Witch's Jewel

by Kater Cheek

  “Oh yeah? Doing what?”

  “Boughs for the Samhain festival. It’s a big job. Should pay well.”

  “You going to quit working for your brother?”

  “It doesn’t pay that well.”

  Fenwick picked up the wine list. “Are you more of a red wine or a white wine person?”

  “I’m more of a beer person.” As Rob pointed out. And what was wrong with liking beer? What was wrong with a woman who studied karate and hated wearing make up? Did that make me undesirable?

  “All they have is Budweiser.”

  “In that case, let’s share a bottle of red.” Even broke women had standards.

  Fenwick ordered a bottle of wine, and then another, appetizers, and an expensive veal dish that he had to finish for me because it was too much food. I told him about John and Magda, and we carefully kept the conversation away from the events at the dojo.

  An hour later, I was sipping espresso and feeling tipsy and pleasant. Amazing how a good meal and good company has the power to wipe away the most stubborn heartache, even if only for a while.

  “Espresso tastes better when you don’t have to make it yourself.”

  He nodded in agreement and pointed to my untouched dessert. “You going to eat that?”

  “No. Take it.”

  He did, and ate it almost in a single bite.

  “You sure are hungry tonight.”

  “It’s my change night,” he said, scraping the tines against the plate to get the crumbs.

  His face flickered with the image of a bear again, as if the bindi wanted to remind me. “Change? Oh. How soon?”

  “I can postpone six or seven hours, maybe as long as a day if I need to.” He reached for the breadbasket, but it was empty.

  “How do you know when you’re about to change? You get hungry?”

  “Well, I take the pink pills for twenty-seven days, and on the twenty-eighth day I take the white placebo, or I simply stop taking the pill …”

  I laughed.

  Fenwick leaned back so the waiter could take the dessert plates. “It’s good to see you laugh. No, seriously. I told you it was cyclical. I count how long it’s been since the last one and that’s how I know. Well, I can kind of sense when it’s about to happen too. Things feel different. My skin gets too small for me. Itchy, almost.”

  He scratched his face. His hand looked like a bear’s paw momentarily, brown fur and long black claws—the bindi’s warning that he wasn’t human, he was a dangerous shape-changer.

  Fenwick? Dangerous? Not him. Gentle, shy, geeky, kind Fenwick would never hurt me, even if he did have inch-long claws.

  “What do you do when you’re a bear?”

  He traced a path in the breadcrumbs with a human finger. “Stay home. I have to work extra hours to make up the sick days, but I told my boss that my dad has a medical condition and needs me to take care of him. None of my bosses have ever figured out that my dad’s medical condition happens exactly once a month.”

  “So, are you going to tell me about when you got bitten?”

  “Bitten? No, it’s hereditary. It started when I hit puberty.” He signaled for the check.

  I folded my hands and rested my chin on them, encouraging him to continue.

  “At first it was just some kind of painful fit. My parents got me tested for everything from epilepsy to seafood allergies, but of course they suspected it was really lycanthropy, cause it ran in the family. Then one day I figured out how to turn into a bear and they knew for sure.”

  “You had to learn how to do it?”

  “Yeah. My grandfather taught me how. He was one too, that’s how my parents figured it out. You can’t just do it though, there’s a trick to it. Certain things can make it harder or easier: location, how much you’ve eaten, how long it’s been since the last time. Changing is easier here in Seabingen.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just easier. It’s like the energy flows better here.”

  “James said that about mage-craft too.” I leaned forward and rested my chin on laced fingers. “So, what’s it like?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not like the movies. I stay sentient when I change, and except for that one day a month I’m a bear, I’m totally human. It’s not that bad. I don’t mind being a bear. In the summer I camp out, spend the day in the woods. Bears have great smell and hearing, and since I smell like a bear I get to see wildlife that humans don’t always get to see.”

  “Is it contagious?”

  “No.” Fenwick paid for the bill without letting me see it.

  “Good to know. I’d rather not get it, since I hang out with you all the time. I’m already a bitch once a month, I don’t want to be a bear as well.”

  “You’re never a bitch.” He got up and pulled out my chair for me, with me in it. Damn he was as strong as a bear.

  “Says you. Oof! I’m stuffed.” I stood slowly and took his arm, which looked momentarily furry but felt human under the illusion. “Let’s go, I’ll give you a ride home.”

  The unspoken presence of Rob filled the van and left us in awkward silence on the way to Fenwick’s apartment. It was one thing to talk about lycanthropy and Pagan politics in the restaurant, but the specter of my now-openly-confessed love for the third musketeer could only be addressed in private. When we went inside his apartment, the two of us sat on the couch without looking at each other.

  Fenwick picked up the remote control as if he were going to summon television to distract us, but he didn’t press the buttons, just held it there. “I told Rob off after you left.”

  The pain came back, a migraine in my heart. I clutched my knees, staring at the denim of my jeans. “I wondered why you were there. Did you know he was going to tell me about his engagement?”

  “Yes. I wanted to be there for you.”

  “I wish no one had been there. I felt so humiliated.”

  “Unrequited love always hurts.”

  “He thinks I’m mannish. He thinks I’m ugly. He doesn’t even see me as a woman.” I took a few deep breaths and turned to him. “Does everyone think of me that way? I know I’m not a hot babe, but am I really that bad?”

  Fenwick touched my cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re totally a hot babe. Everyone thinks you’re sexy. Especially me. Rob’s an idiot.”

  I closed my eyes, leaning into his fingers, wishing they were Rob’s. “I can’t believe the whole situation. I kept hoping that one day he would look at me and suddenly fall in love. It seems so stupid. How could I have been so naïve?

  “You know what it’s like when you love someone who thinks of you as just a friend? You enjoy their company, but you want so much more and don’t know if you’re ever going to get it?”

  Fenwick finished the thought. “And you try to let them know you’re interested, but you don’t want them to know you’re interested, because if they don’t want you, it will destroy a perfectly good friendship?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And every time they are single, or have trouble with their girlfriend, you wonder if this is your chance.”

  Fenwick slid his arm around me for a half hug. “It’s hardest when you see them in love with someone who is plainly inferior to you. You wonder why they don’t realize that you’re so much better.”

  My voice was cracking with emotion. “And then you see that person date another loser and wonder when you’re going to get your turn.”

  “The months go past and you start to think that it will never work out,” Fenwick was speaking in my ear, soft enough to tickle me with his breath. “You wonder if you should just give up hope.”

  “Then just when you decide it’s not worth it anymore, you see him again and all your resolve crumbles.”

  Fenwick put his hands on either side of my face. “Kit, I know exactly how you feel.”

  And then he kissed me, a warm-up first date kiss. I pulled back in surprise, my heart fluttering wildly. Did he just kiss me? Fenwick liked me?


  His face fell. “I’m sorry, Kit. You’re kind of at a low point right now and I really shouldn’t take ad—”

  I yanked him toward me and kissed him again, and this time I was ready for it. This wasn’t a ‘just friends’ kiss. This was a ‘let’s get naked and sweaty together’ kiss. My fingers clenched and pulled him closer, all of me centered on his tongue sliding between my lips. He tasted better than chocolate. Had kisses always felt so wonderful?

  Fenwick pulled away, but by the look in his eyes, he wasn’t done. His cheek scraped gently against mine as though mouth alone wasn’t enough to caress me with. He pressed his face in my hair and murmured something.

  I settled myself more firmly on his lap and started kissing my way towards his ear. He was faintly sweaty, that ‘working hard and haven’t yet showered smell’ that guys worry about, not realizing it makes them kind of sexy.

  I drew his earlobe into my mouth and nibbled, inhaling. He shuddered and pulled me closer.

  “You still sorry?” I murmured into his ear.

  “Sorry I didn’t do this a long time ago.” Fenwick slid his hands under my shirt, then reached back and unhooked my bra. Damn it felt good to have a guy want me.

  And he did want me. He was so hard I felt him through his dockers, even though we were still necking like tweeners. I unbuttoned my jeans. Fenwick slid his hands down my jeans and showed me how very long his fingers were, and very gentle. Okay, maybe not tweeners. I didn’t let a guy do this to me till high school.

  He pulled his hands away and lifted my shirt off, then his own. He was gorgeous, if you liked the muscular type, and really, who didn’t? But me? No guy had seen me without my top on since Rolf the loser. No guy had wanted to. I crossed my arms in front of me. “Can we turn the lights off?”

  “No.” He took my hands and pulled them away, then gently began to kiss my breasts, leaning me back against the couch. “You have a beautiful body. I want to see it.”

  “Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

  “Yeah, right!” He kissed his way up again, along the collarbone, back to my neck, pulling the skin in almost-nibbles. My breath caught. It was embarrassing how quickly he found something that flipped my switch.

  His ponytail had come out somehow, and his hair fell over my face until all I saw was a golden-brown curtain. All I felt was wonderful. How did we fit so well, when we had never done more than hug each other? How strange, and yet how familiar. It was as though his hands had always cupped my breasts, his thighs had always been pressed against my own.

  He didn’t stop kissing, didn’t stop caressing me. No guy had ever given me this much foreplay. He slid my pants off gently, and then my panties, and kissed down my chest an inch at a time. By the time he reached my navel, my hands had gone numb. He kissed down further, and then licked, gently.

  A shriek escaped me.

  “Kit, is this okay?” he asked. “Should I stop?”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  And he didn’t. He was creative, and patient, and fabulously persistent. He had a box of condoms in his dresser drawer, but he didn’t fetch them until I had finished. No one had ever waited for me to come first. Some of my boyfriends hadn’t even waited for me to come at all. My infrequent orgasms were like a hastily grabbed breakfast bar in lieu of lunch—technically satisfactory, but not great. They had never been like this, a long shuddering sigh of ecstasy followed by convulsive aftershocks.

  And he hadn’t even started yet.

  We worked our way through a handful of condoms, though it took most of the night. By the time we were done, I was so exhausted he carried me out of the shower and laid me in his bed. My eyes closed as soon as my head hit the pillow, and my last feeling was the curling hair of his chest pressed against my back.

  Cats never felt so warm and contented.

  ***

  The next morning, the early autumn light spilled in through the window and awoke me from the half dream in which I lay in Fenwick’s arms. But I was in Fenwick’s arms, wasn’t I? His chest was still pressed against mine. No. Something was not right. Warm breath tickled my ear.

  “Fenwick?” Rolling over, I realized that the breath came from the nose of a furry brown bear.

  This wasn’t the first time I had woken up with a beast, but every other time had been metaphorical.

  A bear. His change night. He turned into a bear.

  He looked right, perfect, natural, the way that only wild creatures do. His fur was thick and long enough to dig my fingers in until the brown hairs tickled the back of my hand. He smelled good too; earthy, musky, not unwashed like animals in the zoo. It was like sleeping with a big powerful, sentient dog.

  Good thing he had a king-sized bed. Fenwick yawned in his sleep, revealing inch-long white daggers in black gums. A real bear, not an illusion. It was awe inspiring. He was a real bear, a real were-bear, with claws and teeth.

  I draped myself across his bulk, and let his rising chest lift me. Outside the window, a maple tree’s leaves were beginning to turn the color of flame. The air, blowing in through the screen, had that crisp coolness of early fall which matched the crystalline blue sky. Fenwick slept on, fur tinged golden by the morning light. He was so perfectly beautiful. Why couldn’t this moment last forever? A bear. He shared this with me. He trusted me enough to let me see him as a bear.

  “Fenwick? You awake?” Shaking him didn’t wake him. Cold water might, but he had the day off today, he should be allowed to sleep till noon if he wanted to. I yawned, thinking about going in to work early to get an extra cup of chai.

  But what about last night? We’d have to talk about this, right? You couldn’t go from just friends to whatever we were without some ground rules. He had a few ballpoint pens and a small yellow notebook in his desk drawer. I pulled them out and went back to the bed, leaning against him as though he were a giant bean bag. I chewed on the end of the pen. What to say?

  Fenwick, I want more.

  Absolutely true. I stroked my hand down his leg and felt the sharp black claws at the end. He wasn’t even human right now, and I was already wanting more, imagining the next time, wondering if there was going to be one. Last night had been amazing. Had I ever felt so wonderful? Not in years, that was for sure. But still, it made me sound like a shameless hussy. The first note got crumpled and thrown into the garbage.

  Are we friends-with-benefits now?

  Free thinking modern women were supposed to be okay with that. But what if he really liked me? What if we could have more? What if we could have a “I want you to meet my parents,” kind of relationship? Me, and Fenwick? Boyfriend and girlfriend? That could be kind of nice. I tossed the second note into the garbage. If only I knew how he really felt about me. How about …

  We need to talk.

  That one got torn up into itty bitty pieces, then tossed in the garbage. No man ever born didn’t hate those words.

  I buried my face in the fur of his neck. Think, Kit, think. What did guys hate? Rob disliked ‘chicks who don’t shave,’ which had inspired me to make it part of my daily routine, though he never noticed. What else did they hate? Women who thought they owned them. Women who tried to change them. Clingy women, women who wanted to take ‘friends with benefits’ to the ‘practically married’ level. They talked about it often enough.

  I pulled my face away from the glorious softness of his fur. Screw the notes. Just don’t say anything about it, to him or anyone else. Just pretend it never happened, unless he brought up the subject first. I kissed him gently on the nose and got dressed to go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  James had already forgotten his promise, and scheduled me for a ten-hour shift that Saturday, which sucked. Not only were weekends the only time I got to go out, but traffic in the Old Town was nearly impossible after nine o’clock, which meant either going in an hour early or taking long odds against the fickle parking demons. At eight thirty-five, even the alley behind the coffee house was filled with the cars of the few, the bold: men and
women who feared no parking cop.

  But luck was with me today. The third circle around the block revealed a customer-only parking space in front of a record store that had gone out of business. It was less than four blocks from Ishmael’s, which meant that I actually arrived on time. Sweaty and breathless, but on time.

  Elaina came in four hours later. She managed to talk about a movie she saw, the fact that she was scheduled to work in less than an hour, and that she saw another mouse (and was thinking about setting some mouse traps if I promised to take care of the corpses,) before coming right out and asking me who I spent the night with.

  A blush crept up my neck and cheeks, telling Elaina far more than she had a right to know. Elaina smirked, and invited me to come to the Pygg and Wassail with her and Ulrich, hinting broadly that the mystery guy was also invited. It would have been nice to take Fenwick, actually, except that he would still be a bear until the following morning.

  As the day wore on, a beer at the Pygg and Wassail sounded better and better. When Jolene and the new guy Barnabus showed up to relieve me from my shift, I shucked my apron faster than a horny prom date and loped out the door.

  Lucky for me, I had forgotten where I parked, and had to make a two-block detour before remembering.

  Lucky for me, because whoever was lurking near my van was staring in the direction I should have been coming from.

  There’s a fine line between paranoia and sensible precaution. It could have been anyone leaning against the dark storefront with a sweatshirt hood pulled over his features. It could have been someone waiting for a friend, or maybe a homeless person. But wouldn’t a homeless person be sleeping or sitting down? And if I were waiting for a friend, I’d have my hands in my pockets, not one hand inside the jacket like Napoleon.

  Hand inside the jacket. That person had a gun. Someone was waiting for me, by my van, with a gun.

  Paranoia, or sensible precaution? Better take the choice that wouldn’t make me dead. I crept slowly back the way I had come. Jesus, did my footsteps always make this much noise? Was someone else watching for me?