Water Witch

by Carol Goodman

  But first I’d have to find her. It made sense that she’d be near the water, but as I sailed through the woods I realized that the Undine wasn’t the only water in the forest. My new eyes, which seemed to turn night into day, spotted flashes of water everywhere. Springs bubbled up from beneath rocks, still pools were scattered like silver coins under the trees, and swampy marshland stood in the low places. As much water as I saw, though, I could hear even more. It was percolating deep below the earth in hollow caverns and running in underground streams. The whole forest was a honeycomb channeling water through a thousand secret passageways.

  And the streams were full of plump trout, their gills iridescent with Aelvesgold. My mouth watered at the sight of them. It took all my willpower not to dive down and spear one with my sharp talons and tear into its raw flesh.

  It would have been easy. Where springs bubbled up into pools, the trout hovered in the currents, transfixed. Easy prey. At one of these pools I found a fisherman standing knee deep in the water, casting his line. I landed silently in an oak tree above him and observed. He wore rubber waders and a plaid flannel shirt (big surprise!). His hair was cut short, exposing the meaty nape of his neck. When he drew back his arm to cast, I caught a glimpse of his face. His full lips were pursed with concentration, soft blond down grew over his plump cheeks … I recognized him. He was the young man from the diner who’d been chowing down on Angler’s Specials with his father and grandfather. The Stewarts, the waitress had called them. Apparently the stories his grandfather had told him about fishing the Undine hadn’t deterred him from trying it. I soon saw why.

  Within seconds of my landing on the branch, young Stewart was reeling in a huge trout. I clenched the branch with my talons to keep from stealing it out of his hand. He had plenty! His creel was full. I inhaled the smell of fresh fish … and something less fresh. A smell like spoiled sardines that was oddly familiar …

  A splash in the water drew my attention away. I swiveled my head and cocked one ear toward the sound. It had come from the far bank of the pool. I trained my eyes on the bank but saw nothing … but then noticed strange ripples in the water: a V-shaped pattern trailing streamers, heading straight toward young Stewart.

  Stewart was too intent on his catch to notice the disturbance in the water. He was taking the hook out of the fish’s mouth, and then sliding it into his creel, trying to find room for it among the other fish, swearing when his new catch slipped from his fingers and landed in the water. He bent over to retrieve it … and a slim white hand broke the water’s surface and grabbed hold of his wrist. A puzzled look overtook his bland, plump face, and then the hand yanked and he toppled headfirst into the river.

  I let out a screech and dove, talons out. I grabbed the collar of the young man’s shirt and pulled back, my wings beating the air. It was enough to bring his head and arms out of the water. He thrashed and sputtered, windmilling his arms, very nearly clocking me. I let go to get out of his way. A head rose out of the water beside Stewart, a head with long streaming hair, fish-belly white skin, and malevolent green-black eyes: Lorelei. When Stewart saw her, he screamed and tried to backpedal away, but he tripped and fell backwards into the water. Lorelei no longer seemed to care about the fisherman. Her eyes were fastened on me.

  “You!” Lorelei screeched. “Interfering again. What’s the matter? Can’t you find a man of your own?”

  In answer, I dove straight at her, talons fully extended. At the last second she ducked and evaded my attack. My claws grasped a hank of her hair and ripped it out. She screeched and flailed her arms, reaching for my wingtips. I beat the air backwards to evade her grasp, and landed on a branch just above her head.

  Lorelei snarled and snapped her teeth at me. “So now you’ve become a hunter, doorkeeper.” Through her defiance I heard the fear in her voice. It made me even hungrier for her blood. I spread my wings out for another attack and her eyes widened. “Keep your prize, Doorkeeper, I like my meat fresh and this one’s nearly dead.”

  As I dove, she plunged into the water in a great wave. My claws grasped only water. I could just make out her long sinuous white body cleaving the black water and then she vanished in a flash of light. I felt an urge to follow her, but then I recalled what she’d said about young Stewart. I swiveled my neck and saw that he was still lying on the muddy bank, but the water level had risen above his head. He’d drown if I didn’t do something. I flew over him and snagged his shirt collar in my talons, dragging him backwards. It was hard work: he was a big guy, his sopping clothes and rubber waders adding weight. I got him halfway out and then cocked my head to his chest to listen for breathing. Even my acute owl senses couldn’t pick up any.

  I gave one more screech and then I willed myself back into human form. I tilted back the young fisherman’s head to clear his airway and struck his chest, once, twice, three times. Opening his mouth, I winced at the reek of chewing tobacco, but still I blew in. I repeated the procedure until he heaved and spit pond water in my mouth. I spat, wiped my mouth and sat back on my heels to watch him cough and retch, not sure what else I should do, but not feeling right about leaving him. It was too late to try to follow Lorelei anyway. Besides, now that I was in human form, my blood lust had dissipated.

  When he’d finished coughing up water, I patted him on the back and, not sure what else to say, said, “That a boy. It’s okay.”

  He turned and stared at me, his eyes going round as marbles and then moving up and down. Crap. I was naked. I started to cross my arms over my breasts, but then thought, Heck, what’s the point? Covering myself at this point seemed kind of cringing and undignified.

  “You!” he gasped. Was he about to faint? Or attack me? He might think I was the one who’d tried to pull him underwater. “You!” he spluttered again, staring at me wide-eyed as he painfully pulled himself into a sitting position. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life!”

  I snorted pond water out my nose. The guy was … what? Nineteen? He lived on a farm with his father and grandfather. How many naked women could he have ever seen?

  “Thank you,” I said, wiping my nose. “That’s nice of you …”

  “I mean it! You’re more beautiful than …” He creased his brow, clearly trying to think of beautiful women of his acquaintance. “Angelina Jolie!”

  I laughed again. He was kind of cute. “Well, I don’t know about that, but again, thank you. I’m just glad you didn’t drown. You know, you really shouldn’t fish here.”

  His eyes went even wider. “Are you the Lady of the Lake? Did I break a rule so you had to punish me?”

  “No! Or … er … yes!” I straightened my spine and shook out my hair. “I am the Lady of the Lake,” I intoned in a deep, sonorous voice. I used a little bit of what I’d learned as an owl to make my voice kind of echoey. “I protect these woods and streams. Tell all your friends that no one should come fishing here. Or else!”

  “Or else what?”

  “Um … or else they’ll feel my wrath!”

  He furrowed his brow again. “But you saved me,” he said.

  “Only so you could spread the word. Next time I won’t be so lenient.”

  “You’ve got feathers in your hair.” He leaned closer to me, not at all cowed by my act. “Hey, you’re not the Lady of the Lake, are you?”

  I slumped, disappointed at myself for not being able to pull it off. Angelina Jolie would have. “Okay, you got me …”

  “You’re an owl princess!” he said, plucking a feather from my hair. “You’re one of those animals that turn into beautiful women. My Nana told me stories of your kind – selkies and swan maidens.”

  I sighed. I would get the one fisherman raised on animal bride tales. “I’m not an owl princess …”

  “You are! And I’ve got your feather, which means you gotta come with me and be my wife.”

  I punched him in the arm. “That’s the thanks I get for saving your life?”

  “Ow!” he said, rubbing
his arm and looking hurt. “You don’t want to marry me?”

  “Sorry, but no. Not that you’re not a perfectly nice young man … um …”

  “MacKenzie Stewart, but my friends call me Mac. I just got my Associates Degree in Ag Business from SUNY Cobleskill. I’m a partner in my family’s dairy farm. I’m going to turn the whole thing organic. You should like that, being a bird and all … oh, gosh, we do raise chickens, though. We could go free-range if that would make it better … and I guess I could become a vegetarian …” his brow creased again, no doubt wondering if I was worth giving up Big Macs for, “… or maybe you don’t mind eating meat, you being a carnivorous bird.”

  I looked at Mac’s eager face and sighed. Poor guy. He must not meet many girls who wanted to come live on the family farm. He seemed willing to do about anything for me. “Thank you, Mac. I’m flattered, but I’m sure you’ll find a nice human girl … as long as you stay out of these woods!” I added in my Lady-of-the-Lake voice.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, cowed at last. Ma’am? Would he have called Angelina Jolie ma’am? “But I wish there was something I could do to repay you for saving my life. Can I do some … heroic deed, or something?”

  “Yes,” I said, shivering. “You can give me your shirt.”

  I walked back toward home in Mac Stewart’s flannel shirt, which thankfully came down to my knees and only smelled a little of cheap cologne and man-sweat. I followed the stream back, keeping my eyes and ears open for Duncan, sorry I no longer had the vision and hearing of an owl. The woods felt darker and denser, as if the trees had moved a few inches closer to one another and were readying themselves to pounce on me. I called Duncan’s name, my voice sounding frail in comparison to the powerful hoot of the owl. I felt frail. As an owl I’d felt as if something had opened up inside of me, but I no longer felt that channel of power. Instead I felt depleted, weaker than ever. When I reached my backyard, though, I didn’t need any special powers to find Duncan Laird. He was sprawled out naked across my back steps, the gash on his chest black against his human flesh.

  I let out a cry that could have been the hoot of an owl for her wounded mate and ran to him. His eyes were closed, but when I knelt beside him and touched his arm he stirred and moaned. His eyes flicked open, revealing a slit of glittering blue.

  “Cal …” he managed, his voice sounding like the croak of a frog.

  “What happened? What did this to you?” I touched the edge of the gash on his chest and he moaned. There were fainter scratches in his skin, which looked like they had been made with claws.

  “An undine …” he said. “Not Lorelei … another … one …”

  “I knew it couldn’t have been Lorelei, because I was with her.” A loud moan interrupted this thought. I could tell him what had happened to me later. “Should I take you to the hospital?”

  “They wouldn’t be able … to treat this,” he whispered, turning slightly to the side. I gasped at the sight of his back. It was scored with slash marks.

  “I’ll get Diana,” I said. “She’ll know what to do … or Liz … ”

  “No,” he said, grabbing my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong for a wounded man. “You can do it … you have the power of the Aelvesgold in you. Just …” He looked anxiously toward the edge of the woods. “Just … help me inside.”

  I put his arm around his shoulders and got him to his feet, then realized I should have opened the door first. But Duncan held out his hand and the door flew open. “You still have so much power,” I said, ushering him through the door, “even though you’re hurt.”

  He stumbled over the threshold and we nearly both crashed to the kitchen floor. “Not so … much,” he croaked with a strangled laugh. “But you … you have all the power I need.”

  I tightened my grip on his waist, noticing in spite of myself how firm his muscles were and how warm his bare skin. In the library I settled him onto the couch, pulling an afghan over him to spare his modesty … or mine, I supposed. He was probably in too much pain to think about being naked in front of me, but I was going to have to concentrate, and Duncan Laird’s naked body was … distracting, to say the least. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was distracted. When I knelt beside him on the couch I caught him staring down the opening of my flannel shirt where a button had come loose. “Where did you get this?” he asked, fingering the worn fabric.

  “From a fisherman named Mac,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Long story. I’ll tell you all about it after … What am I supposed to do, Duncan? Tell me! You’re losing blood!”

  He smiled weakly and took my hand. A heat flash moved straight from my hand into the core of my body as if he’d touched me … somewhere intimate.

  “The Aelvesgold in your body is reacting to mine,” he said. “You can use it to perform a binding spell on my wounds.” He guided my hand over the deepest gash on his chest, holding it barely an inch above his flesh. “Concentrate on the heat between us.”

  I blushed again. There was heat between us, and not just of the Aelvesgold variety, but I tried to concentrate on the Aelvesgold kind right now. I felt the warmth of his torn flesh radiating just below the palm of my hand and the pulse of his hand above mine. As I focused on the heat, I felt it grow and spread. He moved my hand slightly, in a small circular motion, and the heat moved with it. I saw it now: a syrupy red-gold light, like the liquid Aelvesgold Liam had moved across my body when we’d made love in Faerie. Only this light was stained red, perhaps because Duncan was wounded.

  Duncan slowly guided my hand along the length of the gash in his chest while the viscous light coated the edges of his wound. He winced once and I stopped, but he grimaced and told me to go on; it only hurt because I was binding the skin. I nodded, and focused my energy on directing the Aelvesgold into his flesh. As I did, I felt the Aelvesgold building in me as well. Every inch of my skin prickled with energy. The rough couch upholstery felt like sandpaper on my thighs, the flannel shirt rubbing against my breasts made my nipples harden.

  Duncan moved the afghan aside, took my other hand and guided it to a long gash on his thigh. Gold threads sprung from my fingertips and interlaced across his body between my hands, weaving a criss-cross pattern over his skin.

  “This is different from when you bound my wounds,” I whispered, looking into his eyes. “It’s …” I faltered when I saw how he was looking at me. His eyes burned with desire. I felt its pull as I’d felt the pull of the gold threads of Aelvesgold in the woods, connecting me to everything. He reached out to stroke my face. As his hand passed across the table he knocked over the glass of Scotch I’d left on the table earlier. Its smoky aroma jarred me with a memory of Liam. I pulled away, breaking the connection between Duncan and me. Sparks flew into the air, cascading over the couch, burning holes in the upholstery. One landed on Duncan’s bare skin and he cried out in pain.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, leaping up to put out the smoking cinders. “I guess I’m not ready …”

  Duncan seized both my hands in his and gazed deeply into my eyes.

  “It’s all right, Callie. I didn’t mean to rush you. I didn’t realize you were still attached to the incubus.”

  “I’m not!” I objected.

  Wordlessly, Duncan turned my hands over and held up my palms. An intricate network of golden spirals was inscribed on my skin. They looked like the Celtic knot work designs in the margins of the Book of Kells – an ancient script of magic.

  “These are wards,” Duncan said. “Internal wards to protect you from unwelcome advances. They mean your heart is spoken for.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “I THINK I would know if I were in love,” I objected, seating myself on the chair opposite the couch and pulling the flannel shirt over my knees. “The whole problem with Liam was that I wasn’t in love with him. If I had been, then he would have become fully human.”

  “I didn’t say you loved him,” Duncan said, leaning back on the couch and arranging the afghan over his chest like th
e folds of a Roman toga. “I said your heart belonged to him. He must have bound you to him. He doesn’t want you to love anyone else.”

  “No, he wouldn’t have …” I began, but then I recalled what he’d said in my dream about the threads of Aelvesgold linking true lovers together. Had that been his way of telling me that we were bound together?”

  “The bastard,” I swore. “He might as well have put a chastity belt on me.”

  Duncan looked at me curiously. “So you don’t want to be bound to him?”

  “I most certainly do not! I want to make up my own mind about loving him …” Too late I realized what that sounded like. Duncan looked away from me, something flickering darkly in his eyes – disappointment, I guessed, although it looked almost like anger.

  “So you’re really not sure how you feel about him.” He started to get up, remembered he was naked under the afghan, and cast a spell that conjured clothes – tightly fitting jeans, a soft white shirt, and a black leather jacket – the perfect outfit to make me sorry that he was going.

  “How can I know how I feel about him when I have these wards on me?” I asked, following him to the door. “Is there some way I can remove them?”

  Duncan turned to me in the doorway. The porch light shining through the red pane in the fanlight cast a ruby streak across his face, making him look like a savage in war paint. “Do you really want them gone?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “They can be removed the same way as the wards that are blocking your power can be removed. Through transformative magic.”

  “But that hasn’t worked,” I objected.

  “It is working,” he said. “You felt the power tonight when you were an owl, didn’t you?”

  “I did, but then it faded.”

  “But you were still strong enough to heal me. And the fact that Liam’s wards are visible is a sign that you are growing powerful enough to shed them. One more transformation and you’ll be strong enough to break through them all.”