by Heather Long
It was like a bad dating game show where I needed to figure out the right questions to ask. “How many lives have you had?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. The relaxed expression settled me even more than his stroking hand. “I’ve lived too many to keep count.”
“What are you that lets you keep living lives?’
“In my first life, my mother was akin to what you would call a witch.” Which arguably made him a witch. “I was not. In my people, the gift did not pass on to the males of the family.” Weird, but okay. “I was something of a scholar, though not as you would recognize the term.”
“You’re talking oral histories?”
“More or less. I memorized the list of families, the gifted, their familiars, and I knew all the bloodlines. I knew where they came from, who they went on to be. I was the Keeper of the Record.”
“Was…so you aren’t anymore?” Intrigued, I eyed a sign, which announced a diner ahead. We were really low on cash, but I wanted food and more time to talk.
“I suppose I am, to a point.” Martin shrugged. “If you ask me a question, I can generally identify the information, if I’ve been exposed to it.”
In the parking lot of the diner, he sat forward and looked from it to me. My face warmed from far more than just the sun shining on me. Was I blushing? Nanny would roll over in her grave. “I’m hungry.”
“I don’t have any shoes.” Non sequitur, much? The response confused me. Then he pointed to the sign in the window—no shirt, no shoes, no service.
“I’ll get the food. We can have a picnic.” It was the middle of the day, beautiful weather, cool and comfortable.
“I’d like that.”
I was out of the car and halfway to the door before pivoting back to face him. “What do you want to eat?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine. The idea of being able to eat with my own two hands is more than enough for me to be happy with anything.”
“All right.” I left him in the car, but I took my keys and purse with me. Maybe I did go back for him, and maybe I liked him more than I should admit. But I wasn’t stupid, and I wasn’t going to risk a lesson ‘learned’ by having to see him drive off in my car.
I put in an order for the food and kept glancing outside, reassuring myself he remained. Waiting for me.
My stomach did a tiny little flip-flop.
Don’t focus on the semantics, songbird.
I really needed that advice, or I’d risk believing I was in a love song.
Chapter Six
If someone had said I would be sharing a picnic lunch in the middle of nowhere while I was supposed to be urgently on my way to Assjacket, I’d have laughed at them. Scratch that, I’d have stared at them and then fled—cause that’s what you should do with crazy people.
Of course, here I was, sitting on a blanket Martin spread in the grass beneath a beech tree all decked out in autumn foliage. I’d ordered chicken fried steaks, biscuits, and mashed potatoes. We set the big tub of gravy between us and took turns dipping our food into it. Though starving, Martin ate like he sat a table laid out for a king. The neat handling of his plastic silverware entertained me.
I ate with my fingers, except for the mashed potatoes. I used the biscuits and the spoon for those. “Will you tell me more about you?” I’d held my silence for as long as I could.
“Yes,” Martin said, utterly polite and sweet. “If you’ll tell me about you.”
“You kind of know my story, sort of.”
“I do?” He gave me a sidelong look. “You barely told me your name and only so I would stop calling you witchypoo.”
Not flinching at his baiting, I considered the possibilities as I took another bite of the food. “Okay, fair enough,” I said finally. “We take turns. You get one question, then me, then you, then you…sound fair?”
“Perfectly reasonable. Tell me about the tattoo on your back.”
My tattoo? I froze momentarily. When had he seen my tattoo? Then glanced at my tank top. He could likely see parts of it outside the edges of the shirt. Stuffing another bite into my mouth, I bought myself some time. How much truth should I tell him? Did it matter if I told him all of it? I’d promised an answer for an answer. The innate sense of right versus wrong inside my soul rang a clarion bell, like a tuning fork. It told me which notes I needed to hit.
Fine, truth it is.
“It’s a tree, with the moon rising through it. It’s a magical tattoo. Nanny planted it when I was little, it started like a little acorn and, as my magic grew, so did it. She wanted me to know that if I didn’t take care of it, if I didn’t practice when I was supposed to or if I abused it, the tree would wither.”
After wiping his hands, Martin eased behind me and, before touching me asked, “May I?”
The intense intimacy of letting him see the tattoo struck me. Still, he’d asked. “You realize that’s technically two questions.”
His fingers skimmed the edge of tank top’s strap, just barely grazing my flesh. “Actually, it was only one question. I simply said tell me for the first part.”
Aggravation speared my gut, followed swiftly by a fascination for how smartly he’d played his hand. After a drink of my coke, I nodded. “You can look at it.”
He skimmed his fingers down my spine then peeled my shirt upward. I held still. My bra would break up his view, but if he wanted to ask me to take it off, we’d be having an entirely different kind of discussion.
“There are no leaves,” he commented, his voice so soft I had to strain to hear it. “And the moon…it’s half full, but the branches and trunks of the tree are thick and full.”
“I’ve been as true to my gift as I can be.” Admitting it aloud reassured me. I managed to not look at my tattoo since the night I’d ended up in debt to the vampires. The last thing I wanted to see was twisted and gnarled roots or, worse, dead and decaying. Two warm fingers traced the tree from my waist to my shoulder blade.
“It’s very dark. Has it always been this dark?”
“That’s another question,” I said, pulling away so my shirt could fall back into place. Sparing him a glance over my shoulder, I raised my eyebrows. “And cheating.”
“Point conceded.” He inclined his head then slid back over to his spot and reclaimed his plate. “Question to you.”
I ate my way through three spoonfuls of mashed potatoes as I debated what I wanted to know. Finally, I settled on the most pressing question. “What are you? And by that I mean, are you a supernatural being of some kind that you have lived so long?”
“Short answer, no. I’m not a supernatural being.” No hesitation marked his response. “I’m human, for the most part.” Way to qualify that. “A curse has kept me aware of who I am life after life.”
Life after life? I wanted to ask him if that meant he’d died, but he saved me the trouble.
“Yes, I die and I am reborn.”
Not waiting for my next turn, I asked, “And you remember everything? Even like how you died? The experience of it?”
“Most of the time, and we can get into more of that later.” He offered me a bite of his mashed potatoes. The thoughtfulness wasn’t lost on me, so I accepted it. “It’s my turn now.”
Nodding, I acquiesced. We could go back and forth like this for hours. The need to continue on to Assjacket, to finish my mission tickled at me. Yes, finding the Baba Yaga and asking her whether it was possible to undo the turning of a succubi was very important—to Nasty-Face. It had only been a little over twenty-four hours since I embarked on my mission.
“Do you enjoy drinking wine?” The question threw me. Weren’t we supposed to be digging into the mystery of each other?
“Yes, sometimes. Depends on the wine. Whites are great. Red is meh. Blood wine is gross, just FYI.” Despite the weirdness of the question, I found it flattering he wanted to know. Maybe we wasted time on the game we played, but I didn’t care.
&nb
sp; Martin was far more important. The sobering realization kept me quiet until he nudged my leg lightly. “It’s your turn, my sweet witchypoo.”
“I told you I didn’t like that name.”
“But it suits you. You’re mysterious and committed, a little on the wild and crazy side. Either way, it’s your turn.”
Blowing out a breath, I contemplated my mashed potatoes. “First part—clarifying and not asking—you are born, you live, you die, then you are reborn. You remember your lives, so you have been leapfrogging through history, ultimately becoming who you are today.” I spared him a look, but he took a drink of his soda and grimaced faintly. Maybe I should have asked him about drink choices ahead of time, but he had said he wanted what I was having. “How did you become a skunk?”
“That’s a fraction more embarrassing,” he admitted with a hint of sheepishness creeping into his tone. Well, he definitely had my attention. Between us, we’d decimated most of the food. He passed his plate over to me unasked with the remaining mashed potatoes, and I dug in.
“I’m all ears.” I’d always enjoyed that phrase. Fun that I found a real reason to use it.
“Before I begin, allow me to state I wish we were drinking for this story.” With that caveat out of the way, he stretched his legs and braced his weight on an elbow as he relaxed. “I live. I die. I’m reborn. Most of the time, I live a good life.” It seemed a reasonable statement. “Depending on how you define a good life. I like teaching. It’s something I have a talent for. Oddly, I have found teaching positions in almost every century.”
Something about the way he said that niggled in the back of my mind. As though I should have recognized his tale. Why would I recognize it? Nanny hadn’t been a big fan of reading to me. She thought books housed too much encouragement for independent thinking. That said, we did spend a lot of time on arts and crafts. Need a sweater? I can knit with the best of them. But I digress…
“I love when you get lost in your head,” Martin said diverting from his tale. “You get this little crinkle right here.” He ran a finger along my nose to between my eyebrows. “It’s so fierce, and adorable.”
Slapping his hand away, I made a face. “I’m glad I’m fierce and adorable. Get back to your skunk tales.”
A flash of a grin warmed his expression. “Yes, yes. As I said, I have a talent for instruction and I worked often as a teacher in many lives. Yet, I admit in this life, I wanted to do something different. Perhaps explore the world, educate myself, take up a new profession. Or I could study medicine, become a doctor, and help people like those who used to live in the village where I grew up.”
A pensive light filled his eyes, and I knew whatever he saw, wherever he went in his mind, it wasn’t with me or where we were. I could have poked him to make him continue, but the distance in his expression fascinated me. I’d known Martin less than a day and, for the majority of it, he’d been a skunk.
Yet in his presence, I relaxed in a way I couldn’t recall having ever felt. To be blunt, most people aggravated me. Not Martin.
“My apologies, my mind wandered.” He shook his head, and his gaze sharpened on me once more. “As I said, I wanted to take a different journey. Most of the time, my childhoods are normal. Parents, sometimes two, sometimes only one. Occasionally I have siblings. I always enjoy a variety of activities. When I reach my majority, I hear my calling.”
“That’s when you study education?”
“Or find the one who needs to be educated…typically a problem child. Someone with a great destiny, and I get to be a part of it because I provide them with a solid foundation and understanding of the greater world, not to mention their place in it.” Faith and belief in himself underscored his every word.
“Sounds pretty cool.”
“It is. It’s a magical thing to have a calling. I suppose it’s why I always remember who I am and my experiences in every life. The calling.” His tone shifted, the excitement edged by sarcasm. “For thousands of years, I answered it.”
“Until you didn’t?” While the way he spoke and hearing him talk fascinated me, I did want to get to the point.
“Not exactly.” He pushed upward until he could sit. The man wearing my leggings and t-shirt still managed to look very masculine. “I’m not the only teacher who is called. When I decided against answering the call to explore my opportunities, one of the older teachers who had completed her calling for this life had to be called again. She was…vexed with me.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “So, you skipped a job and someone else got stuck with your problem child while you were…”
“Hiking in the Andes, studying with monks, exploring the world. I got home a couple of years ago.”
Two years?
“And she was waiting for me.” His expression went sheepish. “I swear, she’d aged three decades since the last time I saw her. She went on and on about how it was all my fault.”
“What was all your fault?”
Devastatingly sweet brown eyes focused on me. “That her charge ended up enslaved to vampires because she developed bad impulse control, a facet of her personality that she was never able to—”
“Nanny turned you into a skunk?” I gaped.
“Nanny? Annabeth Montagne?”
“Oh, Goddess.” I clapped my hands over my mouth, worry vying with dread in my gut.
“What is it, darling witchypoo?” Martin reached for one my hands. I let him take it, his warmth welcome as the sudden chill assaulted me.
“Well, other than I ripped away Nanny’s spell. Do you have any idea what she will do to me?” Jumping to my feet, I tugged Martin with me. “We have to go. Now.”
Give me vampires, Shifter Whisperers, Shifters, or even skunks with a nervous spraying tick…but Nanny? No. No one messed with Nanny.
Chapter Seven
“Bridget, we have to talk about this.”
“Shh.”
“Dar—”
“Zip it.” I mimed pulling a zipper across my lips. I had to think. Martin talking captivated my attention. I needed my focus on the brand, spanking splat-blasting new problem he’d dumped in my lap. Nanny turned him into a skunk. Which meant Nanny was like Martin. She had a calling. And, lookie here ladies and gents, I was her problem child.
I’d be offended if the name didn’t fit me so damn well. The urge to scream welled up within me once more. I didn’t dare give into it this time. Beyond the vehicle, I could feel the magic on the breeze. Taste the hints of Shifters in the trees. The closer we drove to Assjacket, the more aware of the power ahead of us I became.
Something to be said for magical awareness. Problem was, the closer I came to my goal the worse I felt about it. What would Nanny do? I hadn’t seen her in years. Our last conversation took place the day after the vamps snapped the collar on me. I’d called her for help, my one and only attempt to try and escape my fate. “How long have you been a skunk?”
“I’m allowed to talk now?” He didn’t look at me, as his gaze remained fastened on the passing scenery. The chastisement in his tone stung more effectively than a slap.
“Yes,” I sighed. Apologies sucked. Or maybe I simply sucked at them. “I’m…” The last word simply wouldn’t come out. Gritting my teeth, I sucked in a deep breath then forced it. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, apology accepted.” Suddenly all seemed right with the world, the sun beamed a little brighter, the air tasted a little crisper, and I could swear I smelled apples. “As for how long have I been a skunk? About five years.”
Argh. Nanny turned him right about the time I screwed the pooch with the vampires. And, before you ask, screwed the pooch is a phrase, a colloquialism, and not intended to mean I actually screwed a dog. Though I did meet a werewolf once, and he was…
“So, you are my problem child.”
I held up a finger, all ready to issue him an order. The expression of patience on his face stayed the snark, but not the sentiment. “Please don’t call me a child.” Get
ting the please out hadn’t taken anywhere near the same amount of effort as the sorry, but damn if it didn’t feel like I pulled something.
“Fair point. But you are Annabeth’s charge?”
“I didn’t call her by her given name. She was always Nanny to me.”
Martin went quiet for several long minutes. Did the situation weird him out as much as it did me? “I hated being a skunk.” He paused there, and I couldn’t blame him. Who wanted to refer to one’s self as a skunk, even in the past tense? “Though I believe I am glad it came down to that.”
“Seriously?” Surprise raced through me. The first sign for Assjacket came into view. It wasn’t quite vandalized, though it had been weathered to look like a terrible option. If not for the magic sparkling along every tree branch and autumn flowers along the way, I might have agreed with the anti-mortal push of the native spells.
No one was supposed to want to visit, much less hang out. It made it all the more alluring to me, to be honest. I never did like being told no.
“Yes.” Martin settled his hand on my thigh, the heat in the contact searing through the layers of self-protection, and isolation to warm my soul. “If I hadn’t abandoned Annabeth to taking care of you, I would have been your teacher, your mentor, and you would have been denied the fount of her amazing wisdom.”
“Uh huh, and being attracted to me would have been weird.” Cause let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?
“Yes, being attracted to you would be weird.” He grinned and bird song filled the air, the depth to the color growing brighter and more visceral. Squirrels romped. Chipmunks played. Even the damn frogs were singing.
“If I weren’t driving at sixty miles an hour, I would kiss you.”
Suddenly his hand gripped the wheel, and he leaned toward me. “Then let’s drive together.” The wave of masculine need charged over me, setting off an electrical storm of want in my system. I hummed a little bubble of protection, eager to explore my options but not so eager to wrap around a tree. The magic filled the air around us before Martin brushed his lips over mine.
