My Date with a Wendigo

by Genevieve McCluer

  “Fine, then I’ll pay for it.”

  Liz takes the phone and glares at me. “Are you serious? After everything she’s done? You’re going to pay for that door?”

  I shrug. “It’s fine.”

  Liz rolls her eyes. “Well, I guess that’s all sorted out.” She stands, wincing and massaging her neck. “Will you carry me back to your place?”

  I slowly rise, trying not to look any more intimidating than necessary, but Sandra holds her hand up. “Now wait just a second.”

  I finish standing but stare at her, my head scraping the ceiling as I wait for her to continue.

  “You could barely breathe after she carried you a few feet. Let me drive you.”

  “Oh.” Liz’s eyebrows scrunch up. She clearly hates the idea but doesn’t have a better one. “Fine, but if any mobs of angry villagers with torches and pitchforks end up there, I know who to blame.”

  “They won’t, I promise.” She seems to mean it. Maybe she’s actually starting to come around. Hopefully, that means no more kidnapping.

  I make the way on foot, and they drive. I probably could’ve managed to stuff myself in her car, but I’d rather not have to pay for any more damage to Sandra’s property.

  * * *

  Liz and I collapse onto my couch as we hear Sandra’s car pull away. She didn’t seem interested in coming inside, not that we invited her. I carefully cup Liz’s cheek, sifting through her hair to avoid cutting her. I was scared that I’d never hold her again. I thought she left me, then she almost died, and then I thought she’d dumped me again. I just want to soak in this moment, her in my arms with no pressure, no problem, and the chance to just relax.

  Her lips meet mine, her arms wrapping around me. I give in, allowing my tongue to explore her mouth, holding nothing back. Her tongue stays in her mouth, but that’s the only concession we make to my diet. Tonight is ours, and ours alone.

  After a few moments, she has to come up for air, stroking the fur on the back of my neck. “This is perfect,” she whispers. It seems a crime to break the silence.

  I play with her hair, nodding.

  “I’m sorry for everything that happened this week. I shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you. You’re already everything I want, and I don’t want to push you for anything you’re not ready for.”

  Leaving a soft kiss on her forehead, I smile. Her smile back is so pure and beautiful. She really isn’t scared of me in the slightest. “I was putting pressure on myself too, but I was so much in my own head that I wasn’t letting myself enjoy it. Now I have that muzzle, and I think it’ll really make things a lot easier.” Are we going to try again already? I was content just cuddling on the couch. Weren’t we supposed to be watching TV this weekend?

  “You don’t need the muzzle. I trust you.”

  “I know you do, but I don’t trust myself. It’s not because I think I’ll try to eat you. It’s so I know for a fact that I can’t. There’s no risk of my losing myself, and I can enjoy the moment without fear. It’s not too weird for you, right? I’d understand if that would be kind of uncomfortable. It’s why I was desperate to avoid it at first.”

  She toys with the zipper of my hoodie, sliding it down, allowing her access. Her lips meet my neck, my clavicle, my chest, and then she pulls back, her bright eyes looking up at me. “I’m fine with it if it’s something you really need. I want you to be comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” I want to scratch at her back, but that seems like a good way to send her back to the hospital, so I stroke a slow circle, lightly massaging her. “I love you, Liz. I just want to know that we’re safe.”

  Her lips return to my neck, and I shudder, gripping her tighter. “Then get the muzzle.”

  I stare. “Are you sure? You’re still recovering. I don’t want to tear your stitches.”

  “Then you’ll have to be careful, won’t you?” Her nibbling on my earlobe convinces me.

  “All right, I’ll get it.” I grab the nylon-mesh strap from the bag on the counter, securing it over my mouth. As much as it makes me feel like a freak and all the more like a cannibal thanks to a few classic movies, it makes me feel safe. I know that I can trust myself as long as this is on. I know I won’t hurt her.

  I find her in my bed, her gorgeous tan body already on display. This time, I don’t hesitate to join her. I don’t think I’ll ever stop hating my body, but she makes it so much harder. That same awe as before shows in her eyes as she looks at me. Her fingers run along my chest. “There’s no scar.”

  “I heal pretty well.” My voice is only slightly muffled.

  She kisses near to where the cut was. I think she’s pretty much dead on. “Well, I’m still sorry. I love you more than anything, and I never want to hurt you. Now, does that thing stop your tongue?”

  I try it. It takes some maneuvering, but two feet of pure muscle makes a lot of things possible. This is an added bonus I hadn’t considered. I can actually please her without having to worry about wanting to eat her. I can be closer to her than I’d ever dreamed possible. “I guess it doesn’t.”

  She stares at me, unblinking. “I did not realize how long it was. Holy shit.”

  I grin. There is one trait I’m proud of, even if I was pretty sure I’d never get to do anything with it.

  “Put it in me.”

  She doesn’t have to ask twice. I have to adjust the angle a bit, but I still end up with perfect access to her, winding my tongue around her lips, circling her, not quite touching.

  “You tease.” She grips my fur, pulling lightly, trying to guide me where she wants me. I give in. I tongue her clit, and she bucks against me, her grip tightening. “Oh fuck. Oh, Abby, that’s amazing, please, please keep going.”

  I lap at her, exploring her folds, teasing her but flicking her most sensitive area every time she starts to get restless. She tastes amazing, and all I want to do is please her. I feel none of the urges I’d feared—I just want to make the woman I love happy. I could spend an eternity down here. My tongue slides inside her, and she gasps, her hips thrusting repeatedly against me, riding my tongue, guiding it to just the right spot.

  Her hand slides down to her clit, playing with it as my tongue continues its work. She screams, madly, desperately, her hips and hand never stopping. I thrust in and out, flicking my tongue against her walls, probing for every last weakness, picking up speed each time she moans. I wrap my arms around her, drawing her close, despite it not being necessary. I fill her up with my tongue, savoring her taste, taking her. “I’m gonna come, Abby…right there, please.”

  I keep going, evening out the pace as I beat against that same spot, her fingers continuing their frantic work in front of my eyes. I taste, smell, and feel her climax, the flood of endorphins, her body rocking as the waves travel through her, clutching desperately to me as if she’s terrified that she’ll be cast adrift in the ocean that’s taking her. Never stopping, I work at her until the last ounce washes over her, and she’s completely spent.

  Only then do I rise and lie with her, clutching her to my chest. She plants kisses against me, savoring the euphoric glow. “That was fucking amazing. Best I’ve ever had. God, Abby, you were so worth the wait.”

  Resting my forehead against hers, I murmur in agreement. “That was everything I ever wished it would be and more.”

  We lie like that for quite a while, basking in each other’s presence and the endorphins. “Let me take care of you,” she mumbles sleepily once she’s finally come back to her senses.

  I shake my head, resting a hand firmly against her hip to hold her in place. “No. You’re hurt. You can have your turn when you’re recovered. I can wait.”

  “But I wanna.” She sighs, her eyelids drifting closed.

  I let her rest, safe in my arms, while I dream of the life before us.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elizabeth

  We’ve been together for a few months now, and I’ve pretty much moved in. The place has changed a lot. Not only do
we keep food in the fridge, but we managed to install an oven. It’s amazing what you can get people to do when you have a bag of gold. A new painting of the two of us together hangs over the fireplace. I tried to convince her to paint herself as she is now, but she isn’t ready. She did, however, agree to put a mirror up in the bathroom so I can look at least somewhat presentable for work. I still keep a few things at my apartment—at least until the lease ends next month—but I only go to my office on Mondays, and I have another therapist that I share it with the rest of the week. It’s still not easy to convince fiends that I’m someone they can turn to in order to discuss their troubles, but Abby and Ashley have been doing their best to drum up business, and it seems to be working.

  I’m sitting in my office at the Community Center. It was once a perfume store, and it still smells faintly, but it gives me a nice spacious area with plenty of room for my desk and clients. Some of them really need the room. Running five minutes late, my most recent referral walks in.

  At first, I’m not quite sure what I’m seeing. When it clicks, I realize I’m looking at a mirror image of myself wearing the same outfit. When she sits, a fox tail wraps around her leg to rest in her lap. God, I love this job.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “I suppose two a.m. counts as morning.”

  Small talk was never my area of expertise anyway. “What brings you here?”

  She looks at herself, then up at me as if only now realizing we’re wearing the same skin. Awkward. One of us should change. “You, I suppose.”

  That’s the downside of dealing with immortal clients. They take their time with everything. “Go on.”

  “I’ve heard good things about you. I thought perhaps I’d try you out, see if they were true. I don’t think I quite understand. You seem to be a good fit for me in theory, but I’m not sure what more you could offer.” She looks to the ticking clock on the far wall. “I’m sorry, what were you here to see me for?”

  That’s interesting. “You’re here to see me, Ms. Watanabe.”

  “Not anymore. Is it not Ms. Rosseau now?”

  As much as I have dreamed of this, I thought both of me would be a bit saner. Not that I’m one to talk. “Is that what you’re here about? Are you having trouble remembering who you are?”

  Her eyes light up, her mouth widening to reveal jagged fox teeth as she nods. “Yes, that’s right. Oh, you are good.”

  It is nice being complimented by myself for once. “Do you remember who you used to be?”

  Her eyes lose focus, her mouth shutting partway. Her eyebrows knit together, and a muscle in her jaw twitches as she stares at my knee. “Oh, right…I was a fox.”

  I could’ve guessed that. “Right.” I tap a few buttons on my laptop. I have to rely on demonology texts more often than the DSM-5 these days. “A kitsune?”

  “Yes. I’m glad you’ve heard of me.”

  “So you know who you are?”

  An inhuman chuckle leaves her throat. “Oh, my mind does get away from me sometimes. I’m sorry, I keep thinking that I’m your therapist, and it all gets so convoluted. I know that I’m a kitsune; that’s not the issue. It’s not who I am. I’ve lost something integral to me. I’ve spent so long being a wife or a husband, a father, a daughter, a friend, or an enemy to everyone that it’s all starting to fade together. I’m not taking identities anymore. They’re taking me, and they all fall apart, dragging my mind along with them. I’m not at all sure what to do. I need to remember who I am.”

  These clients just don’t get boring. “Well, I’m glad we’ve figured out the problem. That’s a huge first step. When you say that who you are isn’t a kitsune, what do you mean by that? Is who you are any different from who you’re pretending to be at the time?”

  Her head tilts. “I’m not pretending. I always am who I am. I used to be able to keep track of it better.”

  “So you’re not concerned so much with who you are in a metaphysical sense as keeping track of your identity?”

  Her hands slide through her hair, twine through it, follow it down, and then stop in midair as if shocked by how short my hair is. “I want to be able to keep things straight.”

  “Okay.” I type a few notes. “I think I’m starting to understand. Who would you say you are right now?”

  “I’m you. I’m Elizabeth Rosseau, therapist to fiend-kind, lover of wendigoag, and romantic extraordinaire. The human who decided that fiends were so much more interesting than her own kind. Who decided that she had to help them. That’s who I am.”

  “I only love one wendigo, not all of them.” Most of them are fucking terrifying. I had one as a client a few weeks back, and I had to have Abby keep him off me if I wanted to keep my flesh attached to my bones. I’m so glad she was nearby. “And I’m not that much of a romantic.” Wait, this is about her, not me. “Well, who were you before now?”

  Her eyes shut, and her body shimmers, cold fire unraveling from somewhere deep within her. It consumes her and just as quickly fades, leaving a tall, muscular redhead wearing a brand-new outfit: a cold-shoulder top and a pencil skirt. “Vivienne McCain. I’m a journalist.”

  For a second, I thought she might set the room on fire. I’ve never seen anything like that before. It takes me a few seconds longer than I’d like to admit to formulate a reply. “So you’re not having trouble sorting that out?”

  Her eyes narrow, and I swear I see flames in them. She winces, and her body begins to change again but rights itself, maintaining the journalist’s form but looking fainter. “Almost. It’s like there’s too much memory in my head, and I can’t process everything. I’m sorry, have we met?”

  Fuck. Her issues might be a bit more than just psychological. I’m going to have to talk to the apothecary and see what we can do. I’m never going to get used to that word. “Does that mean you’re having memory problems as well?”

  Suddenly, there’s a fox curled up in her chair. There wasn’t even another burst of fire. It rests its head on its front paws. “Nothing works right anymore.”

  I was not trained for this. “Miss?”

  I’m sitting before me again. “I’m sorry. So do you think you can help?”

  “The identity problems are stuff we can work through, but the memory issues may be neurological. There’s a veterinary hospital not too far that we’ve made arrangements with. They have an MRI machine, and I’d like you to be checked out. I’m going to write you a referral. Is that okay?”

  She nods. “If you think it’ll help.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you have brain scans of a healthy kitsune?”

  “My brother is the one who recommended I see you. Maybe I could talk her into going with me, and she could be tested too?”

  The pronouns are the least confusing part of this conversation. “Sure. That sounds like a great plan. She’s not having these issues too, is she?”

  “No. He’s not.”

  “Great. Then you two go together. I’ll write a second referral. Come back to me with the results. This seems kind of urgent.” I check my calendar. “I actually have an opening tonight at midnight if you think you can get the MRI done before then.”

  With a vigorous nod, she stands and extends her hand. “Yes, thank you, that’ll be perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  I shake it. “It’s no problem.”

  “I’m sorry, what do I owe you?”

  Hey, I’m not doing this for charity. “A hundred dollars for the session.”

  She hands me a bag of diamonds and charges out of the room. I guess I’ll put this toward her future appointments as well.

  * * *

  “Looks like you got an interesting one,” Ashley says, walking through the open door. After the wendigo incident, I’ve made sure to always have a guard posted nearby, even if it does cut into my paycheck.

  “You know I can’t talk about it.” I rise and stretch. I have two hours without another appointment, more than enough time for the shopping trip I’ve p
lanned with Ashley.

  “Business has really been picking up. Plus, I haven’t had to beat anybody up.”

  “I still can’t believe he acted that way. I thought violence wasn’t allowed here.”

  Grabbing my hand to drag me along, she replies, “Yeah, and that’s why he’s not allowed back. So are we doing this or not?”

  I try my best to look coy, but I’m too excited, and my grin overwhelms me. “Fine. Let’s go look for rings before Abby starts to wonder what we’re up to.”

  “Yes!” She pumps her arm and leads the way to a far-off section of the marketplace. “I know they’re kind of expensive here, but the quality is so much better.” Her gaze falls to a shimmering diamond. “Oh my God. If someone were to get me that, I would absolutely melt. Hell, I’d marry them on the spot, no questions asked.”

  I do not understand straight girls. “Okay, Ashley. The thing is, we’re looking for something that Abby would like.”

  “What’s not to like?” She gestures madly at the glittering ring. “It’s beautiful!”

  The jewel is huge, it’s way too expensive, and it’s gaudy. I mean, maybe something big would work on her fingers, but they’re not fat, just long. “Let’s keep looking.”

  “But I love it.”

  “I’m not marrying you.”

  That shuts her up. She grumbles, but we continue our search. I find a cute ruby ring. It’s tiny, but the quality is outstanding, and it wouldn’t snag on anything. “I like this one.”

  “You’re going to propose with a ruby?”

  “Maybe keep it down and don’t announce this when my girlfriend has super hearing.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Fine, but a ruby is still a bad idea.”

  I roll my eyes. It would clash with her necklace anyway. Maybe something green.

  “What about this one?” She points toward the back of a case at a ring with a spidery silver band studded with tiny diamonds and a heart-shaped sapphire in the center.

  “So sapphire is okay but ruby isn’t?”