“Let’s try one more look. Can my friend look at that—no, the black with the little ivory-looking inlay for contrast.” This last pair was locked inside a glass case, which to my mind suggested that it was out of my price range. The salesman handed it to me as if it were a canary diamond.
“That’s the best one yet,” he said as I slipped the frames on.
“And coincidentally, the most expensive.”
“No, he’s right.” Lilliana lifted my hair off my face. “Now, this is sexy librarian, Abra.”
I decided to take her word for it. “I’ll take them,” I told the salesman. “How long will it take to get them made up to my prescription?”
“Do you want us to read the numbers off your current glasses?” The salesman took my old frames as if they were a dead squirrel and took them into the back. “Two weeks,” he said when he returned.
“That long?”
The salesman’s smile turned condescending. “I’m terribly sorry, you could always use one of those quickie optician’s shops, but we pride ourselves on the excellence of our work. We also have a large backload of work at the moment.”
I was about to capitulate and ask that the glasses be sent to me, but Lilliana put her hand lightly on the salesman’s arm. “I know you do excellent work, Jeremy,” she said, apparently pulling his name out of the air, “but do you think there’s any way you could help us get the glasses more quickly? My friend here lives out of town.” As she spoke, she tilted her head slightly, and I was reminded of a world-class violinist subtly altering the pitch of the music by the slightest alteration in posture.
Jeremy looked momentarily confused, then said that he would have to check with his manager. When he returned, he announced that my glasses would be done by the end of the day.
We walked out of the store and into the cold, bright day outside, and I turned to my friend in amazement. “How do you do that? Is it a spell? Can I learn it?”
Lilliana laughed, hooking her arm through mine. A cute young guy on a racing bike swiveled his head at the sound. “Now, how about some new clothes? I know a great little boutique on the next block.”
“I think that last purchase just cleaned me out. Besides, it’s probably better for me not to try on clothes next to you,” I admitted, glancing down at Lilliana’s willowy frame. The cute cyclist, I noticed with amusement, was following behind us now.
“Girl, you have the most amazing Renoir body. Creamy skin, perfect little upturned breasts, tiny waist …”
“Oh, Lilliana,” I said, mockingly. “I never knew you felt this way.” On the street just behind us, the cyclist grinned and then weaved his front wheel, trying not to overtake us.
“Well, it’s true,” said Lilliana, unaware that a construction worker had paused to lick his lips at her departing figure.
“Lilli, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but the truth is, I’m pretty much invisible when I’m standing next to you.” As if to prove my point, a businessman stopped talking into his cell phone long enough to give Lilliana an appreciative look.
We paused at the traffic light, and a souped-up Camaro zoomed past, honking its horn. “Baby,” called the driver, “you looking fine!”
Lilliana tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean, invisible?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Lilli, take a look around!” I gestured at the cyclist, the construction worker, and the businessman. “You’re like some kind of crazy man magnet! We can’t walk two steps without some guy bugging out.”
Lilliana stared at me as though I were going crazy. “Abra, those guys were checking you out, not me.”
“Oh, please. As a general rule, I do not cause men to fall off their bicycles.” I pointed to the cyclist, who had been too busy watching us to notice the taxi driver opening his door to spit on the sidewalk. The cyclist was on the street, rubbing his bruised shin, and the driver was yelling at him.
“Maybe you just don’t notice,” Lilliana said.
I put my hands on my hips. “Lilli, please, don’t insult my intelligence. It’s perfectly obvious which of us is attracting all the male attention.”
At that moment, I felt a sharp pinch on my left buttock. I whirled around, and saw a young man in an anorak grinning at me as he darted out of the way. “Get me a piece of that,” he said, as if ordering something from a drive-through.
“I’ll give you a piece of something,” I snarled back.
“You were saying?” The light turned green, Lilliana took my arm again, and we crossed the street.
“Hey,” said the cyclist, holding up one arm. “Hang on.”
We paused, and he came up next to us, a smooth-skinned young man a shade or two darker than Lilliana. “You all right?” she asked.
“Just scratched my knee,” he said. “Thing is, I think I know you,” he said, staring at me intently. “I can’t remember from where, but I know we’ve met.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lilliana, did you put these guys up to this? Is this the new ego boost—instead of hiring your own paparazzi, you hire your own stalkers?”
“No, really, I’m not fooling around,” said the young man, and then he looked embarrassed. “It’s just, did you and I … I feel this weird connection, like I’m drawn to you. I’m a great believer in listening to the heart,” he explained.
“I’m a great believer in examining the head,” I said, moving away from the cyclist.
Lilliana glanced over her shoulder. “So, this isn’t your typical reaction from the male of the species?”
“It must be a full moon,” I said, jokingly.
“Actually, it is,” said Lilliana, pointing up, past the tall buildings at the translucent, swollen moon hanging in the pale winter sky.
“Almost,” I corrected her. “It looks full, but it’s got another couple days to go.”
“Have you started carrying around a farmer’s almanac? Come on, country girl,” said Lilliana. “Here’s the boutique I was telling you about.” There were three outfits in the window, all of them variations on white shirts and slender black skirts. There were also a few shoes, sexy and clunky in the style of the 1940s. The name of the shop was The Sexy Librarian.
“You’re kidding me. There’s an entire store devoted to the sexy librarian look?”
Lilliana grinned as she opened the door. “You see why I can never leave the city.”
It was my dream store. There were very few things in the shop, but all of them were perfect. White shirts that were nipped and tucked in just the right places, with one-of-a-kind antique buttons. There were little navy dresses that radiated an understated funkiness that was almost, but not quite, frumpy. And there were racks of 1920s silky tap pants, and stockings with seams up the back, and camisoles in pinks and peaches and russets and plums, the color of the sunset as it deepened into night.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “I want it all.”
“I knew you’d love it,” Lilliana said happily, throwing things into my arms. “Try this. And this. Oh, and this, you have to have that on underneath.”
I ducked into the dressing room, and wriggled into the camisole. I was still buttoning up the shirt when I emerged, but I thought I had the skirt on straight. “Well, Lilli,” I said. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s sort of like that Hitchcock scene where all the birds start roosting together,” said Lilliana, and for a moment, I didn’t understand what she was saying, because I was so surprised. The shop was filled with men. There were men crammed on either side of Lilliana, as if waiting for a dressing room, and other men visible behind them, checking out the sexy panties. I had seen the occasional hapless fiancé dragged into a store like this, but never a whole group of them. Huh, I thought, must be the new metrosexual fashion-consciousness I keep reading about.
And then I spotted the cyclist, and I realized something extremely peculiar was going on.
“I like it a lot,” said the construction worker, who had crammed himself into a corner between the busine
ssman, the cyclist, and a bunch of Japanese tourists.
“Go try something else on,” said the cyclist. His voice sounded strained.
“Excuse me,” said the saleswoman, a lovely young Asian woman who wore the sexy librarian look very well, “but you’re going to have to tell your friends to leave. We just don’t have room for this many people.”
“They’re not my friends,” I protested. “I don’t know who these people are. Is this some kind of mass protest thing, like when that guy was organizing huge crowds to take off their clothes in public?”
A slow smile spread over the businessman’s pudgy face. “You want us to take off our clothes?”
“All right,” said the construction worker.
“Oh, man,” said the cyclist, who had snuck behind me to retrieve my slacks from the changing room. “I can smell her on these.” He took a deep whiff of my pants and I shouted, “Hey,” and grabbed one of the legs.
“Stop that. You’re being weird. All of you.”
“I need to be upside you,” said a Japanese tourist, consulting his phrase book. “Inside,” he corrected himself. “Yes?”
“I need to lick you from your toes to your ears,” said the cyclist.
“You touch her and I’ll kill you,” said the construction worker. “That’s the future mother of my children you’re talking to.”
“Like hell she is,” roared the businessman.
Lilliana ducked under his right arm, which was holding off the hardhat, and took my elbow. “I don’t suppose you’re wearing some exotic new perfume?”
“I’m afraid I am,” I admitted. “L’air d’estrus.” Because, it had belatedly occurred to me, there was no other explanation for my sudden transformation from plain Jane to femme fatale. “Lilliana, we have to get out of here.”
“Well, don’t change back into your clothes—you’re liable to start a riot.”
Luckily, most of the men were preoccupied with jostling and insulting each other. The businessman and the construction worker were screaming abuse, while the Japanese tourists were getting very red in the face as they shouted clipped phrases at the cyclist and the anorak man.
The funny thing was, many of the guys were actually quite attractive. The young cyclist had the clean, strong jaw of a scholar-athlete; two of the Japanese tourists were flat-out handsome; and even the anorak man possessed a kind of thuggish appeal. As the tension escalated and the pushing turned to shoving, I found myself watching with reluctant fascination. There was something primitive, almost primal about this scene. Suddenly, the layers of civilization were being peeled back, and what remained was the essential, true nature of each individual. The businessman was now a large male, no longer in his prime, whose outward belligerence masked a reluctance to engage in direct battle. The construction worker, by contrast, was a splendidly muscled specimen, warily circling the young Japanese male, who was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet and crooning to himself in a softly menacing tone.
It seemed to me, trapped as I was among these bellicose males, that there was no choice except to await the outcome. One male would emerge victorious, his skin damp with exertion, redolent of the powerful male hormones flooding through his body. He would be wounded, no doubt, and yet still possessed by all the savage instincts that had allowed him to conquer the other males. He would come to me then, his body thrumming with adrenaline and lust, his mind half-maddened by the intoxicating scent of me. But there would be no use of force. I would still have the power to turn him away, to leave him unsatisfied and burning with desire.
Now the construction worker and the Japanese tourist had removed their shirts, and their bare chests were already gleaming with sweat as the young saleswoman darted ineffectually about, telling them that she had called the police. I wondered vaguely which one it would be, and how long I would make him wait before permitting him to pleasure me at last.
“Abra? Abra, snap out of it!” Lilliana shook me, and I stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. “We need to get out of here before the police arrive. Especially since you may wind up affecting the cops the way you do the civilians.”
I turned back to the men. “But we can’t leave,” I said, my heart racing with excitement as the cyclist launched himself at the Japanese tourist, who had just taken down the construction worker with a roundhouse kick.
Lilliana took a deep breath and said, “If you don’t get out of here now, Abs, you’re going to end up becoming the guest of honor at a gang bang.”
“Mmm,” I said absentmindedly, as the cyclist kicked his opponent in the balls. How much of Lilliana’s distress, I had to ask, was due to her being the wallflower for once? Not so nice to be the female none of the males even notice.
“Oh, hell,” said Lilliana. “I guess there’s no other choice.” Taking my head in her hands, Lilliana forced me to face her. “Look right into my eyes for a second, Abra.”
For a moment, I thought she was going to kiss me. I think some of the men must have had the same idea, because I could feel them watching us with prurient interest.
“Abra,” said Lilliana, “focus.” And as if she had seized my nervous system as well as my temples, I obeyed, narrowing my focus to her dark gaze. “We must leave,” she said, and I knew that she was right. If I didn’t get out in the next few minutes, I’d be acting out my own personal National Geographic episode.
“Hey,” said one of the men, trying to grab Lilliana’s arm as she hustled me out the door. I lifted my lip and snarled at him, and he released her, allowing us to make it to the front door.
Just as we made it out into the street, the police cruisers arrived, lights flashing and sirens wailing.
“Shit,” said Lilliana. I’d never heard her curse before. “How the hell are we going to get you home? If I put you on a train, you’re liable to start a riot.”
“Listen, Lilli,” I began. “I think there’s something I neglected to tell you about myself.” Like the fact that I’m in pheromone overdrive.
But she was already talking on her cell phone. “Martin? Thank God. I need help. My friend’s a lycanthrope and she’s gone into acute estrus. Uh huh. She needs wheels and a driver, either a male with a score of less than ten percent heteroerotic on the bisexuality index, or female with less than ten percent homoerotic. Yes. Fantastic. Can it be in half an hour or less at my place? Goddess bless, Martin, I owe you.” As she hung up the phone, Lilliana caught my astonished expression and shrugged. “You know how you’re always telling me I must be psychic? Well, you’re not completely wrong. I’ll try to explain when we’re out of danger.”
It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had omitted a few details.
FIFTEEN
We were racing the moon, and the moon was winning. Looking out the tinted windows of the stretch limousine, I could see the moon rising steadily in the sky. I couldn’t see the light fading, but I could feel it, a low and insistent tugging at the inside of my skin.
“We shouldn’t have stopped to get your new glasses,” Lilliana said. She was sitting, facing me, looking worried.
“But they were ready,” I pointed out. “Besides, they go with my new outfit.” I was still wearing the Sexy Librarian blouse and skirt, which, I supposed, I had stolen. I was a thief. It was kind of a delicious feeling. I was a bad girl. I moved my legs in a luxurious stretch. “Do you know I’ve never ridden in one of these limos before? Hey, I don’t suppose there’s any champagne in there.” I opened the mini fridge and found a miniature bottle of Chablis. “Well, this will do.”
“Give me that.” Lilliana swiped the wine out of my hand. “The last thing you need is a disinhibitor.”
“I just wanted to relax a little,” I complained, drumming my fingers on the armrest. My skin felt as if it were prickling with heat rash and I rolled the window down, needing to feel air on my face. The Saw Mill was congested with Friday afternoon traffic, each commuter hermetically sealed into his or her vehicle. The lone exception was a heavyset Labrador hanging out
of a rear car window, heedless of the January chill, ears flapping in the wind. As I watched, the Lab sniffed the air, his nose twitching furiously. Suddenly, the big dog froze, then started scrabbling frantically in an attempt to squeeze his entire bulk out of the open window. I watched, appalled at the dog’s inexplicable urge to jump out of the moving car, while a teenage boy tried to haul his pet back inside.
“Abra, do you need to keep the window wide open? The temperature is dropping and it must be about thirty degrees outside.”
Reluctantly, I stuck my head back in. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the Labrador was back in his car, the windows now rolled up. “That’s strange,” I said.
“What is?”
I opened my mouth, and then it struck me: The Labrador must have smelled me. Dear God, I was a siren to both dogs and men. I dragged my hands through my hair. “I think this is affecting my brain,” I said. “I can’t seem to reason anything through.”
“Abra, has the transformation ever come on this strong before?” Lilliana handed me a bottle of water from the mini fridge. I shook my head.
“No water?”
“No, it’s never been this intense.” I drank the water down, letting it trickle past my lips, down my throat, until it wet the material of my shirt. “Whew,” I said, wiping my arm across my mouth. I caught Lilliana’s startled expression. “What is it?”
“You’re just not acting like yourself. I don’t really know that much about lycanthropy,” she said, handing me a box of tissues. “Just what Malachy taught us when we were on his team. Is this a standard progression of the disease?”
“You knew about estrus,” I said, suddenly remembering that this was strange. “Malachy never taught us that.”
“I wondered if you were alert enough to notice that.” Lilliana uncrossed her legs and looked me straight in the eye. “I didn’t know for certain, but your ex had been studying unwolves in Romania last year. I figured there wasn’t much else that could account for your sudden transformation from one-man woman to agent provocateur.”
Moonburn Page 13
