Elena, who smiled back at her. “Yeah, we’ll stay.” Grady grinned. “Thanks.”

  “We’ll have a Xena marathon,” Becca promised.

  “Thanks?” Grady said. “Pat, okay with you if we stick around for a while?”

  “Uh.” Pat hadn’t looked up from the photo she carried. “Have you guys seen It’s a Wonderful Life?”

  “Only ten thousand times,” Becca snickered. “Why?”

  “Is that the picture of your grandmother?” Maggie asked.

  “Uh huh.” Pat stared at the photo.

  “Don’t tell us she’s been rewarded for saving us from the Windigo, and she now has a new pair of wings,” Jo said.

  Pat shrugged. “Kind of.” She handed the frame to Jo.

  Jo squeaked in surprise, and the others crowded in around her to look. Delores Daka now beamed out of the photograph with a full set of shining, perfect white teeth.

  “But I would have bought the woman excellent dentures,” Jo protested, “any time she—”

  “My grandmother speaks from the spirit world, ‘No need now, white girl.’” Pat grinned and knuckled Jo’s hair, a dimple appearing in her cheek.

  An irresistible smile tugged at the corner of Jo’s mouth as she studied the happy old woman. Then she turned the photograph carefully facedown on the dry table next to the tub. “I’m sorry, Pat, but I can’t possibly relax in a bath with a naked witch lesbian if your grandmother is watching us. Not with her leering like that.”

  “We do owe Pat’s grandmother some thanks.” Elena seemed half-asleep on Grady’s shoulder. “And also her tribe’s Cannibal Woman. I find our mothers come through for us, when they can.” She opened her eyes and sat up. “Hey.”

  “Hey?” Grady said.

  “Does anyone else remember that vision we had, just as Pat and Maggie put their hands on the trough out there?”

  “Whoa. I did see something.” Becca sat up straighter too. “A man and a woman, right? Looking at each other?”

  “And both had long dark hair,” Jo murmured. Even given the chaos that followed, she remembered the love in the couple’s eyes clearly.

  “And the guy gave the woman something,” Grady said. “I saw it too.”

  “This is so cool.” Becca flicked water at Elena playfully. “Finally, a sweet vision in my head, instead of that nightmare deer-spider-thing crawling down the hill…” She shivered, and Jo slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Did you see it?” Maggie asked Pat.

  Pat shrugged casually. “I was there, right?” She walked over to Maggie and extended her arm, an oddly gallant gesture. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk.”

  Maggie squinted up at her, then at the women lounging in the hot tub. Becca flicked her fingers at her subtly, urging her on.

  “Oookay.” Maggie accepted Pat’s arm, scowling. “But if I get dumped on my butt in the snow again, I’m giving up on you Seattle lesbians for good.”

  “Have her back by dark,” Grady called to them as they stepped off the porch. “Pat, you be a lady, now. Maggie’s real shy and modest and inno—” Grady spluttered satisfyingly as Elena dunked her head beneath the water.

  They heard Maggie titter as she and Pat walked together into the sunlit field of snow. Becca and Elena sighed sentimentally.

  “What’s going to happen to that young
woman?” Jo nibbled her lip. “I can buy her a ticket on a flight back to her family in Minnesota, if she wishes.”

  “Or we can help Maggie find a home here.” Becca patted Jo’s arm. “I think she’s halfway home here already.”

  Grady stretched, yawning. “Well, we’ve got a few days to figure things out. Jo, after we’ve had some sleep, you and I should try to hit that paper for Chambliss.”

  “Stating what, exactly?” Jo frowned.

  “Um, the truth?” Grady said.

  “The truth about this weekend?” Jo scoffed. “Only if we can omit any embarrassing parts about me and say that you did them.”

  “I’m just talking about the data,” Grady protested. “We don’t have to use any names or clinical descriptions of—”

  “Dr. Wrenn? Dr. Call?” Becca never interrupted anyone, ever. “Elena and I are entirely too comfortable in this lovely hot tub to move, so we can’t escape you. But I promise, if you persist in arguing about this, or anything at all in the next three days, Elena and I will cheerfully drown you both.”

  Elena opened her eyes and winked at Becca, then they settled back into the healing water.

  *

  The silence between them was easy, and always had been.

  Sanity seemed fully restored to the land. The snow beneath their boots was deep and crisp, but not the heat-sucking maw of the long night before. There was no wind, not even a breeze. The air was sharp, crystal clear, and blessedly still.

  “What is it with you and this trough?” Maggie griped cheerfully as they reached their destination. “I know I’m a cheap date, but come on. Not even a Burger King?”

  “I figure this place has good juju for us, now.” Pat folded her arms and sat back against the trough’s edge. “Jo and I fed deer out of this trough when I was a kid. We had fun here. We beat the bad guy here. And you’ve never been here at sunset, so I wanted you to see this.”

  She nodded toward the mountain and Maggie turned, and the breath was sucked out of her chest in the most pleasant way possible. Rainier gleamed in all its craggy glory in the gold light of the setting sun, and Maggie couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “Hoo,” she whispered finally, and Pat nodded, but she kept her arms crossed over her chest.

  “You’d be giving up a lot,” Pat said.

  “Huh?”

  “You might have a lot of dreams, Maggie. Places you’ve always wanted to live, lovers you’ve wanted to meet. I’d be asking you to choose this mountain, and one woman.”

  “You mean choose her again.”

  Pat nodded, then gave her time to think.

  Something colorful flicked at the edge of Maggie’s vision, and she grasped the moment of distraction. “Wow. I don’t believe this.” She walked around the trough and crouched next to the spray of wildflowers peeking out of the snow.

  “Glacier lillies.” Maggie recognized Indian paintbrush and alpine asters too, a small cluster of blossoms that had no business blooming in the dead of winter. Maggie drifted her fingers through their richness, reluctant to disturb them—and then she imagined Pat’s lonely little camper behind the cabin, and how beautiful these flowers would be there. She plucked a handful carefully and brought them back to Pat.

  “Here.” She handed the flowers to Pat gruffly. “Enjoy the moment. This is about as mushy as I get.”

  Pat smiled down at their vibrant colors, and then reached into her pocket. “Here.” She handed Maggie her prayer stick. “Enjoy the moment.”

  “Are you serious?” Maggie stared at the small stick in her palm. “Pat, you’re giving this to me?”

  “Yep.”

  “But you said no one could touch this except you.” She swallowed and tried to think of something to say that might unlock her throat. “You’re giving me this because I brought you some stupid flowers?”

  “Yeah, actually. It’s a story the Makah tell. A very special man once fell out of the stars to visit our tribe. He brought a lot of wisdom with him, a lot of healing. He was with us for years, and he was very much loved. When he was finished teaching us, he went back to the stars. And the moment he rose into the sky, the field he left us from exploded in wildflowers. Beautiful blossoms everywhere.”

  “Okay. Cool story.” A smile played around Maggie’s lips. “So wildflowers are special to you guys.”

  “Yes, and so is the woman who carries them.” Pat folded Maggie’s fingers around the prayer stick, and then held her closed hand to her heart. “She’s the best woman we’ll ever meet, if we’re lucky enough to find her. She’s the love of our lives.”

  Maggie waited.

  “We have a name for this woman. We call her ‘she who carries flowers,’ or sewa.”

  “Ah,” Maggie whispered.

  Pat kissed the back of her hand. “Will you stay?”

  Maggie thought about it, but she didn’t have to think hard.

  They sat together and watched the mountain.

  End

  About the Author

  Cate Culpepper has resided in Seattle for the past twenty-five years. She’s the author of the Tristaine series, Fireside, River Walker, and A Question of Ghosts. Her books have won three Golden Crown Literary Society Awards, a Lambda Literary Award, a Lesbian Fiction Readers’ Choice Award, and an Alice B. Medal for her body of work.

  What Reviewers Say About Lambda Literary Award Winner Cate Culpepper’s Work

  “Culpepper’s writing style can only be described as fluid and soothing. This is a multi-faceted book that will fascinate even the staunchest non-believer. Culpepper is a born story teller, and the reader can imagine her spinning this yarn of ghosts and evil spirits to friends around a campfire.”—Lambda Literary Review

  “There’s a lovely ebb and flow to their courtship, a dance that is refreshingly healthy and mature. Of itself, River Walker is a fine romance. …But wait, there’s more. Throw in the cyclic killings of abusive men and you have a tight little mystery. …As if a sweet romance and intriguing murder mystery aren’t enough, Culpepper throws in a good, old-fashioned ghost story. Romance, mystery, and ghost story—Culpepper does it all.”—Kissed by Venus

  “The Clinic sets the tone for what promises to be a terrific series. Culpepper’s writing style is spare and evocative, her plotting precise. You can’t help but feel strongly for the Amazon warrior women and their plight, and this book is a must-read for all those who enjoy light fantasy coupled with a powerful story of survival and adventure. Highly recommended.”—Midwest Book Review

  “Culpepper’s writing is crisp and refreshing, even in the midst of the difficult subject matter she has chosen for this story. Her turns of phrases are unique and resonate like harp strings plucked to create a beautiful tune.”—Just About Write

  “[The Clinic] is engaging and thought-provoking, and we are left pondering its lessons long after we read the last pages. …Culpepper is an exceptional storyteller who has taken on a very difficult subject, the subjugation of one people over another, and turned it into a spellbinding novel. As an author, she understands well that fiction can teach us our own history without the force and harshness of nonfiction. Yet The Clinic is just as powerful in its telling. ”—L-Word.com

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

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