The Seven Year Witch

by Melinda DuChamp

  And suddenly she was back in Las Vegas, at the Bellagio. Watching the dancing waters.

  They were saltier than she remembered.

  And she was far from jilted, hungry, and down eight hundred bucks. In fact, she couldn’t stop smiling.

  When Marilyn returned from the bathroom with towels, Charley was still twitching.

  “Wow. Just… wow.”

  “I know, right?” Marilyn tossed away the second towel, and wondered if Charley had a squeegee.

  “So that's what it's like?” he said, obviously dazed.

  “I think so. But not as… um… dehydrating.”

  “How do you women ever get anything done? I'd never leave my bed.”

  “We have to go to work,” she said. “Because we only earn 77% of what men do.”

  “I don't think I can feel my legs.”

  “I should get you some water.”

  “You can lead me to it,” Charley said, “but I can't make any guarantees.”

  “So… now what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Thrilled as she was that she'd been able to make Charley go Mt. Vesuvius all over everything (did he actually hit the ceiling? Wow!), Marilyn knew what came next.

  It's what always came next. The man was done, so she would have to go. The dreaded walk of shame.

  “I mean… you want me to go, right?”

  “Go where?”

  “Go back to my place.” And now that she thought about it, she’d never gotten a hotel room. Zelda had failed to put it on the list.

  “Why? You don't like my place?”

  “I love your place, Charley. I'd love to stay here forever. But we're done, so…”

  “Done?” Charley laughed. “Marilyn, you just showed me what it feels like to experience lovemaking as a woman. You've opened my eyes to all the unlimited, unfulfilled sexual potential that women are capable of.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I'm saying,” he said, pulling her onto the couch and burying his face between her thighs, “that you're up next.”

  Chapter Five – Love and Tenderness

  Marilyn was exhausted and shaky and sore all over by the time she and Charley decided they should probably take a break and go out for breakfast. And electrolytes. The streets of New York were quiet, the sunrise just starting to glow around the skyscrapers. She’d thrown her dress back on, but unable to find her panties, she’d gone out bare down below, and now the silky skirt swirled and swished around her legs in such a delicious way, she was toying with the idea of skipping breakfast and going back to horsing around, despite the fact that she was ravenously hungry.

  Charley held her hand as they walked down the sidewalk. “Do you want me to let you in on a Shifter secret?”

  “I’m intrigued. Of course.”

  “Shifters mate for life.”

  “Oh, no!” Marilyn could see where this was going. “Don’t tell me. You’re married. I knew this was too good to be true.”

  “I’m not married. But you think this is good?”

  “Engaged?”

  “No. Back up. That’s not why I’m telling you this. Not that kind of secret. It’s a good kind of secret.”

  “Shifters mating for life isn’t really a secret, Charley.”

  “Maybe not, but this is.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “We can smell our forever mates.”

  “That sounds gross.”

  He held up his hands, palms out. “It’s not. Hear me out.”

  Marilyn nodded for him to proceed.

  “What did you smell when you were riding in the carriage?”

  “Ah, bad burrito farts.”

  Charley’s expression fell. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I think your driver might have had lunch with a salesperson at Tiffany’s. Next time, tell him that tuna is best eaten with a delicate, lovingly prepared sauce.”

  “Will do.”

  “Why did you ask what I smelled?”

  “Because to me, you smell like alfalfa and honeycrisp apples.”

  “I do?”

  He leaned close and scooped in a deep, deep breath. “Yeah, you do.”

  Then he kissed her, tentatively at first, like a horse nibbling the most tender of grass shoots, then harder, hungrier. His tongue moved over hers, teasing and probing, then delved deeper. Taking. Claiming.

  Marilyn moaned deep in her throat and pressed against his hard body. She wasn’t sure if this incredible feeling was coming from him or her or both of them, but it was so delicious, she wanted it to never stop.

  “So what do I smell like?” he said, still kissing her lips, her chin, her neck.

  “Um, horse.”

  Charley jolted back and stared at her. His eyebrows turned down at the edges, and he looked as if he might cry. “Really?”

  Marilyn took another deep breath. “Yes. Why?”

  “I thought… I hoped…”

  “What’s wrong, Charley?”

  “Shifters can find their fated mates by smell. Pheromones, you know?”

  “That’s why I smell like hay and apples? Because that smells wonderful to you? And I’m your forever mate?” Marilyn knew it was a little early to be talking about mates and forever, but she felt kind of giddy at the idea anyway.

  “Yes. That’s how it works. At least, that’s how I always heard it’s supposed to work. But to you, I smell like horse. So I must be wrong. Or something is goofed up. It seems you’re the mate that I’m fated to be with, but I’m not yours.”

  Marilyn thought about his interpretation for a second, then started laughing.

  “What is it? Were you teasing? Do I smell better to you than sweaty horse?”

  “No. Horse is exactly what you smell like.”

  The pout again.

  “But, Charley,” Marilyn continued, “I love horses. They’re the best ever. That smell isn’t bad, not to me. That smell is intoxicating.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “So we’re mates then? Fated to be together?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we are.” Marilyn sure liked the idea. She liked it a lot. “But maybe we should date for a while, just to make sure.”

  “Will you stay here with me in New York? Give me a chance to convince you?” Charley asked quietly.

  Marilyn was so taken aback by the quake in his voice and the outpouring of love that seemed to pulse from him like a magical aura that she didn’t know what to say.

  Marilyn had come to New York to find adventure and feed her mojo, and she had certainly done both. But she had to admit that the feelings blooming between her and Charley caught her by surprise.

  It was all very much like one of those sappy supernatural romance novels with the skinny cartoon witch on the cover.

  Except for one big difference; this one had a cartoon that was plus-size.

  Marilyn looked up into eyes the color of dark chocolate--not the bitter kind of dark chocolate, like baking chocolate, but the kind that was sweet and creamy--and smiled. “I would love that, Charley.”

  And then he kissed her, and she kissed him back, and Marilyn was so swept away that she didn't register the wave of fear and desperation and callous disregard for witches falling in love with horse Shifters until it was too late.

  “Give me your wallet,” said a gruff voice from behind her.

  Charley’s eyes flew wide open mid-kiss, dark chocolate surrounded by vanilla custard--wow, Marilyn really was hungry--and he switched places with her, stepping in front like a human-horse shield.

  Still reeling from surprise, Marilyn peeked around Charley to get a look at the mugger. He was short, skinny, with pale skin and wild eyes. But the thing that held her attention most was the gun in his shaking hand. A gun pointed at Charley’s chest.

  Charley pulled out his wallet and offered it to the man. “Take it. It’s all I have. Just don’t hurt us.”

  Marilyn forced her gaze back to the man’s eyes. Charley was doing exactly as he
asked, and still she felt no change in the mugger’s emotional state. It was as if surrendering the money didn’t really matter. As if Charley could plead for their lives and give away everything he owned, and the mugger was determined to shoot them anyway.

  Marilyn looked at her precious Charley. Her horsey fantasy. Her fated mate. She felt what he felt for her, and right now he was terrified of losing it.

  But he wasn't the only one terrified.

  Marilyn stared at the mugger, and she felt his fear, too. But more than that. She felt sadness, disappointment, and a complete and utter lack of confidence.

  Worse, she realized she'd seen this man before. And that she, Marilyn, was a tiny bit responsible for his emotional state.

  “I saw you yesterday,” she said. “You were lying on the sidewalk. People kept stepping over you like you weren't even there.”

  “That's New York,” he said, trembling. “No one cares. I might as well have been dead. But the dead would have been treated with more respect than the way I've been treated. Do you know what it's like to have the whole world disregard you? To treat you like you're less than human? A failure? A freak? Like you have nothing to contribute, and no future at all?”

  “Yes,” Marilyn said. “I do.”

  Then she reached out and touched the man's hand. Taking his pain, draining it from him, and replacing it with something she'd just discovered for herself.

  Hope.

  “But they're wrong about you. You can make a difference. Because you're stronger, and smarter, and better than any of them think.”

  “What… what are you doing to me?”

  “I'm showing you what I see in you. All the potential. All the promise. The future is yours. And it will be a happy future. Because you deserve to be happy.”

  The man aimed at Marilyn, back at Charley, and then dropped the gun--

  And spread out his arms.

  For a second, no one moved.

  Then Marilyn hugged him. Hugged him with love and acceptance. And even though he still smelled like he'd been dead for a week and left out in the sun, she made sure she only thought of positive things during their embrace. Which was something she could thank Charley for.

  He'd helped her learn many things about herself, including how to suppress her gag reflex.

  “I'm so sorry. Here's your wallet back. I was… I dunno… I was giving up. But now I feel like I can take on the world.” He smiled, cupping his hands to his mouth. “You hear that, world? Here I come!”

  The would be mugger turned back to the couple. “You know what? There's a Burger Shack, right up the street. I would sometimes dive in their garbage and fight with the rats over pork nuggets they'd thrown away. But no more. I'm going to march right in there and fill out an application and get a job! And within ten years of fifty-hour work weeks, I'm going to be assistant to the assistant junior manager!”

  “That's right, buddy,” Charley said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Dream big.”

  The man skipped off. He literally skipped. “Think about taking a shower first!” Marilyn called after him, in the most empowering way she could.

  Charley stared at her with his double-chocolate-brownie-chip-peanut-butter-double-decker eyes. “That was wooondderrrffuulll! How did you do that?”

  “I… I’m not sure. It was like…”

  “Magic?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Marilyn said. “Magic.”

  “You really are powerful, Marilyn.”

  She took a step backward, her legs feeling weak with relief. Her feet landed on a grate in the sidewalk, and she balanced on her toes, careful not to let one of her fabulous heels slip between the spaces. A rumble seemed to rise from the sidewalk and vibrate through the street itself. And a whoosh of air rose from the grate below.

  The wind felt divine, caressing her hooha and floofing her dress around her. She realized a bit too late, that she’d never replaced her underwear when she’d gotten dressed and struggled to hold down her flying skirt with both hands.

  “Marilyn! That’s it!” Charley cried.

  “That’s what?” she said, trying not to flash all of Manhattan.

  “The forces of nature. They’re trying to rip off your clothes.”

  Marilyn looked down at her skirt flying all around her, no matter how she struggled to hold it down. Was Charley right? Was this the moment where she had soaked up so much city magic, where she’d created so much mojo, that all of nature wanted her naked? And should she really tolerate anyone--even Mother Nature--trying to rip off her clothes, no matter what kind of victory it was supposed to be?

  “Does this mean you’re going back?”

  Marilyn focused on her sweet, loving Charley’s long, long face. Did she really want to leave him? He made her feel so good about herself. New York made her feel so good. Did she really want to trade this for Assjacket? She wanted a faster metabolism. Who wouldn’t? The thought of eating a gallon of cookie dough ice cream every day and never gaining an ounce was as alluring as fabulous dresses, diamond earrings, and pampering makeovers (without the awkward chess orgies).

  But to do that, she would have to face those witches again. She would have to feel their derision, listen to their insults, and worst of all, she was afraid that deep, deep down, she would not only believe them, she would heartily agree.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “You have to go, Marilyn.”

  “Why? Didn’t you just ask me to stay?”

  “I did, but--”

  “If I just stay with you the rest of my life, I don’t have to worry about all that other stuff.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because another person can never be the answer, Marilyn. Your magic has to come from yourself. And so does your happiness.”

  “You said Shifters mate for life.”

  He smiled. “As we do. And I wouldn’t be much of a mate if I didn’t encourage you to be happy.”

  Marilyn looked down at the grate. The gush of wind that had been so delicious just moments before now smelled like exhaust and unhappy commuters. “So I have to go back?”

  “You can’t escape your demons, because they’re part of you.”

  “Witches, not demons.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Witches. Baba Yaga, Zelda, Sassy, they’re all witches. I don’t personally know any demons, but from what I hear, they’re assholes.”

  Charley stared at her.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll go back for the fashion show and face the witches who make me feel bad about myself. But I know why you’re doing this.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You want me to be thin.”

  Charley shook his head. “I want you to be you. Just you. And I want you to be happy.”

  And at the moment Marilyn poofed away, totally under her own power, she wanted to believe him. She really, really, really did.

  Chapter 6 – Return to Assjacket

  Marilyn arrived in Assjacket, West Virginia with her skirt still flying up over her head, exposing all her indecent parts. And she landed in the midst of chaos.

  She glanced around Zelda’s kitchen. Clothing was everywhere, as were shifters all in their human forms and in various stages of undress. Half of them were screaming. The other half were crying. And here and there among them, the warlock tailors from Jezebel’s dress shop were doing a lot of zapping and groping.

  Backstage before the fashion show. Marilyn’s timing couldn’t be worse.

  Luckily because of the chaos, only a rabbit Shifter friend of Zelda’s named Roger seemed to notice Marilyn’s skirt was up over her head, and from all indications, he didn’t seem to mind fat witches flashing their privates one little bit.

  “That was the best poofing entrance I’ve ever seen. Way better than Hildy or even Baba Yaga.”

  “Where’s Zelda?” Marilyn asked him, once she had smoothed her skirt down.

  “Have you ever thought about doing movies?”
<
br />   “Roger!” Zelda snapped from a crowd of warlock tailors scurrying around zapping last minute alterations. A broken zipper here. An unfinished hem there. “Quit staring at Marilyn’s outrageously generous boobage.”

  “I wasn’t staring at her boobage.”

  “Then quit staring at her--”

  “Uh, Zelda? Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Not now, Marilyn. Everything is falling apart.”

  “When?”

  “Are you okay?” Zelda asked. “Your voice sounds funny.”

  “Well, earlier this morning I was feeling a little horse...” Marilyn said. She smiled, thinking about Charley’s little horse, which wasn’t very little at all.

  “I don’t have time to listen to your problems. This is a disaster. Sassy blew up--”

  Sparkly confetti exploded through the room, and Baba Yaga herself poofed in, hair to the ceiling and donning a disco ball dress, mirrors from chin to cheek. Slender, toned, perfect butt cheek, that is. And on her slender feet, she wore a pair of glittery, lime green Jellies. She surveyed the Shifter models. “I’m disappointed, Zelda.”

  “Why is that?” Zelda shot over her shoulder as she nipped and tucked the closest model’s outfit.

  “I was hoping for more pieces that I would like to buy. What happened to all the shoulder pads? The pleated jeans? The neon?”

  “Those hideous things aren’t in my show, because they are ugly, Baba Yoohoo. You have no style. And if you don’t like my show, you and your old lady crouch smoke can go back to the 80s and leave us alone.”

  Marilyn gasped.

  The Shifter models gasped.

  The warlock tailors gasped.

  Baba Yaga just glowered. “That’s it, Zelda. I’ve been so patient with you, but I am not going to sit here and have you insult the 80s. It’s back to the pokey with you.”

  This was a disaster. Marilyn hadn’t even gotten a chance to say two words to Zelda, let alone face any of her personal demons, err witches, and now Zelda was going to be zapped back to the pokey.

  Baba Yaga raised her hands.

  “Noooooo!” Marilyn cried. Not thinking, she leaped out in front of Zelda, as if in slow motion, shielding her from the head witch’s blast.