by Amy Lane
Daniel, who had stood up in outrage next to Charlie’s bed, suddenly felt hope. “You know Whim? You can get him to Whim? It’s the only reason he’s hung on this long.” Daniel looked at Charlie, who had barely come out of his pain enough to recognize his visitors. “He only wants to see Whim again.”
Lambent nodded, and something in his appearance melted away. He suddenly had the same triangular features Daniel had seen on Whim, only broader and redder, and the same pointy ears. Not a man, Daniel thought distantly. An elf.
“Well, we’re here to make that happen. Renny, luv, if you will…?”
And with that the girl, a tiny, tiny girl with flyaway hair and a loose cotton dress, turned into a giant brown tabby cat before Daniel’s very eyes, the dress pooling at her ankles. Daniel, who had spent more hours than he could count looking at the tiny, perfect toys under the glass bubble of the shelf, especially the one featuring Whim and the big brown cat, felt a certain amount of hope.
Delicately, the girl-cat padded up to Charlie as he lay in his hospital bed and sniffed at him mournfully. She turned to Lambent and gave an unhappy mrowl, and Lambent nodded.
“Hear you, luvie.” Deftly, he turned off all of Charlie’s machines and pulled the tubes from his skin. Then Renny took Charlie’s hand in her mouth and bit gently, just hard enough to let a little bit of blood seep out. She licked at the wound until it stopped bleeding and then stepped out of the way for Lambent, who picked up Charlie’s wasted gray body in his arms and sighed. “It’s going to be close,” he told them all. “It’s going to be close. The bite won’t work unless he’s stronger. I can give him a little strength until we get there, but in the end, it’s all going to come down to Whim.”
Maybe because he was desperate enough to hope, Daniel saw a faint glow around the two of them, but that was put out of his head as he trotted out of the hospital behind them. Not a soul tried to stop the motley little group, and Daniel figured maybe that was magic too.
The clearing looked magical by moonlight, as well. After a truly terrifying ride with Max-the-cop behind the wheel of a big SUV, Lambent led the way with Charlie still in his arms. Charlie had come to a little in the car, and his first word had been “Whim.”
“No, Charlie,” Daniel said, feeling a little like shit just for bearing the news. “We’re going to see him.”
“Good. Thank you, Daniel.”
For the first time since Charlie had gone terminal, Daniel felt something that wasn’t tinged with anger. Charlie knew him. Charlie cared. It wasn’t Daniel’s fault that he wasn’t Whim.
Whim was there in the moonlight, standing with his bare feet planted in the earth, his arms extended to take Charlie from Lambent, who relinquished him gently.
“You’re charging a good bit, brother,” Lambent said softly, and even Daniel could see the glow that surrounded Whim as he cradled Charlie in his arms.
“I’m not very strong,” Whim worried. “I couldn’t do this without Litha… without our magic place…. Oh, Charlie, you’re so thin!”
Whim didn’t even mention the hair, which had fallen out with radiation and never grown back.
“I held on for you,” Charlie mumbled. “God, Whim… you’re the first thing I’ve smelled since the hospital. You smell so good.”
Whim chuckled weakly. “Are you ready for this, Charlie? It’s going to mean you and me together until death. And you’re a werekitty now. That’s going to be a very long time.”
“Take me home, Whim,” Charlie begged. “You promised. Take me home.”
“I’ll die before I break that promise,” Whim muttered, and then looked at Lambent as though begging for something. Lambent, for all he seemed arrogant and demanding, gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and pressed a small silver knife into Whim’s hand.
“It can’t be me,” Lambent said gently.
“You’re a healer, Lambent, and I’m not that strong….”
“You’ve got the love, brother. All the love in the world. You’ll do fine. It’s near midnight, and that’s when you’ll be strongest. He’s not going to be strong enough to change into his other form and get this shite out of his blood unless you heal him first. His wound is still open from the bite—hurry.”
With that, Lambent grabbed Daniel’s arm and hauled him back. Together, he and Daniel stood with the big brown cat and the cop who kept petting her and watched the tableau of Whim and Charlie in the center of their magic place on Whim’s most powerful day of the year.
None of it made sense to Daniel. Whim used the silver knife to make a small cut on his finger and then took Charlie’s hand in his own, opening the wound and rubbing the blood together. The wounds began to glow, and then Whim began to sing.
From where Daniel was standing, it sounded like “The Little Drummer Boy.”
Even the stoic cop’s eyes grew wide. “Interesting choice,” he observed, and Lambent shushed him even as he nodded a rather befuddled agreement.
And then none of them had words. The glow increased, grew brighter, intense, a blinding mixture of blue, red, and gold light, culminating in a cornea-blasting silver that engulfed the two lovers in the clearing.
Whim kept singing, though he fell to his knees still cradling Charlie’s wasted body against his chest, and the light swirled and blurred around them. Still, it didn’t seem to be enough, not to cure Charlie, not to help Whim, until Whim’s voice, ragged and cracked and bleeding, tore across the clearing. “Please, Goddess, please….” And then the glow exploded around them until the little gathering of watchers had to cover their eyes.
When the glow faded and Daniel could see past the spots playing in his vision, he blinked and saw a miracle.
Charlie was sitting up in Whim’s arms, and his hair had grown back. He was still thin and looked as though he had been ill, but even in the moonlight, Daniel could see that his face was flushing and his cheeks had color and his breathing was even and healthy.
That was it. His miracle. Charlie was going to live.
He took one excited step across the clearing when a hand on his arm stopped him. He looked in surprise to see the girl there instead of the cat. She was naked and apparently didn’t give a shit, and she was glaring up at him with unfriendly amber eyes.
“You don’t think he’s yours again, do you?” she asked in a feline growl, and some of Daniel’s glee faded.
“I… I thought he was here to say good-bye. I…. Now that he’s going to live, I mean… he’s got a life now, right?”
“Not with you,” the girl said, her voice flat.
“Renny,” Max-the-cop warned, and Renny gave him the equivalent of a cat flipping its tail. Max rolled his eyes, muttered something that sounded like, “No sex for you,” and then let her finish.
“They’re bonded, Daniel,” she hissed. “Whim just pledged his life to Charlie’s, as long as they’re faithful. That means if he goes back to you, Whim just gave up his life so you can have a security blanket.”
Daniel sucked in a breath and looked back to the two of them, murmuring in the middle of the clearing as though nothing had happened, telling each other the important things in their lives. He didn’t bother asking how this tiny girl-cat would know what his relationship with Charlie was like. That was the least of his worries. She spoke the truth. He’d been prepared to give Charlie up to death. He’d even reconciled himself to it. He’d spoken promises about caring for himself, living up to his potential, becoming the man he’d promised to be instead of the clinging, careless boy he’d been when Charlie had taken him into his life. Did Charlie’s life really make those promises less valid?
He swallowed hard and nodded soberly at Renny. He understood, he thought painfully. He got it. He walked thoughtfully to where the two lovers were, and this time Renny let him.
“You will like the hill,” Whim was saying softly. “Especially as a cat. There are lots of things to play with. The sprites love to play with the werecreatures. One of them will adopt you immediately, I’m sure.”
<
br /> Charlie’s hand, whole now, not withered for all his thinness, was splayed over Whim’s chest. “I want to play with you instead,” he said, and his voice was Charlie’s voice—playful, demanding, irrepressible.
“Later,” Whim muttered. “After I’ve held you for about a thousand hours.”
“Yeah.” Suddenly, Charlie became aware of Daniel, and a moment of conflict crossed his face, a reluctance to shoulder a burden he knew he must, and that moment was enough for Daniel. “I… I can’t…. Whim, I need to make sure Daniel is okay….” And before Whim could even be hurt by the moment of duty, Daniel made his decision.
“I’m fine,” Daniel said through a tight throat. “I’m fine. You go be happy, Charlie. You’ve earned it.”
Charlie looked at Whim. “Can we make sure he’s taken care of, Whim? There’s legal stuff and—”
“I’m on it,” said the cop, coming up behind Daniel. “In fact, I’ll even give him a ride home. Ouch! Dammit, Renny, I’m helping!”
Daniel looked down and saw Renny was a cat again, and she’d just shoved her claws into Max’s leg. Giving the cat equivalent of a chuckle, she turned her fuzzy butt toward Max and Daniel and led the way to the car.
Daniel knelt for a moment and gave Charlie a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Charlie,” he said gruffly. This was better than seeing him die, he told himself. He could be happy, just knowing that Charlie was happy out in the world.
“Bye, Daniel,” Charlie said back, but he could barely look at Daniel long enough to say it. His eyes were all on the clean, beautiful profile of the elf who had just saved his life for love and love alone.
When Daniel got to the graffiti wall, he turned around for one last look. Whim had sunk to the ground completely, crossing his legs and keeping Charlie securely on his lap. Lambent had produced a blanket from somewhere and draped it over them, and was now leaning back against a tree, his cheek on his knees, looking prepared to doze quietly until the lovers were ready to go.
Charlie was leaning his head on Whim’s shoulder and looking at him with more devotion than Daniel had ever felt for another human being, much less earned for himself.
Daniel swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and left the future tomcat and the elf named Whim to their faithful Litha night.
A YEAR later, Daniel came back to the clearing.
No one had told him to come; no one had invited him. But he had lived through the year, had dealt with his grief, had taken care of himself and come out complete.
Of course, Whim’s people had helped. Two days after Litha, the police officer had shown up, catlike girl at his side, and given him a forged death certificate as well as a will—notarized—that said Daniel got Charlie’s house and all of his possessions.
The only exceptions were thirteen of the fourteen cunning little wooden toys sitting on Charlie’s glass-cased shelf.
The one that Max and Renny left was the one Whim had made when he thought Charlie had been going to say good-bye—the one showing the cat and the elf in a clearing, playing with an undisguised joy.
Daniel took it as a sign. He took his medication, kept his job, fed Texas-the-depressed-cat, and mowed the lawn. He made peace with his parents, consoled Charlie’s folks, got to know Charlie’s sisters, and attended family dinners. He came to learn all of the lessons Charlie had been trying to teach him when he’d been there, and he wondered if he ever would have grown up enough to learn them if Charlie hadn’t left.
He realized that his love for Charlie had been the love for a caretaker and not that of a beloved, and he grew up enough to be grateful that Charlie had cared.
He showed up at the little back lot, magical only one night a year, so he could show Charlie he was okay. So he could say good-bye.
They were there. Whim wasn’t throwing a stick like the scene in the toy, though. He was doing something even better. He waved his hands, and two light spots traveled across the ground, playing with each other and dancing in an impressive display of light. A big chocolate-brown tomcat chased them with all of the playfulness Daniel remembered. He pounced on one and leapt to the other and frolicked across the meadow to the next, and Whim’s laughter traveled across the quiet of the Litha midnight like the chiming of bells.
Daniel found he was smiling—tearful, yes, but smiling. God, they were so damned happy.
He was going to turn away then, but Whim must have seen him from the corner of his eye. The elf turned and raised a silent hand in salute. He forgot to turn off the light he was generating with his magic, and for a moment Daniel was blinded as it hit him in the eyes. He almost missed the next part.
Very slowly, and very deliberately, Whim bowed.
Dammit. That was it. Daniel wiped his cheek with the back of his hand and bowed back. “You’re welcome,” he whispered, and then to Charlie, who had turned and was gazing at him serenely from gold cat eyes, “You’re both welcome. Thank you. Thank you both.”
He turned and left the clearing just as the train passed by, separating him from the two figures in the moonlight, and he realized in his bones that Charlie’s decision to leave had been the right one. Looking back had never been an option for Whim and Charlie anyway.
Whim—Blessings
AS SOON as Daniel disappeared, Charlie ran across the field and then took a giant cat leap. He turned into a human in midair and landed, legs straddling Whim’s waist, hands wrapped around Whim’s shoulders, pulling Whim down for a kiss.
Whim kissed him, kissed him ravenously, kissed him as though they hadn’t made love that morning and nearly every morning and every night since Charlie had come with him to Green’s hill.
They always kissed that way.
“He’s gone?” Charlie asked him between kisses.
Whim had no words for Daniel. “Mmm-hmmm….”
“Good,” Charlie said breathlessly. “Good. Good….” And then he kissed Whim some more. His body was strong and wiry, like it had been his entire adult life, and his hair was thick and a little long, growing over his ears for the first time since he was a teenager.
There was a three-inch tattoo on his naked chest, right over his heart, and had been since the night Whim had healed him. It showed a rose, dropping blood over an acorn and a lime. The blood changed colors according to Charlie’s mood. Charlie knew what it meant now, and Whim liked to touch it quietly while it glowed the colors of cherries and melons and bananas.
Whim held him now, strong and healthy and as gleeful as he’d ever been, and Whim kept holding him, kept falling into his exotic, familiar taste, as he walked unsteadily to where the trees were. They’d come prepared tonight, and their blankets and their picnic were waiting for them. This year, Green had even given them a special basket and had their favorite foods made. He and Cory said that someone should celebrate Litha, since they could no longer take joy in it.
And Litha it was—their Litha—and when they were together, there was always much to celebrate.
In the End
ONCE UPON a time, he’d had a last name and a girlfriend, and he’d been completely straight. He wasn’t sure what happened then. There had been a dark shape swooping in front of his car, a body thunking off the hood, a terrible crunch of metal, and a feeling of unreality. Part of his steering column snapped in half and penetrated his femoral artery, and his soul began to detach from his body as the blood that held the two of them in the same space pumped out.
Things got weird after that.
Absolute cold, the silence of a frozen sea, the faint promise of warmth and light, and then….
Something fiery burning along his veins, pulling him back through that sea, causing it to splinter and scathe, penetrate and scrape, flay the skin from his flesh and bind it back together with a cold so penetrating, so icy, it felt as though his blood vessels were lined with blistering pustules, bursting with scorching, raw pain.
It felt a little like… a lot like… a whole lot like….
The need to come when someone wouldn’t let you b
reathe and had your cock in a vise.
Marcus expelled his last breath on a scream, bit down hard on something that felt an awful lot like cold flesh, and pulled blood into his body in an orgy of carnage until his stomach filled to bursting….
And he came.
He felt like panting then, in the aftermath, and his chest even cooperated for a few tries. But as he blinked hard and looked around him, his chest stopped moving, and he was too distracted to notice.
His clothing was shredded, and his shredded body was healing, knitting up flesh like some sort of reverse time-lapse photo even as he watched. He was covered in blood—not just from the injuries that no longer existed, but spilling from his mouth and over his chest, and there was… a man’s thigh, in tattered jeans, pulling away from his face even as he took stock.
There was also a man’s mouth licking gently at Marcus’s naked thigh, where he’d seen the steering column enter and the blood pump out before the whole frozen-lake-of-silent-fire thing.
The hole where the steering column had been was all gone, and what was left was smooth, rapidly cooling skin.
The man who’d been… suckling on his thigh? Really? The man who had pale white hair turned his head and grinned at him, flashing red, whirling eyes. His mouth and chin were covered in blood, and—
“Where are my pants?” Marcus asked, his voice resounding so loudly in his ears that he almost wept.
“Mr. Desarno! Ohmigod!” Marcus was on the side of the road, naked from the waist down and covered in blood, and there was something wet and white mixed with the blood on his chest, and Marcus watched as the man who’d been… suckling… on his thigh rolled over, tucked his equipment in his jeans, and buttoned up, commando style.
He was lying on the side of the road, naked from the waist down and covered in blood and come, and someone he knew was there to see him?
