Dog Days

by John Levitt

  I opened the door of the stove and looked around vacantly for some tongs. My mind was still fogged from the remaining scent in the room. Campbell gestured impatiently at the wood bin next to the stove and there they were. I thrust them into the stove, found a nice glowing ember about half the size of my fist, carried it over, and placed it in the brazier. Meanwhile, Campbell had sat back down next to Louie and was holding him again.

  “When I tell you, sprinkle the shavings over the ember,” she instructed.

  She sat up straight and began to chant. I’ve done some chanting in my time in order to enable spells, but this was a different sort of thing. Witchy, I thought. She spoke in a clear, matter-of-fact tone:

  The way is deep, the way is cold

  Still, your story’s yet untold

  Renounce sleep, embrace desire

  Let it blossom into fire.

  She looked over at me and inclined her head toward the brazier. I threw a handful of shavings onto the ember and they immediately caught, sending up a flare of scented fire. At the same moment I felt a flash of energy come off her.

  “Now the herbs,” she said.

  I sprinkled them into the flame and another cloud of smoke poured up, but this time it was sharp and astringent. Just a whiff of it cleared my head.

  “If you pray, now’s the time to do so,” she said.

  She leaned over the brazier and inhaled a good-sized lungful of smoke. I could see her chest heaving, trying not to cough it out and lose it. It reminded me of a teenage girl with her first joint. Then she leaned over and, holding Louie’s muzzle, clapped her mouth over his nose and blew the smoke in. Kind of a cross between CPR and super-charging a friend.

  I thought I saw him twitch, and then, just as I was sure I had imagined it, he let out a tremendous sneeze. Almost instantaneously he scrambled out of her lap and went into a sneezing fit, one after another. When he finally stopped, he looked around wildly and then focused his gaze on me.

  “Welcome back,” I said.

  * * * *

  Ten minutes later, Louie was sound asleep, curled up on a cushion by the stove. Campbell told me not to worry. “It’s exactly what he needs,” she said. I watched the steady rise and fall of his rib cage, so different from the boneless coma he had been in, and was reassured.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” I told her. We were sitting at her kitchen table, drinking some odd sort of tea she had brewed.

  “Not a problem,” she said. “Although a small contribution to defray expenses is always welcome.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I emptied it out on the table. Sixty-three dollars and some change was all I had. I pushed it over toward her, saying, “I can send you an additional check as soon as I get home.”

  “Ah, yes, the check is in the mail,” she said, smiling to make sure I knew she was joking. She reached over and picked out two twenties. “This should cover it. The only expensive thing was the opium, and I only used a pinch.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, you can owe me a favor. I have a feeling you might be a useful person to know. Be warned, though. I’m one of those people who may actually turn up on your doorstep one day.”

  “Consider me warned.”

  We sat for a while drinking tea, listening to the storm raging outside, gusts of wind intermittently slamming into the side of the house.

  “I ought to call Victor,” I said. “Let him know how it turned out.”

  “Can’t. Phone’s dead,” she said, drawing her finger across her throat.

  “You have a cell?”

  “Nope. You?”

  “I keep meaning to get one,” I said.

  “Me, too.”

  We both digested this brilliant exchange. “Where do you know Victor from, anyway?” she asked.

  “We kind of move in the same circles.” I wasn’t sure how much to say or how much she knew about him.

  “You’re a practitioner, then,” she said. That answered that question.

  “I guess so. I like to think of myself more as a musician, though.”

  “Classical?”

  I shook my head. “Jazz, mostly. Guitar.”

  “That’s great. You make a living at it?”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “You must be good, then. All the jazz musicians I know spend more on their equipment then they take in from gigs.”

  I waved a hand toward the snow falling outside the window. “I wouldn’t think there’s much call for jazz in the middle of nowhere.”

  She laughed pleasantly. “It isn’t really the middle of nowhere. On a summer’s day it’s actually quite civilized around here. And there’s a lot of gigs in Tahoe and Reno. They just don’t pay a whole lot of money.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  We sipped tea silently for a few minutes. “What about you?” I asked. “How do you know Victor?”

  “My ex-boyfriend and his ex-boyfriend are the same person.”

  “Ouch.”

  “No, it was fine. He was a great guy—he just wasn’t very clear about his sexuality. It got to be too much drama for me, so we agreed to go our separate ways.”

  “And then he hooked up with Victor?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She giggled. “After that, he wasn’t very clear about anything. Now he’s thinking of going to seminary school.”

  “Did he know Victor was a practitioner?”

  She shook her head. “He was completely clueless about it. He was pretty much clueless about most things. He thought I was totally nuts, with my healing spells and such. God knows what he thought Victor was about. He was sweet, but a bit lacking in the brains department.” Her face took on an abstracted expression. “Not lacking in others, though.” She sat quietly for a minute, then gave herself a little shake. “Afterward, I ended up moving to this area. New Age healing is very big around here, and I do some massage work and stuff like that. I make enough to get by, and it allows me to indulge in my two passions.”

  “Which are?”

  “Telemark skiing and photography.”

  “In that order?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Which is probably why I’m not the creative soul I always thought I would be, although since I mostly do wildlife photography the two complement each other fairly well.” She gestured at a framed photo hanging on one wall. “That’s one of mine.”

  I walked over to look at it. It was a close-up of a wildcat, or maybe a lynx, sitting perched in the branches of a snow-covered tree. There was snow falling and he looked extremely unhappy about it.

  “Look closely,” Campbell called out.

  I did, and after a moment noticed three porcupine quills sticking out of his muzzle next to his nose. “Poor kitty,” I commented. “Did you heal him?”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. He would have torn my arm off.”

  I sat back down at the table. “Very cool,” I said.

  “Thank you. It gives me an excuse to get out and ski. I can pretend I’m working on my creative soul.”

  “And what about Wicca?” I asked.

  “Wicca’s not something I take completely seriously. Oh, the healing part I do, but the rest of it? Like I said earlier, it’s just a metaphor that enables me to project whatever healing powers I might have. The rituals work just fine, but making Wicca the focus of life just isn’t me. I’m afraid the local Wiccan community considers me something of a renegade.” She turned and peered out the window. “Look. The wind is dying down.”

  It was indeed. The snow was still falling, harder than before if anything, but now it was drifting in a postcard winter wonderland fashion. There was barely enough light to see the drifts and mounds that showed where bushes and hollows were covered with snow. Campbell pulled over a couch and set it next to the window, motioning to me to take a seat. We sat together in silence and watched the falling snow. After a while she reached over and started playing with the hair at the back of my neck.

  “
Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

  I gave her the raised eyebrow look. “Not at present. Idle curiosity?”

  “Not entirely. I love it up here, but I do feel isolated sometimes. It’s not every day that a handsome stranger turns up at my doorstep seeking assistance.”

  “Handsome, you say?”

  “Well, passable, at least. After a couple of months of winter, one’s standards do tend to lower a bit.”

  “Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

  She continued to play with my hair. I moved a bit closer to show her that the attention was not unwelcome.

  “Of course, I do have some standards,” she said.

  “Such as?”

  “Living. Breathing. The ability to speak in complete sentences, although I’m flexible on that one.”

  “Huh?”

  “Good enough.”

  We sat in companionable silence for a while. It’s not often you find someone you can do that with unless you know them very well, and even then it’s rare. I pulled her over to rest in the crook of my arm and we sat awhile longer. She turned her head and looked directly at me.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

  At least I had enough of the social graces not to ask, “Think about what?” There’s a fine line between using humor to flirt and being totally obnoxious.

  “I think it probably would be very nice,” I said. “As long as…”

  “As long as I realize we’re talking a one-time thing, right?” she interrupted.

  “Maybe two times.”

  “Promises, promises. If men could only deliver.” She smiled at me and stood up. “The fact is, you’re an attractive man. And after that healing I did, I’m drained. The best way to replenish one’s energy, as every good pagan knows, is through sex. Not to mention I haven’t had sex in three months. She held out her hand. “Come, on,” she said. “Time for bed.”

  I wasn’t used to such a direct approach. I seem to be drawn more to the shy ones, the delicate type that has to be coaxed into it. That way, of course, if it isn’t any good they can hardly be blamed for the ensuing fiasco. This was a lot easier. So far.

  I followed her over to the futon by the stove. It was warm and cozy, and with the candles finally guttering down, the light was dim and romantic without any planning or effort.

  “You know,” I said, “I didn’t exactly come prepared.”

  “I’m a healer, remember?” she said, pulling me down onto the mattress. “With certain abilities. I don’t get pregnant unless I want to. And I don’t get diseases. Ever. One of the perks of the great Wiccan tradition.”

  I made one of the better decisions of my life and kept my mouth shut for once. Or at least I didn’t use it to pronounce any more words. We started kissing, softly at first, then with increasing urgency. Campbell slipped her sweatshirt over her head and eased out of her jeans. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. All that cross-country skiing hadn’t gone to waste either. I could see long muscles rippling under her skin, and nice skin it was. I started stripping down, suddenly feeling adolescent and fumbling, while she watched me. Nervousness reared its ugly head. Maybe I was one of those stereotypical men after all, strangely fearful of confident, strong women. I finally got rid of the last of my clothes and she reached up and pulled me down on top of her. She began to gently stroke my body, and the mere touch of her hands made me instantly hard, as hard as I’d ever been in my life.

  “I have other talents besides healing,” she whispered in my ear. “It’s related, you know.”

  My heart was pounding too hard to want to discuss it with her. I returned the favor, running my hands up and down the length of her, and when I eventually slid my hand between her legs, she was wet. She shuddered, opening her legs slightly.

  Well, I’m not going to go into further details. A full description of the next hour or so would be very much like the sex itself—fascinating if you are the one taking part, but repetitive and monotonous if you just have to sit and listen. All I have to say is yes, she did have talents. The ending was apparently as satisfying for her as it was for me, unless she was a terrific actress, and she didn’t strike me as the type who would put on a show just to soothe my ego. Besides, I could see her skin glow. Apparently she wasn’t kidding when she said that sex replenished her energies. We lay there without speaking, until she leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

  “You did good,” she said. Then she turned over with her back to me, pulled a comforter over both of us, and snuggled her way into the curve of my body, spooning us. In less than a minute, she was asleep. I lay there awhile longer, luxuriating in the uncommon experience of having a naked female body pressed sleeping next to mine. All things considered, the day had turned out not so badly after all. I thought about getting up to extinguish the rest of the candles but I didn’t think about it very hard. As I drifted off, I remembered having said something about doing it twice, and felt extremely grateful I didn’t have to live up to my brag.

  The next thing I knew, there was sun in my eyes. The storm had ended and there was brilliant sunshine streaming through the front windows. The woodstove was still giving off a little spark of warmth, but the room had grown cold. I could hear the refrigerator humming, so the power had been restored sometime during the night. There was a small warm furry lump wedged against my legs, which meant Louie was back to normal.

  Campbell had appropriated most of the comforter during the night and I tried surreptitiously to ease a little of it back in my direction. Her eyes jumped open almost immediately and widened in what I could only characterize as horror.

  “My God!” she cried. “How drunk was I?”

  Not for the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words. Then she laughed. “Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t resist. I wish you could have seen the look on your face.”

  “Very amusing,” I said, not amused at all.

  “I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny,” she said, trying to stifle her laughter. She grabbed me and pulled me close, wrapping the comforter around us both. Lou made a small noise of protest at being disturbed.

  “Brrr,” she shivered. “Woodstoves are great, but they don’t have thermostats.”

  “Allow me,” I said, a bit formally. I was still being slightly pissy about being made fun of before my morning coffee. I slid out from under the cover, opened the stove door, and quickly threw a few logs in from the pile on the floor. Then I set them ablaze with a hand gesture and some gathered sunlight. As soon as the logs were burning nicely I jumped back under the comforter. Campbell looked at me with new respect.

  “Wow,” she said, this time wide-eyed for real. “Now there’s a talent I could use.”

  “My pleasure,” I said smugly.

  Louie poked his head out from under the comforter at the end of the bed, tested the temperature, and dove back under. We all stayed in bed until the stove had warmed the room, which didn’t take long. Campbell leaned over to one side and came up with a blue terrycloth robe. She put it on and bounced up, heading to the kitchen portion of the room.

  “Coffee?” she inquired.

  “Do you have to ask?”

  She busied herself with beans and a grinder. I watched her through half-closed eyes, almost slipping back into sleep. Finally, the smell of coffee brewing and the call of nature forced me out of the bed. I hurriedly threw on my clothes, and when I came out of the bathroom she had poured me a large mug of steaming black coffee. She headed to the bathroom and pointed toward the end of the table.

  “Sugar’s over there, milk’s in the fridge.”

  When she came back, Lou had assumed his begging position, nose twitching, looking hopefully around. Campbell regarded him skeptically. “Are you positive he’s a magical creature?” she asked.

  “Semi, remember?” I said.

  “Hmm. Well, I don’t know what I can give him to eat. I don’t have any meat in the house.”

  “He’s pretty flexible. Anything but twigs and
tofu and celery.”

  This time I was the one favored with a dubious look. I gave her my best innocent, bland smile.

  “Don’t tease,” she said. “One thing you should know, I can dish it out but I can’t take it.” She glanced up at the cupboard next to the sink. “I could make pancakes.”

  Louie immediately started jumping up in the air, barking hysterically, losing all pretense of dignity.

  “Pancakes are his favorite,” I explained.

  “Oh.”

  The telephone was working again, so I called Victor while Campbell stirred up eggs, flour, milk, and some chopped apples into a batter. It took a while because he had a lot of questions about Christoph, ones I couldn’t answer. By the time I was done filling him in, the smell of pancakes was wafting through the room. Lou had quieted down, but now was positively drooling. She shoveled three large cakes onto a chipped plate and asked, not serious, “Does he get butter and maple syrup?”

  “Just a tad,” I said.

  She hesitated until she was sure I wasn’t joking, put a pat of butter and a dollop of syrup on top, and set the plate on the floor. Lou walked over delicately, sat up, and put one paw on her knee.

  “His way of thanking you,” I explained.

  “Good manners is always an attractive quality in a dog,” she said.

  Lou reverted back to his canine persona and started gobbling the pancakes fast enough so that he choked a couple of times. Campbell and I ate at a more measured pace, interspersing bites with conversation. Eventually the discussion turned to exactly what had happened to Lou the previous day, and what we were up against with Christoph. It felt strange talking about it with an outsider, but she wasn’t exactly a civilian herself when you came right down to it.

  She sat quietly, elbow on the table, chin in hand. I realized that I liked her a lot. I kept talking, telling the story of the singularity and the rescue by wolves, mostly because I enjoyed watching her sitting there. But I also thought she might have some insight into what had happened there. I certainly didn’t.