by Kater Cheek
He lifted his glass and drank.
“Does Rob know you’re a were-bear?”
“No. Don’t tell him. He wouldn’t be able to take it.” Softer, he added, “Not everyone can.” Fenwick looked down into his glass. “I knew this guy in high school, name was Bobby. He was a pretty good friend; we used to play D&D together. You ever role-play?”
“Once or twice. My character was a thief, I think.”
Fenwick nodded. “So this guy, Bobby, he always played a magic user. No matter what game we were in, or what role-playing system, he always played a magic user. He used to go on and on about how cool it would be if magic were real, how he would love to learn spells.
“I figured he was open minded, so one day I told him, matter of factly, that magic was real. He kind of blew me off, thought I was making fun of him. Well, I’ve never learned any mage-craft myself, but of course there’s one thing I can do.”
Fenwick drank the shot of gin and poured another one for both of us. I drank mine gladly.
“I invited him camping with me, and on the way there I told him I was a were-bear and that I was going to change.”
“He laughed it off?”
“Yeah, kind of nervously. He made some silver bullet comments, howled a bit, and started talking about some movie he saw. I wanted to turn right around, but we had gone too far and I was already starting to change.
“By the time we got there, I could barely keep it from happening. I stopped the car and started to take my clothes off, you know, so they wouldn’t get ruined. Then I changed into a bear just as the moon rose.”
“He took it badly?”
“He started screaming, locked himself in the car, and wouldn’t come out. I went into the woods, and when I came back the car was gone. The next day I had to walk back to the road and hitchhike home. He never talked to me again, and I think he even transferred to another school.”
“That sucks. You lose a lot of friends that way?”
“Not any more. I don’t tell people.”
The room swayed as the alcohol really hit me. This went down easier than my cheap drugstore vodka. Fenwick could afford the good stuff, since he had a computer job. Sometimes I wish I worked nine to five.
No money, living with my brother. No supplies. And I had to start from scratch. Shit. Silvara said she could have sold the oaks too.
“You okay?” he asked, touching my hair again.
I shook my head. “You didn’t invite me to a pity party. What time is it? Is it that late already?”
“Yeah. I should let you get some sleep. Me too, actually. I have to work tomorrow.” Fenwick cleared off the blanket chest/coffee table and started getting out bedclothes. I reached out for them, but he shook his head. “You get the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“No way. It’s bad enough I’m imposing like this, and this couch is way too small for you. If I have to look at your knees dangling over the edge I won’t be able to handle the guilt.”
“I’m serious.” He grabbed an ankle and began to pull me off the couch.
“No.” I struggled and kicked and started to laugh as my fingers dug into the edge of the cushion. “I get the couch.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll get you a pillow.”
Chapter Seven
Music began first, a brassy pop star who had no business singing on a Saturday morning. She was joined by a low buzz, like angry insects. The third alarm only got off three ear-piercing beeps before I leaped off the couch to shut them down. Fenwick slept on, an arm and a pillow flung over his head, blankets covering everything but his feet. Only a tangled blond mass boiling out from under the white cotton pillowcase revealed where his head lay.
Most people wake when someone steps on the bed, or when someone touches their hair, but he didn’t. He slept on peacefully, and would probably not wake for a while, since I’d disabled his three alarm clocks.
“Fenwick.” Even the whisper of my breath didn’t make him twitch.
James had seen things in the chai leaves. Thieves, broken heart, someone trying to kill me. The thieves had probably come the night before, though I hadn’t checked to see if they’d stolen anything. Next would come the broken heart, if his reading was right. It could begin here, right now. Just push fate a little. They did that with forest fires, lit small fires, to take care of the undergrowth. Then when lightning came the damage wasn’t as intense.
Fenwick slept on, not noticing when the blanket came off his shoulders. He was barrel-chested, but not chubby, and his muscled torso had a thick carpet of golden-brown hair, which curled around my fingers. He was different from Rob, more masculine. Not my type, but sexy, in his own way.
It was rude to touch him like this, without his permission. But would he mind? Would he mind if he woke up and felt my hand teasing his hair, my cheek against his shoulder? The blankets still covered Fenwick’s hips and legs, hiding whatever he slept in. No, he wouldn’t mind. Even if he wasn’t attracted to me, he wasn’t so much of a dork that he’d turn me down if I offered. We were two layers of bedclothes away from a morning of casual sex.
That would break my heart. Sure, he might drag it out for a few weeks, but then some hottie would come along, and he’d stop seeing me, because I would have moved from the ‘just one of the guys’ camp to the ‘chick he slept with’ camp. It would only take a moment to lean in and press my lips against his, and wave goodbye to a perfectly good friendship.
A broken heart, just like the tealeaf reading. A small fire, to prevent a larger one. Kiss him, accept the pain of rejection, and the tea leaf reading would have come true, which would mean I could have Rob for good.
No, that was a stupid idea. Friendship with a guy like Fenwick was worth more than that, and besides, sometimes small fires hurt just as bad as the big ones.
But there he was, still sleeping, like a great hibernating beast. When presented with an opportunity like this, a girl has to do something wicked. One of his size thirteen feet poked out from under the end of the sheet. Heh. Bet he was ticklish. James had hated being awakened like this, and used to scream and throw pillows. Wicked little me. Zip up the arch of the foot with a thumbnail.
Fenwick snorted, not fully awake, and pulled his foot back under the blankets. I pulled the blankets up to expose his foot again, and lay across his calf, pinning his leg with my weight. A second thumbnail drawn up the skin of his foot got the desired result. Fenwick woke with a start, jolting his leg upwards.
“Whaaaaah!”
“You have ticklish feet.” I chuckled and drew my thumbnail up the bottom of his foot again. And then it was my turn to shriek as he twisted around and grabbed me.
“Two can play that game.” He grabbed one of my ankles and pulled it towards him, running his fingers up and down the arch to make me scream. My hands clawed towards his vulnerable feet, but he pulled me bodily away and curled his toes under to protect himself, then resumed his attack, holding both my wrists in one hand.
“No fair!”
“You started it.” He had no mercy, and tickled my feet again, grinning to watch me scream and squirm.
When I couldn’t breathe for laughing, we stopped at an impasse, inches from each other’s faces. His eyes were gray, and his eyebrows and lashes were only slightly darker than his hair. Why had I never noticed this before?
“You give up?” His hair hung loose, instead of in its usual ponytail, framing a face kissed by smiles. With Fenwick, everything was so casual, so easy. Why couldn’t it be like this with Rob? If Julie hadn’t come along, maybe it could have been Rob and me who were lying in bed together. But what if …
No, one of these days Fenwick would get another girlfriend, and then it would be over. Borrowed time. No matter how nice this was, this was just borrowed time. Rob had Julie, and sooner or later Fenwick would find another girlfriend and I’d be spending Friday nights alone again.
“You okay? You look upset about something.”
“No, it’s cool.” I climbed
off the bed and straightened my clothes.
The blankets had come askew. He wore only boxer shorts. Fenwick wrapped the blankets and sheets around his waist. “Could you, um. Could you hand me my jeans?”
“Yeah.” I turned my back to him.
“So, um … What do you want for breakfast?” He had quickly slipped his jeans and sweatshirt back on and was fastening his belt.
“Whatever you’re having.”
“You sure?” He reached up and restrained his hair in an elastic band as he walked to the kitchen.
“Yeah. I’m not picky.”
“I usually have honey sandwiches for breakfast.” Fenwick pulled down glass jars of honey and a loaf of bread. “What kind do you like? I’ve got clover, orange blossom, mesquite, wildflower, and, uh…apple blossom. Oh, but you have to try this one. It’s cherry blossom. My mom got it for me last summer. I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Have some. There isn’t much of it, but it’s really good.”
“That’s what you have for breakfast? Bread and honey?”
Fenwick dipped a finger into one of the jars and licked it. “I’ll let you try one of each. Apple blossom’s my current favorite. The mesquite takes some getting used to, but I like that now and then too. It’s got an almost spicy aftertaste. Clover’s what everyone likes, cause it’s mellow, but orange blossom has a faint citrus taste that’s really appealing, especially in tea.”
He made four sandwiches and cut them into quarters, arranging them on a plate like a flight of wine. “What do you think?”
“Good.” They all tasted like honey to me. “I can give you a ride to work if you like; it’s on the way to see James.”
“James? Right. To ask him if you can live there. You know, um, if James won’t let you live with him, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”
“Thanks.”
“Um, you’re welcome.” Fenwick looked away, embarrassed about something, but he didn’t say anything else on the ride to his work. By the time I got to Ishmael’s, it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
***
James opened the door looking disheveled and unshaven, and explained in monosyllabic grunts that he had to take a shower before he would speak with me.
His apartment above the café was quite large, considering it was in the Old Town, and had two bedrooms, a kitchen, one bathroom and a living room. One of the bedrooms served as storage, more for the café’s excess furniture than for James’ personal belongings. The rest of the apartment was Spartan, furnished with cast-offs from Ishmael’s that weren’t quite bad enough for the dumpster.
The only touch of James’ own personality was the sheaf of wheat and candles on the mantle, and the Pagan altar along the far wall. He had bedecked the altar with one of my Lammas arrangements, which was sweet since he had to take the bus to Bromley to buy it.
By the time he emerged from the tiny bathroom, I had brewed a pot of coffee from a bag of mystery beans from his freezer. My brother, the addict, drank deeply before speaking. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Long story short, someone broke into my apartment and trashed everything.”
“Holy Mother of God!” James wasn’t the swearing type, but when he did, he reverted to Catholicism. “You think someone was looking for the bindi?”
“What else? So, can I stay here until I get a new place? It might be a couple weeks.”
“Where were you last night? At Fenwick’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you …”
“Nosy, nosy.” I refilled his cup, which he had drained, and handed him the sugar. “No, actually, I slept on his couch. It's not like that between us.”
James let out a long breath. “You can stay in the storeroom, I guess. Just keep it neat.”
“I’m sorry. I know you like your peace and quiet.”
“Kit, if I’d known what it took to get you out of that rat-hole I would have trashed it a year ago.” He walked into the kitchen. “You want coffee?”
I grunted a no, and flopped onto his couch. James had left his laptop on the coffee table, so I opened a browser to check my email. Mr. Thorn had sent me an email, asking me to call him about the offers he’d found. I saved that one. The rest of my inbox was nothing but penis-enlarging offers. Delete, delete, delete.
“You going to rugby practice today?”
“Yes.” James set his coffee on the table and sat next to me, reading over my shoulder. “Ulrich’s going to be here soon. I think you should put your bindi on.”
“How come?” I pulled the computer away so he wouldn’t see Mr. Thorn’s email.
Ulrich was James’ best friend, the only one who could get James to leave the café for a whole afternoon. I had known him for years. He was shorter than me, but a real scrapper on the rugby field, like a small, fierce, scruffy, redheaded dog. He talked strangely too, almost poetically, as though he was trying to out-Irish the whole world and hadn’t quite gotten it right.
“Just put the bindi on.”
“You’re not telling me that Ulrich isn’t human, are you?” I logged out and let him take the laptop back.
“I told you a long time ago.” He set the now-empty cup of coffee down and reached for his computer.
“No, you said he was gay, but you never said anything about not being human.”
“I never said he was gay.”
“Yeah you did. You said, ‘Kit, I think you should know that Ulrich is a fairy.’ I remember because I ragged you about how no one uses that term any—wait a minute. You’re not saying that he’s a faerie? A real faerie? With butterfly wings and pointed ears?”
James had a smug smile.
“A faerie? Jesus, a faerie. Is this town filled with otherfolk?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I know lots of people, but I only know two who aren’t normal humans.”
“Who’s the other one? Oh yeah, Jolene.”
James didn’t know Fenwick’s secret. Fenwick said no one knew.
Someone knocked at the door.
“Just put your bindi on.”
I applied a liberal coat of spirit gum to the bindi and placed it on my brow, as James let his friend in.
Ulrich looked like himself, but he didn’t. He was wearing a blue and green striped polo shirt and those silky shorts that only athletes can get away with. That was his normal rugby-morning outfit. From the neck up, he was a different person. His ears were pointed, and his eyes were too large for his face. Faint spiral tattoos crept up his cheeks. Well, not tattoos really, because tattoos don’t shift and move.
“Greetings, Kit. Have you decided to watch our rugby game this day?” Ulrich walked to kitchen and helped himself to a cup of coffee.
Jesus. A faerie. My jaw hung open. I couldn’t think of what to say.
“James, what is amiss with her?” Ulrich walked back into the living room and set his coffee on the table. He only had four fingers on each hand.
“She sees you now.”
“It gladdens me that you knows the knack and of my truth. I care naught for deception.” Ulrich sat down on the easy chair.
A few blinks, and he was still there. Jesus. A faerie.
Ulrich snapped his fingers in front of my face, like my mom used to do to break us out of a TV trance. “Have you an enchantment upon you? Where is my kind salutation?”
My staring had gone past surprised into rude. “Um. Hi. I mean, um good morning.”
“Better then.”
“Sorry for freaking out.”
“’Tis of no consequence. Yet it surprises me to see you so early. Surely you were in your cups last night and would prefer to rest abed until noon?”
“Yeah, I would, but my friend had stuff to do, so I came here early.” Jesus. A faerie. Too bad James didn’t allow smoking in his apartment. Get a shock like seeing Ulrich’s true form and a nasty habit was more or less obligatory. “Ulrich? What are you, exactly, if this isn’t a rude question?”
“I am a grogoch.” He
held up a small four-fingered hand. “And think not of your legends, for I am neither as cruel nor as kind as your tales would describe me, though I once was as hairy.”
Heh. His legs were still hairy. Like a red shag carpet with knees. “I don’t know anything about grogochs. How come you talk funny?”
Ulrich cleared his throat and shifted.
“Unless it’s embarrassing?”
Ulrich looked a question at James, who answered, “She won’t laugh at you.”
“Have you told her naught of my troubles?”
“No.” James looked up from the screen. “She just found out you weren’t human this morning. Go on, tell her. It’s a funny story.”
Ulrich cleared his throat again. “Aye then, I will tell you. It’s because of an enchantment, nay, not that, but because … I shall begin my tale anew. My folk, well, we have a language of our own, which we share with some of our kin, the other fey of the earth.”
I nodded as if this meant something to me.
“I desired for many years to lead a mortal’s life, but I knew little of the ways of the modern world. Much had changed since my folk walked freely among men, and my speech marked me as of the elder time.”
“So, what’d you do? Take a night class in American English?”
“I cast some magics, one enchantment to make me mortal, and one to teach me the ways of your kind that I might pass as human.”
“Well, it kind of worked. I mean, you’re mortal, aren’t you? And we can understand you.”
“And I you. My spell gave me fair knowledge of slang and culture for the time and place. Yet, my words are jumbled, and their rhythm does not match your own. I thought my mage-skill was up to the task. Alas, it was not.”
“So, you talk funny because you tried to learn English through a spell and the spell didn’t work well?”
Ulrich nodded, face flushed almost as red as his hair. James cleared his throat and pretended to keep reading his email.
“And all this time I thought you were just a pretentious poet, or thespian, or something. That’s pretty funny.”
Ulrich looked rueful. “And yet it grieves me, for I know no cure, and it marks me as odd.”
